A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(44)

Even with the mountain f**king with them.

I sense one of mine.

Shit. The voices were back.

That’s not possible. The Ferals killed them all.

Not one of those. This is different. Blood calls to blood.

The voices faded away, the same pair he’d heard before, leaving Wulfe more perplexed than ever. And far more disturbed. Who had the Ferals killed? And they’d killed them all? What did that mean? They certainly hadn’t killed all the evil Ferals. Perhaps all those with true evil inside? But they’d only killed two of them. If he’d meant those two, wouldn’t he have said both?

A dog barked in the distance, a familiar bark echoing down from the rise above. A bark the Ferals mimicked when they wanted to call one another when speaking telepathically wasn’t necessary, or possible.

Relief swept through Wulfe as he followed the direction of the sound to find Jag and Olivia starting down the slope.

Where’s Fox? Lyon demanded.

Alive, Jag replied. I’ll tell you more when we reach you.

Thank the goddess.

All three Ferals shifted into human form as Jag and Olivia joined them. Ariana moved close to her mate, and Kougar pulled her against his side.

“What happened?” Lyon sounded almost like his old self though Wulfe knew that was an illusion. The Chief of the Ferals was practically shaking with the need to continue forward, to snatch Kara out of the enemy’s hands.

“We hit some serious-ass warding,” Jag told them. “The two Ilinas burst into flame on contact. Fox body-slammed the blond bitch . . . I mean Melisande . . . and somehow took the fire for himself. Phylicia’s dead. I’m sorry, Ariana.”

Ariana nodded. “Thank you, Jag, but I felt her death the moment it happened. Are Melisande and Fox all right?”

“Fox is hurting, but he’s okay. Melisande is injured, I think. She’s emitting energy like a nuclear reactor, and she can’t mist, but her vocal cords were working just fine.” He pulled Olivia against him. “We’ve been trying to frickin’-ass find you for hours, to warn you to get your Ilinas off this mountain before they fry, too.”

Kougar squeezed Ariana’s shoulder, then released her. “Go.”

“Take Olivia,” Jag said.

Both females, warriors through and through, scowled at their mates. Olivia crossed her arms. “No way.”

Jag hauled her around to look at him. “Liv, the magic on this mountain is f**king powerful, you’ve seen that. We can usually get through warding in our animals. What if you can’t? What if you go up in flames, too?”

Kougar nodded. “We’re not risking your lives.” He turned to Ariana. “Find Hawke and Falcon and let them know what’s going on. Have them continue to patrol the periphery, but stay off the mountain. They’ll be able to find cell service to get word to Feral House if they think backup will do us any good.”

Jag kissed his frustrated mate, and she kissed him back after only a moment’s hesitation. “Be careful,” she whispered.

Kougar kissed Ariana. She pressed her hand to his cheek, then handed him the backpack with Wulfe’s and Lyon’s clothes. A moment later, the two Ilinas and Olivia disappeared in mist.

The four Ferals shifted back into their animals and continued on. Wulfe felt the weight of worry lifted a little bit, knowing Fox and Jag were fine. But Kara was still in the hands of the enemy, and they had no idea where Fox and Melisande had gone. Deeper into the mountain’s sorcery?

Less than a mile later, they crested a rise. Wulfe gave a mental gasp as he stared at the sight below. In the valley, hung a curtain of shimmering color, blues and purples and reds, rippling and flaring as if the door behind it had been left open on a windy day.

To his surprise, his three companions continued forward without comment. A chill ran down his spine.

Don’t you see that? he asked all three at once.

See what? Jag replied.

Dammit. As he loped forward to catch up with them, energy charged his skin, making his fur rise, and he realized the buzz had been getting steadily stronger.

The cougar gave him a quizzical look. What exactly do you see?

And suddenly he knew. The warding. The curtain stretched as far as the eye could follow in either direction, curving back on the ends as if enclosing the mountain. It’s moving, rippling.

Why in the hell was he the only one who could see it? Why was he the only one hearing the voices? He didn’t like it, not at all. Then again, it was probably a good thing someone could.

More than a little fascinated by the sight of the warding, he started forward, leading the way down the hillside. The buzzing grew more intense the closer he got, until he was less than a body length away.

Where is it, Lyon demanded, the African lion coming up beside him.

Right in front of us.

Lyon leaped through it with a single bound. Kougar and Jag followed, Wulfe bringing up the rear. But beyond the first warding curtain, he saw another not a dozen feet away.

There’s another one, he told his friends. And, like before, they leaped through it, one after the other, Lyon leading the way.

What the f**k? Jag exclaimed.

Wulfe understood a moment later when he joined them. They weren’t in West Virginia any more. Instead, they stood on a cobblestone path between two high stone walls. A short distance ahead, an opening in the wall offered a choice.