Rapture Untamed (21 page)

“Where is he?” Lyon demanded. “He’s not answering his cell.”

Tighe met his friend and leader’s hard gaze. “Olivia didn’t kill him. I don’t pretend to understand that relationship, but my instincts tell me that not only is it not in her nature, but she has feelings for him. Goddess knows why. She might shatter his kneecap, but she wouldn’t kill him.”

“Then where the hell is he?”

“I’ll find him.”

Tighe called Wulfe and Hawke, and together the three set out, Wulfe in his animal form, the best tracker among them. As Wulfe set the direction, Hawke took to the skies.

I see him,
Hawke said as they neared the river.
On the rocks. He’s not moving.

Hawke’s words rang an ominous knell.

Dead?
Tighe asked. Goddess. He’d been so sure she wouldn’t hurt him. From the moment she dug her heel into Jag’s instep, he’d thought the jaguar shifter had finally met his match. Everything he’d seen since had confirmed it.

Not only the way Jag looked at her, but the way she’d looked at Jag. With the eyes of a woman fighting the pull of love.

After all they’d been through together, he couldn’t blame Jag for bringing her back to Feral House, especially if he thought he could control her.

But he was afraid they’d both been wrong.

We should have gone with him,
Tighe said to himself as much as to Hawke and Wulfe.
We shouldn’t have let him go after her alone.

As messed up as Jag was, he wasn’t all bad, not by a long shot. And he was a damn good fighter. The last thing they needed was to lose another Feral.

Well he’s not alone, now. I don’t see any sign of Olivia, but there are people around him. Old people. Humans.

Tighe and Wulfe caught up with Hawke. Wulfe stayed behind, away from people, stuck in the form of a huge wolf. Like Lyon and Jag, he couldn’t retain his clothes when he shifted, but neither could he downsize into
something innocuous. Neither of his forms—the huge wolf or the large, scarred, naked man—was human-friendly. Hawke landed in the woods and shifted, then led Tighe to the small group of elderly hikers who’d found the Feral.

Several looked up when the two men approached. Tighe said nothing, just eased past them and knelt beside Jag’s prone form. He touched his hand, terrified he’d find it quickly cooling, but Jag’s hand felt warm, thank the goddess. A quick glance at his throat and he could see the pulse pounding strongly.

He closed his eyes with the force of his relief.

“We’ve called 911,” one of the women said.

Hell.
Tighe looked up at her, a woman with shoulder-length gray hair and wise eyes. “Was he alone when you found him?”

“Yes. He was just like this. We tried to wake him, but he didn’t respond.”

Tighe nodded, then scooped Jag up, slinging him over one shoulder. The humans stepped back, their eyes wide, as if he’d just performed a spectacular feat of strength. He supposed he had, from a mortal viewpoint.

“He’s passed out drunk. Thank you for caring for him.” They’d seen nothing out of the ordinary except for a little surprising strength. If there’d been time, he’d have taken their memories, but he didn’t know what was wrong with Jag, and the sooner he got him back to
Feral House, and away from any further human contact, the better.

Wulfe, get over here. Jag’s fine, but he’s out cold. See if you can pick up Olivia’s scent. We need to find her.

He turned back to the humans. “If you see my dog, don’t panic. He looks like a big wolf, but he’s harmless.”

Wulfe passed them as they started into the woods and caught up to them again as they reached Hawke’s Yukon.

The big wolf leaped into the vehicle, then shifted back into a man. “I followed the trail to the street and lost it. Maybe she hitchhiked out, or took a car?”

Tighe glanced back, meeting Wulfe’s worried gaze. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. They both feared that wasn’t the case at all.

Tighe pulled out his phone and called Lyon. “Jag’s unconscious, and there’s no sign of Olivia. Wulfe followed her trail, but it disappears abruptly, as if she got into a car.”

Lyon put two and two together and came up with the same number Tighe had. “He’s enthralled. And the Mage have Olivia.”

“That would be my guess.”

“If they turn her before we can stop them, she’s going to make a hell of a weapon.” Lyon pulled his mouth from the phone and shouted. “Kougar, Vhyper! Load up the vehicles. Every man, every woman.”

“Harpers Ferry?” Tighe asked.

“My gut’s telling me that’s the place.”

“Mine, too.”

“Get back here, ASAP. We’re rolling!”

The sound of Feral voices and the rumble of an SUV engine slowly broke through the fog that encased Jag’s brain.

“He’s coming around,” Wulfe said behind him.

“Jag?” Tighe’s voice sounded close by.

His senses told him he was sitting up, the seat belt locking him tight against the seat. In Hawke’s Yukon, by the sound of the engine. Jag struggled to open his eyes, blinking against the morning sun reflecting off his window as they went around a curve.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked groggily. From what he could piece together, the Ferals were road-tripping, but he’d lost the why and where. Had he fallen asleep? Goddess, he felt like he’d been hit over the head with a sledgehammer.

Or…enthralled.

The girl! The girl who’d run to him and Olivia.

The grogginess ripped away, leaving him reeling with shock, sending his heart into a free fall.

“Olivia.”

“What happened, Jag?” Lyon asked grimly from the seat in front of him. Hawke was driving, as he’d suspected.

Tension stiffened every muscle in his body. “Where is she?”

“Gone, buddy,” Tighe said. “When you didn’t come back, we went looking for you. We found you on the cliffs, unconscious. We followed Olivia’s scent to the road. It disappeared there.”

The memory of the child taunted him. A little girl with tears on her cheeks. And copper rings around her eyes.

“The Mage have her.” Jag told them about the little girl, then tipped his head back, thinking. “They must know what she is. We destroyed all the Mage we found around that house, but we couldn’t get through the warding to get inside. There must have been others.” His breath caught on a snag of panic. “If they take her soul…”

“We had the same thought,” Lyon said. “We’re heading back to Harpers Ferry, now.”

Jag raked his hair off his face with fingers that weren’t even in the same ballpark as steady. “Wings, can’t this bus go any faster?”

Tighe’s hand landed on his shoulder. “We’ll get there as quickly as we can.” He didn’t remove his hand, and Jag didn’t ask him to. For once, he had no desire to push anyone away. His life was crumbling around him, and all he had, all he’d ever had, were these men.

Until Olivia.

And now he’d lost her.

“You really think you’ve fallen for her,” Tighe said quietly.

“Hook, line, and sinker.” Jag laughed, but the sound was strangled. “I have a hell of a way of showing it.”

“Love has a way of cutting a man off at the knees. At least until he gives in to it. It makes you weaker than you’ll ever be. And stronger.”

Jag met Tighe’s gaze, seeing a surprising understanding in his eyes.

His own expression hardened. “Fair warning,” Jag said loud enough for every man to hear loud and clear.

“Olivia’s my mate.” Even if she never spoke to him again. His jaw clenched, a growl rumbling from his throat. “If you try to harm her, I’ll kill you.”

“And if she’s been turned?” Lyon asked from the front seat.

“If she’s been turned, I’ll kill her myself.”

For several minutes, the silence in the car was absolute. Then Hawke spoke.

“I’ve never heard of anyone being able to feel a life-stealer feed.”

Lyon turned to look at Jag over the back of his seat. “Is that what you felt in the war room, when you thought you were feeling magic?”

“Yes. She often feeds at a low graze when she’s around others. It wouldn’t have affected anyone, let alone hurt us, but I felt it. I always feel it.”

He took a deep breath and told them everything. How she’d fed from the Daemon, and that essence had made her incredibly stronger. How she’d taken out an entire swarm single-handedly last night.

“All the more reason to keep the women out of her reach,” Tighe said.

“Where are they?”

“In your Hummer with Paenther, Kougar, and Ewan. They’re behind us. We weren’t taking any chances until we saw whether or not you were still enthralled when you woke up.”

“Paenther’s back?”

“We need every hand on deck for this operation.”

They rode in silence, Jag’s feet tapping a Mariachi beat on the floor mat. They’d get there in time. They had to get there in time. The alternative was more than he could bear to think about. He would save her.

And then what?

He’d fucked up everything with her because of his hardheaded refusal to listen to her criticism. No, not criticism. Truth. She’d told him he had to face that day, the day Cordelia died. Face it, look it in the eye, then get over it.

A deep shudder went through him. He’d already faced that day a thousand times in his nightmares. The last thing, the very last thing he wanted to do was open it up in broad daylight. But tipping his head back against the seat, he knew he would. Because Olivia had asked him
to. Demanded him to. And it might be the last thing he ever got to do for her.

The thought clutched at his chest.
No.
No, it wouldn’t be the last, because he was fucking well going to save her.

He forced himself to go back to that awful day three hundred years ago. What a prick he’d been! Screwing every human girl who’d lift her skirts for him even though he’d known Therian tradition forbade him from having sex until he was twenty-five. How many times had Cordelia ordered him not to go to the village? How many times had she warned him…?

Jag stilled. How many times had she warned him how dangerous the human village would be if they ever realized he healed too quickly?

The memory, long forgotten, floored him. He’d hated her dictatorial ways and had fought them every chance he got, but she’d been afraid for him, he thought with wonder. Of course she had. She’d known, as he hadn’t, what would happen if they realized he was immortal. Had she told him they might try to burn him at the stake?

No. Or if she had, he’d dismissed it in his youthful arrogance. He couldn’t remember now.

But she’d been afraid for him. And the day she’d tried to haul him home? The day he’d denied her?

She hadn’t argued. What had she said? “He’s my servant!” Goddess, she hadn’t been trying to rub it in, his
denial, as he’d thought at the time. She’d been trying to protect him.

He dug his hands into his hair, fighting the waves of grief as he willingly remembered that day for the first time in three and a half centuries—all of it, not just the parts his guilt kept throwing at him.

Why had he denied her? Because he was mad at her. Furious with her for treating him like a little boy when he was so clearly a man. Goddess, what an idiot he’d been. But the truth rose from the depths of his pain—he’d yelled that she wasn’t his mother, but his slave master. Out of anger. He hadn’t realized the danger. At sixteen, he’d had no idea what the humans had in mind. He’d thought they meant to escort her from the village and throw her out, and he’d been glad for it! Vindicated. When they’d tied her to the stake, he’d been confused. Not until he saw the torch, had he realized they meant to hurt her. That was when he’d tried to reach her, but it had been too late.

He’d forgotten that part, that he’d fought to free her. But a dozen hands had held him back. And as he’d struggled, he’d looked up and met Cordelia’s pained gaze. His sixteen-year-old’s mind had seen accusation in her eyes, but his memory didn’t support that. Not accusation, but fear. And desperation. Run! those eyes had said. Run! Because she’d known he could so easily be turned on, too.

And they had turned on him, hadn’t they? They’d
chased him for hours, for miles. Had he been injured during the fight to reach Cordelia and given himself away? He didn’t remember. All he knew was they’d chased him, and he’d done one thing right that day. He hadn’t led them back to the enclave, but had hidden until he could escape them.

But by the time he got safely home, it was almost dark. Too late for anyone to mount a rescue of Cordelia before the draden got her. He’d never told anyone why he’d been so late returning. He’d never gotten the chance. They’d blamed him bitterly for her death, as he’d blamed himself.

But as Olivia said to him, he hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. He’d never meant for her to get hurt. His only crimes had been youthful ignorance and self-absorption.

And what was his excuse ever since?

Olivia was right. It was time to let it go. Easier said than done, but he knew where he needed to start.

He opened his eyes and glanced at Tighe. “I owe you an apology.”

“Why?” Tighe asked warily.

“You, Delaney, all of you. I’ve been a jerk.”

Tighe grunted. “That’s news?”

“Smart-ass. What’s news is that I’m apologizing.” With those simple words, he felt a lifting of the terrible weight he’d been carrying around for so long, he’d forgotten it was even there.

“Is this Olivia’s doing?” Tighe asked.

“Yeah.”

“Thought so. I wasn’t wrong about her, after all.” Tighe thrust out his hand. “Welcome, Jag.”

For once, the tiger shifter looked at him without that guarded expression he’d come to know so well. Instead, his eyes held genuine warmth.

Jag took the proffered olive branch, grabbing Tighe below the elbow, their forearms slamming in the traditional Feral greeting. Amazingly, no snide comment even formed in his mind. The bitterness and bile had slipped away.

“Don’t set your hopes too high, Stripes,” Jag drawled. “I was born with a bad attitude.” He grew serious. “I’ll apologize to Delaney.”

“Do that, although she’s had you figured out for a while. She told me you only targeted her because your words didn’t bother her. And they did bother me. She didn’t think you’d ever intentionally hurt her.”