A Love Untamed
Page 3

Instead, exquisite sexual pleasure rushed through his body on a blast so strong, so pure, that he nearly came right there in the middle of the hallway. On a groan, he arched his back, his eyes dropping closed as the pleasure roared through him, wave after wave of pure ecstasy.
When he could move again, his eyes snapped open, and he straightened to find the most fascinating woman he’d ever met staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief, her mouth forming a horrified O.
A grin spread slowly across his face, his gaze locking with hers. The next time he felt that kind of rapture in her presence, he’d be deep inside of her, and she’d be screaming her release right along with him.
Go to hell shimmered in Melisande’s eyes as if she’d heard his silent promise, her mouth snapping closed, once more tightening into a hard line. With a low growl of fury, the beauty disappeared, misting away.
Fox began to laugh.
“What did you do to her?” Kougar asked, clearly puzzled.
Fox shook his head. “I’ve no bloody idea.”
“Watch your step,” Ariana warned softly. “Melisande is a good person, but she has a violent and justified hatred of Therians. While she’s obligated to honor my alliance with the Ferals, she’s unpredictable. She won’t try to kill you. But that’s about all I can guarantee. And if you hurt her, even that’s off the table.”
“Point taken.” But the grin hovered at the edges of his mouth, the pleasure still coursing through his body. He had no intention of hurting her. Not at all. What he had in mind would have her arching with as much pleasure as she’d just given him. And more. Far more.
As Ariana left to speak to the Shaman, Lyon and Kara strode down the hallway toward them. Lyon caressed his mate’s hair. “Are you up to it?”
“Of course.” Kara smiled, gazing up at her mate with adoration. In the short time he’d been at Feral House, Fox had come to realize that the love between the Ferals’ chief and their Radiant was the beating heart of the house and the bedrock that held them all together regardless of what crisis they found themselves in. And they’d faced one crisis after another since his arrival.
Kara turned front again, catching Fox watching them. She smiled at him sweetly, a woman impossible not to adore. In her jeans and bare feet, she exuded a girl-next-door wholesomeness at odds with her role as the most powerful of the nonshifting Therians. In some ways, she was more powerful even than the shifters, for without her, within a couple of months, they’d begin to lose the power of their animals.
“Radiance,” Lyon said, squeezing his mate’s shoulder gently.
Though it wasn’t necessary to take a shot of radiance directly from the source—Kara empowered them through proximity—none of them ever turned down an invitation for that pure energy rush.
As Kara held her hands out at her sides, Kougar stepped forward and curled his fingers around one slender wrist, a smile for her in his eyes. Hawke tugged on her ponytail like a fond older brother, then wrapped his hand around her other wrist. As Lyon slid his hand beneath Kara’s ponytail, pressing his palm against the back of her neck in a gesture at once possessive and tender, Fox stepped forward to kneel at her feet, slipping his hand around one bare ankle.
“Little Radiant,” Lyon said softly, and, a moment later, Kara lit up, her skin glowing brightly enough to light a darkened room. Going radiant, they called it.
Warm, lush energy rushed through Fox’s body—the Earth’s energy, the lifeblood of a Feral Warrior, channeled through the golden armband that had appeared during his first shift.
But it was the rush of a different energy, one of pure rapture that he couldn’t get out of his mind. Nor could he think of anything but the sapphire-eyed beauty who’d delivered it. And how he was going to coax her into his bed.
Melisande stormed down the Grand Corridor of the Ilinas palace in the Crystal Realm, grabbing an ancient vase off its pedestal and smashing it on the emerald floor with a roar of fury that set the chandeliers to swaying, the torches on the crystal walls to flickering, and the few Ilina sisters who’d been keeping a wary eye on her fleeing in mist.
“Dammit!”
Even now, far from Feral House, that shifter’s face swam in her mind.
Fox.
She’d noticed him the moment she’d misted into Feral House at Ariana’s side, though what female with eyes in her head wouldn’t have? The male was appallingly good-looking, a Greek god with golden waves of hair falling to broad shoulders framing a face of true perfection—high cheekbones, a straight patrician nose, a strong, chiseled jaw, and eyes the blue of a summer sky. Dressed in black military pants and an army green tee, he’d looked like the warrior he undoubtedly was. And, oh, that T-shirt had fit him well, pulling snuggly across his chest and arms, setting off his muscular form to true perfection. Around one thick biceps had curled the golden Feral armband with the head of a fox.
She’d found herself staring at him, unable to look away. That she’d noticed him annoyed her. That he’d caught her staring at him infuriated her. But the worst . . . the very worst . . . was that when their gazes met, she’d felt awareness . . . awareness . . . for the first time in forever. Her cheeks had heated, her breath had scattered, her pulse had raced and had yet to calm.
The remnants of a Ming vase crunched under her heels as she paced, fury vibrating through every pore of her body, making her hands clench and unclench at her sides.
The damned Feral had noticed her reaction to him and acted upon it, flirting with her like she was a normal, sex-starved Ilina. She’d meant to show him exactly what she thought of him. He should have felt pain. Pain. Instead, he’d felt pleasure, arching as if he were in the throes of orgasm.
The breath caught in her lungs, and she sank back against the nearest wall, one hand curved protectively around her stomach, the other palming her forehead. She was still there moments later, her mind reeling, when her queen and friend materialized at her side.
Ariana touched her shoulder. “What happened down there, Mel?” she asked worriedly.
Melisande glared at her. “I’m going to kill him.” At Ariana’s raised eyebrow, Melisande rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to kill him. But I want to. You have no idea how much I want to.”
Ariana studied her. “He’s the one, isn’t he? The one you can’t intentionally harm. The one suited to be your mate.”
Melisande started to laugh, then choked instead, pushing away from the wall. “Never. I want no male. Especially not a shifter.” She’d hated the shifters for so long, both the Feral Warriors who were able to access the power of their animals and the nonshifting Therians. They were all shifters to her. All equally vile.
Well, maybe not vile. Not all of them. As much as she hated to admit it, the current batch of Ferals appeared to be honorable enough. The nine originals, at least. Ariana certainly thought so. And she couldn’t deny they were fighting to keep Satanan and his Daemon horde from rising again, which any creature of the world appreciated.
But that didn’t alter the fact that her history with shifters was a bad one. She’d spent most of her life hating them. Now, her traitorous body wanted one of them. She dug her fingers into her scalp and met Ariana’s sympathetic gaze.
“I don’t want to feel this way.”
Ariana’s eyes widened. “You want him.”
“No. Yes.” Heaven help her. For centuries, thanks to a traitorous shifter and his horrid clan, she’d been unable to bear a man’s touch. The thought of it still filled her with dread. But her body had somehow awakened again despite that. And it wanted.
She shook her head, eyeing her friend helplessly. “When I blasted Fox . . . the pleasure he felt . . . I felt it, too.” Not like he had, not . . . orgasmic. But even now, tendrils of heat swam through her blood, dampening her in secret places.
“I don’t want this!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, gripping her head because, even as her body ached, her mind reeled with horror at the thought of lying with a man again. Memories she’d locked down for so long were beginning to stir, memories of soul-destroying betrayal, and of soul-stealing pain.
“Why now?” she cried. “Why a shifter? Why him?”
“Mel . . . I’m sorry.”
None of this would have happened if Ariana hadn’t found Kougar again, if she hadn’t married him, forcing the Ilinas and the Feral Warriors into this unholy alliance, and the thought hung thickly in the air between them, unspoken.
“Is there anything I can do?” Ariana asked quietly.
Melisande met her friend’s gaze. “Leave Kougar and forbid us from ever going near the Ferals again.”
A glint of dark humor gleamed in Ariana’s eyes. “Other than that.” Ariana stepped closer, her eyes soft and serious. “Mel, if you need to step down from your post for a while, I completely understand.”
“No.” The word shot from Melisande’s mouth before her brain fully processed the ramifications of Ariana’s offer.
“Think about it,” Ariana said kindly, then misted away, leaving Melisande standing among the wreckage of the shattered vase and the remnants of her own hard-won equilibrium.
With a groan, she leaned back against the nearest wall, closing her eyes, forcing herself to consider her options. Because stepping down from her post as Ariana’s second-in-command would mean no longer having to go anywhere near Feral House. Or the far-too-disturbing Fox.
But there was no real choice, she knew that. She was by far the strongest of Ariana’s warriors, by far the best able to protect her queen and her race. Ironically, the only one she trusted as much was Kougar. He would give up his life for his mate and had nearly done so not long ago.
But with the Mage determined to free the Daemons back into the world, none of them could be too careful. Melisande sighed. She had no choice, not really. Dodging Feral House, and Fox, meant dodging her responsibilities, and that was something she would never do.
Perhaps if she ignored the too-handsome shifter, he’d go away. She snorted. After she’d nearly driven him to sexual release with a flick of her hand? Not likely. He knew she hadn’t meant for that to happen. Worse, he knew she’d been affected as well. The knowledge had gleamed plain as day in the predatory look in his eyes.
No, he wasn’t likely to lose interest anytime soon. The male was bent on seduction. And her defenses were badly shaken.
One day ago
Kara sat on the floor of Skye and Paenther’s bedroom, playing with Skye’s pets, smiling at the antics of the black miniature schnauzer, Lady, and the tabby kitten, Tramp, as they simultaneously attacked a vicious chew toy. She was glad for the distraction.
Skye stood at the window, worry drifting off her in waves, a worry Kara shared, though not to the same razor-sharp degree. Skye’s mate, Paenther, was in Poland, having led the team sent to battle the evil Ferals and to stop the ritual they’d begun that appeared designed to empower the High Daemon Satanan. Lyon remained at Feral House with a handful of men and all the Ferals’ mates. Feral House had to be protected. But those left behind paced. And worried.
Skye gasped. “Kara . . .”
“What’s the matter?” Dear God, if Skye had felt her mating bond break . . .
“Come here. Quick.”
Kara jumped up and ran to join Skye at the window. Peering out, she saw movement beyond the trees. Vehicles. Men leaping out in dark clothing.
“Police,” Kara gasped. “A SWAT team by the looks of it. Oh, this can’t be good.” She raced for the door, flung it open, and ran. “Lyon!”
Her mate was halfway up the first flight of stairs before she reached the top step. He was so beautiful, her Lyon, so powerful and regal and sweet. “Cops. A SWAT team. I think they’re coming here.”
“Foyer, now!” he shouted. The Ferals all possessed far stronger hearing than humans, or even the nonshifting Therians. But if his nearby warriors didn’t respond right away, he could contact them in an instant by shifting into his lion and calling to them telepathically.
Lyon held out his hand for her as she raced down the stairs to join him. But when she reached him, he pulled her close, kissed her hair, then said, “Stay here.” As he strode into the living room to peer out the front window, Skye joined her.
Not ten seconds later, Tighe, Jag, and Jag’s mate, Olivia, came running. Lynks appeared at the top of the stairs and started down at a more sedate pace. One of the two new Ferals who’d been cleared of the dark magic, Lynks was now a full-fledged member of the Feral team even if Lyon had admitted to her in private that the man was too soft to have ever been the one meant to be marked.
“We have trouble,” Lyon told them, striding from the living room. “There’s a human SWAT team surrounding the house.”
In an instant, in a spray of colored lights, Tighe shifted into a fifteen-foot Bengal tiger, undoubtedly to speak to his pregnant mate, Delaney, who was napping upstairs. Ex-FBI, she was believed dead by her human colleagues. It wouldn’t do for them to find her alive and well . . . and immortal. Nor could they find Xavier, their cook’s assistant for whom the humans had been searching for weeks, or their cook, Pink, who could never pass for human.
Lyon’s thoughts were clearly running parallel to Kara’s own. His gaze caressed her with that uberprotectiveness that both warmed her and sometimes drove her nuts. “Get the wives, Pink, and Xavier to the deep basement, my heart.” His gaze swung to Olivia. “You’ll accompany me outside, pretend to be my wife. If the situation gets out of hand, weaken them.”
Olivia was not only a warrior who’d fought with the Therian Guard for centuries, but she possessed the rare ability of being able to suck the life force from others. And she had the control to drain just enough of an opponent’s energy to weaken and not kill.