Hunger Untamed (Feral Warriors #5)(14)

A moment later, she heard the click of a lamp, and light flooded her living room, illuminating her captor. Like the Ferals she'd known in the past, he was tall, broad-shouldered, muscular. A man women of all races noticed . . . and most lusted after. His hair was in need of a good cut, his pants camouflage, his black T-shirt revealing the golden armband that wrapped around his upper arm, an armband with the head of some kind of predatory cat.

The shifter pulled out his cell phone even as he watched her with curious eyes. "Got her. Now are you going to tell me who she is?" A brief look of disgust passed over his features as he put the phone away.

"Verbose, the man is not. So who are you, Sugar?" the Feral drawled. "Why are you so important that I'm babysitting you instead of making love to my new mate?"

She didn't answer, her mind furiously searching for a way out. Within the throbbing, erratic mating bond, she felt Kougar beginning to move toward her. Hells bells.

The shifter studied her. "You're not Mage. Number one, you don't have the copper rims around your irises. Number two, Captain Death didn't warn me not to let you touch me, and he would have if you'd been Mage." He gave a brief scowl. "Probably."

She cocked her head at him. "Captain Death?"

His mouth kicked up on one side. "The man's cold as, and delivers it mercilessly. Always has." His expression turned serious, his gaze flicking down over her scrubs. "I don't know what he wants with you, Florence Nightingale, but for your sake, I hope it's nothing more than a quick roll in the hay."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Jag. You've got to be Therian. You're stronger than a human, though not by much."

Smart-ass. "Kougar's making a mistake, Jag. A grave mistake. You need to let me go."

"Nice try, sweetheart. Do I have idiot engraved across my forehead?"

If only she still had the ability to turn to mist. With her hands cuffed, she was all but helpless. There was nothing more she could do but wait for Kougar, then hope she could manage one more escape.

Kougar strode up the front walk of the small bungalow, certain he had the right house. He could feel Ariana inside as strongly as any beacon, small bursts of anger pulsing through the mating bond. His plan to capture her had worked like a charm. Now came the hard part--forcing her to free his friends from the spirit trap.

Opening the door without knocking, he strode into the living room to find Jag on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table, a baseball game on the television. Ariana stood with her back to the wall, her wrists caught in manacles Jag had attached to the wall.

He had to hand it to Jag. He'd carried out Kougar's directions precisely, though attaching her to the wall was a small bit of brilliance that was all Jag's. The drill he must have used sat on the coffee table.

Ariana's eyes speared him with fury. She was dressed again in medical scrubs, a black sweater over them this time. The clothing might be drab, but there was nothing plain about the woman wearing them. Her dark hair was up in a casual knot, her slender neck exposed and beckoning. Goddess how he'd loved to kiss her neck, to trail his mouth and tongue over the silken length from her shoulder to her ear, feeling her shiver, hearing the soft moan of pleasure in her throat.

Would this woman without a soul react to his touch the way his beloved had? Goddess, did he really want to know? No, he didn't. He wanted only one thing from her, and that was the rescue of his friends.

But as she watched him with hard, wary eyes, her mouth and chin stony, he knew it was going to be a battle all the way. He could hardly appeal to her compassion, not when the woman possessed none. Not anymore.

The cougar inside him leaped like an overeager pup, as if he longed to be free to race to her and lick her face. As if she were truly Kougar's mate and not some soulless look-alike.

She's not ours, Cat. She hasn't been for centuries.

"Release me, Kougar." Her eyes snared him, piercing in their intensity, even behind the brown contacts. He felt them stabbing, probing. Stroking the places deep inside him that had yearned for her for too long.

"Leave, Jag."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jag rise lazily to his feet. "Just when things were getting interesting." But the shifter turned off the television, picked up his drill, and sauntered to the front door, closing it behind him.

Pulled by forces beyond his control, Kougar moved slowly toward Ariana, drawn against his will. His body throbbed with alternate bursts of cold and heat, his newly awakened emotions ping-ponging between hatred and a need to touch her that tore at every shred of control he possessed.

Closing the distance between them, he watched her, noting the shadows of thoughts and emotions she tried to hide. Her breathing was as unsteady as his own, a pulse kicking at the base of her throat. Though her anger was written all over her face, in her eyes he saw worry, dark hunger, and rank exhaustion. But no true fear. Which told him that pounding pulse was all for him. That the need he felt to touch her wasn't one-sided.

Which was good, very good, since the only way he knew to force her to turn to mist was to arouse her to it. To make her lose all control.

He grabbed her jaw, and his cat made a low growl of approval.

"Let go of me," Ariana hissed, her eyes flashing like those of a cornered beast ready to strike.

"No."

His hand shook as he held her jaw, her scent rising to ensnare him in sensual memories and painful longing. She was turning him inside out. His Ariana, yet not. She smelled the same, looked the same--or she would once she took those contacts out. She felt the same beneath his hand. But she wasn't the woman he'd loved.