Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(33)

The painted wood floor was cool and smooth beneath her bare feet. She barely remembered the feel of shoes, it had been so long since she'd worn any. Birik had never provided anything but the basics for her - dresses and a minimal amount of food. In the days before Inir came, back when she was young and still had friends, they'd tried to slip her treats - a doll, a small necklace, a pretty pair of panties - but Birik invariably discovered the gifts and destroyed them.

Paenther steered her down the hall. Her pulse began to race. A bead of perspiration slid between her br**sts. Even before they reached the room where the Ferals waited, she heard the deep rumblings of male voices and felt the stirrings of the animals inside them. Mostly large animals, jungle cats and canines, along with a single bird of prey.

Paenther ushered her into a large, wood-paneled room dominated by a huge oval table and the men themselves - more than half a dozen huge males. With them was the woman she'd seen in the foyer. Kara. All eyes turned her way, a mix of curiosity and animosity in every pair.

The animals leaped to greet her, then one by one began to growl and hiss, mimicking the hostility of the men in which they resided.

Three of the big men strode forward, watching her with wary eyes but looking at Paenther with deep, heartfelt relief.

A sharp-faced man with arched brows grasped Paenther's arm with both of his.

"Hawke," Paenther murmured.

"You had us worried, buddy." He held Paenther's forearm for a long moment. "Glad you got away."

"Me, too."

As Hawke stepped back, a second man, the largest in the room, grabbed his arm.

"Wulfe."

"Welcome back, B.P."

The third man, Skye had seen before. A young man with a shock of unkempt red hair. Foxx. He'd been with Paenther each time she'd seen him at the Market, before she'd captured him.

Paenther gripped the young man's forearm, then released her to clasp his shoulder. "I'm glad you're okay, Cub. But that's the last time I'm listening to those instincts of yours."

The younger man groaned. "I guess she didn't turn out to be so good for you after all."

"You could say that."

"Have a seat," Lyon barked.

Paenther seated Skye on an empty chair at the near end of the table. With her hands tied, she didn't have the luxury of leaning back as the others did. But she wouldn't have been able to relax anyway. Not in this room, with the men throwing hostile looks her way every few moments.

Lyon, sitting at the head of the table at the far end, vibrated with tension. He turned to the Shaman, who had followed them in. "Is there any possibility that Paenther is still enthralled?"

"There's always the possibility. I feel no evidence of enthrallment, but he still wears the shackles. I can't say for certain what they're doing to him. The witch may be using them to control him in some way."

Lyon's intense gaze swung to Paenther. "What happened, B.P.? And what do we have to do to end this threat once and for all?"

As Paenther filled them in on the capture, Vhyper, and the Daemons, Skye watched him, glad for the opportunity to turn away from the unfriendly eyes in the room and drink her fill of the man at her side.

Paenther commanded a power unrivaled by any man in the room, with the possible exception of the chief himself. A power she felt every time he came near her. A power that lit fires in her blood.

As he talked, turning from his chief to the other men and back again, his black hair swung about his shoulders, and the scars across his eye rippled and moved. His was a face of incredible beauty and depth, exotic with its high, pronounced cheekbones, yet ruggedly, vibrantly handsome.

Anger tightened his voice as he spoke, yet the panther spirit inside him rubbed against her mind, like a tame cat might her ankles, as if wholly unaware that much of his anger was directed at her. Paenther seemed to be the only one of the Ferals whose emotion toward her was not in tune with his animal's.

She felt as if she had a friend in the room. Unfortunately, that panther spirit could never help her if the others - even the man he shared a body with - turned against her.

"Witch," Lyon snapped, jerking her gaze to the other end of the table. "What are Birik's plans?"

Skye sat straighter, feeling all eyes turn on her. "Birik doesn't tell me his plans. All I know is he craves power. The kind my gift provides him. I heard the same thing Paenther did, that Birik wants more Daemons. An entire army. And he intends to use us to get it. Even if he doesn't get Paenther, he'll find a way to use my power to free more of those things." She met the Chief of the Ferals' gaze, her fingers curling into her fists until her nails bit into the flesh of her palms. "You can't let that happen. You can never give me back to him."

Lyon eyed her, his eyes narrowing as if he didn't believe her.

She tried to make him understand. "I was as much a prisoner of that place as Paenther was. I don't ever want to go back. But it's not what I want that matters. All that matters is that Birik not succeed." She stared at the Chief of the Ferals, willing him to know the truth of her words. "You must never allow him access to my power again." Though she couldn't bring herself to say the words out loud, the thought was clear in her eyes. If you have to, destroy me first.

The room was silent. Beside her, she felt the tug of Paenther's strong presence and turned to find him watching her with dark, unfathomable eyes as if he couldn't quite figure her out. Sometimes she almost felt like he believed her. Like he saw the truth.