Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(32)

As Jag had said, not twenty yards ahead of her stood a large, rickety, run-down house with dirty white siding and a wraparound porch, one section of which appeared to be rotted through. And smack-dab in front, on the dirt track that served as a drive, stood the red pickup truck.

Her body tensed, and she shook her head until Jag pulled his hand from her mouth and settled it, warm and firm, on her breast. Without thinking, she arched into his touch, her body still riding the effects of release.

"That's the truck I was following earlier," she whispered.

His hand slid out from between her legs to caress her abdomen, his hand vibrating as if he were shaking. He pressed his cheek against her temple, his voice low and pained.

"You have no idea what it does to me to make you come."

Tucked tight between them, his thick erection twitched and throbbed.

"I have some idea," she said huskily.

Heat swirled around them, the fire unquenched despite her roaring release. She'd fought and fought against giving in to him the first time, but if their situation weren't so dangerous, she knew she'd be begging him to come inside her again.

Slowly, reluctantly, Jag's hands fell away and he stepped to her side. His erection stood straight out from his body, hard as oak and thick as her wrist.

"Looks painful," she murmured.

"Want to suck me off?"

Deliberate crudeness with which he intended to wedge some distance between them again. She had him figured out well enough.

But as she stared at that gorgeous thickness, desire to do just that - to take him deep in her mouth - flowed hot and rich inside her.

He lifted a lock of her hair and twisted it around his finger, tugging gently. "You keep looking at it like that, and there won't be any sucking necessary."

"Rain check?" she asked softly, lifting her gaze to his.

His brows lifted, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Every time I think I have you figured out, you surprise me."

She found herself smiling. "I'm aware of that."

His eyes lit with laughter, and he tugged on her hair. "So sure of yourself, are you?"

Releasing her hair, his hand cupped her jaw, his thumb sliding across her ultrasensitive bottom lip. "We'll continue this discussion later. This is neither the time nor the place." He held out his hand to her and she hesitated only a moment before taking it. "Let's take a look around."

Jag led her through the brush and trees, keeping well back from the tree line where they wouldn't be seen if someone looked out one of the windows. There were lights on inside, but the curtains were drawn, and Olivia could see nothing.

As one, they froze as two Mage sentinels turned the corner and strode across the front of the house. Guards, no doubt.

When the Mage pair had their backs turned to them, Jag led her through the woods, circling the house slowly, then stopped so quickly she ran into him, her shoulder pressing against the warmth of his arm.

She didn't waste breath on questions. Instead, her gaze followed his to the two thick posts standing in the middle of the backyard. Attached to them appeared to be slabs of meat of some kind.

Her gaze narrowed as she pondered the why. Were they trying to attract some kind of animal?

But as her mind caught up to her gaze, she noticed the single boot hanging from the end of one bloody strip. With a hard blast of cold, she understood. Gagging, she turned her head, pressing her forehead against Jag's shoulder. A shaking bare shoulder that had turned suddenly cool and clammy.

"Motherf*ckers," Jag snarled beside her. "They're using the humans as Daemon bait."

Her head began to throb as it always did in the face of stark cruelty. The humans would have been strung up alive, since Daemons fed on fear and pain. Were these the men she'd followed out of Wal-Mart? Was it their flesh hanging there, now? Dear goddess. She struggled for control, for the warrior toughness she'd learned so long ago.

Jag snatched his hand from hers, a low animalistic growl rumbling from his throat.

Olivia lifted her head, noting the fangs that had sprouted from his human mouth.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"Easy, Feral. You can't take them on alone, though goddess knows I want to help you.

Especially when we don't know what they're capable of anymore." She ran her hand over his back in slow, calming strokes. "Ease down, Jag."

Slowly, his fangs retreated, and he looked at her with furious eyes. A fury not turned on her. "There could be others in there who are still alive."

"We'll call for reinforce..."

Jag's hand shot to her shoulder, quieting her as the door to the house opened. They watched as two people walked down the steps, a man and a woman dressed in sorcerer's robes. The same auburn-haired woman she'd seen in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.

As the woman reached the bottom step, she stumbled.

The man's hand shot out to steady her. "Mystery?"

The woman - Mystery? - waved her hand at him impatiently, her bearing cool and confident despite her near spill. "I'm fine. How long has it been gone?"

"Ten minutes. These two didn't last long."

The witch barely glanced at the corpses. Instead, her gaze went to the eaves of the house where dark orbs hung crackling with barely visible lightning.

"Long enough," she murmured.