Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(77)

The Daemon cried out, anger in that hideous voice, as he shot out over the center of the vortex, bucking wildly. Right under the orbs. Hot damn.

But Jag's right arm was still half-numb from the venom. And while he held on with his left, he wasn't sure he had enough strength in his wounded arm to wield the knife still clutched in his hand. Dammit, he had to.

Squawking and bucking, the Daemon slashed at the arm Jag held on with, ripping through flesh and muscle, clipping the bone.

Jag yelled with pain and fury. If the Daemon took his left arm, it was all over.

Desperation was an electric current inside him, but his nearly numb arm felt like lead as he lifted it, shoulder height, then higher. Pulling on the strength slowly pouring into him from the woman he loved, he shoved everything he had into an upward thrust, aiming for the closest orb. And missed.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Black ropes of wet Daemon hair slapped him in the face. Sweat began to run down his temples, mixing with the raindrops. Another claw slashed through his forearm in a different place, stripping off another chunk of flesh as the Daemon continued to thrash.

Jag bit off another yell and tried again. He. Could. Not. Fail.

Thrusting every ounce of his strength into his wounded arm, he made a hard upward stab and caught one of the orbs this time, shattering it in a flash of brilliant light.

Thank the goddess.

Deep inside his head, Olivia screamed. His heart stopped for one terrible moment, then began to pound again as he felt that glow inside him, her glow, brighten. Tearing her free might hurt her, but it was a necessary evil.

As the Daemon whirled in fury, Jag stabbed at a second orb, shattering it, too.

Again, Olivia screamed. Again, her glow grew brighter.

One more. Just one more.

The Daemon clawed at his arm, this time digging deep into the bone. Jag felt it snap and knew he was out of time. Sweat rolled down his back, his guts cramping as he held on with the last of his strength. Clutching Olivia with his mind and heart, he thrust his knife skyward one last time before he lost his grip.

The final orb shattered. The Earth rumbled as if preparing to split asunder.

His grip on the Daemon started to give, and he knew he only had seconds. Dammit, if he was going down, this sucker was going with him. Remembering Hawke's last words, he tried to dig his knife into the Daemon's throat to carve out his heart, and failed. His half-numb arm wasn't strong enough to get the angle he needed.

With a feral growl, he tossed the knife into the void, drew his claws, and sank them deep into the Daemon's throat, succeeding with brute strength where finesse had eluded him. His fingers closed around the hot, wet, pulsing mass of Daemon heart, and he yanked hard, tearing it loose, and sending the creature to hell in a puff of smoke.

As gravity took over, and Jag began to fall, he thought of Olivia, how he'd never get the chance to prove to her that he'd heard her. That he'd changed.

He'd never get the chance to show her how much he loved her.

But only a few racing heartbeats later, Jag landed on the ground with a jarring thud.

As his knees absorbed the impact, his mind assimilated the astounding fact that he was standing on wet grass, that the darkness had lifted, the light changing from a red glow against darkness to rainy daylight.

With the destruction of the orbs, the vortex had closed.

The wind still whipped with hurricane fierceness, driving stinging rain against his naked flesh, but the Daemons were gone. And even as his gaze found Olivia, his brothers dispatched the last of the Mage. The battle was over.

Olivia smiled weakly, her hair lying soaked across her cheeks. She looked as beaten as he felt. As he started toward her, he found himself suddenly surrounded by the other Ferals.

Kougar clapped him on the back with a seriously un-Kougar-like enthusiasm.

"Unbelievable," he shouted above the wind and rain.

Paenther thrust out his torn hand, grasping Jag's numb forearm. "I wish I'd had a camera. I'd like to see a replay of that flight."

Wulfe shook his big head, flinging raindrops. "Where the hell did you learn to drive a Daemon?"

Jag tried to laugh, but his heart was too heavy. Tighe and Hawke were gone.

Lyon clasped his arm last, meeting his gaze. "Well done. And you got Olivia to stop feeding."

Something inside Jag froze, his gaze shooting to her, watching as her bright head dropped as if she'd fallen asleep. Goddess. That soft buzz in his blood...It was her life force draining away.

"She's feeding us! She learned how to reverse it, but she's not stopping. It's going to kill her."

Jag took off at a run, Lyon close behind. Over his shoulder, Lyon shouted to the others.

"Secure the area before we free the humans! I want no more Mage surprises."

Jag reached Olivia, no warding barring his way this time, and he pushed the wet hair off her face and cupped her cheek. "Liv, you have to shut it off! Quit feeding us." But she couldn't hear him. Couldn't comply. She was out cold.

Lyon moved behind her, drew claws and cut through her bindings. Jag caught her as she fell forward, hauling her against him with the better of his two arms and sank to the ground, pulling her into his lap until her precious head lay against his chest.

"Olivia, wake up! You have to shut if off." A wave of pain tore through his mending limb as the bone reknit, but that pain was nothing compared to that of his heart.