A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(16)

“We’ve come to relieve the watch,” Cressida explained. “But we’re early.” She eyed him as hungrily as Phylicia did, moving to his other side. “Phyl said you were delicious.”

“Are you busy, warrior?” Phylicia purred, running a finger just inside the waistband of his pants. Perfume burst around him, like a garden in full summer glory. The famed Ilina mating scent? Intoxicating. And yet . . .

“I was just heading up to take a shower.”

Their laughter enveloped him, sliding over him like soft hands. “We’ll join you.”

Every masculine instinct he possessed urged him to agree. They were absolutely lovely and hungry for sex. But for a reason he didn’t understand, he was not. Now, if one of them had been Melisande . . .

Paenther strolled into the foyer, his gaze slamming into Fox’s as a smile lit the dark warrior’s eyes. “That gut of yours is gold.”

Fox looked at him in surprise.

Paenther nodded with a gleam of excitement. “We’ve got our first good lead. War room in fifteen minutes.”

As Paenther continued through the foyer, Fox gave the lovelies each a brief squeeze, then stepped away from them. “I’m sorry, ladies. Perhaps later.”

Without a backward glance, he turned and took the stairs two at a time, his mood buoyant. As he strode down the hallway toward his bedroom, relief flowed through him warmly, pride straightening his spine. He’d given them their first lead in finding Kara. And a good one. Hot damn.

He stripped as he crossed his bedroom, then stepped into the shower in the adjoining private bathroom before the water switched from cold to warm, not about to be late for that meeting.

As he dunked his head under the cool spray, he let the grin loose. Maybe he and his gut could make a difference after all. But as he reached for the soap, his brain exploded, his vision going black. Feck! He reached out blindly, his palm slapping against the tile wall to keep himself from going down.

And just as suddenly, he could see again. Except . . . what he was seeing wasn’t real. At least it sure as hell wasn’t in his shower. It wasn’t even clear, more like watching an old photograph come to life. A movie in sepia tones. A movie he was part of.

He was chained standing up, the rock rough against his bare back, the steel manacles cold against his wrists and ankles. Inside, he felt a deep, pounding . . . misery. A misery that turned to fury as a man walked into the unfinished, stone room.

The male was dressed in the blood red robe of the Mage elemental. Good goddess, was this the famed Inir? The man hardly looked the part of one of the most dangerous immortals on the planet, not with his unimpressive stature and round face, not until Fox looked into his eyes, eyes of pure copper. Eyes that gleamed with cold, soulless malice.

“The fox shifter,” the Mage said, his voice as cold as his eyes. “We meet at last. I’ve been hunting you for some time, did you know that?” He smiled a smile of pure evil. “Now you’re mine. And soon . . .”

The sound dissipated moments before the vision faded to black. Fox found himself once more staring at the water running in rivulets down the shower tile.

His heart pounded. Holy hell. He’d never experienced anything like that in his life. Never. Then again, he’d been warned that new Ferals often acquired new abilities.

He dunked his head under the now-warm water. A premonition? Was that what that was? Had he just intuited his own captivity? Mage captivity?

Bloody fecking hell.

This was one foresight he had to make damn sure did not come true.

Fox strode downstairs, still shaken from his premonition in the shower, to find a tense, tight little gathering in the foyer.

“It was at least a couple of hours ago,” Delaney said. Tighe stood beside her, his arm around her shoulders, as Jag, Hawke, and Kougar listened close. “Grizz wanted to know where Lyon was, and I told him I’d heard voices in his office.”

Oh feck.

Jag groaned. “If he overheard our plan . . .”

Tighe glanced at Fox as he joined them and filled him in. “Grizz and Lepard are missing, along with the Ford Escape.”

Fox grimaced. “We don’t need those two on the loose with that kind of knowledge.”

“Do we just let them go?” Jag asked.

Kougar nodded. “For now.” He turned to Jag. “Rikkert is in his room. Escort him downstairs and lock him up, then meet us in the war room.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Tighe said. He kissed his mate and started up the stairs after Jag.

Kougar’s gaze moved between the two remaining warriors. “We’ve got another new Feral flying in tonight. Two others are past due. When they arrive, take their phones and escort them downstairs.”

“Not much of a welcome,” Hawke muttered.

Kougar shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

The doorbell rang. Kougar and Fox exchanged a wary look, but Hawke’s face lit up. “That’ll be Zeeland. He called to say he and Julianne would be stopping by.”

“Yeah?” Fox was pleased. One of the nonshifting Therians, Zeeland was a member of the British Therian Guard, of which Fox had been a part for decades.

Hawke opened the door, and Fox’s old friend stepped into the foyer, accompanied by a small, attractive brunette with turquoise eyes almost as bright as an Ilina’s.