Hunger Untamed (Feral Warriors #5)(26)

No, he wasn't about to give up this fight.

"How long does Kougar have?" Lyon asked.

The Shaman met Kougar's gaze. "The way it is, a few months at best. If the bond opens fully, and the poison flows freely, possibly as little as a week. I'm sorry, warrior."

A week.

Kougar's teeth ground together as he dipped his head in acknowledgment, a furious quaking setting up deep in his muscles. A week was all he needed. Because if he hadn't found a way to stop the poison and allow Ariana to turn to mist by then, Hawke and Tighe would be dead.

But he'd have more than that week. The bond wasn't going to open because he'd have to care for that to happen.

He was going to kill that Mage, disable his magic once and for all, and save his friends. Then, mating bond be damned, he wanted Ariana out of his life. For good.

Chapter Six

A week.

The words hung in the air of the now-silent war room, but Kougar acted as if he hadn't heard. The anger in his eyes, anger directed at her upon her admission that she'd severed the mating bond to save him, hadn't abated even a flicker.

Goddess, she'd hoped if she could keep the mating bond in its current mangled state, he might survive the poison. Now the Shaman was giving him only a few months, at best.

This shouldn't have happened!

She could wring Melisande's neck for going behind her back. And she would if not for the fact that she knew Mel had only done it to help her. To help them all.

But, dammit, she would not see Kougar die. They had to find Hookeye fast. Not that they hadn't been trying. Goddess, they'd been trying for centuries.

Maybe the Ferals could help. Maybe they really would succeed where Melisande had failed. Ariana's fingers clenched into fists. She had to keep that mating bond closed tight and give Kougar as much time as possible. Time enough to save his life, even if they weren't in time to save his friends.

A muscle leaped in Kougar's jaw as she watched him, his arms and shoulders rigid as steel. Fury enveloped him like a red haze.

"Under the circumstances, Kougar," Lyon began, "I think it might be better if one of the other Ferals guards Queen Ariana. The longer that mating bond remains closed, the better."

A low animal growl rolled from Kougar's throat as his hand circled her upper arm, biting into her flesh. "It'll stay closed." Beneath his tight grip, she felt a fine vibration, a volcanic anger ready to blow.

Anger at her or Hookeye? Or the fates for handing him down a death sentence? Probably all three, and there was nothing she could do to make it better.

"Then meeting adjourned," Lyon said. "Get some rest, if you can. Kougar, I'll let you know the minute we find something on that Mage."

Yanking her with him, Kougar steered her out of the room and down the wide hallway toward the foyer.

She wasn't entirely certain herself why she'd never contacted him. For a while, her situation had been impossible. But later . . . she wasn't sure. She'd never made the active decision to stay away from him. For a thousand years, she'd loved him, missed him, and always intended to go back to him. Someday.

But even if she knew what to say to ease his anger, she wouldn't say it. His anger was keeping him alive. For now.

He steered her through the foyer and up one of the curved stairs to a long hall that, like much of what she'd seen of Feral House so far, looked like it had been decorated a hundred years ago. The green-and-gold wallpaper of the foyer had given way to walls papered in swirls of gold peacock feathers on a beige field, covered in paintings of all styles and types--landscapes, medieval portraits, battle scenes. Electric sconces hung at regular intervals like oil lamps of old. She'd always loved the style of that era. The gilt and color pleased her Ilina eye.

Kougar stopped at one of the doors that lined the long hallway, opened it, and pushed her none-too-gently inside what was clearly his bedroom.

His bedroom. Could their reunion have played out any differently in her head? How many times had she imagined his reaction when she found him again, his face wreathed in joy, his eyes gleaming like silver like they used to whenever he saw her. She'd imagined him lifting her, like he had in those days, until they were eye to eye as if she weighed nothing, then kissing her as if he'd been holding his breath all that time and would only breathe again when their lips were fused. He'd always made her feel as if she were his sun and his moon when they were together, though those times had been all too seldom and those two years far too short.

But the reunion of her imaginings was nothing like the reality. There were no smiles. No sweet kisses. No softness at all. Only anger and hopelessness, and death hanging like a low, dark cloud over their heads.

Harsh fingers released her arm, leaving the flesh throbbing. Behind her, the door closed with a bang that rattled the windows. Ariana turned, ready to face her accuser; but Kougar paced away, violence seething beneath the animal grace of his walk.

Without warning, he yanked the straight-backed wooden chair out from his desk, lifted it, and sent it crashing down on the broad wood surface, splintering into a dozen pieces. As chunks of wood clattered against the wall and onto the floor, he threw what was left of the chair across the room, then arched as if in terrible pain. Hands fisted at his sides, he threw back his head and let out a roar filled with such fury that she knew she should be quaking with fear. But along with that roar, she heard pain. A pain she'd caused.