Ecstasy Untamed (Feral Warriors #6)(21)

Faith sat on the edge of the big leather sofa, staring at her fingernails as Maxim stood a few feet away, drilling Paenther with more questions. As she'd expected, he hadn't even noticed she'd slipped away for a few minutes.

"Why would you allow humans to live so close to Feral House?"

"We possess nearly fifteen acres of prime real estate," Paenther replied evenly.

"And force so many men and their mates to occupy a single tiny dwelling." After the reception, Maxim had changed out of his bloodstained tux and back into a white turtleneck and blazer.

Paenther growled low in his throat. "Feral House is not tiny."

Heavens, it had been like this all through dinner, too. The questions, the condescension. It was as if he thought himself too good for these people, and he wanted them to know it. All he was doing was alienating them. Every last one of them. And she was so tired of it.

Maxim crossed his arms. "It's an easy solution to buy up the surrounding properties. The homes could be used for Ferals and their wives and a proper castle erected in place of this hovel."

Paenther snorted. "And if the humans aren't interested in selling, we simply cloud their minds and tell them to move? Or would you have us kill them and dispose of the bodies?"

Maxim smiled. "Either." Had he really not heard the acid in Paenther's tone?

Paenther rolled his eyes and looked away. "We don't work that way."

Maxim sneered. "It's no wonder the Mage are about to free the Daemons. The Chief of the Ferals has no backbone."

Faith winced.

Paenther growled, a sound that sent chills skittering down her spine. "You go too far." As if in slow motion, his arms uncrossed, dropping to his sides, his muscles flexed as if preparing for attack, claws sprouted from his fingertips.

Her pulse began to pound as she watched fangs erupt from his gums and his eyes change to those of a jungle cat just as Hawke's and Lyon's had in the living room. She would never get used to this.

But this time Maxim mirrored the move. She watched in stunned fascination as he, too, went feral, the savagery of the look so at odds with his nice clothes and his painfully sophisticated demeanor.

Maxim snarled as he slipped off his blazer and tossed it aside. His stance shifted, his arms flaring out, his knees bending as if he prepared to attack an opponent.

They were just posturing. Surely they wouldn't . . .

Paenther launched himself at Maxim, missing her by inches, tearing a cry from her lungs. She scooted back onto the sofa, pulling her legs up and away from the tangle of limbs and claws at her feet as they went at one another like animals, tearing and slashing both clothes and flesh, sending blood flying everywhere.

Her pulse pounded, bile threatening to rise in her throat as she stared at the viciousness with horror.

She'd always imagined Feral House to be a fairy-tale castle. Now she knew better.

It was a madhouse.

Hawke had just dug his fork into another bite of meat when he heard the thud of bodies. And Faith's scream. He shot out of his seat and ran for the hallway.

"Hawke, wait!"

But Hawke ignored Lyon's order as he did his own promise to stay away from Faith. She was in trouble, and that trumped everything. With Lyon and Wulfe following close behind him, Hawke reached the media room to find a feral battle in full swing. Maxim and Paenther.

On the sofa, watching in horror, was Faith. Too close. An errant swipe of a clawed hand, and she'd be bleeding, too. As Lyon and Wulfe waded in to break up the fight, Hawke reached for Faith. One hand beneath her knees, the other at her back, he swept her off the sofa and into his arms and was slammed with such a feeling of rightness, such a furious, primitive possessiveness, he feared he might crush her in his savage need to hold her close. As he strode from the room, his hawk screeched in triumph, the wildness inside him urging him to keep going, to take her to his bedroom, bolt the door, and keep her for himself. Take her. Claim her.

Mine.

Her sweet scent enveloped him, the weight of her in his arms so perfect, so natural, it was as if he'd always known the feel of her and had been waiting his entire life for this moment. The need to bury his face in her blue-tipped hair, to nuzzle the curve of her neck, was almost beyond bearing. Would she taste as perfect as she felt? As she smelled? He shook with the need to know. With the need to touch her skin, to kiss her. His body throbbed with the desire to make them one, watching her eyes darken with rising passion as he drove into her.

Would she rise for him? Would she even want him?

Sanity returned in a rush, battling the wild need.

She wasn't his.

As he strode into the hallway, he knew it would be better if he set her down and walked away. If they remained casual friends and nothing more.

But his grip on her only tightened. Neither man nor beast wanted to let her go.

Chapter Four

Faith held on to Hawke's neck as he carried her from the room, the sound of breaking furniture, tearing fabric, and fierce growls following them. Her heart thudded in her ears, her body trembled. Yet her senses exploded at Hawke's closeness, at the feel of being in his arms. He smelled of soap and warm male, and something more, like a sunlit forest on a crisp autumn day, at once welcoming, calming, and thoroughly exhilarating. Heat flushed her skin, sinking into her blood with a startling arousal.

Her head spun with conflicting thoughts and warring emotions. Her arm tightened even as she fought off the sudden and overwhelming desire to tuck her face against his corded neck. To taste the skin there.