How are you hearing them, Wulfe? Lyon asked quietly.
And that was the real question. The one he didn’t want to answer. He hesitated as the lump in his stomach slowly turned to lead. He was the only one who could see the warding. Warding that was made of Daemon magic, Kougar had said. He was the only one who could hear the High Daemon speak.
Blood calls to blood.
Perhaps the goddess had known what she was doing when she gave him these scars all those years ago. Perhaps his outside matched his inside more than he’d ever believed.
There’s a legend, he told them, that the wolf clan, at least my branch of it, was descended from the mating of a female wolf shifter and a Daemon. I never believed it before. Now I think it might be true.
Fuck, Wulfe, Jag said. You’re part Daemon?
Wulfe’s head began to pound.
Melisande knelt at the huge fox’s side, stroking him, burying her hand in his fur. He’d shifted without warning and lay down, not moving.
“What’s happening, Fox?”
My animal has been compromised.
“What do you mean?”
The flashbacks. I haven’t told you about all of them. Inir infected my animal spirit with darkness after he cut it out of Sly, one of my predecessors. It’s not the same as the seventeen—I’m not infected—just the animal spirit. But he’s starting to be able to control my shifting . . . and my actions. He won’t let me move.
“That’s what happened last time, isn’t it? My easing you helped you regain control.”
Yes. The fox spirit seems to be strengthened by your touch.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand to the top of Fox’s furry head, closed her eyes, and called on her gift. But though she felt her hands warm, Fox didn’t move.
“I’m not helping you.”
You are. But the darkness is growing stronger.
Melisande refused to give up. She dug deeper, pulled harder, until sweat broke out on her brow. Finally, she felt him shifting beneath her palm. Snatching her hand away, she sat back on her heels, catching her breath, as he turned back into a man.
He kissed her softly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He rose to his feet, pulling her up with him, and they were off again.
Keeping to the trees, hiding, dodging the sentinels’ more rigid paths they avoided Inir’s troops, who were scouring the area. But as they reached an open space between the forest’s trees and those hugging the rocks, three Mage sentinels approached.
Melisande and the two Ferals ducked behind the nearest trees. Her heart thudded in her chest, the tree bark biting into her back as she listened for any indication they’d been spotted, and heard none. The sentinels’ footsteps didn’t change tempo at all.
The flash of sparkling shifter lights drew her gaze to where Fox once more shifted into his animal, but this time he downsized quickly and did not appear to be in distress.
Did you do that on purpose? she asked him mentally.
Aye. We’re going to have to silence these three, I’m afraid. The weather will turn on us, but just knocking them out is too risky. They could come to at the wrong moment.
Like just as they were attempting to escape with Kara. Assuming they ever reached Kara. At the thought of killing one of the Mage, the memory of the bodies they’d left in the snow came back to her, blending once more with the memory of her sisters writhing in their death throes.
As if he heard her thoughts, the small fox turned to her. Pet, I don’t want you using your sword unless it’s for self-defense. Not yet. Promise me.
The thought of sitting by while her companions fought disgusted the warrior in her. But she was still badly shaken by her emotional implosion, and the last thing any of them needed was a repeat of that event.
All right, she told him. And she was relieved because that old, old part of her, the Ceraph, recoiled from the thought of killing.
Are you still a dead aim with your knives, Castin? Fox asked.
I am, but I only have one.
Keep an eye on me, then. Take out the third when I go after the second. Then, without further talk, the small fox trotted across the clearing, diving into the bushes not far from where the Mage approached. Two of the sentinels walked side by side, but a third trailed them by several yards.
As Melisande watched, Fox shifted directly behind the trailing man, covered his mouth, and yanked him into the bushes. Moments later, the small fox trotted out of the bushes, following the remaining pair. A bolt of lightning tore across the clear blue sky.
Out of the corner of her eye, Melisande saw Castin twirling his knife between his fingers. She was still reeling from his words, his claim that he’d never betrayed her, that he hadn’t even known what happened to her. All the years of her captivity, he’d been a slave to the wolverines.
And she believed him. Not once had she seen him in all the time she was a captive though she’d cursed his name often and loudly. So much hatred. Wasted. If there was a good side to all of this, at least she’d found him when she couldn’t mist and couldn’t easily kill him. Because, apparently, he’d never deserved to die.
Deep inside, something eased, righting itself. For so long, she’d castigated herself for being duped, for believing him a good man. Perhaps she hadn’t been wrong at all.
As she watched, Fox suddenly shifted and took one of the Mage from behind. At that exact instant, Castin threw his knife, burying it in the other sentinel’s chest.
Castin turned to her, motioned with his head for her to join him. Together, they ran to Fox, and as dark clouds rolled in overhead and began spilling rain, pulled the two dead Mage into the bushes, where they wouldn’t be spotted by their brethren. The sudden deluge ensured that any trace of blood would soon be washed away.
Melisande rubbed her chest, right over her heart where it was beginning to ache. She’d thought killing Castin, completing her vengeance, would return her to her cold, unfeeling state. Now she knew that refuge was lost to her. There was no way to go back. Only forward. But to what?
Who was she if not the emotionless warrior or the kind Ceraph? As both of those women, she’d had a place, a purpose. She had neither of those anymore, not as long as her Ceraph self balked at the need to kill.
Fox curved his hand around the back of her neck, a protective, tender gesture that melted something inside her and reminded her how much she’d missed when she couldn’t feel. No, she didn’t want to go back to that, not really. What she wanted was to be able to continue to do her job as Ariana’s second. And she wanted . . . Fox.
He glanced at her, a wealth of affection and caring in his eyes. Love for him welled up until she feared it would overflow. Yes, she wanted to be with Fox, for as long as he wanted her in return.
Assuming they made it off this mountain alive.
Once the bodies were hidden, Fox began to lead the way between the brush and the rock, disappearing suddenly. A moment later, Melisande knew why. He’d found the tunnel.
As the three ducked inside, Fox turned to her, stroking her cheek. “Wait here. Hide, Mel. Don’t try to defend the entrance, just hide.”
She scowled at him. “I’m not helpless, Feral. Besides, you need me. What if you get stuck in your animal again?”
“I don’t want you in danger.”
In his eyes she saw a softness, a caring, that stirred the feelings for him that had been growing within her until she thought they would burst from her chest, too big to contain. She would protect him as he sought to protect her. Because if his animal spirit shut him down inside Inir’s stronghold, he was a dead man.
She used his worry for her against him. “Do you really think I’m safer out here? Alone?”
She knew the moment she had him. With a sigh of resignation, he nodded. “All right.”
The three of them started into the tunnel together. As Fox led the way, Castin pulled a slim flashlight out of the pocket of his pants and turned it on. His other hand retrieved his knife and he began weaving it, twirling it, between his fingers, faster and faster, the muscles in his arms tensing.
Melisande’s trouble radar leaped. The Castin she’d once known had always been calm and reserved.
“Fox?”
The name had barely left her lips when Castin lifted his knife and aimed it for Fox’s back, for his heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Fox heard the alarm in Melisande’s voice and whirled, turning just as Castin swayed, grasping the wall, his knife falling from his hand.
“I can’t . . .” the new Feral gasped. “The pull . . .” Bending down, he snatched up his knife, turned, and strode swiftly back to the cave’s entrance. Standing in the rain, he arched his back, taking deep pulls of air.
Fox followed him, Melisande close on his heels. “What in the hell just happened?” His gaze went to Melisande but it was Castin who answered.
“I almost attacked you. It was as if something inside me took over.”
“The darkness,” Fox muttered. “It’s trying to claim you.” Bloody hell. If Castin turned on them, they were sunk.
“I felt it building as I walked into the tunnel, like steam rising inside of me, about to explode.
Fox eyed him intently. “And how do you feel now?”
“Fine. The pressure’s gone.”
Which gave Fox two choices. Leave the male here and hope to hell he didn’t lead the sentinels into the tunnel after them. Or kill him.
The thought sickened him. He really thought it likely that Castin was the best of his line, the one meant to be chosen. From the story he’d told of the night of Melisande’s capture, he’d been the only one the chieftain had disposed of, the only one of the cheetahs who would have fought to save the Ilinas instead of torture them. Then again, a lot of cheetahs had been born since then. And those who’d tortured the Ilinas had died at Melisande’s hand a long time ago.
Castin might be the best of his line or he might be a hell of a fine liar. Fox couldn’t be sure.
But he couldn’t take the man’s life. Especially not now, not when Melisande was still absorbing the probability that Castin had never betrayed her at all.
“Stay here and wait for us,” he told the male who might one day become the cheetah Feral. As Castin handed his flashlight to Fox, Fox nodded his thanks. Then together, he and Melisande headed back into the tunnel. As she slipped her hand in his, as his fingers closed tight around hers, his animal sighed with relief. He flicked on the flashlight and, following Sly’s memories, led the way into the narrow passage through the rock, a passage barely wide enough for them to walk side by side.
“Do you still have feelings for him?” he asked her, unable to hold back the question any longer.
Melisande snorted softly. “I have no idea what I feel for him anymore. It may take me weeks, or even years, to sort it out. Would it bother you if I did?”
“Aye.”
She cut him a look that was almost coy. A coy Melisande. Who’d have thought it possible?
“I have feelings for you, too, Feral. In fact, I can honestly say that what I feel for you is a hundred times stronger than anything I ever felt for Castin.”
The pressure eased inside him. “I’m glad.” He grinned, delighted when she smiled back. Pulling her close, he kissed her hair. “I don’t want you to leave when this is over. I never want you to leave.”
She sighed, melting against him just a fraction. “I don’t think I could, Feral. You’re becoming annoyingly important to me.”
He kissed her hair again, grinning. “I’m glad.”
They came to a long, stone staircase rising into the dark. As they started up, he released her hand. “I’m going to try to find Kara.” He shifted into his fox, then, climbing on four paws, called to Kara, opening his mind so that Melisande would hear as well.
Kara? If she was in the fortress, she should be close enough to hear. If she wasn’t . . .
Yes? Kara replied excitedly. Who is this?
Fox sent a prayer of thanksgiving winging to the goddess. Fox.
Fox! You’re here?
Aye. Hidden. Where are you, sweetheart?
In a jail cell deep beneath the castle. Lyon’s not with you. It wasn’t a question. If Lyon were within communication distance, he’d have already spoken to her, they both knew that. Is he okay?
Last I saw him, he was fine. Physically.
Thank God.
He’s with Kougar and Wulfe. I have Melisande with me. One of the new Ferals, Castin, is waiting for us outside. We had a hell of a time reaching this stronghold, but we’re inside now.
He remained in his animal, engaging his keener fox senses as he listened for sound of Mage. Melisande stroked his fur as she climbed beside him, pleasing him immensely. At the top of the stairs, they followed the passage, side by side, as it wound through the rock. The scent of the air changed, growing more damp and smelling of mildew. Far in the distance, he could make out the faint rumble of voices. They were at least a couple of levels away. Nothing close.
Finally, ahead, he saw a faint glow of light and knew they’d found the entrance into the underground prisons where Sly had come out. He’d seen that much in the vision though little more. Hopefully, the Mage never knew how Sly had gotten inside their stronghold. With any luck, they hadn’t barred the passage from the inside any more than they had the outside.
Following the path to the light, Fox sniffed, scenting no one close. In a spray of lights, he shifted back to human, then bent low and peered through the decorative grillwork that hid the passage, confirming with his eyes what his animal senses had already told him.
Another flashback hit him out of nowhere, hard and fast, his animal helping him once more as he showed him Sly being led through a passage, seeing the grillwork through which he’d stolen into the castle as he was led past it and down two more passages to a bank of cells. Sly had watched it all through the eyes of the enchanted, his will no longer his own.