Passion Untamed (Feral Warriors #3)(79)

Can't...remember.

I'll say it with you.

As Birik's hand threatened to snap her neck, Paenther's voice began chanting in her head. The words Ezekiel had taught them.

Skye closed her eyes, mouthing the words, saying them in her head as she pulled her power, the true power, through the only warm-blooded animal in the room, the one inside Foxx.

Pain sliced through her chest as her cantric objected, but with the pain came a warm rush of energy. Gathering the power close, she let it grow and grow, then opened her eyes, trapped Birik in her gaze, and threw it at him.

Disbelief flashed in Birik's eyes a split second before he released her and flew backward, crashing into the table behind him. Crystal and power orbs shattered as the table collapsed beneath his slender weight.

Behind her, the door splintered, deep growls filling the room as the two jungle cats leaped inside. A jaguar and a black panther, the beautiful black panther she'd fallen in love with.

Skye, behind you!

She whirled too late. Birik hadn't stayed down and now his arm went around her neck, yanking her against his chest as his knife slid deep into her chest on a river of fire.

"You blast your power again, and your heart goes with me," he said loudly enough for all to hear. "And if your Feral makes another move, the result will be the same. If you move, cat, she dies."

Paenther froze, poised to spring at the Mage whose blade was sunk hilt deep in Skye's chest.

Beauty!

Paenther, no. Don't stop. Kill him!

He'll kill you without hesitation, I can see it in his eyes.

My life doesn't matter.

It matters. You matter.

The trouble was, how in the hell was he going to save her without getting himself enthralled in the process? A knife between Birik's eyes, another in that wrist. Tricky, since he had to be in human form to throw.

Jag, can you free a knife or two from these bastards?

Nothing I'd enjoy more, Hiawatha. But unless you've learned to throw with your tail, you're seriously risking enthrallment.

Just get me the knives, Jag. I'll do the rest.

Without hesitation, Jag went on the attack, tearing the blade hands off the closest two sentinels and tossing the metal. In a flash Paenther shifted and grabbed the knives.

But as he prepared to throw them, he froze, caught in some kind of magical net. Too late, he saw them, the three sorcerers on Birik's right staring at him with eyes of evil, murmuring beneath their breaths. Pain sliced through his head and down through his body.

Jag, get out! They've caught me. Get out before they trap us both.

Shit, the jaguar muttered, but the shout of the guard told him Jag had done as he'd commanded for once.

"Let the jaguar go," Birik said. "The others will catch him. And if they don't, I don't really care. This is the one I want."

Pain leaped inside him, scorching him from the inside out, but he watched with tearing relief as Birik slid his knife from Skye and pushed her away from him.

Skye fell to the floor, struggling for breath, but her heart was still in her chest, still beating. To an immortal, that was all that mattered. Her head turned, and she met his gaze, those blue eyes pained. For him.

"What are you going to do to him?" Foxx asked with a bored drawl. Paenther turned to study the young Feral he'd known for three years, still trying to figure out if he were merely being controlled by evil or if he had in fact been turned. At the moment, though, it didn't seem to matter. Not unless Foxx was one hell of an actor. Because he seemed utterly in league with Birik. "Are you going to kill him?"

"Kill him? No. I'm merely taking his soul. I have three Ferals at my disposal now. When they catch the jaguar, I'll have four. I'd never believed catching all the Ferals was a possibility, but I'm beginning to realize, your foolish loyalty to one another might make it ridiculously easy. As long as I have you, the others will come to me. And when I have you all, and have taken all your souls, you'll open the Daemon blade the way it was meant to be opened and free Satanan once and for all."

Like hell. But he was right. The Ferals were loyal to a fault. The others would mount rescue attempt after rescue attempt until they succeeded or were all caught. Just as the seventeen had all those years ago, and died, their animals never to return. It wasn't in the nature of a Feral to abandon his friends and brothers. And it was that very loyalty that would be their undoing.

The pain began to swirl in his head, a strange-colored fog encasing his mind and body. Sharp, invisible hooks dug into him, pulling. He found Skye, locked his gaze with hers, holding on against the magical forces trying to remove his soul.

Pain and fear for him bled from her eyes.

With a swift and terrible understanding he knew the moment he lost his soul his love for her, for anything, would die. He'd hurt her as he became a tool of evil, a weapon against the men he'd sacrifice his life to protect.

His body would continue to live and to kill, but the man he was, the man capable of love and sacrifice, would die.

As the pain overtook him, he yelled to the heavens, pouring out his rage and despair.

Skye stumbled to her feet, her wounds nearly healed, her heart crumbling beneath the weight of the terrible crime Birik was perpetrating on the man she loved. On the Ferals. On the world.

Vhyper stood well behind Birik, now, a man with a cold, emotionless face, his hands clasped behind his back.