Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(18)

"How?" Paenther's jaw clenched, his muscles flexing against his bonds. He was all for a battle, but to fight, he had to be free.

"I don't know. He said the energy we raised wasn't enough, but when I offered to try again, he said no. He had something else in mind. It can't be good."

Paenther captured her gaze and held it fast. "Get me out of here, Skye. I'll take you with me. You'll be safe from him."

"And where would you take me? Your people have been at war with mine forever."

"What difference does it make? He wouldn't beat you anymore."

She shook her head, fisting her hand on his chest. "I can't leave. I don't have a choice."

"We all have choices, Skye." He stared into her eyes, willing her to hear him. His life might depend on it. "Whether we choose to face them or hide from them defines who we are. Whether we choose to let evil live, or we fight to destroy it, defines our lives. Choose, Skye. Choose."

A spark of temper lit her eyes. "You don't understand."

"Skye..."

She pulled away from him. "You can't possibly understand! I have fought him. Over and over I've fought him, and all I've done is end up bloody and broken. He's too powerful! And his reach is too long. Even if I managed to get away, and I wouldn't, he'd hurt me until I begged to come back to him just to end the misery."

"I'll protect you."

"You can't!" She whirled and fled the room, his dinner still in her hand.

"Skye!"

He waited, praying she'd return, but she didn't. He cursed himself for a fool. She was his only hope of escape, his only company other than the animals chirping and whistling with agitation in the cages in the corner. He'd pushed her too hard, too fast, and scared her away.

He was still kicking himself for it sometime later when he heard heavy footsteps in the passage outside the room. The moment the pale-haired Birik stepped into the room, a green snake curled around his neck, Paenther knew this was it. The time had come.

Though for what, he didn't know.

The Mage studied him with dark curiosity. "Tonight's your big night, Feral. A night you'll never forget." The Mage reached for him.

Paenther fought to free himself, struggling against his chains, but there was nothing he could do to stop the cold press of the bastard's palm to his chest.

Or to stop himself from spinning into the net of enthrallment.

"Wake up, B.P."

Paenther heard Vhyper's voice as if from a distance. The hard kick to his ribs sent pain shooting through his body, propelling him into the thick, mind-sludge of partial enchantment.

Impressions bombarded his struggling brain. He could tell he wasn't alone with Vhyper by the murmur of other voices and the squawk of crows. Smells drove into his senses. Old blood, new fires, and violets.

Skye.

As before, he was on his back, but the rock beneath him felt different. Cool puddles of water gathered beneath his left calf and right shoulder. He tried to move, but he was caught as firmly as before, the chains clanking on the rock beneath his head.

Finally, his vision broke free. As he looked around him, he saw that everything had changed. He was on the floor this time, in a different, larger room within the cavern. A room that was dark except for a small shaft of moonlight breaking through from high above and the glowing embers of banked fires in vessels scattered around the room.

Though the floor was bare, the walls glowed with whitewash and graphic symbols he recognized as part of the ancient language of the Mage. Among the symbols, he knew only one. Sacrifice.

The rage that lived in his blood boiled over. He was not an animal to be chained and slaughtered! He struggled against his shackles. With a furious growl, he called on the power of the animal inside him and once again tried to shift. Like before, nothing happened.

"Fight it all you want," Vhyper drawled, standing at his side, his voice floating down from high above him. "You aren't going anywhere, B.P."

With his furious gaze, he searched the room. At one end stood nearly a dozen Mage sorcerers in ritual robes.

Ritual robes. Goddess, he smelled layers and layers of old blood in here. Was his about to coat these stones, too?

He searched for Skye and finally found her in the corner, stroking the agitated deer.

Vhyper squatted beside him, his forearm on his knee, his gaze on Skye. "She's a pretty little piece, isn't she, with those big doelike eyes? I told her you were a sucker for a damsel in distress. Wasn't that how Ancreta trapped you all those years ago?"

Paenther's eyes narrowed as he tore his gaze from the woman to look up at the man who'd once been his friend.

A malicious smile hovered at Vhyper's mouth. "I told her all she had to do was play the victim, and you'd be eating right out of her hand, giving her whatever she wanted."

Play the victim? A chill of foreboding rolled down his spine.

Vhyper shrugged. "Birik may have overplayed his role a bit when he beat her. He's been doing a shitload of groveling to make it up to her, but I hear the ploy worked like a charm. You not only let her f**k you, but you helped her enjoy herself." He grinned and pretended to high-five him. "Way to go, B.P."

Paenther stared at him. He was supposed to believe that beating was an act? A lie to gain his cooperation? No way in hell. He'd seen the bastard's face. He'd seen the pain and bleakness in Skye's. No woman could be that good an actress.