A Love Untamed (7 page)

“You could say that,” Zeeland said darkly. “I'm not leaving her side.”

“Ariana would never harm one of her own.” Kougar turned to Julianne. “You're one of hers, now, whether or not you choose to acknowledge the connection.”

“It's not Ariana I'm worried about,” Zee muttered.

Kougar nodded toward the other hallway. “We're meeting in the war room. I'm afraid it's a closed meeting, but you're welcome to await Ariana in the dining room. Pink will be happy to serve you refreshments.”

Before Zeeland had a chance to reply, half a dozen Ilinas materialized in the foyer, Ariana among them, along with Phylicia, Cressida, and Melisande.

Fox's gaze found her in an instant, energy and desire sliding over his skin like the soft caress of feminine fingers, sending his pulse into overdrive and the blood flowing hotly through his veins. Even with that hard warrior's expression, she was inexpressibly lovely, her features even and pure, her jaw proud, her body lithe and lovely.

Her gaze zeroed in on him, that same mix of anger, confusion, and desire swirling in sapphire eyes. But as she jerked her gaze away from his, turning it to the others, she froze. Her eyes narrowed, her hand flying to the hilt of her sword as her body tensed, as if for battle.

Fox took a step forward, driven by an inexplicable need to protect her. But Hawke put a hand on his arm, holding him back as Kougar placed himself squarely between Melisande and Zeeland.

His old friend had shoved Julianne behind him and was drawing his own knife, a low sound of fury rumbling from his throat.

Bloody hell. He'd been right about Melisande's being the one responsible for the deaths of Julianne's parents. And Kougar had clearly anticipated the confrontation.

“Put the knife away, Zeeland,” Kougar said calmly.

“You defend her?” Zeeland demanded.

Melisande stepped to the side, where she could see Zeeland, no remorse in her expression. Instead, she wore a hard look that said,
bring it on.
But as Fox watched her, something happened. Chaos flared in the cold depths of her eyes, and she swayed ever so slightly, her skin turning pale as new snow. With a hard breath, she seemed to gather her wits, her shields slamming down until nothing showed but that cold warrior's façade.

It all happened so quickly, he wondered if he'd imagined it. But she was still pale. And if he were to touch her, if she were ever to allow that, he knew he'd feel tremors rippling through her slender form.

As Ariana stepped close to Melisande's side, Kougar crossed his arms and faced Zeeland fully. “Melisande is no danger to you or your mate, Zeeland. Unless you attack her. And then, if you survive, you'll answer to me.”

Zeeland's disappointment in Kougar's position was patently obvious, but he was a soldier first. He sheathed his knife, but his expression made it clear that Melisande had better keep her distance, or he would happily cut out her heart.

At Ariana's touch of her arm, Melisande slowly sheathed her own blade and didn't look any happier about doing so than Zeeland had. As Fox watched her, she glanced at him, and in those glorious, sapphire eyes, for the breadth of a heartbeat, emotion flared once more. Accusation. Disbelief. Fear.

Why?

The woman baffled him. It was as if she wanted the world to think her a cold-blooded killer. But the fact that Kougar defended her told him it was just a façade. There was more to the story, more to
her.
Much more.

Every time he saw her, he became more intrigued. She stirred his most basic instincts—to possess, to protect. And he became more and more convinced it would take a concerted effort to break through those walls of hers. But he had all the time in the world.

He hoped.

M
elisande strode down the hallway to the war room beside Ariana. Her chin was high, her back straight even if she could feel Zeeland's gaze like a dagger in her spine.

She was shaking.

Stars in heaven.
As she'd faced Zeeland's fury, as she'd met the hatred in Julianne's eyes, for one horrible moment, emotions she'd thought long dead rushed up, threatening to strangle her. Sorrow, regret. She'd fought them back, and they'd slunk away as quickly as they'd appeared, but they had not closed the door behind them. Even now, she could feel them swirling inside her like sharks beneath the ice. Awakening. And it could not be borne.

The stirrings of desire for the Greek god were bad enough. But she would not feel remorse for something she had no reason to regret. She refused. For centuries, she'd kept her eye on Julianne's mother, the only half-Ilina in existence, hoping she'd never turn to mist and learn of her true nature. But she had, and Melisande had revealed herself to her, warning her never to tell another soul. Ever. The survival of the entire Ilina race depended upon it. But the woman had ignored her, spilling her secret to a lover. And Melisande had had no choice but to silence them both.

Like mother, like daughter, Julianne had done the same, revealing her secret to Zeeland. If not for Kougar's interference, they too would have lived out their last few days in the Crystal Realm.

She refused to feel guilt for that.
Refused.

And she wouldn't feel guilt, she wouldn't feel
anything
if not for Fox, damn him. If only she hadn't tried to blast him. Something had happened when the pleasure she'd inadvertently thrown at him rebounded on her. The part of her that had been locked so firmly away for centuries was beginning to push free again. Her breath caught, a sick knot forming in her stomach as everything she'd worked for, everything she was, threatened to slip through her fingers.

She would not let it happen.

It was all the fault of that damned golden shifter. Even now, even without looking, she knew exactly where he was. As the small procession strode to the war room, he followed behind Kougar, Wulfe at his side. She felt him, his energy like a beacon, calling to her.

They filed into the war room, the Ferals with wives taking seats at the table beside their mates, the others standing against the walls of the room. Melisande stood at the back of the room with three of her sisters, her arms crossed tight against her chest in an effort to still the faint trembling that wouldn't stop.

The room filled quickly, the scent of hard male bodies teasing her nose, reminding her of the carnal longings that had once been a constant part of her life. Now it was only one male who claimed her attention. Her gaze slid to where Fox stood against the adjoining wall beside Wulfe. And Phylicia.

An unexpected burst of anger flared inside of her, startling her as much as it dismayed.
Jealousy.
This was a day for lows. And Phylicia didn't deserve it. One of the youngest of her sisters, Phylicia had spent most of her life hiding in the Crystal Realm, forbidden the pleasures of males and sex for fear the truth of their extinction . . . or lack thereof . . . would leak to the Mage who were trying to destroy them.

Melisande crossed her arms tighter, setting her jaw as she reminded herself that she should encourage Phylicia to bed Fox. With the shifter's attention turned elsewhere, perhaps this unholy connection between them would finally break. All would go back to the way it was before.

Which was all she wanted.
All
she wanted.

Paenther began to speak, drawing all eyes toward the front of the room. “We have a lead, thanks to Fox and his intuition.”

The Greek God smiled faintly and gave a nod. But his gaze slid to her as if, in this crowded room, she was the only one he saw. Not Phylicia fawning beside him, not his brothers or their wives. Her.

As their gazes locked, her pulse tripped, heat flushing her cheeks. She tried to pull her gaze away and couldn't.

“Fox suggested we investigate a link with West Virginia,” Paenther continued, drawing the gazes front again, including Fox's.

With a trembling breath, Melisande looked toward the windows and tried to rally her defenses. Maybe she really was going to have to give up her role as Ariana's second and put as much distance between her and that shifter as she could manage. Every time she was near him . . .

She felt them, the whispers of the emotions of the others, startling her and chilling her to the bone. Her eyes widened.

No, no, no.

Frustration, desperation, hope slid around her like swirls of smoke. Not her emotion. Theirs.

Something she'd not felt in centuries, not since Castin's treachery. Long ago, she'd been a different person, gifted with the ability to sense the emotions of others and ease their torment. A Ceraph, they'd called her, touched by the grace of the goddess herself. She'd been no warrior then, gentle and kind, unable and unwilling to kill. But Castin had changed all that, changed her, when he betrayed her, handing her over to his clan to be raped and tortured mercilessly in a bid for a power she'd had no ability to give them. They'd all but destroyed her, taking everything she was, leaving a coldhearted, vengeance-driven warrior in her place.

And now another shifter, Fox, was threatening to shatter that woman, too.

Paenther's voice filled the room. “In following up on our two missing new Ferals, I discovered that one of them, Estevan, called home last night. We've traced the cell signal to West Virginia, not far from Elkins. I called my Mage contact and learned that it's long been rumored that Inir once had a stronghold in the Allegheny Mountains near Elkins. Twenty minutes ago, one of his men stumbled upon an abandoned pickup with Canadian tags on the mountain where the stronghold is rumored to have been. We've run the tags. The truck belongs to the second of our missing Ferals and is only five miles from where Estevan made that call.”

Silence hung over the room as all absorbed the information.

Kougar stroked his goatee. “If the new Ferals are being drawn to that mountain, Inir is there. And probably Kara. Inir will demand she bring the new Ferals into their animals.”

The Ferals exchanged angry, worried glances as Paenther continued. “My Mage contact warned me that if this is indeed Inir's stronghold, we'll be up against powerful magic. We've seen strong warding before, the kind that will confuse and confound until the trespasser doesn't know where he is, let alone where the Mage stronghold lies. The warding on this mountain may be a hundred times worse, especially if it contains Daemon magic. There are rumors of people . . . Mage . . . disappearing, never to be seen again. We have to be prepared for anything.”

“We're getting Kara back,” Jag growled.

Rough sounds of agreement peppered the room.

Melisande felt the flare of their resolve, and her own. Theirs to find their Radiant, hers to get as far away from Fox and the destruction he would wreak on her life as quickly as possible. Ariana was going to have to choose another second.

The thought of losing her position, her place, was like a blow. But the prospect of losing herself was far, far worse.

“We'll be sending three teams out there ASAP,” Paenther said. “Hawke and Falkyn, you'll do aerial reconnaissance and grid the search to try to minimize the warding's confusion. Jag, you'll lead the second team, with Fox and Olivia. Lyon will lead the third, with Kougar and Wulfe.”

“Where is the king of the beasts?” Jag asked. “Shouldn't he be here?”

Paenther shook his head. “He's already out there. The moment I told him what I'd learned, he called for Ilina transport and was gone.”

Wulfe grunted. “He could walk into a trap.”

“I sent four maidens with him,” Ariana told them. “If there's trouble, they'll get him out of there quickly, whether he wants to leave or not.”

Paenther turned to Ariana. “I'd like for two of your mist warriors to remain with each of the ground teams.”

“Of course.” Ariana's gaze caught Melisande's. “Mel will oversee the troop assignments.”

Melisande nodded. Oversee the assignments, yes. Accompany the Ferals? Not a chance.

“Hawke.”

At Paenther's prompt, Hawke opened the laptop in front of him and began tapping the keys.

Phylicia disappeared from Fox's side, misting beside Melisande a moment later, bending close to her ear. “Put me with Fox's team.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Melisande caught a glimpse of photographs filling the screen.

“These are our two missing Ferals,” Paenther told them.

“I want him,” Phylicia whispered.

Melisande's jaw tightened, but she nodded, glancing at Phylicia. “All right.”

“The one on the left is Estevan,” Paenther continued. “The other is Castin.”

Melisande jerked at the name, one she hadn't heard in centuries. Her gaze swung to the front, and she saw the pictures fully. Time stopped as she stared at the dark-haired visage of her betrayer. The air froze in her lungs. Her vision began to waver.

Castin.
Hatred flared up, a blazing inferno that ripped across the surface of her mind. Her head pounded, her face turned hot then cold as she remembered that night as if it were hours ago and not centuries.
Castin.
The only one she'd never found, the only one she'd never made pay for what he'd done to her and her sisters.

“Are you all right?” Phylicia asked quietly.

Stars in heaven.
She fought to breathe, to corral her reaction. “Yes.” But echoes of ancient screams tore through her head until she could barely hear herself think.

One thought broke through, crystal clear. This was the answer she'd been searching for, the certain means of locking away her emotions and her awakening softer self once and for all. Secure the vengeance she'd sought for so very long.

Castin must die, and before his first shift, because once he acquired the power of his animal, he'd be almost impossible to kill. She had to find him before the Feral teams searching for him did. Which meant she was going to have to accompany them.