Hunger Untamed (Feral Warriors #5)(57)

The man was short, his build slight, his appearance unassuming for one who'd caused so much pain and death. His thin brown hair was cut around his face at odd angles as if he were in the habit of hacking off whatever got in his way with the nearest knife. He was dressed, not as the victims around him, but in the green sorcerer's robes the Mage had taken to wearing in recent centuries. On his wrist he wore a modern black resin sports watch.

The Mage looked up as if seeing them for the first time, then back down at what he was doing as if they were just figments of his imagination. But in that brief glance, Kougar had glimpsed his eyes. Copper-ringed Mage eyes, one of which had a pupil that appeared to have bled through the iris in the shape of a hook.

Bingo. Hookeye.

Beside him, Ariana's hand spasmed in his, then fell away as she stepped away from him. A knife appeared in her hand, from where he wasn't sure, but a quick glance told him exactly what she meant to do with it.

If she'd felt any anxiety about facing the bastard, it was gone, replaced by a seething hatred.

He grabbed her upper arm. "Wait."

"They didn't survive." Hookeye's tone was conversational. "But they rarely do." He glanced up, his gaze meeting Kougar's. "I'm the poison master, you know. But you know." That gaze turned amused as it flicked to Ariana, then back down at his work.

The scene shifted suddenly, the room and victims changing as if the walls of a Hollywood set had been yanked away, another shoved into place with all the accompanying vertigo. An old castle, this time, built of bare stone. Once more, bodies hung, chained and tortured. The four surrounding them now were covered in the swollen buboes and dark patches of subdural hemorrhaging that reminded him all too well of the dead from bubonic plague.

"You collected plague victims?"

Hookeye smiled absently. "No. This one I caused. One of my more spectacular successes, though it only affected mortals, which was a shame."

The bastard had caused bubonic plague. Kougar's mind reeled. And how many other devastating human diseases?

It was well known that the Therians had often been the target of Mage poisons, though few had ever died from them. Tighe believed his childhood enclave had been the victim of one such attack, but such successes were rare, or the Mage would have wiped out the Therians long ago.

"You were my greatest failure, Queen of the Ilinas." Hookeye chuckled, but the sound was ugly. "Except you weren't, were you?" His tone hardened. "You just made me think you were."

Ariana stilled beneath Kougar's grip. "You meant to control me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Hookeye shrugged one scrawny shoulder, still concentrating on the vials and liquids he mixed together like some kind of medieval alchemist.

"To turn you against the Feral Warriors, of course." He picked up a vial and shook it, peering at it closely. "I'll succeed this time, you know." His gaze flicked to her, evil shining in those copper-ringed depths. "You'll bring the Feral Warriors to me."

"Never."

Kougar's impatience for battle cooled with the chilling words. "How will you succeed, Mage?" He growled. "How will you succeed in capturing the Feral Warriors?"

"The way I always do. I'm the poison master." He turned away, scraping away a bit of flesh from one of his victims into a plastic container.

But as he turned back to his table, the walls of the room shifted yet again. The new ones were eerily familiar, glittering with inlay on ivory-colored stone.

The Temple of the Queens. Kougar's heart began to thud in his chest.

Beside him, Ariana gasped. His gaze slammed into hers as understanding arced between them. To dream of the temple, Hookeye had to have been there. But when?

Recently?

As if in answer, a cat ran through the room. No ordinary cat, but a small, dark-spotted jaguar.

Jag.

Kougar stared at the animal, chills racing over his skin, triumph flaming in his mind. Hookeye had been in the temple when Jag raced through with him a few hours ago.

He's here now. We have the bastard!

"Get us out of here, Ariana," he said under his breath. The moment they were free of the dream, he'd get the other Ferals and attack. This was the break they needed.

Ariana made a sound deep in her throat, a sound of denial, her body tensing to be free of his restraint. Clearly, she'd had enough. She jerked free of his hold and sprang at the man who was little taller than she, lifting her knife as if she would cut out the Mage's heart.

But Hookeye was more aware than he appeared. Before Ariana could reach him, his hand flung out toward her, palm out. Ariana stopped as if she'd hit a brick fence with a guttural cry that was half fury, half pain. And suddenly she shot three feet into the air, her head flinging back, a look of agony on her face.

With a roar of fury, Kougar leaped at the Mage, shifting into his cougar in midair as he soared over the table and slammed into him, his jaws clamping around the bastard's neck. His fangs sank into the Mage's jugular, but no warm blood filled his mouth. He'd forgotten it was dream.

A dream that ended abruptly. He found himself once more sitting beside the pool in the queen's chamber far beneath the temple. Beside him, Ariana collapsed, her hands clawing at her throat as she gasped for air.

Kougar reached for her. "What's the matter?"