Студопедия

Главная страница Случайная страница

Разделы сайта

АвтомобилиАстрономияБиологияГеографияДом и садДругие языкиДругоеИнформатикаИсторияКультураЛитератураЛогикаМатематикаМедицинаМеталлургияМеханикаОбразованиеОхрана трудаПедагогикаПолитикаПравоПсихологияРелигияРиторикаСоциологияСпортСтроительствоТехнологияТуризмФизикаФилософияФинансыХимияЧерчениеЭкологияЭкономикаЭлектроника






CHAPTER 14. Skye turned to face Paenther as they reached the prison deep below the house






Skye turned to face Paenther as they reached the prison deep below the house. She was shaking, her stomach tight with misery after what had happened in the dining room. The jaguar inside Jag had been acting increasingly desperate to reach her. Not drawn to her. Not leaping to greet her as the panther was. He’d almost been acting as if he were being pulled against his will, turning him angry. Viciously so.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Paenther looked down at her, his mouth hard, his eyes grim. “I didn’t say you did.”

“But you have to think I was responsible.”

“I don’t think it’s you but your cantric that’s to blame.”

“Why? I mean, why would Birik load a spell into my cantric that would drive a Feral crazy? He couldn’t have expected me to free you, let alone be kidnapped by you in return. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He opened the door of a cell across from where she’d stayed…and bled…at midnight. Someone had cleaned up the blood.

He ushered her inside, then followed her. There was a wooden bench in this one, and she sat on it as Paenther stood beside the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his body still. No expression crossed his face.

“It might not make any sense, but the only alternative I can see is that you’re doing these things intentionally.”

“I’m not.”

He watched her closely. “I believe you.”

She closed her eyes, absorbing the sound of those words.

“But that means it’s the cantric.” He moved, coming to sit beside her on the bench. “Or something else we haven’t thought of.”

As he stretched his long legs out in front of him, she turned to him. “What are you going to do, Paenther? ”

He turned to meet her gaze. “What do you mean? ”

“With me? ” She knew her survival was at stake. She knew it. And knew he did, too. “I want to help you stop Birik. More than anything in the world, I want that. But I don’t know how.”

He reached for her, hooking his arm around her shoulder as he pulled her against him. “I know. I don’t know how, either.”

“You can’t let me go for fear Birik will catch me and use me to free more of those things. But Lyon won’t let me stay here, will he? Not when I’m causing so much distress to your animals.”

“Maybe your staying down here is enough for now. We’ll figure out something, Beauty.”

With a gentle squeeze, he released her, then stood and turned to look down at her. “Stay here. I’m going to get you some food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He cupped her face with hand. “I’ll be right back.” Then he locked her in and disappeared down the long passage, leaving her alone and trembling.

For all her adult life she’d longed for kindness. For goodness in another. She’d finally found it and fallen head over heels in love with a good man.

But love was never enough.

 

Paenther strode through the underground of the house, hating that he had nothing more to offer Skye than platitudes. Lies. Words of hope, some called them.

Hope was good, of course. Vhyper’s words, repeated every day of their incarceration three centuries ago, had kept him sane, kept him believing he’d make it. “We are going to get out of this, we three. Together. Do not doubt it. Do not ever doubt it.”

The words had turned out to be a lie for Frederick, the third of their group. He’d died in that dungeon, bleeding to death from a wound Ancreta had inflicted on him just for the fun of it. She’d cut off his foot to see how long it would take to grow back. It hadn’t.

The three of them hadn’t gotten out of there together. Frederick had never become the jaguar Feral he was marked to be. It was nearly two years later that Jag had finally dragged his surly ass into Feral House and set about turning every Feral against him. They’d thought he’d never show up. To this day, nearly three centuries later, most wished he hadn’t.

Frederick, with his quiet strength and dry wit, would have rounded out their team well, but he’d never gotten the chance, despite Vhyper’s words of hope.

But sometimes words were all you had.

As he reached the main floor, he saw Lyon at the front door greeting three strangers, two men and a woman. The chief’s gaze swung to Paenther, and he motioned him over.

“The Guard, B.P.”

The Guard hailed mainly from Europe, trained in the British Isles, and were known to be fierce fighters. He was interested to see the leader of this team seemed to be the woman, a petite female in a trim pantsuit and high heels with flaming shoulder-length red hair.

Paenther shook hands with each of the three. The men both spoke with English accents, but the woman, Olivia, possessed a hint of a Scottish brogue.

As Lyon turned to usher them into the parlor, Jag came storming into the foyer. “That witch has to go! I feel like I’ve got her magic crawling all over me, ” he growled, then stopped short as he saw the visitors. His gaze zeroed in on Olivia, his gaze raking her from head to toe and back again. “You’ll do.”

“Jag…” Lyon warned, but the surly warrior slid his arm around the redhead’s shoulders. “How about you come upstairs and spread your legs for me, Sugar, ” he drawled.

“How about I don’t.” The words purred from her mouth, but her eyes had turned hard as steel.

Jag didn’t seem to notice. His hand dropped from her shoulder to grasp her breast. “I’ll be good.”

“I’m sure, ” she murmured as she lifted one of her high spiked heels and drove it down hard on his instep.

“Fuck! ” Jag leaped back, lifting his injured foot. The look he turned on the woman was pure venom.

Olivia turned so that she could keep Jag in her sights, but glanced at Lyon and lifted one well-arched brow. “As you were saying? ”

Paenther struggled to keep a straight face.

“Did I just see what I thought I saw? ” Tighe said coming up behind him.

“You did.”

Lyon eyed the woman with a bemused look. “I was saying I appreciate your willingness to help. I’ll be pairing your warriors with mine, allowing my team to cover more ground.”

The redhead gave a decisive nod, glancing at Jag, then back at Lyon. “We’ll be ready. As many of us as you need.”

“You’re one of the fighters, then? ” Lyon asked.

“Of course. Do not let my size fool you, warrior. Many have done so to their regret.”

Admiration lit Lyon’s eyes, and a hint of amusement as he glanced at Jag. “I don’t doubt that. I’ll be happy for your help. All of you, ” he said, his words encompassing the other two men.

Tighe chuckled low and glanced at Paenther. “Think Lyon will pair her with Jag? She could sure teach him some manners.”

Paenther grunted. “A hundred bucks on the redhead.”

Jag glared at the pair of them, growling. All of a sudden his skin began to sparkle with lights. The next moment, a furious jaguar prowled the parlor.

Fuck! Jag’s yell roared through Paenther’s head.

Lyon scowled and glared at Paenther. “See to your witch.”

Paenther nodded and left the room. Tighe accompanied him back to the kitchen, where he was determined to find Skye some food.

“Hawke called while you were downstairs. They’re on their way back.”

“What happened? ”

“They found the farmhouse where we picked you up without any trouble, and Wulfe located your scent. He followed it about four miles, then lost it. They spent all night searching but can’t find anything that looks like a cave.”

“What about the Market? ” They turned the corner into the dining room, where Foxx, Kara, and Delaney were helping Pink sweep up the mess. On the sideboard sat a platter of cinnamon rolls still half-full.

“They can’t find it.” Tighe picked up one of the rolls and took a big bite. “Mmm, not bad.”

Paenther grabbed one of the unbroken plates and loaded it with four rolls.

“They were starting to feel disoriented, so Lyon ordered them back here, stat.”

“Magic.”

“Yep. Gotta be.”

“Dammit. I can find my way back in there. I know I can. As soon as I get these damned shackles off.”

“Any word from the Shaman this morning? ”

“None. If he doesn’t come up with something soon, I may not have any choice but to cut off one of my hands to see if it works.” He couldn’t shake the memory of Frederick bleeding to death after Ancreta cut off his foot, but Frederick had been two years without radiance. He’d turned mortal, as all newly marked Ferals did if they didn’t find Feral House within a couple of years.

It wouldn’t happen to him. His hand would grow back. He hoped.

Tighe grimaced. “And if it doesn’t work? ”

Paenther met his gaze. “If the Mage find a way to free Satanan from that blade, a missing hand is going to be the least of my worries.”

He took the plate and started back down the stairs to the underground, but as he neared the bottom, a strange sensation began to crawl over his scalp, as if something were dripping into his head and spreading, taking root.

The plate of cinnamon rolls slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. Voices whispered inside his head on a thick, cold mist as his skin crawled with recognition.

Enthrallment.

The mist rushed in, and he knew no more.

 

Skye rested her head back against the wall, trying to make sense of what had happened upstairs. A dull queasiness played in her stomach, a fear that if she didn’t figure out a way to stop whatever it was and convince the Ferals she could be of help to them, she was in serious danger.

Paenther would protect her as long as he could. But if his chief decided she was dangerous, there would be nothing he could do.

It was as if the animals inside the Ferals were both drawn to her and repelled by her. She’d thought it was simply a matter of confusion on the animals’ part by their warriors’ animosity toward her.

Unfortunately, that didn’t explain what had happened to Jag. She’d felt his animal’s pain, in a different way than she’d felt it before. What was worse, Foxx’s, Lyon’s, and Tighe’s animals had all been exhibiting echoes of that same pain that morning. As if something were wrong with them. Her gift should never cause a creature pain. Even if she wanted to hurt them, she couldn’t. Not when the Shaman had bound her magic.

She stilled. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe the Shaman had changed her gift in some fundamental way. As soon as Paenther returned, she’d ask him.

The sound of footsteps carried to her. Paenther’s footsteps. Her skin heated. Her heart fluttered with anticipation, her chest expanding and filling until the warmth was nearly too much to contain. How had Paenther become her entire world in such a short time?

But as he turned the corner, she sensed something was wrong. His walk was tense. His expression hard. And he’d come without the food he’d promised her.

“What’s the matter? ” she asked as he unlocked her cell, his gaze fixed on the task.

“We have to go.”

“Why? ” She wiped suddenly damp palms on the pants Paenther had loaned her. Had Lyon already ordered her to be destroyed?

Swinging the door open, glancing back over his shoulder, he reached his hand out to her. She placed her hand in his and followed him through the passage and into the gym.

“Can you tell me what happened, Paenther? ” Her heart was beginning to race with fear.

He didn’t reply. When they reached the hallway that led to the stairs, he instead led her to a pair of double doors. Releasing her hand for just a moment, he unlocked the doors and swung one open only enough for the two of them to slip through, then he closed it behind him.

He grabbed her hand and led her up the wide set of steep stairs. Daylight filtered in from above, lighting their way and glinting off spiderwebs and dust motes.

“Where do these go? ” she asked softly. But again, he didn’t answer. “Paenther? ”

Her heart lurched. Alarms began to ring in her head. “Paenther, look at me.” She tried to jerk her hand from his grasp and couldn’t. “Look at me! ”

Finally, he turned his head, and met her gaze with the eyes of a stranger. Eyes dulled by magic.

He was enthralled.

Birik had come for them.







© 2023 :: MyLektsii.ru :: Мои Лекции
Все материалы представленные на сайте исключительно с целью ознакомления читателями и не преследуют коммерческих целей или нарушение авторских прав.
Копирование текстов разрешено только с указанием индексируемой ссылки на источник.