Hunger Untamed (Feral Warriors #5)(4)

The problem was, he couldn't reach her.

On cat's feet, he darted between two narrow brick buildings and ran up the night hill, frustration beating a harsh rhythm in his blood. The sound of the two rivers that flanked Harpers Ferry carried on the air, broken by the rumble of a train approaching in the distance. The sounds began to escalate suddenly until even the chirping of the insects turned to screeching in his ears.

Goddess, his senses were screwed up. Ariana's severing of that supposedly permanent mating bond had damaged him, leaving him half-alive, his emotions frozen, his senses all but dead for a millennium. Until five days ago when, trapped by Daemon and Mage, he'd come close to dying. In the darkness, Melisande had appeared with her usual scowl and, for a reason he couldn't fathom, reconnected the mating bond between him and Ariana. Apparently, his wife still needed him alive.

With the bond reconnected, sensation had returned in a manic, freak-show kind of way, color blazing a hundred times too bright, then throbbing and pulsing like it was about to explode, before flickering back to gray. Fortunately, the kaleidoscope had died down, most of his senses finally returning to what had once been normal. Except for his hearing.

And his emotions.

He passed through the old Harper Cemetery and headed for the Jefferson Rock, where he always ended up at some point during the night, frustration and anger burning a hole in his gut. He was starting to feel . . . too much. The wind in his face. The rocks beneath his paws. And a fury hot enough to rip someone . . . anyone . . . limb from limb. No, not anyone. Her. Ariana. Or at least the soulless bitch who wore Ariana's face.

Their newly reconnected mating bond was jury-rigged at best, a dull, mangled reflection of the crystalline cord that had once bound them. But it was there. And it gave him his one chance of finding Ariana and saving his friends. As her mate, he'd only ever been able to sense her presence if she was nearby . . . or in the Crystal Realm, where the Ilinas had been living since their extinction. Only a mate of an Ilina could travel to the Crystal Realm without an Ilina escort. And then, only if his mate was already there.

For four days, he'd waited for her to return home to that castle in the clouds, so he could catch her.

For four days, he'd waited in vain while Hawke's and Tighe's lives slowly slipped away.

Kougar leaped onto the Jefferson Rock--a small tourist landmark upon which the human, Thomas Jefferson, had supposedly proclaimed the sight worthy of a trip across the Atlantic. Kougar couldn't fault the sentiment as he stretched out atop the bit of shale in his cat's body. The breeze slid through his whiskers as he perused the dramatic, moonlit convergence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers far below.

Four days ago, at the end of the battle, he'd told Lyon, his chief, that he'd return in ten days. Only that. Not where he was going, not whom he intended to find. No one could know the Ilinas were still alive. Melisande had taken it upon herself to kill anyone who threatened their secret, who knew of their existence. Except, apparently, him.

Not that the Ferals were likely to be bested by mist warriors, but they were already dealing with more than enough--the death of Foxx, the loss of Hawke and Tighe, the theft of the Daemon blade, and the Mages' newly acquired dark power and goal to destroy the Ferals and release the Daemon plague back into the world.

The last thing the Ferals needed was ambushing mist warriors added to that list. No, he'd return to Feral House only after Ariana had freed Hawke and Tighe. And she would, dammit. He'd see to it.

Failure was not an option.

If only she'd return to the Crystal Realm!

Something fluttered briefly in his chest at the site of the decrepit mating bond, and he stilled, his cat's pulse lifting, then kicking up to Mach five.

Got her. Finally, Ariana had returned to the Crystal Realm.

Kougar sent his newly keen senses into the woods in every direction, then, certain he was alone, leaped off the rock and shifted into his human form. Through the battle-damaged shirt he still wore from four days before, he reached for the gold cougar-head armband that circled his biceps.

As his fingers closed around the cool metal, he stilled, slammed by the realization he was about to see Ariana for the first time in a thousand years.

Goddess.

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the mating bond, whispering the ancient words of connection. As the words left his lips, he felt a familiar spin of dizziness, a momentary sensation of weightlessness, then solid flooring beneath his feet.

Smooth flooring, not ground.

While his vision cleared, the scent of pine hit his nose, slamming him with a rush of memories. He blinked, gooseflesh rising on his arms as he found himself standing in the archway of the Grand Corridor of Ariana's palace in the Crystal Realm. The wide expanse of emerald floor stretched out before him, framed by walls of crystal twenty feet high, rising to a ceiling painted with murals of women indulging in a multitude of delights, carnal and otherwise. Along the walls, torches flickered, setting the crystal aflame with an inner fire.

He'd once thought this hall the most beautiful in existence. It was a sight he hadn't seen in a thousand years, and standing there had his heart thrumming in his chest.

How many times in those first few days after he thought Ariana dead had he tried to get here, to reach her while he'd prayed over and over that she was somehow, miraculously, still alive? How many times had he visited this place in his dreams, dreams in which Ariana still lived? Dreams in which he'd stood beside her, in which he'd saved her.