Feral warrior 4- Rapture Untamed

by Pamela Palmer

  “Use your damn fists,” he growled. Olivia was his now, and he had no intention of sharing.

  Tighe watched him with wary interest, then finally cleared his throat. “Anything else we need to know?”

  “Yeah,” Jag drawled.

  Olivia jerked, just a small movement the others probably missed, but he knew what it meant. The flicker of fear echoing in the depths of her gray eyes confirmed it. She feared he meant to give her away.

  Which annoyed him. Why it annoyed him, he wasn’t sure. He’d pretty much threatened her with betrayal unless she did what he wanted, hadn’t he? He’d forced her to her hands and knees with that not-so-subtle threat.

  Still, it rankled.

  He met her gaze, watching her expression as he said, “The Daemons carry venom in their claws. Venom capable of at least partially immobilizing their prey.” He’d told Tighe as much. They probably already knew, but what the hell.

  As he spoke, the fear in her eyes eased, the tension leaching from her body, softening her in a way that had his hands longing to pull her against him.

  “Goddess, Olivia,” Niall hissed. The Therian’s gaze dropped to Olivia’s shoulder, to the rips in her jacket, his eyes wide and horrified. “I didn’t know you were the one attacked.” A blanch paled his face, one far too emotional for a soldier’s concern over his captain’s near demise, especially when said captain sat before him, clearly fine. No, the look in Niall’s eyes radiated pure fear. For a woman he felt deeply about.

  The man wasn’t just protective of her. He was fucking in love with her.

  Something ugly and jealous slid up Jag’s throat. Without making the conscious decision to do so, he reached for Olivia, cupping his hand around the nape of her neck, claiming her with a low, feral growl. Marking her in front of them all, like a mated male.

  He wasn’t sure who was more surprised—his brothers or himself.

  Hawke’s eyebrow shot up. Tighe cocked his head with warning, suspecting Jag of doing it just to annoy.

  Was he?

  Beneath his hand, Olivia stiffened.

  The tension in the room jacked up two hundred percent, and it occurred to him they were all waiting for her to elbow him in the throat. Or the balls.

  “Jag,” she said instead, clearly displeased. But she didn’t push him away.

  He didn’t release her. “Olivia had a little run-in with a Daemon last night, didn’t you, Sugar?” he drawled, kneading her neck, running his thumb slowly up and down the satin length of skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Niall tense like a bowstring.

  Deep satisfaction warmed him from the inside out as he continued. “The venom slowed her down a little, but not so much that we couldn’t have a little fun.”

  The look she shot him over her shoulder was sharp and frustrated. “Stop it.”

  Instead, he curled a lock of her hair gently around his finger, meeting Niall’s furious gaze with lazy challenge.

  To his surprise, the animal inside him rumbled with approval. For once, he and the annoying beast were in complete accord. Olivia belonged to him.

  Tighe shot him a warning look but said nothing as he launched back into fearless-leader mode.

  “Our original mission was to capture and destroy the Daemons before they take any more lives and before they give away the whole immortal game.”

  Jag played with Olivia’s hair, stroking the side of her silken neck with the backs of his knuckles. A small shiver stole through her, and he smiled. His.

  “But the game’s changed now that we know the Mage are involved.” Tighe threw him an annoyed flick of his gaze. “Stopping them from freeing Satanan is first priority. As soon as we eat, we’ll head out to the Mage stronghold and attack. If we find any humans still alive in there, we’ll do what we can for them, then when the battle’s over, we’ll clear their minds and send them on their way.”

  Hawke looked up. “What are we going to do with the captured Mage?”

  “We’re capturing sorcerers, only. Sentinels die.”

  “Mother Nature’s not going to be happy,” Hawke muttered. The killing of more than a couple Mage always resulted in wild weather or earthquakes, nature’s fury unleashed. While the Ferals tapped into the Earth’s energy through their Radiant, the Mage had always been part of nature itself. Long ago, before the defeat of the Daemons and the mortgaging of their power, the Mage had been able to affect and control many of nature’s functions—the weather, the growth of plants and trees, the reproduction of many of the Earth’s species. They’d thought of themselves as gods. He suspected they still did even though they’d jumped ship to the evil side.

  Tighe shrugged. “Then nature’s just going to have to be pissed. We’ll never win this battle if we can’t dispatch the enemy. Besides, the lives we take will be nothing compared to what Satanan does if he’s freed. Once he and his horde rule the Earth again, no one will be safe.”

  Olivia started to rise, to escape his touch, he was sure. Jag’s gaze met Niall’s, saw the angry triumph in the other man’s eyes, and Jag curled his fingers around Olivia’s arm, tight enough that she’d have to make a scene to get free. And that’s when he felt it.

  Beneath his touch, Olivia’s breathing had turned shallow and quick.

  She shot him a sharp look, part warning, part fear.

  Holy shit, she was rising. And he hadn’t even pressed heat into her. Just the brush of his knuckles had turned her on. She was in danger of coming. In front of everyone.

  “Jag,” Olivia whispered through clenched teeth. “Let me go. Please.”

  Ah, crap. He might be a jerk, but he wouldn’t embarrass her like that.

  He kept his grip on her and pressed her with his cool, calming flow. Beneath his palm, the tension in her began to ease, her body softening. She shot him a look that at once thanked him and demanded he release her before it happened again.

  He did, even though letting go of her was the last thing he wanted to do.

  When he finally turned his gaze back to the front of the room, Tighe gave him a sharp look but said nothing. Stripes was no dummy. He recognized a little claim-staking when he saw it. Every man and woman in the room must know by now that he and Olivia had been intimate.

  He’d made that more than clear.

  What they didn’t know, and were probably having a hard time figuring out, was why Olivia allowed it when she’d made it just as clear she had no use for him.

  He and Olivia alone knew the real reason. That she was his because he’d forced her to be. Because he knew something about her no one else knew and had threatened to destroy her if she didn’t do exactly as he said.

  The truth settled in his gut like a fist-sized lump of hard clay.

  She’d become his partner because he’d coerced her into it. She’d become his lover because he’d given her no choice.

  But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted…her.

  With a sudden longing that tore a strip from his soul, he wanted her to reach for him because she wanted to. He wanted to see a smile lift her pretty mouth and light her eyes and know that smile belonged to him alone. The longing hit him like a pair of fists.

  And just as quickly, the bile stirred inside him, the bitterness that drove his life, decrying every thought he’d just had, rejoicing in the fact he would never see a smile in Olivia’s eyes. Not for him.

  He didn’t want her smiles. He didn’t need her reaching for him. He’d never wanted that shit from anyone. Not since…

  Goddess.

  Not since he’d watched Cordelia die and done nothing to stop it. Done nothing to help her.

  His mind turned abruptly from that dark pit of nightmares, his gaze seeking Olivia’s small, bright head.

  His hands fisted on his thighs as he fought to keep from reaching for her.

  And he ached.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rain started on the drive out of Harpers Ferry.

  Great. Olivia pressed her fingertips against the inside of
the Hummer’s cool window. It was as if Mother Nature knew exactly what they had in mind and was already expressing her displeasure. If they killed any Mage, the weather would only get worse.

  Though midafternoon, the day was gray and colorless.

  They parked the vehicles in the woods, and the Ferals shifted. Hawke took to the sky while the three house-cat look-alikes accompanied the four non-Ferals through the rain. Delaney walked beside Olivia, the hood of a raincoat covering her hair. Niall and Ewan brought up the rear.

  “Did you get a good look at the Daemon?” Delaney asked, as they made their way through the underbrush. The ex–FBI agent’s expression revealed little, but her eyes possessed a keen edge of dread. “Skye tried to explain it to me, but she said words failed her.”

  “I did see it. And Skye was right. The thing’s a nightmare.”

  She’d had little interaction with Delaney, but after six hundred years, she’d become a good judge of character, and the woman had impressed her. Olivia’s instincts told her the woman possessed both intelligence and compassion, with a fierce streak of warrior that would bode well for her ability to handle whatever they came up against.

  Olivia suspected the woman had the heart. But she couldn’t help but wonder if she had the strength. They claimed she’d been turned immortal, but immortal didn’t mean indestructible. Would she bounce back from injury as quickly as a Therian? Tighe must think so, or he wouldn’t have let her come.

  “So the Daemon attacked you?” Delaney asked.

  “Yes. It could have easily killed me.”

  “Why didn’t it?”

  “I struck back. I punctured something up under his shoulder with my knife, and he screamed and took off.” She doubted that was the whole truth. Though she couldn’t be certain, she suspected her feeding off him had had as much to do with his flying away as her knife attack.

  They were nearly within sight of the house when a huge hawk swooped down through the trees and took human form in front of them. Unlike Jag’s, Hawke’s clothes remained when he shifted, and he stood now in all black.

  “There’s no one in the woods, thanks to the weather. The house up ahead—the run-down white clapboard that I assume is our Mage stronghold—appears occupied, but I couldn’t get a look inside.”

  Tighe’s voice rang in her head, as it did in all theirs, she was sure. Any sign of Mage?

  “None. Not a sentry in sight, either outside or in. We may genuinely be able to keep the element of surprise, despite the daylight raid.”

  A few minutes later, the house came into view. Olivia and Hawke drew to a halt, the other nonanimals stopping more slowly.

  Delaney glanced at her with surprise. “What’s the matter?”

  Olivia looked at her a second before she understood. “We’re here. You can’t see the house, can you?”

  Delaney frowned. “Apparently not.”

  Olivia looked to her men. Each shook his head once. Ewan’s eyes warmed as they slid down her body, clearly looking for an invitation. They’d been intimate from time to time when both were in the mood and had no one else to share it with. She’d always found her encounters with him adequately enjoyable.

  But the thought of him holding her and entering her today, even as perfunctory as the encounter would necessarily be, left her cold. As did the thought of Niall. She couldn’t even look at him now, knowing the need she’d see in his eyes—a need far more emotional than physical. A need she’d never been able to return.

  The sad truth of it was, from the moment Jag had come barreling into her life, her body had lost interest in everyone else.

  Tighe shimmered into his human form, his clothes also intact. Jag joined them, standing naked as a babe without swaddling and infinitely comfortable with it.

  Tighe looked at Delaney, reaching for her hand as he turned to Olivia. “While I try to help Delaney, get your men’s minds open or send them back to the vehicles. Blind warriors are useless. We’ll be back in a few.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for company.” Hawke shifted back into his bird and lifted into the sky. Kougar, still in his house-cat form, took off, heading toward the Mage stronghold.

  As Olivia turned to her men, Jag’s arm went around her shoulders and he pinned her hard against his side.

  A low warning growl rumbled from his throat. “Jack off.”

  “Jag.” She did not appreciate his undermining her authority even if she’d been about to tell them the same thing, if not quite in the same way.

  Ewan shrugged and walked away, presumably to find a little privacy to take the mind clearing into his own hand.

  But Niall held his ground, his lip curling. “That decision is Olivia’s, not yours.”

  Shit. She felt like a bone being fought over by two hungry dogs. She elbowed Jag hard in the ribs. “Quit being so damned territorial.”

  But his grip on her didn’t loosen one whit. He was too strong to fight without stealing a bit of his strength, and the irksome man would know if she tried. He was giving her no choice.

  With a huff of frustration, she met Niall’s gaze. “Find release on your own, Niall. You’ll not be using me for this one.”

  The man’s mouth tightened, hurt flaring in his eyes. “I’ve never used you.”

  Oh, Niall. Now was not the time. “That was a poor choice of words on my part. But you understand my meaning. Get your mind opened and do it quickly, or you’ll be waiting in the car.”

  His mouth tightened, his jaw hardening until she thought he might crack a tooth. “He’s forcing you.”

  Olivia hesitated, then told him the truth, or close enough. “For the moment, we’re together, Niall. And I’ll not be having sex with another.”

  “No other?” He looked at her askance. As if she were never exclusive.

  She supposed he was right. She never was, for no man had ever caught her interest in that way. Until Jag. The Feral’s effect on her body disturbed her almost as much as his hold over her life. Never had a man ensnared her so completely. Yes, he had a remarkable gift with those hands, but his touch affected her long before he intentionally pleasured her. The barest brush of his fingers made the heat rise inside her as it was doing now.

  “Go Niall,” she snapped when he still hadn’t moved.

  With a growl of frustration, Niall swiveled on his heel and stalked off, leaving her alone with Jag.

  The rain continued to fall through the trees, splattering on her head and running down her cheeks, but rain had never bothered her.

  Jag’s grip on her loosened the barest bit, his thumb tracing circles on her shoulder. “What were you thinking about during lunch? All I did was touch your neck, yet you were rising.” His mouth dipped, his warm breath teasing her temple.

  “Nothing. Let me go, Jag.”

  He didn’t. Instead, he moved to her earlobe and took it carefully between his teeth, his breath tickling the sensitive lobe and sending delicious shivers through her body.

  His teeth released her ear, a soft stroke of his tongue easing the light pinch before his lips trailed down her rain-slick neck, heating her from the inside out. Deep inside, her body turned warm and soft, and damp. The restlessness began to build again, throbbing and tightening all over again.

  “Jag, stop. You’re doing it again,” she gasped, her breath turning shallow, labored. “You can do it with your knuckles, your mouth. The heat. The pleasure.”

  He released her and turned her to face him, his grip on her shoulders absolute as he stared into her face. In his expression, she saw a mix of bemusement and satisfaction. In his eyes, fire.

  “Goddess, you are rising again.” His hands shot up under her jacket, curving around her waist.

  Through the thin cotton of her shirt, she felt a sudden rush of coolness battling back the tide of heat, and shivered.

  “Enough, Jag,” she pleaded. “You’re giving me temperature whiplash.”

  His mouth kicked up, a soft, amused smile. “You rise for me even when I don’t try. I’ve nev
er seen anything like it.”

  “I can’t say I’m thrilled about it.”

  He chuckled low. “It’s a good thing I can cool as well as heat.”

  “I suppose. That’s quite a gift you have.”

  “It comes in handy from time to time.”

  “Have you always been able to do that with your hands?” She stepped closer, drawn as much to his heat as to the man himself, and slid her arms around his waist. “Or was it one of your Feral gifts?”

  His hands slid to her back, pressing her closer. “I’ve always had the ability. When I was a boy, I used to catch forest creatures—rabbits, deer, squirrels—calming them and making pets of them if you can believe it.”

  She found herself smiling at the thought.

  “I wasn’t always an ass.” A hardness entered his voice with his words, a hardness turned on himself.

  Her smile died. The man he’d become, the Jag she knew, was no longer that boy. Instead, he’d grown into an angry and difficult man. Because of something that happened, something he blamed himself for, she was positive. Something that concerned Cordelia.

  “Jag?”

  His chin brushed over her hair. “What?”

  She shouldn’t ask. It was none of her business. “Who’s Cordelia?”

  He stiffened as if he’d been stabbed through the side. Slowly, his hands dropped away from her.

  “Why?”

  “You said her name in your sleep this morning.”

  “She’s nobody. Not anymore.” He stepped back and turned away. “She’s dead.”

  Unh. “I’m sorry, Jag.” She knew she was treading dangerous ground, yet something told her she needed to know. If she were ever going to help him, she needed to understand what drove him. Why she thought she could help him—or even wanted to—she wasn’t sure.

  “Was she your mate?”

  “No.” He turned his head, looking at her over one broad, muscled shoulder, meeting her gaze with eyes filled with an ancient pain. “She was my mother.”