A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(51)

Fox swallowed his questions with difficulty, for he had a cartload of them. But he’d clearly hit on another traumatic event. Goddess. Two-thirds of her race wiped out in a single attack. He couldn’t fathom the scope of such a tragedy. Yet she’d lived through that after being captured and, almost certainly, raped by Therians. So much misfortune. Then again, she’d lived over a thousand years. Lifetimes more than a thousand, by her own account. And what that meant, exactly, he had no idea except that the woman had history, and baggage, in abundance. Reason aplenty for the hard shell she’d acquired, a shell that appeared to be disintegrating around her.

With everything he learned, with every glimpse he got into who she was and the events that had formed her, the more intrigued he became. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything.

She turned back to him, her temper of a moment ago gone, a wry smile tilting her mouth to one side. “Sorry. Tender subject.”

“I’m hopelessly nosey when it comes to you.” He grinned at her, and to his utter delight, a full smile bloomed on her face, transforming her features from merely beautiful to exquisite. His pulse raced, his knees weakened as he basked in the glow of that smile.

“You should do that more often, pet.”

“Do what?” But an impish light lit her eyes, making them sparkle, and he thought he just might have heart failure.

“Smile.”

“I’d forgotten how. Until you.” She frowned, but it was a quick, unheated thing, as she shook her head. “You’re making a wreck of my life, you know that, don’t you? I liked not feeling. And you’re making me feel again. Too much.”

He stopped her, his hand on her arm, and turned her toward him, caressing her cheek with his palm. “You make me feel things I’m not comfortable with either, Mel. If I’m upending your life, so, too, are you upending mine. What the future brings, I can’t fathom, but I hope you’re part of it.”

Her eyes turned serious. “That’s not the plan.”

“I hope you change your mind.” He cupped her face. Heat flared in her eyes. The hunger that had yet to die ran, hot and thick, through his blood. His heart began to pound.

No, not his heart. Not just his heart. His warrior’s senses went on high alert.

The vibrations he was feeling . . . footfalls.

They were no longer alone.

Kara lay on the bare cot in the small prison cell, her arm across her forehead as she stared at the stone walls, feeling heartsick, scared, and ill. Was this how a human felt when coming down with a virus, all clammy and gross? She’d heard them talk about it often enough, for she’d grown up with humans. Not until recently had she realized she was immortal.

The thick wooden door rattled, and she sat up, wondering who was coming for her this time . . . and why. She knew it would be one of the evil Ferals. When she’d first arrived here, bound and gagged in the back of a vehicle, a Mage sentinel had pulled her out of the car. She’d gone radiant on him, pulling the energies, electrocuting him. Only a Feral Warrior could withstand such a blast, and only one with his armband firmly in place to channel it.

Only Ferals had touched her since.

Lynks opened the door, a tray in his hand. Her dinner. The man was big, as were all Ferals, but unlike the others, there was a softness to him, as if he was a man unused to hard work. And in his eyes, where she should see guilt for his betrayal, she saw only shiftiness.

“You were cleared of the darkness, Lynks. Why did you steal me from Lyon?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“How did you know Inir wanted you to kidnap me?”

“I’m not sure,” he mumbled. “Just did.”

“Does he control you?” she pressed. “Are you sorry for kidnapping me or were you glad to be able to pull it off?”

Impatient eyes cut to her and away again. “You wouldn’t understand.” He set the tray on the floor and rose.

“I’m trying to,” she said softly. Because it was absolutely critical that the good Ferals understand the men they had among them. If all the new Ferals were going to betray them as Lynks had . . . Dear God, the males she loved could all be dead.

“I have . . . needs,” Lynks said. “People don’t get it. Inir does.”

“What kind of needs?”

He shrugged. “I like kids. I like them . . . you know. I like to f**k them.”

Kara closed her eyes against the image, the blood draining from her face. “You’re a pedophile.”

“Whatever. Inir lets me do what I want with the kids he has here.”

Kara thought of the poor little girl Inir had cut up and had to swallow down the bile trying to rise to her throat. “Has Inir been communicating with you all along?”

Lynks glanced at her, his eyes belligerent, then looked away. “I know what he wants me to do though I don’t know how. The first time it happened was with you. I knew I needed to follow you down the basement stairs. Then halfway down, I suddenly knew he wanted me to knock you out, say that ritual with your flip-flop, carry you out the cellar door and through the woods. There was a car waiting right where I knew it would be.”

She frowned. “What ritual with my flip-flop?”

“I don’t know. Something about your essence. I think it was so that Lyon would still sense you there and wouldn’t know you’d been taken.” He reached for the door as if to leave, and Kara stopped him.