A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(11)

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 f**king 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 f**king 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.