Hunger Untamed (Feral Warriors #5)(9)

No, humans whose minds couldn't be cleared were a danger the Ferals could not tolerate. And yet, after so much carnage on that field of battle, none of them had had the stomach to end three innocent lives. So they'd brought the trio back to Feral House in hopes that the energy they'd consumed would wear off and make them once more susceptible to mind-clouding. They'd kept them unconscious as long as they could.

Esmeria stepped out of the cage. "All three are in need of liquids and some real sustenance, though nothing critical. Just feed them the next time they wake up. Since the unnatural energy is starting to wear off, you may be able to clear their minds now." The woman shrugged. "Or it might take another few days. It's impossible to know."

When Esmeria had gone, Wulfe shucked off his pants and shifted into his wolf. He curled up on the cool stone floor, where he could watch two of the captives and hear all three. The humans had been put in separate cages divided by thick stone walls. He lay in shadow, out of sight, in case any of them awoke suddenly.

Nearly an hour later, he heard footsteps on the stairs, his wolf's hearing identifying the one approaching by both scent and sound. His chief, Lyon.

Wulfe shifted back into his human form but didn't bother to pull his pants on. He wasn't a Feral who could keep his clothes on when he shifted and would just have to take them off again when he returned to wolf--the far more comfortable form for lying on the floor of the prison block.

Lyon appeared from the long passageway that led from the mansion's basement. When he reached him, Lyon extended his arm in greeting, as the Ferals always did. Touch was an important need to the Therians, particularly the Ferals, with their ties to the animals within them.

"Any change?" Lyon asked.

"They're still out. Any word from Kougar?"

The chief of the Ferals shook his head, a low growl rumbling from his throat. "I hate not being able to do anything for Tighe and Hawke. I trust Kougar to do what he can, but there's no way to know if he'll succeed. We can't lose them."

Lyon stared into one of the cages. "The sooner we get these three stripped of their memories and out of here, the better. I don't like that they're here. And I sure as hell hope you can get into the male's memories if it turns out he's blind, as you suspect."

Minds were clouded and memories stripped by staring into the eyes. A blind person offered no easy entry. Possibly, no entry at all.

Wulfe shrugged. "I'll do what I can." Tighe would do better. He was the best at clouding human minds. But Tighe wasn't here and, goddess help them, might never be again.

The soft rustle of clothes on stone told him one of the humans was stirring, and he shoved back the grief that tried to crowd him at the thought of his friends lost in that spirit trap.

The blonde was the one stirring. He'd taken watch enough times over the past days to be well acquainted with which human lay in which cell. The blind male, who'd been ignored by the Daemons even though he'd been staked with the others, was in the cell out of his direct line of sight. The other two were females--the one with the lip ring who looked to be still in her teens, and the blonde who, he was certain, was older than the other two by at least eight to ten years. She was thirty, or close to it, her limbs long, her face pretty but for the three-inch gash one of the Daemons had opened in her cheek.

Wulfe had healed the cut enough to stop the bleeding, but she was going to have a hell of a scar. And if anyone knew a thing or two about scars, it was he. He rubbed his jaw, feeling the soft brush of day-old whiskers. Whiskers that did little to hide his own disfigurement--the hideous marks that had long ago transformed him from a male women admired into one from whom they ran.

At the sound of a soft feminine groan, he and Lyon both stiffened. "You'd better talk to her, Roar," he said quietly, reaching for the jeans he'd tossed against the wall. "She doesn't need any more terrorizing."

Lyon grunted. "I don't have much luck with terrified humans . . . or females who think they're human." Wulfe knew Lyon referred to the night he'd plucked their new Radiant, Kara, out of her human world with all the finesse of a bear in a flower garden. She'd adjusted beautifully, but apparently that had been one hell of a night. For both of them.

He and Lyon eyed one another, each looking to dodge this particular task, each certain the prison block was about to erupt in screams and/or tears.

"We need Kara," Wulfe muttered, pulling on his pants.

Lyon nodded, relief flooding his eyes before he turned back to the passage that led into the house. "I'll get her."

"Use your cell phone."

"It won't take but a few minutes."

"Coward."

"Not denying it." With a quick, feral grin, Lyon disappeared into the passage, leaving Wulfe alone with the waking human female. Dammit.

Safe in the shadows, Wulfe watched as the woman struggled to sit up, working her way back to full consciousness. Her blond hair was straight and mussed, her casual clothes wrinkled, but not visibly damaged. Confusion clouded soft gray eyes beneath knitted brows as she looked around. Lifting a hand, she touched the wound on her face and winced, then jerked and slowly turned to stone.

Remembering.

Her jaw dropped, her eyes at once flaring and tightening with pain and a horror few humans had experienced in the last five thousand years, and none had lived to tell about.