Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(70)

"Once we're ready, we'll call down the power of the panther." Lyon looked at her. "I want you to wait outside the circle with Kara and Delaney until I call you. Then you can do...whatever it is you do."

Skye nodded, leaning back against Paenther as she watched the other Ferals gather around Kara, the five huge males dwarfing the woman. Lyon took Kara's hands while the others touched her neck or arms or ankles.

Skye had seen this once before, in her prison cell, and looked for a repeat with anticipation.

"Ready?" Kara asked.

"Do it, little Radiant," Lyon replied quietly.

Just like that, Kara lit up as if she'd swallowed two dozen lightwicks. The effect was even more amazing outside beneath the clouds. She looked like an angel come to Earth. Or the sun in human form.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Delaney breathed, standing beside her, the collar of her own coat turned up against the wind. "I'll never get used to this stuff."

Skye met the other woman's gaze, seeing warmth and intelligence, a strong soul and friendship in those dark eyes. She smiled warmly in return. "It is amazing."

Around Kara's and the men's feet, the snow melted as if someone were warming the stone from within. When Kara's light went out, the men stepped back, stripping to the waist. Golden armbands wrapped around thick arms glowed dimly beneath the heavy clouds. To a man, the Ferals were beautifully built, powerful and strong. But the only one who set her heart to racing was the one at her back.

Paenther gave her a squeeze, then released her to turn her in his arms. The warmth of his hands seeped into her bare flesh beneath the coat's leather. "Are you ready?"

The warm scents of leather and male cut through the cold air, heating her blood. As she stared into his dark eyes, she told him the truth. "I'm scared that I might not help you. Otherwise, I'm ready."

He squeezed her shoulders. "You're going to do the best you can, Beauty. That's all any of us can ask."

"Ready, B.P.?" Lyon called.

Paenther kissed her, a quick peck that sent his soft black hair sliding against her cheek. Then he released her and pulled off his shirt, and went to join the circle.

Kougar led the chant as the Ferals cut their chests with a sharp knife, one after the other, slapping their palms to the bloody wounds. Finally, Paenther cut his own chest, bloodied his hand and shoved his fist into the air. One by one, the other Ferals slapped their hands on top of his in a savage ritual of blood and power.

"Skye, join us," Lyon called.

She shrugged off the long leather coat and handed it to Delaney, then stepped out of the borrowed boots. Taking a deep breath for courage, she walked barefoot across the wet rock to enter the circle and stand before Paenther.

He stared down at her, his gaze falling to her knees and rising again, slowly, male appreciation warm in his eyes. Then he tilted his head back and yelled to the clouds, his deep, strong voice ringing out over the rocks and wind, "Spirits rise and join. Empower the beast beneath this sky." The others joined in, the words drifting and sliding around her. Thunder rumbled. The rock beneath her feet began to shake.

"Dance, Skye." Paenther threw back his head, and roared, "Empower the spirit of the panther!"

As the energy flowed around her, Skye closed her eyes and spun, her feet moving as she chanted the words Ezekiel had taught her.

"Stop!" Paenther's voice barked in her ear as his rough hands clamped onto her shoulders, stopping her abruptly. Her eyes flew open and she stared with horror at the Ferals around her bent double with pain.

She jerked free of Paenther's hold and spun to face him. "What happened?"

"Those are not the words Ezekiel taught you," he growled, his own face a mask of pain.

"They were." Her trembling hand went to her forehead. "I thought they were." She whispered some of the syllables.

"No. Those are the words I heard in the cavern."

Violent quakes tore through her body and she covered her face with her hands. This was the very thing she'd feared! That she'd hurt them. That Birik and his darkness had stained her soul.

"Shh..." Paenther's strong arms went around her and he pulled her against him, holding her too tight, his body strung taut with pain. Soft in her ear he said the words he'd heard as many times as she had last night.

Skye began to whisper the words with him, over and over, louder as she pulled out of his hold and turned. The Ferals straightened, their faces slowly clearing of the terrible discomfort.

Deep within her she felt the power begin to rise. Praise the Mother. But as she spun, the pain attacked her instead, a sudden searing wound through her chest as if someone had stabbed her with a dagger. She clutched her chest, forcing her feet to keep moving, but the pain intensified until it was a searing mass of fire and she couldn't breathe. She stumbled, gasping, dizzy with pain.

Paenther gripped her shoulders, holding her upright. "What's the matter? I could feel it working."

"My chest." And suddenly she understood. "The cantric. It won't let me..." she gasped. "Damn him. Damn him!" She looked up. "Help me. Say it with me."

"No. Not if it's going to hurt you."

"Say it!"

His jaw tightened, but he said the words with her, helping her dance when she could barely stand upright, when her vision threatened to fail. When she could hardly speak.