Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(77)

"They're safer this way. Order the panther to get hard for you and you should be able to mount him. If not, use your hand."

If they remained unconscious all was lost. And if Birik suspected anything, he'd never release them from their enthrallment.

Her heart pounded as she hazarded a glance at her tormentor and risked saying too much. "I can't feel their animals. I'm...I'm afraid I won't be able to call the power through them." It wasn't entirely true. She could still feel the animals, but their energy was low beneath the magic. It was possible she really wouldn't be able to pull the same level of power through them.

She felt Birik's eyes on her, his cold gaze chilling her. "You're right. Their power is greatly dampened." But he didn't move. He continued to stand there, spearing her with his frigid gaze until she was certain he knew every thought in her head, could read every plan. She didn't move. Didn't react. Her gaze held steady in the center of his tunic-clad chest.

Finally, he turned and went to the Ferals. One after the other, he touched them, freeing them from the enchantment that would have eventually worn off on its own if there had been time.

Skye watched them, her breath held as she waited, but nothing happened. They didn't move. Birik's enchantment was like a drug in the system, a drug that took minutes to wear off. And they didn't have minutes. Midnight was upon them.

Their animals woke, rising, greeting her sluggishly. But the men remained enthralled.

They were out of time!

As the sorcerers in their bloodred hooded robes assembled outside the twin circles of flames, Birik laid a knife on top of the half column between them. Skye looked at it and knew it must be the famed Daemon blade, the prison of Satanan and his horde for five thousand years.

A chill slithered down her spine.

Birik nodded at her, a silent admonition to prepare herself, then stripped off his tunic, leaving his skin bare. Like her, he would perform the ritual sky-clad, wearing nothing but the blood of the sacrifices.

She watched Paenther, trying not to stare, not to make it too obvious she was desperate for him to wake up. She felt as if her heart would stop from the pounding fear.

She gripped the hem of her dress and pulled it off in a single move, tossing it below one of the platforms.

As she watched, Paenther's eyes opened and blinked, but didn't stray from the ceiling. Wake up completely, Paenther. Please wake up.

Glancing at Jag and Foxx, she found them both watching her with eyes that were still glazed.

The cool, damp air of the cavern caressed her skin as she went to Paenther. Birik had told her to prepare herself, but the thought of touching herself with the two Ferals watching was too much, even for her. But there were other ways. She knelt beside Paenther.

"Can you hear me?"

"I can, Beauty, though my head feels clogged with cat hair."

She bent low over him. "Maybe I can help you clear it." She kissed him, pressing her lips to his. His mouth opened beneath hers, his tongue sweeping in to claim hers. Moment by moment the kiss changed in intensity, from soft and lazy to hard and demanding. When she pulled back, sharp clarity cut through his eyes

"Where are the others?"

"They're here. It's midnight."

"Beware of Foxx, Skye. He's been turned."

She wanted to ask him why he thought so, and how it had happened, but there wasn't time. Instead, she stood to find the sorcerers circling the fire pits, Mage sentinels standing in a larger circle around them. If Paenther was right, and Foxx was no longer on their side, it was two against so many. It would take a miracle for them to win.

But if she didn't free them, they would absolutely die.

As the sorcerers took up the midnight chant, Skye turned into her dance. In her head, she repeated the spell to free their shackles. Her gaze went to Foxx, then skirted to Jag. He watched her, waiting. Ready. When she looked down at Paenther, she found him staring up at her with hatred in his expression and love in his eyes.

"Witch," he snarled loudly. "Beauty," he whispered, his voice low nearly to the point of silence. That single word, said with reverence, sang in her heart.

It was time.

Skye flung back her head, closed her eyes, and said the words to release their shackles. She felt the moment the animals within them roared in approval. She opened her eyes to a flash of sparkling lights as the Ferals shifted into their animal forms.

"Stop them!" Birik roared from across the hall.

Within a heartbeat, the Mage were on the animals with knives and magic.

On two of the animals. Foxx walked toward her, still a man, unmolested by the Mage. In his eyes was a coldness she'd never seen before. A coldness she knew all too well.

Paenther was right.

They'd stolen Foxx's soul.

She turned and ran, but Mage blocked her way, and Foxx caught her before she'd gotten out of the hall.

Skye! Get out of the cavern. Paenther's voice rang in her head.

But it was too late. For all of them.

Foxx jammed his thumb beneath her ear. Darkness descended over her mind.

Too late.

Chapter Twenty-four

No sooner had he shifted into his animal form and leaped onto his feet, than Paenther found himself surrounded by Mage wielding knives. They couldn't enthrall him in this form, but if he didn't move fast and lethally, they'd rip out his heart before he ever got a chance to attack.