Ecstasy Untamed (Feral Warriors #6)(42)

One by one, the eight shifted back into men. The snow leopard's short hair, Hawke noticed with interest, had turned snow white.

"Henceforth," Kougar intoned, "you will be known as . . ." His straight arm came down, pointing from one new Feral to the next. "Fox, Grizz, Polaris, Lepard, Whit, Eigle, Lynks, Croc."

The new Ferals leaped together, slapping forearms, congratulating one another with as much fervor as they'd done everything so far, especially fight. Except for Grizz, who stood apart, a grim, don't-mess-with-me expression on his still-angry face.

Kara started toward Lyon, but as she dodged the exuberant bunch, she stumbled, then started to go down. Lyon leaped forward, sweeping her up before she hit the rock. "Kara!"

The new Ferals didn't seem to notice, but the old surged in close.

"Kara?" Tighe asked worriedly.

"What's the matter with her?" Kieran/Fox joined them.

Wulfe growled. "If someone hit her, I'll rip his head off."

Lyon swung her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, but she roused, her arm slipping around Lyon's neck.

"I'm okay. It's just . . . the rituals. It's like they're sucking me dry."

Nine collective breaths released at once.

Lyon tipped his head against Kara's. "You scared me."

With a soft smile, she reached up and pressed her palm to his cheek. "I love you."

He kissed her tenderly. "My heart." Cradling Kara in his arms, he turned to the others. "Let's move this celebration back to Feral House. Keep your voices down, or we'll wake the humans." But the new Ferals acted as if they hadn't heard him.

Lyon muttered under his breath, "I'm going to lock them up, every one."

They started home, Hawke walking between Lyon, who insisted on carrying his mate, and Kougar.

"We're no longer the nine," Tighe said behind them, his voice deep with satisfaction. "We're well on our way to being twenty-six."

"Thank the goddess," Lyon murmured. "For once, things are going our way."

For the Feral Warriors, that was absolutely true. For Hawke personally? Not so much. Not only was his break with his animal getting worse, but he was worried about Faith. Despite her assurances that her sadness was just homesickness, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than that, that Maxim was to blame. Then again, that's what he wanted, wasn't it? For his rival to turn out to be a villain? Because the alternative was that Hawke had ridden in on his white steed only to discover the damsel in distress wasn't being abused. She was homesick. And her prick of a beloved had already promised to slay that beast, leaving Hawke with no role. No place in her life.

If only he could stop dreaming about holding her in his arms, kissing her, undressing her. If only he could stop thinking about her for five damn minutes.

Faith rose from the chair by the window as the door opened, and Maxim strode into the bedroom. Dusk had fallen nearly an hour ago. Soon the draden would be out and the hunters out with them. All the new Ferals would fight draden tonight. She'd heard Lyon tell them so at the celebration feast that morning.

Maxim would be going with them. She liked it when he was gone, which was probably a terrible thing to admit about one's soon-to-be mate. But she'd gotten into a routine of sleeping all day and reading or sitting by the window all night while he was out hunting. She rarely saw him, which was fine with her, and probably another terrible thing to admit, even to herself. But they loved one another. A chill slid down her spine. They belonged together.

Maxim had that look he sometimes wore, his eyebrows lowered, his mouth hard. His mean look, though he never actually became mean. "I got tied up playing war games in the basement," he said with disgust. "As if these barbarians have anything to teach me. We're leaving in a few minutes to hunt draden, but I had to see you before I left. I'm hungry."

She looked at him quizzically. "There's no food up here." And she knew he wasn't being suggestive. They didn't have that kind of relationship. He'd never even kissed her. Not except for the few nuzzles he'd given her simply to antagonize Hawke. That should probably upset her, but she knew he loved her. And she didn't want him to kiss her. She didn't want him to touch . . .

He loves me. The thought pushed away whatever she'd been thinking, leaving her pulse skittering uncomfortably. Her emotions had been a mess lately.

Maxim came to her and knelt by her chair, his face eye level to hers as he studied her. A frisson of fear crept out of the shadows where her nightmares lurked, running cool fingers over her scalp. "My dear Faith. Somewhere inside, you know what I'm hungry for. You know everything."

She looked at him in confusion, even as her heart began to pound in earnest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. I make certain you never remember. But I've told you over and over again how I happened upon that street corner the night we met, how I was trolling for girls, looking for the right ones to send my men to collect."

"Collect?"

His eyes began to gleam, his mouth tilting up in what - on any other man - would be a look of high arousal. "I take them to my castle. And string them up." He licked his lips. "Then I make them bleed."

She stared at him in sick disbelief. "Why are you saying this?"