Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(29)

But as far as he remembered, she'd never done anything to cause him pain. How could he get any satisfaction from hurting her in return? Even her fear was making him ill.

Yes, she'd taken him against his will, but he couldn't pretend there was any similarity. When she'd impaled herself on him during that ritual, he'd been furious. But she hadn't hurt him. Until the power rushed through him afterward, the physical act itself had brought him only pleasure.

That wouldn't be the case if he forced himself on her. Not unless she was wet and ready. Goddess, he could do that. He wanted to do that, to stroke her and touch her until she was writhing with need beneath his hand.

That he could force on her. A need she didn't want.

Retribution.

But he couldn't shake the thought of her on that stone, chained as he'd been. For whose pleasure? Birik's?

Fury burned through him, but it was a fury against her attackers, not against her.

Shit.

For all he knew, every thought in his head was being manipulated by her deft enchantment.

He stormed out of the small cell without a backward glance, locking the barred door behind him. It was past time he got himself cleared of this damned magic. And the only way to do that was with a good sexual release. Evangeline's warm and willing body would have to do. But, goddess, the only one he wanted was the very one who'd enchanted him in the first place.

Skye.

As Paenther climbed the stairs from the underground chambers, his fingers curled around the cold metal manacle biting into his opposite wrist. Dark fury twined with the rage that was as much a part of him as the magic that allowed him to shift. A magic chained as thoroughly by these damned shackles as he'd been chained to that rock.

His fingers dug into his flesh, trying to claw beneath the metal. He wanted the damned things off! The witch claimed they were magic, which meant they could be doing things to him. Goddess knew what.

The shackles alone were stopping him from racing back to that cavern to grab Vhyper before he couldn't find him again. Vhyper's soul was still in his body, Paenther was sure of it. Trapped by the evil that had already stolen too many.

If it was the last thing he did, he'd get him out of that cavern and free of the dark control.

Paenther strode into the foyer to find Evangeline waiting for him, watching him with hunger in her eyes. She'd dressed for him, her ripe curves well displayed by the low-cut red dress that hugged her body and left her long, shapely legs bare. Her dark hair tumbled loose around her shoulders just the way he liked it.

"Where's Genovia?" he asked.

"Jag's already taken her upstairs." She held out her hand to him, a slow, knowing smile lifting her mouth.

He made no move to take her hand. For the first time in decades that smile, that ripe, lush body, stirred nothing inside him.

Skye's fault. Ironically, the only way to eliminate the web of enchantment she'd spun around him was to take Evangeline anyway. And he would. Dammit, he would.

In a minute.

"Do you want something?" He walked past her into the living room, a room as flowery and gilded as the rest of the house, and grabbed the bottle of scotch from the bar, pouring himself a drink and kicking it back in a single swallow.

"I want you," the woman said softly, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed beneath her ample br**sts. She watched him with shrewd eyes, her gaze flicking down to his crotch and his decided lack of erection. "But you don't want me today. What's happened, Paenther?" There was no rancor in her tone. No hurt.

Theirs was a relationship built on sex and nothing more. On physical pleasure and needs met. He liked and respected her and was always careful to bring her as much pleasure as she brought him. But what they had together ended at the bedroom door.

"I've been enthralled. I'm probably still under her enchantment."

Evangeline nodded. "Which is why Lyon called me." She straightened and held out her hand again. "Come, warrior. Let's get you cleared of that magic. Then when you're interested again, I'll pleasure you a second time, if you like."

Paenther watched her, seeking the rush of heat that should have accompanied her words. But it was frustratingly absent. Still, she was right. The sooner he got the witch's magic out of his system, the better.

Without touching her, he led her upstairs to his bedroom, his own private sanctuary. The previous Radiant, Beatrice, had insisted on sharing her love of art with all the Ferals. Paintings of Indians on horseback covered two of his walls. But the large, rough-hewn furniture and collections of now-antique guns and arrowheads were all his.

He closed the door and watched the woman slowly strip out of the dress until she wore nothing but a pair of tiny lace panties and a bra, which left little to the imagination. Evangeline was soft and curvy, and sexy as hell. At least, he'd always thought so. But as he imagined removing those scraps of lace and having his way with the womanly parts beneath, he felt nothing. His body refused to rise.

He gave a snort of disgust.

Evangeline frowned. "She really has you under her spell, doesn't she?"

With a growl, he closed the distance between them, turned Evangeline in his arms, pressing her back against his chest as his hands covered her full, ripe br**sts. Too ripe. His hands itched to cup a pair of small br**sts on a too-slender frame. "Dammit."

Evangeline eased out of his arms. "Close your eyes, Paenther. Maybe that will help. Close your eyes and think of her."