A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(46)

“I have to be inside of you,” he groaned against her lips.

In his arms, Melisande froze, turning to stone.

Fox pulled back slowly, easing his hold on her, letting her go when she pulled away.

“Mel . . . ?”

“This isn’t the time, Feral,” she snapped. “We need to find that key and get the hell out of here. Kara’s in need of rescuing, or had you forgotten?”

He felt as if she’d slapped him, and at the same time knew he’d needed the reminder because he’d absolutely been lost within the pull of passion.

“You’re right.”

She looked at him with surprise, then nodded.

Extending his hand to her, he smiled, because they were free . . . for now . . . and because, despite the abrupt ending of their passionate interlude, sooner or later, the woman was going to be his. When the time was right. He knew that now.

When she cut those sapphire eyes at him, then, with a small huff placed her hand in his, he felt the world right itself.

Hand in hand, they strolled along the wharf, where people once more worked—unloading crates from a boat, cleaning fish. All ignored them as if they weren’t even there.

Fox’s senses remained on high alert, as they had since the Ilinas first dropped them in West Virginia. If the populace of this strange place had turned on them once, they could do so again. But even as his senses traveled outward, seeking danger, part of his torn attention remained firmly on the woman at his side.

Something was bothering him mightily. Something he needed to understand. “You’ve been captured before, haven’t you, pet?” he asked quietly, uncertain how she would take the question.

She glanced at him with surprise, one golden brow lifting.

“I sensed your panic when the vines had you. And you’re not a woman to panic.”

With a sigh, she looked away, out at the water. “It was a long time ago.”

“And yet some things we never forget.”

“No. That’s true. I was captured by Therians.” She said the words so matter-of-factly, but he heard the pain behind them. And he finally understood her hatred of shifters. He waited for her to continue, but when she remained silent, he asked, “Are any of them still alive? Because if they are, I’m going to kill them.”

She glanced at him, an odd look in her eyes. Surprise, perhaps. And steel. And something that almost looked like chagrin. “I wreaked my vengeance, Feral. Without mercy. Every one who hurt me, I killed. The only one I never found was the one who betrayed me in the first place.”

He glimpsed the warrior capable of hauling innocents into the Crystal Realm to die because she saw it as the only way to save her race. A hard woman. But not all there was to her, not even close. And that hard veneer had come at a terrible cost, he was sure of it, now.

“Is it possible he still lives?”

She looked away. “I know he still lives. And he’s going to die.” Slowly, she turned to meet his gaze, her eyes glittering sapphire diamonds. “It’s Castin.”

Ah, “Feck.” His stomach flipped.

“I recognized his picture when Hawke flashed it on the screen in the war room yesterday.”

“You can’t take him on alone.”

“He’s mine,” she snapped.

“He’s also a Feral Warrior, if one who has not yet been brought into his animal. And you’re an Ilina who cannot mist.”

She scowled at him. “Don’t remind me.”

Fox’s mind was spinning from Melisande’s words. Everyone who hurt me, I killed.

Goddess. Had they raped her? Was that the reason she’d turned to stone as he’d kissed her, the moment he’d said he wanted to be inside of her? The thought slammed him with a fury that had his free hand fisting. Had Castin raped her? If so, the male was going to die, either by Melisande’s hand or his own. But he would die.

How had she been captured when she could turn to mist in a heartbeat and escape?

They were difficult questions, and he wasn’t at all certain she was ready to share the answers with him.

But before he could pose a single one, everything around them changed. As cleanly and suddenly as they’d walked into the medieval seaport, they walked out of it again.

And into chaos.

Chapter Eleven

They’d walked into a bloody hurricane.

Battering wind slammed into Fox, flaying him with sharp, stinging sand, knocking him back a step. He grabbed Melisande’s hand, pulling her against him, shielding her as a palm frond sailed at them, striking him in the hip before tumbling away. Behind them, the roiling ocean sent pounding surf to scour the shore. Water rushed over his boots, then receded just as quickly.

They’d stepped into yet another world, this one far from the medieval seaport. A tropical island, from what he could see. And, apparently, right in the middle of one hell of a storm.

Squinting his eyes against the blowing sand, Fox searched for assailants along the beach or hiding among the trees, certain they were around somewhere. But he could see nothing but the angry ocean, dark, swirling clouds blocking out midday sunshine, and a tropical island under full-scale attack by Mother Nature.

The sand blowing in his face annoyed him. The impossible nature of this mission infuriated him. That quickly, he felt the anger building inside of him—that new Feral edginess that had him feeling like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. If only Jag were here to give him a good fight.