A Love Untamed (9 page)

Very well.
He sighed dramatically.
You wound me, pet. My heart may never heal.
Once again, the fox paused to look back at her, laughing. Then his mouth snapped closed and he eyed her with an intensity that told her he hadn't given up. Not at all.

And she groaned.

He wouldn't succeed. Certainly not in any way he was hoping to. But he scared her all the same. Because he stirred things inside her that had lain dormant for so long, she'd thought them gone forever.

Things that could, if she wasn't careful, destroy her.

“W
ant to tell me what's going on?” Lepard asked after they'd left the Washington, D.C., suburbs far behind.

Grizz's hands tightened on the steering wheel of an old Toyota sedan he'd appropriated in Leesburg. He'd never been particularly strong at mind control, but the attempt had worked well enough. The Toyota owner now believed he was the owner of a Ford Escape. The Ferals wouldn't be able to track them via the vehicle. Not right away, at any rate.

“I overheard them talking,” he told his companion, surprised Lepard had been content to wait this long before demanding an explanation for their sudden flight from Feral House. “All the newly marked Ferals are either the best of our lines or the worst. There were no accidents. Since the originals have no way of knowing for certain which is which, they've decided to imprison us all. Once they have all seventeen of us accounted for, they'll kill us and start over.”

Silence.
“Hell.”

“Our replacements should, theoretically, be free of the dark infection. They should all be the best of the line.”

“So we're just running away?”

Grizz admired the thread of disgust he heard in Lepard's voice. “You have a better idea?”

The snow leopard shifter ran a hand through short, snow-white hair. “There's got to be a way to figure this out.”

“I agree.”

Lepard turned to him, his eyes sharpening. “You have a plan. We're
not
just running.”

“We're not just running, no. But I'm not sure it's much of a plan.”

Lepard sank back against his seat. “At least it's something. Of course, the fact that we've run is going to be damning in the Ferals' eyes.”

“We can't be of any help in their prison.”

“So where are we going?”

“Amarillo.”

“Texas?”

“I need to talk to someone. If anyone knows of a way out of this, it's him.”

“You couldn't use a phone?”

Grizz didn't answer. There was no use trying to explain his relationship with the Indian he needed to talk to.

After a few minutes, Lepard said, “You trust me. At least you must not think that I'm the worst of my line. Why?”

“Just a hunch. I saw your eyes when you were under the thrall of the darkness. You were fighting it. You let the Ferals capture you.”

“I did. You did the same.” Lepard frowned. “But I heard that Rikkert accused you of murder.”

“He did.” Rikkert. He wondered idly which animal had marked the male and if they'd ever know.

“What's that about?” Lepard persisted.

The old ache pulsed painfully. “I killed his daughter. And his grandson.”

Silence. Lepard's eyes narrowed on him. “You say that so matter-of-factly. But your hands are about to snap that steering wheel into fragments. You didn't mean to.”

Mean to? He'd sell his soul if he thought it would bring them back. “No. The boy was mine. But they're just as dead.”

F
ox followed Jag, keeping his animal ears open for sound of trouble, or Mage, and his nose down for the scent of the one they tracked. But his man's mind remained firmly on Melisande. He longed to strip that neat little mist-warrior uniform off her and unbraid that tight plait of pale hair. In his mind's eye, he could see her lying in the grass, graceful limbs in casual abandon, her hair fanned out around her like a silken curtain as he licked her from head to toe.

He longed to touch her, to kiss her, to make wild love to her. But beyond that? With most females, there was no “beyond that.” They wanted him for his beauty and his body, and he wanted them for the same. Period. End of story. But with Melisande, he wanted more. She tugged at him in all kinds of ways he didn't understand. He wanted . . . to talk to her. To know her. To understand her. To make her smile.

And he felt this need to protect her because there was something wrong. He sensed a vulnerability in her that he hadn't seen the first time he met her. Something . . . wounded.

It was an odd thought to have about a female so hard and sharp that her every word, every glare, cut. But he'd seen confusion in her eyes and glimmers of fear. And he didn't like it, not at all.

He wanted to understand, especially if he was somehow at fault. And then he wanted to make it right. She fascinated and confused him, infuriated and excited him almost in the same breath. He wanted to kiss her until she smiled at him with damp, swollen lips and watched him with eyes drunk with passion.

And then he'd send her on her way. Because he'd be damned if he wanted more.

On four feet, he followed Jag onto an outcropping of rocks overhanging a wide, if shallow, creek a half dozen feet below. Jag padded across the rocks, then turned to continue up, away from the creek, Olivia walking at his side.

Fox hesitated, looking down at the creek, wondering where the desire came from that had him wanting to leap down into the water. It wasn't a gut thing. He felt no goose bumps, or shivers, for that matter. Just . . . a tug. Odd. Perhaps it had something to do with his fox. Did foxes like the water? He wouldn't have thought so, but maybe his did. With a mental shrug, he followed Jag.

It was strange and amazing being both man and animal like this, and for the hundredth time, he marveled at his changed existence. He marveled at the thought that at one time all Therians had been shifters. How awful it must have been to lose that ability after the Sacrifice all those millennia ago. For him this was still brand-new. The other Ferals had told him that it would take some time for the man and animal to get used to one another and to learn to work together. They'd warned him about a lot of things and informed him that he'd probably develop one or two abilities that he hadn't had before. Lyon was said to be able to steal the emotions of another, particularly a human. Tighe was good at clearing the mind of a human who'd seen things he shouldn't have. And they'd hinted that Jag could do something with his hands, something the females enjoyed. He wasn't about to ask for an explanation of that one. Apparently sometimes these gifts were new, sometimes just a deepening of talents the Feral already possessed.

So far the only thing he'd seen new was that premonition. And it was bothering him. A lot.

How you doing, Foxylocks? Why don't you walk on two feet for a while, take a break?

I'm fine, Jagabelle, but thanks for the concern.

Yeah, well I wasn't really asking, Fox-man. Maintaining the shift can be taxing for a new Feral, and the last thing we need is for you to do a face plant from exhaustion just as we cross a traveling party of Mage.

That would be poor strategy, wouldn't it?

Jag chuckled in his head.
Yes it would. Besides, Castin's trail is clear and easy to follow. There's no need for us both to stay in animal form. We'll take turns from here on out
.

Since you put it that way . . .

The change flowed over Fox in a heady torrent and a rush of relief. He hadn't realized how much effort he'd been putting into holding the shift until he stopped. But the moment he was a man again, Melisande's sensual energy rushed over his flesh, heating his blood.

He longed to walk straight to her, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she melted. And he might have considered it if he didn't suspect he'd get a knife in the gut for his efforts. He might do it even then if he didn't sense that odd note of vulnerability in her. Despite the tartness of her words and the coolness of her gaze, he felt the need to treat her carefully. Something told him that she was not a woman to be seduced, but instead slowly and carefully gentled. Which was an extraordinary thought given her indisputable strength.

But his instincts with females were usually dead-on.

Olivia patted his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He smiled at his old friend, throwing his arm around her shoulders and hauling her close for a quick hug. “Jagabelle suggested I take a break and two-foot it for a bit.”

She snorted. “You two amuse me.” But there was a sadness in her eyes that tugged at him.

“What's the matter, Olivia?”

Her red hair gleamed in the sunlight, but her eyes suddenly turned bright with unshed tears. “Kara. I'm so worried about her.”

“We all are.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You've become close friends, haven't you?” He'd known Olivia for more than a century and knew her well.

“More than friends. The Feral wives . . .” She shook her head. “We've become sisters. That sounds silly, I know, but it's true. I love her, Fox.
They can't have her.
”

“We'll get her back.” And they would. The need burned inside of him as it did all the Ferals.

He glanced over his shoulder at the two Ilinas walking close behind, unable to ignore Melisande even if he wanted to. She glared at him, but the glare didn't quite reach her eyes. Was it possible she was beginning to soften toward him?

Olivia caught the glance back. “Determined to tame that tornado, are you?”

“I'm not sure
tame
is the right word. To be truthful, luv, I'm not sure what I'm doing. I just can't seem to look away for long.”

“Smitten,” Olivia whispered.

“Never,” he whispered back.

With a smile and a shake of her head, she pulled away. Catching up with Jag, she slid her hand along her mate's spotted tail, running her fingers through his fur.

Fox watched, filled once more with the desire to know the feel of Melisande's fingers in his own fur. He paused long enough for the two Ilinas to catch up with him, then fell into step beside them.

“And how are you ladies holding up?” he asked, even as his gaze scanned the surrounding vistas, searching for signs of Mage. Or Castin. Or Kara. His warrior's instincts were so well honed he didn't even have to consciously pay attention. He was always aware of what was going on around him. Always. Regardless of whether or not there was a female in his company he badly wanted to bed.

Phylicia slipped her arm in his, her long, black hair brushing his hip. “You've no idea how wonderful it is to be able to walk the Earth freely again. We were trapped in the Crystal Realm, hiding for so long that I thought we'd never be free.”

“You've a lot to make up for.”

She cut him a seductive look. “I do indeed.” Her mouth tilted attractively. “You know, if we were to take a little break, I could mist you right back to your companions the moment we were through.”

“Phylicia . . .” Mel warned.

Did she really think he'd abandon Jag? “A tempting offer, pretty one.”

Phylicia beamed at him.

“But my duty is here. Kara comes first.”

She smiled, the heat never leaving her eyes. “I'm here whenever you have time, warrior.”

“Speaking of Kara,” Melisande said coolly. “Go check on the other team, Phylicia. I want to know if they've found anything.”

Phylicia rolled her eyes and, a moment later, disappeared.

Fox eyed Melisande wryly. “Jealous, pet?”

She huffed. “Hardly. She's distracting you. And Kara doesn't deserve that.”

They needn't worry. He'd miss nothing. But he leaned toward her, his voice a whisper. “You distract me far more. You distract me just by breathing.”

With fascination, he watched her cheeks pinken. No, she wasn't immune to him, not at all, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.

“Then I'll go.”

He grabbed her arm. “Don't.” At the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips, attraction spiked, slamming him with need.

Melisande gasped, her eyes leaping with heat and dismay, and dashed through with wisps of fear.

Fox snatched his hand back. “I'm sorry.”

She glared at him, her eyes once more cool, her jaw hard. But, to his relief, she didn't stalk . . . or mist . . . away. Her expression turned to one of long suffering. “I can't leave even if I wanted to. Not with Phylicia gone.”

Wisely, he didn't comment, pleased that she deigned to walk beside him. It was the first time they'd walked together, the first time he'd gotten close to her for more than a moment or two. It surprised him how natural it felt. The scent of wild heather wrapped around him,
her
scent, enveloping him in a sensuous fog of want that had his hands clenching at his sides from the desire to touch her again.

Deep inside, his fox snarled as if he disagreed, as if he didn't like her so close. As if he didn't like her at all, contrary animal.

She was so small compared to him, stirring his protective instincts even as he laughed silently, knowing what her reaction would be if he told her so. Pound for pound, she just might be the fiercest person he knew. But, goddess, she was all female, her stride confident and graceful, her features beautifully delicate. He loved the curve of her jaw and the slender beauty of her throat, the skin satin smooth. How he would love to press his mouth against the hollow at its base, to taste the warmth of her flesh and feel her beating heart beneath his lips.

Unfortunately, not only her body language, but that sense he had that he needed to be careful with her precluded any overt action on his part. Even though he was certain that she felt the sensuous energy that leaped between them as strongly as he did.