Ecstasy Untamed (9 page)

When the glasses were filled, and a plate of fudge sat on the bed in the middle of the circle, Skye lifted her glass. “To friendship.”

“To sisterhood,” Kara added.

Delaney lifted her water bottle. “To the best friends I’ve ever had.”

Olivia nodded. “Me, too. And to Faith. May she find happiness, as we have.” Her gaze met Faith’s. “Selfishly, I hope you find that happiness in Feral House. You fit in nicely.” Her smile was warm and genuine and bloomed inside Faith.

As she sipped her wine, as the discussion turned to the celebration feast being planned for after Maxim’s first shift, the longing to stay sharpened until it was an ache inside her. But Hawke’s face rose in her mind, the way he’d looked at her in the hallway, the fierce need in his eyes. The tenderness. And she feared there was no good solution but one. She had to leave. For all three of their sakes.

Maybe after he’d settled down, Maxim would seek her out again. Maybe they’d have another chance. By then, Hawke might have found a mate of his own. The rivalry would be over. Perhaps then she could return and be part of this sisterhood once more.

And perhaps some things were simply never meant to be.

Chapter Five

A
n hour before sunrise, Hawke stood in the foyer among his brothers. Like the others, he’d stripped to the waist and left his boots in his room. To a man, each wore nothing but a pair of pants or jeans and the golden armband adorned with the head of his animal.

This morning, Maxim would get his own armband during the ritual—
the Renascence
—that would bring him into his animal. The band would appear during his first shift, allowing him to channel the Earth’s energies, to become a full-fledged Feral Warrior.

Bully for Maxim, Hawke thought sourly.

The only good news was that the Ferals would once more be nine.

They milled about, waiting for Tighe.

“Tighe! Get your ass down here,” Jag shouted, ever the diplomat.

Kara, the only one of the women who would accompany them, stood beside Lyon in a flowing blue ritual gown and a pink hoodie zipped against the morning chill. The other women sat on the stairs, looking sleepy. Olivia and Skye.

And Faith.

Hawke tried to ignore her, knowing any attention he paid her was a mistake. But he was helpless to keep his eyes turned away. Dressed much as she had been yesterday, in a pair of jeans white from wear, a hole in one knee the size of his fist, and a sweater with sleeves that fell past her fingertips, she looked young. There was a strength about her, a resiliency he’d sensed from the start. But also a vulnerability that tugged at him. A hint of sadness that even her quicksilver smiles couldn’t entirely hide.

Olivia said something he didn’t catch, and Faith grinned, igniting that warm, tight place in his chest that he hadn’t known existed until she came along.

Lyon stepped into his line of sight, blocking her from him. But when Hawke would have moved, Lyon caught his gaze, his own pointed.

“Right,” Hawke muttered.
Quit staring.

He glanced toward the door where Maxim stood boring a hole in Hawke’s chest with his glare, his mouth set in a hard, angry line. Obviously, Lyon wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the direction of Hawke’s gaze. Retribution gleamed in Maxim’s eyes, and Hawke welcomed the battle. He only hoped he could keep from shifting long enough to beat Maxim’s ass a second time.

But there would be no fight in the foyer. Paenther and Wulfe had been glued to Maxim’s side since they came upstairs a few minutes ago, all three dripping with sweat from training in the basement all night. But the fight was coming, Hawke had no doubt. He wouldn’t put it past Maxim to attack him in his fox even though attacking one another in their full animal forms was strictly forbidden. Hell, if any one of them tried to strike at him when he was a bird, he was a dead shifter. But Maxim had proved over and over again he couldn’t be trusted, and Hawke was ready for anything. In his pockets, he carried switchblades. Strapped to his calves, he wore a pair of hunting knives. Fighting might not be his hawk’s strength, but in his human body he was very,
very
good with his fists. And his knives.

Without warning, jagged bolts of lightning ripped apart his skull. He forced himself to breathe through the miserable pain, counting the seconds . . . three, four . . . six, seven. The pain was getting worse. Damn bird. He couldn’t decide which was a bigger pain in his ass, the one in his head or the one who was about to shift into a fox.

Finally, Tighe appeared at the top of the opposite stair from where the women sat and quickly made his way down.

“Sorry. Delaney wanted to come down to see us off, but she was asleep on her feet. I put her back in bed.”

Jag snorted. “And joined her?”

Tighe smiled, but there was nothing carnal about it. Nothing in his expression but deep, abiding love for his mate. “She falls asleep more easily in my arms.” After the hell Tighe had suffered in the spirit trap, and the equal hell Delaney must have suffered thinking she was about to lose him, there wasn’t a man among them who begrudged the pair the few extra minutes. Except, perhaps, Maxim.

Lyon clapped his hands together. “Let’s go.”

Olivia rose and descended the dozen steps as Jag met her at the base of the stairs and gave her a quick, thorough kiss. From her perch beside Faith, Skye blew Paenther a kiss. He returned it with a look that promised far more when he returned. Then he grabbed Maxim’s shoulder and turned him to the now-open door.

Hawke glanced back at Faith and found her gaze locked on him. But no smile winged its way down to him. The look in her eyes was one of regret. Then she looked away, dismissing him. Stabbing him through the heart.

“Hawke.”

At Lyon’s prodding, he nodded and turned away with a sigh.

“Olivia’s in charge until we return,” Lyon said to no one in particular. The women, except for Kara, would remain at Feral House. They couldn’t be part of the ritual, nor could they get close enough to watch since it needed to be performed beneath the curtain of a mystic circle where no human could see or hear what went on. Besides, the women were needed to guard Feral House in the Ferals’ absence. Delaney might need sleep, but she was ex-FBI. If they came under attack, she’d be in the front of the fighting, he had no doubt. Olivia was a warrior by trade, a leader of the Therian guard, and even Skye had proved herself capable of pulling strong attack energies, when needed. And if it came to it, if they could communicate their need, Ariana commanded an entire army of Ilina mist warriors. Left to the women, Feral House was in excellent hands.

Lyon and Kara stepped through the open front door. Hawke followed, closing it behind him, then joined the others, who waited in the drive. An hour before sunrise, they were now safe from the nocturnal draden, who always disappeared about this time. Shoulder to shoulder the nine and Kara strode across the lawn and into the woods beyond, the breeze blowing damp fingers through Hawke’s short hair. This would be only his second Renascence—third if he counted his own. The last had been for the young, now-deceased, Foxx four years ago. Once again it was a fox shifter he would watch come into his animal for the first time.

They crossed a couple of residential streets, moving silently between mansions tucked into the thick woods, finally reaching the rocks high above the Potomac River. One by one, the nine shifters climbed down to the wide, flat goddess stone, Lyon holding tight to Kara’s hand.

Golden armbands gleaming in the light of a half-moon, Lyon and Kougar raised the mystic circle that would enclose them, both in sight and sound, from the outside world and any human who might wander by. Magic in place, Lyon called for the warriors to take their spots as he led Kara to the center of the stone and gave her a brief, gentle kiss on her mouth. Kougar led them as they raised their voices in chant, repeating the ancient words, bringing back memories of Hawke’s own Renascence.

What a hellacious time that had been for him. He’d had to watch a Radiant who wasn’t his mother call the radiance for him to be brought into his father’s animal. The honor and satisfaction of becoming one of the men he’d admired from the time he was old enough to understand that all men weren’t Feral Warriors had slammed up against the bitter grief of his parents’ recent deaths. It was a night he’d never forget, and one he’d never want to go through again.

Kougar slashed the ritual knife across his bare chest, slapped his palm against the bleeding cut, and curled his fingers into a fist around the blood. Then he handed the knife to Lyon. One after another, each warrior followed, slashing his own chest, fisting his hand around his blood. When it was his turn, Hawke carved a thin line into his flesh, clamping his jaw against the searing pain, breathing through his nose as he slapped his free hand to the warm stickiness before the wound could heal. By the time he handed the knife to Vhyper, the pain had fled.

When Vhyper was done, he handed the blade to Maxim. “Your turn.”

Maxim met Hawke’s gaze, a gleam in his eye that had Hawke wondering if the new Feral meant to throw the knife at him. Instead, he cut himself, as he was supposed to, without hesitation.

Kougar shoved his fist into the air, and the others followed.

“Kara,” Lyon said softly.

Kara unzipped the hoodie and tossed it aside, then lifted her arms to the sky, drawing the Radiance from the Earth, and began to glow with the light of the sun.

Lyon turned to Maxim. “Remain where you are. If you touch her without an armband, the radiance will kill you.”

Maxim dipped his head but continued to stare at Kara, clearly intrigued by the glowing woman. Hawke supposed such a sight would fascinate anyone who hadn’t grown up with it.

The eight stepped forward, closing around Kara. As Hawke’s fingers curled around one slender wrist, power surged into him, a rush of blessed energy. Around him, the others gripped one of Kara’s hands, her other wrist, or knelt to grasp one of her ankles. Lyon stood behind her, stroking her slender throat before pressing his palm tenderly against the side of her neck.

Kougar released Kara first and turned to Maxim. One by one, the others followed, Hawke bringing up the rear. Kougar pressed his bloodied palm on top of Maxim’s fist. Lyon pressed his atop Kougar’s, Paenther’s atop Lyon’s. One by one they added their blood until only Hawke remained. As he pressed his palm to the top of the pile, his gaze met Maxim’s. Hatred arced between them, a live wire of threat shooting both ways. Deep inside, his hawk gave a cry of anger, a cry not directed at him. The bird didn’t like the new feral any better than the man did. For once, they were in complete agreement.

Kougar began to chant, switching to English as the others joined in. “Spirits rise and join. Empower the beasts beneath this moon. Goddess, reveal your warrior!”

Thunder rumbled in the cloudless sky, the sound of powerful magic. Beneath Hawke’s feet, the rock trembled as if in anticipation of this first shifting of the newest fox.

Maxim threw his head back, a look of bliss racing over his features as he disappeared in a flash of colorful, sparkling lights, shifting into his animal.

Hawke froze, blinking with shock. The huge, strange creature standing within their circle was no fox.

“Holy shit,” Jag breathed.

Hawke’s jaw dropped as he stared at the cat in their midst. His pulse began to hammer. The animal was nearly the size of an African lion, though far thicker, probably weighing close to twice what Lyon would in his animal form. Its legs were stocky and muscular, its tail bobbed. And from its mouth hung huge twin fangs like seven-inch blades.

The men exchanged shocked glances, uncertain what had just happened.

“A saber-toothed cat,” Hawke said out loud, his voice rough with awe and confusion.

“One of
the seventeen.
” Kougar’s voice was triumphant. “Ariana must have accidentally freed the animal spirit when she pulled us out.”

Understanding arced across the group like a jolt of electricity. Raw excitement filled the mystic circle as the full import crashed over the warriors.

The great cat, its natural cousin long extinct, swung his massive head around until he was staring straight into Hawke’s face, threat in his eyes. Hawke pulled his knives. The red haze began to lick at the edges of his vision and rise, showing no sign of stopping. Whatever force sometimes seemed to help him keep it at bay was absent.

Lyon stepped between them, his voice deadly calm. “Shift back, Maxim.”

For once, Maxim did as he was told. As Hawke fought back the anger, the cat began to shimmer. Once more, Maxim stood, fully clothed, a look of pure triumph on his arrogant face as he turned to the others.

“Not a fox,” he said simply, then threw back his head and laughed.

“Praise the goddess,” Jag said. “Maybe this is just the beginning. Maybe they all escaped that trap.”

Kougar shook his head. “It’s too soon to know.” But his eyes gleamed like diamonds.

Around the circle, his brothers’ faces shone with joy, relief, wreathed in grin after grin. Hawke got it—this was the break they’d needed, the miracle they’d been waiting for—but it still annoyed the hell out of him that Maxim was the center . . . the
cause . . .
of such rejoicing.

Beside him, Tighe laughed out loud. “This almost makes it worth being caught in that hell.” His gaze met Hawke’s, apology, then concern, tightening his features. He reached for him, his hand going to Hawke’s shoulder. “You okay?”

The physical contact helped Hawke pull it together. “Yes.”

Tighe nodded, but he kept his hand on Hawke’s shoulder, his smile gone.

Hawke wondered if they shared the same thought, that the most physically powerful animal belonged to the one among them they couldn’t trust.

Kougar’s voice rang out. “Henceforth, you will be known among us as Catt.”

“How about Tooth?” Jag asked.

Jubilation had shot the ritualistic atmosphere to hell, and no one seemed to care.

Wulfe grinned. “Fang.”

Vhyper snorted. “Bob.”

Jag shot the snake a comically disbelieving look.
“Bob?”

“For his bobbed tail.”

Jag groaned, then snorted. “Glad to have you back, Snake Man, oddball sense of humor and all.”

“You’re one to talk.” But even Vhyper’s tone held laughter.

Lyon eyed Vhyper with a nod of satisfaction, then pulled Kara back against him as the circle dissolved into backslaps and handshakes, euphoric roars echoing over the rocks. They were nine again, and once the new fox showed up, ten. Maybe more. Maybe, ultimately, twenty-six.

It was a day for celebration. And wary caution. His rival had just gained a strength Hawke could never hope to match.

T
he men and Kara returned to Feral House to the smell of roasting meat and baking bread, and glasses brimming with bubbly champagne or whiskey. Paenther had called Feral House the moment the ceremony was over to share the news, and they’d returned to a full-fledged celebration.

Still in the foyer, Tighe thrust his glass into the air. “To the full return of the seventeen. May we be twenty-six once more!”

A loud cheer erupted as the Ferals and their mates all joined in.

Maxim stood at the center, thrusting his glass into the air. “To the sabertooth!” With his free hand, he pulled Faith against his side, nuzzling her neck, making her squirm. His gaze cut to Hawke, a malicious gleam in his eye.