Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(2)

His friend took the blade with a rueful frown, then cut himself as the others had. "Bollocks," he muttered. "Have they been taking lessons from Ancreta?"

"Silence," Kougar said evenly.

When Vincent handed him the blade, Black Panther cut his own chest with the bloodied knife, the pain radiating through his body in an arc of fire, but dulling rapidly as his body healed the insult to his flesh. He slapped his palm to the warm stickiness and fisted his hand. As the others shoved their fists into the air, he did the same.

Lyon nodded. "It is time, Oudine."

Sitting at their feet, the Radiant pushed back the sleeves of her gown and raised her arms above her head.

The chief turned and met his gaze, then Vincent's. "New Ferals, you cannot drink the radiance directly until after your first shift. If you touch her, you will die."

The six moved to stand between the newcomers and the Radiant. Lyon opened his fist and pressed his bloody palm atop Black Panther's fist. A second pressed his palm atop Lyon's and a third atop his. The other three gathered around Vincent in the same manner.

Kougar began to chant, and the others joined in. "Spirits rise and join. Empower the beasts beneath this sky. Goddess, reveal your warriors!"

Thunder rumbled. Black Panther tensed as the rock beneath his feet quaked and trembled. Power raced through his body in an arc of excruciating pain. He clamped down against the unwarrior-like urge to yell his misery to the heavens and hung on.

His vision clouded with small, sparkling lights as something started to shift deep inside. Pain erupted within his body as if he were being stabbed by a thousand knives. Only by sheer dint of the strongest will did he remain upright and not fall to his knees in agony. In the distance, he heard the sound of Ancreta's laughter. He fought the pain, embracing the power that rushed through him, transforming him.

And suddenly his vision shifted. No longer was he standing at the height of men, but far lower, on four legs. His sight sharpened. Sounds bombarded his ears. Scents overwhelmed him - the snow, the forest woods, the river, and the men and woman surrounding him. Each carried a different scent, each heart beat at a different pace, and he was suddenly, strikingly, aware of them all.

Joy coalesced within him, rare and pure, despite the pain that continued to stab at his body. He threw his cat's head back and roared in triumph. He was, finally, incredibly, a black panther in truth. Ancreta had not won after all.

"Shift back to a man, Black Panther." Lyon's low voice landed softly on his ears.

He stilled. How was he supposed to shift back?

As if hearing his question, Lyon spoke again. "Will yourself a man, warrior, and it will be so."

He did. He wished himself to be a man once more and in a second burst of colorful lights and mind-ripping pain, he returned to his human form. Panting from the dulling pain, filled with an odd mix of rage and elation, he turned to Vincent.

A strange flatness lay in his friend's eyes.

"Henceforth," Kougar intoned at Lyon's side, "you will be known among us as Paenther."

Vincent studied him, his eyes hard as his gaze dipped. "You accomplished the feat, B.P. You bear the armband."

Paenther looked down at the thick gold snaking around his upper arm. At one end, a panther's head glowed with emerald eyes. His gaze snapped to Vincent, to his friend's arms, devoid of gold. And with piercing, painful clarity, he understood.

"You did not shift." The realization came out on a hard burst of disbelief.

Vincent shook his head, his expression as grim as Paenther had ever seen it. Even during all those miserable months, Vincent had been the one who believed they'd eventually get out of there. That they would eventually become Feral Warriors. Now it seemed even that was to be stolen from him.

Paenther frowned, his head moving in denial. "You shifted before. You should not have been able to, but you did."

"Perhaps 'tis why I cannot now. Ancreta and her dark magic have fouled...destroyed...the one good thing in my life."

"We shall try one more time," Lyon said, drawing their joint gazes. The Chief of the Ferals' expression was grim.

Paenther stilled. "And if he fails to shift a second time?"

Lyon shook his head. "A Feral Warrior who cannot shift cannot receive radiance and will eventually die."

He knew it to be true. The third captive, Frederick, had been trapped in Ancreta's dungeon for nearly two years when his immortality began to wane. He'd bled to death from one of Ancreta's tortures as an immortal never would have.

"We are at war with the Mage," Lyon continued. "We cannot wait two years to replenish our ranks."

The rage boiling beneath Paenther's skin found an outlet as he whirled on the Chief of the Ferals. He lunged forward, stopping a mere yard before the powerful chief, baring his human teeth. "You shall not destroy him."

Lyon growled low in his throat, a sound of warning. "Then he must shift."

Paenther whirled back to his friend with fierce determination. "Did you feel anything? Anything at all?"

Vincent shook his head. "I heard Ancreta's laughter."

"As did I. In the distance."

"No. I heard it as clear as if she stood at my side."

Paenther's lip curled. "She still has her claws in both of us. More so in you." He turned back to Lyon. "The witch must die. This day. Before we try again."