A Love Untamed (4 page)

The man in front of him yawned as well. Lyon refrained from glancing at Olivia, but he was certain now that she'd begun draining them.

Finally, the tension broke. The officer lowered his gun with a nod. “This was clearly a misunderstanding. I apologize.”

Lyon lowered his hands slowly in as nonthreatening a manner as possible. “Apology accepted, Officer.”

Lyon held out his hand to Olivia and together they turned and made their way back to the house. He wouldn't breathe easily until the humans piled into their cars and left. The Ferals would have to watch that they didn't return.

“It had to have been the Mage,” Olivia said quietly beside him, as they climbed the brick steps to the front door. “But why?”

“That's what we have to find out.”

Closing the front door behind them, Lyon met Tighe's and Jag's gazes, then the three took up posts at the various windows, watching until the cops retreated.

“Where's Lynks?” Lyon asked.

“Keeping an eye out back.”

“Good.”

Finally, the cops were gone. Tighe pushed away from the window. “I'll get Delaney and the others.” Three minutes later, he returned. “Roar, where's Kara?”

Lyon turned from the window with a jerk, a vise clamping around his heart even as he turned inward and found her. He always knew where she was. “She's on the basement stairs,” he replied even as he started for the basement himself because,
good goddess,
Tighe had just come that way. And if he hadn't seen her . . .

Lyon broke into a run, nearly tearing the basement door off his hinges in his need to find his mate.

Ice formed at the edges of his thoughts, sweat broke out on the back of his neck. There was a logical explanation. There had to be. But his warrior's instinct said otherwise.

He followed his Finder's sense straight to the closed cellar door in front of which sat Kara's bright green flip-flops.

No.
Goddess, no!
He picked up the shoes, his breath leaving his body as if he'd been slammed in the gut with a battering ram.
“No!”
he roared, and tore open the cellar doors, racing up into the sunshine, Kara's flip-flops clenched in his hands.

“Kara!”

He couldn't see her. He couldn't
sense
her except in the flip-flops now held within his claws. He began to run, listening, searching, his heart battering the walls of his chest.

“Roar.”
Tighe grabbed his arm. “Get back in your skin. You've gone feral. The cops could still be watching.”

Lyon struggled against the raging need to rip apart everything and anything in his path. The ice spreading across his thoughts made it nearly impossible to think. “They've taken her,” he growled. “They've taken my mate! My life.”

Tighe growled low in agreement. “The cops were the distraction.”

Kara.

His head pounded, his mind screamed. His heart broke.

Kara!

He would stop at nothing . . .
nothing . . .
until she was once more safely in his arms.

Chapter Three

Today

F
ox followed Kougar into the huge, formally decorated dining room of Feral House through the back door, his T-shirt plastered with sweat, his sense of frustration and helplessness mounting by the hour until he felt as if he were going to leap out of his skin. For twenty-four hours, they'd searched every square inch of the surrounding area and found no sign of Kara and no clue who'd taken her and Lynks. Unless Lynks was the one at fault, which made no sense. He'd been cleared of the darkness. But they just didn't know.

The trail ended a quarter of a mile from the house, where Kara had undoubtedly been shoved into a vehicle. There were no clues beyond that. None.

In all likelihood, the Mage leader, Inir, had ordered her snatched for his evil Ferals, who would need her radiance every bit as much as the nine.

Fox strode to the dining-room table where it sat in front of the wide bank of windows overlooking the sunlit, wooded backyard. It was laden with pitchers of water and lemonade and heaping platters of food—everything from sandwiches and cookies to thick slabs of ham and roast beef. Meals had become a thing of the past as they searched for Kara. They ate when they could, now.

Jag and Lyon were already there, Jag downing a large glass of water, Lyon trying to stab a slice of ham with his fork, but the fork buckled under the clench of his fist, and he tossed it aside onto a growing pile of crumpled silverware, and tried again.

The Chief of the Ferals was holding on to control, barely, and it was costing him. His mouth was bracketed by lines of strain, his jaw tight enough that Fox wasn't sure he'd be able to chew the meat if he ever got it to his mouth. Fox ached for the male. They all did.

Lyon barely looked up as they entered, his eyes without a glimmer of hope that they'd found any sign of Kara. If anyone had, they'd all know. Their best hope was Hawke and Falkyn, who'd returned from Poland about two hours after the rest of them. They'd taken to the skies and had yet to return. The worst of it was, after twenty-four hours, the nearby searching was useless, and they all knew it. Kara was far from Feral House by now and had been from the moment they'd realized she was missing. The kidnappers had used a vehicle, and the Ferals not only had no idea what it looked like, but no clue where it was going. Searches on foot and by air weren't going to help, but they had to do something other than sit on their asses.

Rage burned through Fox's blood. Frustration tried to claw its way out of his flesh.

Instead, they were forced to await word from their allies, Mage and Therian alike, for a list of Mage strongholds and any sign of recent activity at any of them. But so far, no one had come up with a single fecking clue.

Fox grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and downed it in one chug.

The Ferals should have been able to sense which direction Kara had gone through their natural ability to follow radiance. In the old days, it was the only way a newly marked Feral ever found his way to Feral House, which moved often. But that sense, too, had been blocked. If not for Lyon's mating bond, which remained strong and unbroken, they might fear Kara dead.

She still lived, thank the goddess, but she was too far away to strengthen them. And in time, that would become a problem. After a couple of months without proximity to radiance, the Ferals would begin to lose their ability to shift. After two years, they'd all be dead.

If only his own useless fecking intuition would jump in and help for once. But his useless
fecking
gut had been useless fecking
silent.

Lyon tossed yet another twisted fork onto the table.

Fox refilled his glass with water, but as he lifted it to his mouth, his hand clenched too tight, shattering the glass, spraying him with water. The frustration boiling inside of him erupted, breaking the surface with his fangs and claws.

Growling, he swung toward the others, none of whom were paying him much attention. Goddess, he'd never felt so out of control.

“Where the feck is she?”

Without warning, Jag leaped at him, ripping the flesh off his shoulder with his own suddenly sprouted claws, knocking him to the ground. “You want a fight, pretty boy?” he growled around his fangs as they began beating the crap out of one another. “Me, too.”

A moment later, Lyon joined the fray. Claws ripped flesh, fangs dripped with blood.

Adrenaline roared through Fox's body, the pain drowned out by the excitement. He growled and fought and nearly laughed out loud at the sheer pleasure of releasing the pent-up frustration that had been tearing him apart.

He caught the same excited gleam in Jag's eyes. But not Lyon's. The Chief of the Ferals' anguish ran far too deep.

Lyon swung away first, turning his back on them, his shoulders hunched, his hands fisted, his claws slicing up his palms until blood ran in a steady trickle onto the floor. Without another word, he stalked out of the dining room. The rest of them watched him go.

Fox suddenly felt like shite. “My apologies,” he told the other two, his fangs and claws receding.

“No apologies necessary,” Kougar said evenly, picking up a sandwich. “New Ferals are notorious for losing control like that. I've been waiting for it to happen.”

“I'm usually even-tempered.”

“Which is why it hasn't happened sooner.
Going feral
helps us get the frustration out of our systems. Lyon's suffering goes too deep. But this was good for him. He needed an outlet.”

Jag clapped Fox on his now-healed shoulder. “You fight like a natural, pretty boy.”

Fox acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “If only we had someone to fight other than each other.” He looked at Kougar. “Is there anything the Ilinas can do to help?” Just the word
Ilinas
had his pulse lifting as thoughts of Melisande rushed through his head. Despite everything that had happened, he'd been unable to forget her for even a moment, however much he'd tried.

“Unfortunately, no. They can find one another, or their mates, but otherwise, they can only follow maps and directions, like the rest of us. Lyon's asked them to help out here. Ariana should be arriving shortly to discuss the plans with him.” His mouth tightened. “Or with Paenther.” Lyon's second.

Would Melisande accompany her queen? At the thought, Fox's pulse quickened.

The sound of shouts outside had all three of them slamming down glasses, tossing aside sandwiches, and racing for the hallway. They reached the foyer just as Paenther wrenched open the front door.

“You killed my daughter, you whoreson! You killed her!” The furious voice carried from the front drive.

Paenther strode outside, Fox and the others hard on his heels.

In the wide circular drive in front of Feral House, Tighe and Vhyper, two of the original nine Ferals, stood beside Tighe's white Land Rover, arms crossed as they watched a furious man Fox didn't know pound the shit out of Grizz, another of the seventeen who, like Lynks, had presumably been cleared of the dark magic.

As Paenther and Fox strode down the brick walk, Tighe circled the combatants to meet them.

“What's going on?” Paenther demanded, his strong Native American heritage evident in the tone of his skin, the slash of high cheekbones, and the jet-black hair.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Tighe replied. “Vhyper and I just picked up Rikkert from the airport. Grizz was crossing the driveway, heading toward the house, when we drove up. Rikkert leaped from the Rover and attacked him.”

Fox had heard that several more newly marked Ferals, more of the seventeen, had made contact and were making their way to Feral House. Rikkert must be one of them.

They watched the fight with disbelief, but none bothered to step in. Over seven feet of hard, bad-tempered bear in either form, Grizz didn't need defending, especially since a Feral who'd come into his animal power, as Grizz had, could defeat any nonshifted Therian, marked or unmarked. If Grizz wanted to end the fight, he'd end it. In a heartbeat. Fox suspected he wasn't the only one who'd like to know why the male didn't. He was taking one hell of a beating.

“That's enough,” Paenther said quietly. “We don't need anyone calling the cops again.” There were no houses bumping up against Feral House, and the vehicles blocked the sight of those on the other side of the shallow woods. But sound carried outside.

With a fist covered in tattooed eagle feathers, Rikkert continued to punch Grizz in the face, over and over, the crack of bone making Fox's stomach hurt. Rikkert had tats everywhere, covering nearly every inch of his exposed skin. Most appeared to be depictions of animals, including a snake that curled around his neck, battling a stallion. A tusk, or horn of some kind, curled out from beneath one of his ears, cutting across his cheek, its point coming to rest just beneath his eye.

Tighe and Jag waded into the fight and hauled the enraged Rikkert off the downed man.

Paenther nodded toward the house. “Get him inside.” As the two Ferals led the newest member of the team away, Paenther moved to stand over Grizz, who remained on the ground, one hand pressing against his forehead in a pose that spoke more of a pain of the heart than of the flesh. “What in the hell was that all about?”

“None of your fucking business.” Grizz rolled over and pushed himself to his seven-foot-plus height, his face still bloody, but already fully healed, and strode toward the woods that separated Feral House from the rocky cliffs that overhung the Potomac River.

As the rest of them watched him go, Paenther let out a frustrated sound. “We need a break. Just one fucking break.” He turned back to the house, and Fox and the others followed.

As they stepped into the foyer, Fox caught the scent of pine. His pulse leaped. A moment later, two women materialized at the base of the stairs. Ariana.

And Melisande.

Fox's heart skipped a beat, a sensual energy dancing over his skin as he struggled not to stare at the woman who'd been haunting his every thought for the past two days. She was dressed the same as before, in leggings and a tunic, though today's tunic was more copper in color than true brown and set off her slender curves and flawless complexion to perfection. Her mouth was flat, as if Feral House was the last place she wanted to be, her chin stubborn and hard. But her eyes found him as if she felt his presence as keenly as he felt hers. Their gazes caught. Her ripe lips parted on a shallow breath, color blooming in ivory cheeks even as those sapphire eyes filled with dismay. And frustration.

She tore her gaze away, leaving him breathless, his heart hammering in his chest. As tempted as he was to stop, to just stand near her, he forced himself to keep going, to continue across the foyer to the hallway leading to the dining room. Melisande and Ariana were here for Lyon, not for him.

He nodded as he passed the two beauties, then headed back toward the dining room and his lunch. He needed food. And a cold beer. Maybe several. But as he reached the hallway, he glanced back, unable to resist one last glimpse, and found Melisande staring after him with a hard mouth and eyes filled with confusion . . . and desire.

It was all he could do to keep going when his feet wanted to turn back and close the distance between them. Now wasn't the time to pursue the woman, he knew that. Not with Kara missing. Not with half of the new Ferals turning against them. But,
goddess,
what she did to him.

Sooner or later, she was going to be his.

M
elisande tore her gaze away from the now-empty threshold, shaking her head, stifling a groan,
hating
that she kept reacting to that male. Her pulse was pounding, her body flushed and damp, and all from merely looking at him. But, heaven help her, even with his shirt ripped and blood everywhere, he was a sight to behold with those piercing blue eyes and that fine, fine chest. At least this time he hadn't tried to flirt with her, though for a moment, his eyes had flared with heat, and she knew he was as affected by her as she was by him. Dammit.

She tried to force her attention back to the foyer and to Paenther as he spoke to Ariana, beside her, but she found herself shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, too aware of the feel of her soft tunic where it touched her skin, skimming now-taut nipples, caressing her arms and back and shoulders. What would it feel like to have Fox's hands on her instead?

The question popped unbidden into her mind, and she shoved it away with a scowl.
By the mist.

“I want Ilina eyes on Feral House at all times,” Paenther was saying. “If anyone comes near—anyone other than those who live here—I want to know about it immediately.”

Ariana nodded. “Tell me how many warriors you need, Paenther, and they'll be at your disposal.”

“Half a dozen, preferably in mist form so they won't be seen by passing humans. Is that possible?”

Ariana nodded. “Yes, if they're careful.”

“Good.”

The front door opened, sunshine pouring into the foyer as Hawke and Faith strolled in. No, she was Falkyn now, the first female Feral in centuries. Exhaustion and defeat lined both of their faces. The hopeful tension that had risen in the foyer at their appearance released in despair.

“Any news?” Hawke asked, closing the door behind him.

“None.” Paenther's voice was hard as stone.

Melisande didn't envy the Mage who'd taken the Ferals' Radiant. They wouldn't survive the Ferals' retribution. And if there was one thing she understood very, very well, it was the need for vengeance. Castin was still out there somewhere, the shifter who'd betrayed her all those years ago, leading her and seven of her Ilina sisters into a trap that would see her friends dead and her damaged beyond repair. He still lived, she could feel it in her bones, and someday their paths would cross again. And on that day, she would cut out his heart.