Hunger Untamed (Feral Warriors #5)(30)

Yes, she would stay, and hope the Ferals triumphed where she and her maidens had failed. Kougar's enmity was a small price to pay for the chance to save her friends, and the man she loved, even if he no longer had any soft feelings for her in return.

Ten centuries she'd spent outcast by her own hand, wandering the human world, living on her own. Yet in this crowded house, the man she'd once been mated to in the next room, she'd never felt so alone.

Chapter Eight

Kougar shucked off his pants, took himself in hand, and pumped off into the sink with a few quick strokes, then braced his hands on the counter and forced the air back into his lungs, willing his heart to cease its crazed beating.

The taste of Ariana, the scent, the sound of her low whimpers as she rose, and her cry as she released--each of them tore at his control, every one sliced open the cold mass of aching muscle that had long ago become his heart. He'd wanted to climb her body and sink inside her so badly it had become a burn in his quaking muscles. But every instinct he possessed told him that taking her, possessing her like that again, would be a mistake of monumental proportions. Never had he taken her that his love for her hadn't grown stronger, and loving her again, even a little, would only open the mating bond, hastening his demise.

And even if they succeeded in capturing the Mage and curing this poison, if he wanted any hope of walking away whole, he had to keep some measure of distance between them. Not that burying his face between her legs was distance. But he remembered all too well what happened when they came together, when they released together. Maybe it wouldn't be anything like that now that there was anger and distrust between them. Now that the mating bond was little more than a twisted wreck. But he wasn't taking any chances because if he tasted even a shadow of that perfection again, he'd never be able to walk away. He'd never be free of her.

He turned on the shower and stepped under the cold spray, letting the chill sink into his body and douse the heat that refused to abate, willing it to freeze his heart and the unwanted emotions that careened inside him after being dead for so long. He didn't want them. Didn't need them. Especially now, with Ariana back in his life.

Finally, he turned off the shower and grabbed a plush bath sheet, drying himself thoroughly. What he needed was a run in his cat. But the sun was up, and he couldn't leave Ariana behind. If she was even still here. It had occurred to him she might not be since he'd left her unbound.

But as he stepped through the door, he found her asleep on his bed. The sight of her like that--curled up atop his satin sheets like a diamond on a sea of dark red--tugged at that aching mass of flesh in his chest. His cat gave a howl of frustration that he refused to claim her and take her once more to mate.

He stepped closer, drawn to her against his will, until he stood over her, close enough to watch the rise and fall of her chest. And the soft lock of hair curled atop her cheek.

Goddess, she is so beautiful.

From out of nowhere, a thread of joy surged through his battered heart, and he reveled in the miracle of her survival. He fought it back, fought to reclaim the anger that had threatened to consume him such a short time before, but it was gone. Instead, her voice echoed in his thoughts, telling him of ninety-six maidens she'd had to send to the next world while trying to save those few remaining. For the first time he began to understand the enormity of her loss and the magnitude of what she'd faced. As hard-pressed as he was to not forgive her for not telling him she was still alive, on some level he found himself doing so.

For long minutes, he stood there, perfectly content to watch her sleep. But he needed sleep as well. He'd gotten little the past few days as he'd tirelessly tracked her down. It was the perfect time to rest, while Lyon and Paenther hunted for Hookeye's trail.

He eyed Ariana, torn between shifting into his cat to sleep on the floor and joining her in the bed. With a sigh of disgust, he dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of silk sleep pants that might possibly deter him from claiming what he really wanted. Then he lay down beside her, careful not to touch her.

But she stirred and rolled over, moving to him unerringly in her sleep as she'd often done, as if a thousand years hadn't passed. Before he could catch his breath, she pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder, her arm sliding across his torso, one knee lifting to rest on his thigh.

For half a minute, he lay still as stone, his muscles shaking as he struggled between pushing her away and pulling her into his arms. The latter won.

He turned to her, his arms going tight around her as he pulled her against his heart. He had to squeeze his eyes closed against the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to rip his feet out from under him--the overpowering joy that the woman he'd loved more than life, and thought dead for so long, was alive, her breath warm against his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin, her heart beating strong and sure beneath his hands.

Hatred, then anger, had fought the celebration of his heart. They'd tried to silence his cat's rejoicing. But in the stillness of the room, Ariana sleeping safely in his arms, that soul-deep joy knocked him to his knees. Moisture burned his eyes. From the moment he'd seen her again, he'd been struggling to keep his distance from her, struggling not to let himself care again.

Not to let himself love her again.

The problem was, despite the decrepit state of their mating bond, he'd never stopped loving her. And it was a problem, a huge one. Even now, he felt the mating bond begin to unfurl, a low burn setting up in his chest where the poison began to trickle through.