Desire Untamed (Feral Warriors #1)(39)

"They sound like gods."

Lyon grunted as he turned onto the same residential street Hawke had earlier. "They think they are. But since the loss of their power, they've been reduced to doing little more than small spells and charms. The greatest danger they pose to us is their ability to mess with our minds."

"What do you mean?"

"Beguilement. Bewitchment. It's generally how they get the upper hand before we know they've declared war on us again. They can't maintain the beguilement long and generally have to be touching the Therian to do so. If a Therian goes missing, we always assume a Mage attack." He made a sound deep in his throat. "We quickly end the wars they start." There was something dark in his tone that told her the Mage involved generally didn't survive.

Lyon parked the Land Rover, and they both got out. The day was fully overcast, now, the clouds darker and the wind stronger than before. Kara zipped her jacket and joined Lyon as they started toward the woods they had to walk through to reach the falls.

"So they've enchanted Ferals to try to steal the Daemon blade?" she asked, glancing at him. The breeze had blown his tawny hair back, revealing the strong lines of his ruggedly handsome face.

"That's usually their goal."

"Why do they want it?"

"Because we're the only ones who can free the High Daemon and his horde."

"I have to admit, I can see their logic."

He scowled at her. "We would never free him. And we're not giving up control of that knife."

"What danger is there in letting the Mage have it if they can't free the Daemons?"

"The Mage have always been more vulnerable to Daemon manipulation than we are. And while the High Daemon is safely locked in the blade, there is evil still in the world that craves his return. We who cannot be turned to evil keep the blade."

"Do Mage look like us? Like humans?"

"For the most part. The only real difference is their eyes. True Mage have copper rings around their irises. Distinctive." He glanced at her sharply. "If you ever see someone with eyes like that, get away from them and tell one of the Ferals immediately."

"Would you kill them?"

"Depends. If they threaten you, then yes. I'll kill them."

Kara shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, lifting her shoulders against the chill of his words. There was something both heady and horrifying about his simply stated declaration. A vow she had no doubt he meant. Once again, she was reminded of how important she was to them.

The Radiant.

As they entered the woods, Lyon lifted a low-hanging branch for her to pass beneath. "In the old days, there was a second way to tell a Mage. The cantric. Occasionally you'll still find someone with one, so you should know what they look like, as well."

"What's a cantric?"

"A braided copper circle that takes a Mage's natural magic and magnifies it. All Mage are implanted with a cantric upon maturity. Without them, they'd have almost no magic at all anymore."

"So both the Mages' eyes and their power magnifiers are copper circles?"

"Not a coincidence. Copper is one of their elements."

"Where do they implant the cantrics?"

"Beneath the skin. Where depends on the person and the century in which he or she was born. In the old' days, Mage wore the cantrics in their faces, usually on the cheek. You could see the outline of it clearly beneath the cheekbone, and they often tattooed the skin over it so none would miss it. Humans knew to be wary of these creatures whom they considered witches. The hysteria against witches in the seventeenth century put an end to visible cantrics after half a dozen Mages were captured and burned at the stake. Most of the Mage cut the cantrics out of their faces and implanted them in other parts of their bodies. Unseen places."

The rocks became more numerous, until the path through the trees became little more than a rocky climb. The wind flipped her ponytail against her cheek, and she raked it back.. "There's a painting in my room of a lion with a head beneath its paw. The face has a circle on the cheek. A shiny copper circle."

Lyon nodded. "It was painted by a Therian artist to commemorate my victory over the Supreme Mage in 1738. The supreme is their leader."

She gaped at him, holding her ponytail so it wouldn't flick her in the face again. "So it's a painting of you?"

He met her gaze, a hint of pride gleaming in his eyes. "It is."

Seventeen thirty-eight. A painting of a victory of a lion over a man who was essentially king of the witches. It was real. Not only real, but the victor, the lion, walked beside her now. A man. How was she ever going to get used to this stuff?

"Have you really been alive seven hundred years?"

"I have."

Together, they started down the rocky path to the goddess stone, Lyon's long strides making her hurry to keep up. He grabbed her hand, his warm fingers curling around hers, and tugged her with him. "Are you ready to pull the power again?"

"Out of the rock?"

"Out of the Earth, yes. It's coming from far more than just the rock."

"Then why do we have to come here? Why not do this in the backyard?" A car alarm went off in the distance, a bizarre counterpoint to her strange new reality.