Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(53)

The moment he entered her cell, she slid into his arms. He pulled her tight, cradling her head against his shoulder as his hand burrowed into her hair.

"Tell me what happened, Beauty." As she quickly caught him up, he held her, stroking her, feeling her tremble. "Easy, little one." But he couldn't blame her for being afraid. Not with the beasts pacing outside her cage, eyeing her as if they meant to make her their next meal.

They wouldn't, of course. They'd damn well better not even be thinking about it. With a low growl, he dipped his head and captured her mouth, claiming her. Marking her in front of his brothers. She's mine.

The kiss eased his soul, and it was with reluctance that he drew back, cupping her face gently, briefly, before he turned on the Shaman with a fierce, animalistic growl.

"You hurt her, you die."

Skye touched his arm. "Paenther, it's okay. I can handle it."

"I've seen what you can handle." His hard gaze never left the Shaman. "But he has a deep-rooted prejudice against Mage, and I'd hate for it to creep into his actions here."

To his credit, the Shaman met his gaze with perfect calm. "I vow to you, I'll not intentionally harm her. I've never mind-skinned a Mage, warrior. I cannot be certain of the outcome. In any way."

Paenther growled, but nodded. "Do it."

The Shaman turned to Skye. "Lie down."

Paenther held her hand as she lowered herself to the stone floor. As the Shaman knelt at her head, Paenther squatted at her side, stroking his thumb over her fingers where they curled around his.

The pain tore at his flesh, but his only concern was for Skye. He held her tight as the Shaman gripped her head in his hands. He'd been there when the Shaman skinned Kara's mind. The pain...goddess, the pain. He'd already seen Skye in pain when he still thought she was against him, and every time it had nearly killed him. He wouldn't be able to stand it again. Not when she was coming to mean too much to him.

As the Shaman began to chant, Paenther steeled himself for the first wave of agony to hit her.

"How far back, witch?"

"Skye," Paenther snapped. "Her name is Skye."

"How old were you, Skye?" the Shaman asked.

"Eight."

The thought of her stretched out on that rock like he'd been, abused...Paenther's hand clenched hers. Birik was going to die.

Her hand spasmed around his, her mouth tightening as her entire body went rigid.

"It hurts," he growled.

Skye squeezed his hand. "It's okay."

"Like hell."

"I'm going to open your memories of that time, Skye. They may swallow you at first, pulling you back there, but we'll bring you forward again when it's done. It's up to you to find the spell. Find it and repeat it. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The Shaman resumed his chanting, different though equally unintelligible words, then stopped abruptly. "We should be there."

Skye's body went rigid.

"How old are you, Skye?" the Shaman asked.

"Eight." Her voice had changed. It was higher. Younger. As he watched her face, her bottom lip began to quiver, tears springing into her eyes. "I want my mother."

She sounded...eight. For one horrible moment, he glimpsed the little girl she'd been.

"Skye," the Shaman said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Are you still wearing the shackles?"

"Yes."

"Has he put the cantric in you, yet?"

"I'm not...big enough for a cantric." Her eyes went wide with fear. "He's coming. I hear him coming." Her voice broke. "He's going to hurt me again."

Paenther felt her frantic grip on his hand and stroked her head, hating, hating, the man who'd done this to her. "He's not going to hurt you again, Skye. Never again."

The Shaman glanced at him, then spoke to her. "Skye, you're a little older now. I want you to come forward a few days. To the day he removed your shackles."

Her skin was cool but damp to his touch as Paenther stroked the short hair off her forehead.

"Are you wearing the shackles, Skye?"

"I don't need them anymore. He's taking them off."

"Repeat the spell, Skye. Repeat the spell Birik used to remove your shackles."

Softly, almost too softly to hear, she began to chant in ancient Mage in the voice of the girl she'd once been. The Shaman took her free hand and curled it around one of Paenther's manacles.

Magic began to dance at his wrists and ankles, a prickly, uncomfortable sensation that slowly began to burn. The metal shackles turned to gold, then bronze in a shimmer of light, the air filling with the smell of heated metal and burning flesh. His flesh.

With a sudden, blinding burst of light, pain roared through his body. He stumbled back against the wall, his vision turning black as the fire from the shackles spread, racing up his arms and legs to consume his entire body in a white-hot rush of agony.

"Get her out of here!" Lyon's human voice roared through the prison block.

"No!" Paenther reached blindly for Skye, feeling her strong, slender arms wrap around him as if she could keep him from stumbling. He locked her against him as he felt the strong hands of one of his brothers.