Ecstasy Untamed (Feral Warriors #6)(48)

Before Hawke recovered, the polar bear opened his jaws and clamped down on Hawke's thigh as if he meant to take off the leg. Like hell. If Hawke didn't suspect Mage magic behind this attack, if he really thought Polaris his enemy, he'd hack off the animal's head, killing him. Instead, he drove his remaining blade through the bear's snout, feeling the prick of it in his own leg. But the strike had the desired effect. The polar bear released him and reared back with a furious growl.

Through the noise, Hawke heard the sound of the Porsche engine. The women had gotten away. Thank the . . . no. His hawk was too calm, too damned pleased. Faith was still nearby, still helping him. The stubborn woman hadn't left with the others as he'd told her to!

Polaris shifted in a spray of sparkling lights, turning back into a naked and bleeding man. Hawke shoved to his feet, gripping his blade. But the Feral didn't attack him as he expected. Instead, Polaris lunged for the front door.

Faith.

Hawke tried to leap after him, but that last attack had torn away too much muscle, muscle that would take time to heal. Fifteen, twenty seconds, at least, which might be fifteen or twenty seconds more than Faith had. He struggled forward, lurching awkwardly on one solid leg and one that didn't want to hold him, willing his body to heal faster. Lynks ran to cut him off, blocking him from the door. Hawke swung, catching the shifter in the shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw smoke barreling down the hallway. No, not smoke. Draden. And not a few. Hundreds. A thick black cloud of living death burrowed through the hallways of Feral House like bees through a tunnel. But as the first one bit him, a second cloud flew in through the front door. The little fiends weren't big, about the size of his fist, their bodies little more than floating gas beneath heads that resembled hideously misshapen human faces. But their teeth were razor-sharp, and they could, and would, drain the life out of a Therian, even a Feral Warrior, given half a chance.

And Faith was out there in the middle of them.

He swung back toward Lynks, prepared to take off the idiot's head if he had to in order to get past him, but Lynks saw the cloud of deadly little beasts and began to shift . . . with his opponent far too close. A mistake no Feral made more than once.

Swinging with a timing born of long experience, Hawke cut off the lynx's two hind legs just as he fully formed. As the cat screeched in pain, Hawke lunged through the open front door, his leg and shoulder nearly healed at last. Pushing into the night, he fought through the deadly, biting cloud, desperate to find Faith.

The draden descended on him, latching on to his bare flesh with their sharp little teeth - his arms, his neck, his scalp, his face - sucking at his life force. At this rate, he'd be dead in five minutes.

He tossed his sword aside and yanked their hearts out with his free hand, but more just took their place. He could hardly see through the mass of them.

He had to reach Faith!

A flash of white caught his eye - big, lumbering white racing into the woods on the other side of the drive. Polaris.

"Faith!"

"Hawke." Her voice was muffled, the pain in it cutting him worse than the ripping, tearing teeth of the draden.

Goddess, they were both going to be dead in minutes if he didn't get them to safety. He dropped his second sword and ripped at the draden blocking his vision, and finally saw her huddled in a ball on the grass. He ran to her, scooped her up along with her blanket of draden, and ran for his Yukon.

Moments later, they were in the big SUV, along with several dozen draden. No more could breach the warded glass, but a single draden could kill given enough time, never mind dozens. While Faith struggled to remove the deadly little fiends from her face, he tore them off her scalp and arms, digging his hands into their gaseous bodies, curling his fingers around their pulsing hearts and ripping them out.

As he pulled them off her, she began to get the hang of it. But instead of removing her own attackers, she reached for his, her small hands moving with a quick grace he could only admire even as he wanted to argue with her to save herself first. But the effort seemed too great. He was already tiring and was glad he was sitting, afraid he might not be able to stand. His hands began to move slower and slower. Faith's movements, too, began to slow.

The draden were winning, sucking their lives away.

"Stay with me, Faith. Stay with me. We're almost there." He had them off her head and neck and hands, but they'd dug in through her clothes and still clung to her back and hips and legs.

He plucked and pulled, yanking the draden off her, turning them to smoke one after another until he could hardly see, until his hands were bleeding and so heavy he could hardly move them. He picked them off her even after she collapsed, unconscious, and his heart began to bleed with fear that she might not awaken again. He tore the draden from her until he could find no more on her anywhere.

Not dead. She couldn't be dead. No. He could still feel her keeping the fury at bay. "Stay with me, Smiley. Stay with me, Faith." Now that the draden were gone, she'd recover. He'd saved her.

But he couldn't say the same for himself. His energy was gone, and he was still covered in the biting, killing beasts. He was out of time.

Chapter Ten

"Hawke. Hawke!" Faith's sweet voice came at him from a distance. Hands pulled at him, the knifelike draden slowly releasing him from their deadly hold. "Hawke, don't you dare die on me. Don't you dare!"