Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(6)

"What I want doesn't matter." Even her soft voice, rich with a regret he didn't believe, held a musical lilt that stroked his senses. "I'm sorry to have brought you here."

"Then let me go."

"I can't." She came toward him, stopping at the foot of the stone platform where he was chained. To his consternation, she watched him, her gaze sliding over his flesh. His body rose, hardening, as if her hands and not her gaze caressed him.

The faint scent of her arousal stole across his senses, tripping a wild rage inside him. How many times had Ancreta forced him to rise for her, then impaled herself on his unwilling body before beginning the torture of trying to free him from his animal?

Placing her palms on the waist-high rock, the witch pulled herself up and knelt between his legs with a swish of soft cotton.

Paenther went feral, that place halfway between man and beast where his fangs erupted, his claws unsheathed, and his black eyes turned the glowing green of a jungle cat's.

"You touch me, you die."

The witch laced her fingers together in her lap tight enough to turn her knuckles white. The sympathy and remorse in her blue eyes almost seemed real. "I've been where you are. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy." She leaned forward, her voice strong and low, and laced with steel. "I know you don't believe me, but you aren't my enemy."

"You are mine," he bit out.

She sighed. "I know." Sitting back on her heels, she loosened the knot of her hands. "I'm sorry. I have to touch you, but I won't touch you there." Her gaze caressed his shaft. "Not unless you want me to."

"I'll kill you first."

With a single nod, she splayed her cool palms lightly across his bare thighs. With that simple touch, sensation rippled across his flesh, a heady, electric heat that sent the blood surging through his veins. He fought the desire that blasted him, clawing to hang on to the icy control that had molded his life, but his mind betrayed him as thoroughly as his body. All he could think of was the way her silken thighs had felt beneath his hands as he'd spread her in the woods, as he'd entered her.

The scent of violets washed over him. The sight of her mouth, ripe and unsmiling in that delicate face, reminded him of the taste of her kiss, like clear, sweet raindrops. Even knowing what she was, even knowing she'd lured him into her trap with a siren's song of lust, he couldn't stop wanting her.

Her palms slid along the tops of his thighs, across his flesh as if he were an animal to be petted. It was all he could do not to purr. Without his consciously willing it, his fangs and claws retracted.

"You hid your Mage eyes," he snarled instead.

Her mouth twisted in a wry, frustratingly engaging shadow of a smile. "You wouldn't have come with me otherwise."

Paenther tried to growl, but the feel of her hands was doing things to him in parts of his body that had nothing to do with sex. Almost as if she were soothing the rage burned into his soul by Ancreta all those years ago.

"You're beautiful," she murmured. "Your skin is warm as the sun. Your hair like black silk." Her words flowed over him, as irritatingly pleasing as her touch. "The animal inside you purrs."

Paenther froze. Dammit, he hadn't even tried...Closing his eyes against her, he called on the magic deep inside him and tried to shift, praying his panther's paws would be able to slide free of his shackles.

Nothing happened.

As he opened his eyes, the witch's copper blue gaze met his. "The manacles steal your power, warrior. You can't shift as long as you wear them."

"How long have you known I was a Feral?"

"I knew the first time I saw you. I felt the animal inside you. Just now, I felt you call to the power he gives you."

He scowled. "You couldn't possibly have felt that."

She watched him with those eyes as deep as the oceans, but said nothing.

Witch.

His body went rigid as a thought occurred to him. He hadn't been alone. What if Foxx had been captured, too? He forced himself to look into the siren's face, guarding himself against the tug of her beauty, steeling himself for her answer.

"How many of us did you catch?"

"Just you, warrior. Your companion got away."

He stared at her, wanting to feel relieved yet not trusting her at all. Still, maybe Foxx had escaped. He would call Lyon, and they'd initiate a rescue. He hated the thought of his unbridled lust putting his brothers in danger; but knowing the others would come, that he wasn't doomed to spend the rest of his life here, helped calm his storm-tossed mind.

His thoughts evaporated as the witch leaned over him, her dark, sleek head dipping toward his body as if she intended to take him in her mouth.

The growl that erupted from his throat was that of an animal, dark with warning, even as part of him longed for the feel of her wet tongue stroking his length. But her lips landed well to the right of his heavy erection, brushing a light, damp kiss on his hip bone.

Paenther sucked in a hard breath, sweat beading at his temples. Even that small brush of her lips sent heat rushing through his body. His arms shook as they strained against their bonds, his driving need shifting from retribution to pulling her on top of him and burying himself in her heat.

How could he want her so badly when he hated her so violently? She was a fire in his blood. A need raging out of control.