A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)

A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7) Page 24

She pulled her knives, mentally calculating the beast’s speed and the difficulty of ducking the horns to leap on to its back.

The beast let out a bloodcurdling roar and lowered its head, telling her in no uncertain terms that it meant to kill her, that the labyrinth and its Mage masters would not allow her to leave this place alive. And for one dark moment, she feared that was exactly what would happen. That she’d never see Fox again, never see Ariana or her sisters. Fear curled inside her.

She had to kill this thing and kill it fast.

The beast charged, but he was more nimble than she’d anticipated. Pain tore through her side and she looked down to find her tunic torn, blood flowing freely. Dammit! She stumbled away from the beast as he circled around to come at her again. Despite the pulse thundering in her ears, she remained perfectly still as the monster charged her. Ready . . . waiting . . .

At the last minute, she spun out of his reach, striking him, hamstringing him. So much blood.

As he went down, he swung his head. She leaped back, but not quite fast enough, her attention stolen for one moment too many. One of those spearlike horns tore through her thigh, flinging her up and over him, into the snow.

The wind knocked out of her, she struggled to her feet, sinking, as her injured leg buckled, watching with disbelief as the beast charged her again, already healed.

Melisande pulled her sword, willing her thigh to knit more quickly. But the beast was nearly upon her. She was out of time.

Fox clung to a thick root protruding from the side of the pit about three feet from the lip. Amazingly, he’d been able to snag it as the four of them tumbled in, keeping the warriors from pulling him down to the watery bottom some twenty feet below. If he fell, there would be no escape. As it was, escape was problematic. He eyed the lip of the hole just out of reach. So close and yet so far.

And he had to get out, dammit. He had to get to Melisande.

He burrowed his fingers into the dirt wall, down by his knee, seeking another root that might act as a foothold. If he could step higher, he could, pray to the goddess, make his way out. When he’d first fallen, and first caught himself, he’d feared the painted savages would attack him from below, but between falling in and hitting the water, they’d disappeared.

He’d listened to the sounds of battle, desperate to reach Melisande and cover her back. But moments ago, the forest above had gone silent. She hadn’t answered when he’d called. And now he was wracked with fear because there was no good answer. Either she’d been taken by those savages, or she’d slipped, alone, into the next world.

Or she was dead.

His heart clenched, his control slipping as a vicious roar built deep inside him. He clamped down on it, struggling to keep his wits about him. He’d do Melisande no good if he fell into this pit.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, a loop of good-sized root still firmly woven into the ground. Stepping on it gingerly, he held on tight to the first root and pushed himself up. Careful, he thought. Go slow. He could not afford to fall. In both worlds, now, the attackers had fought not to kill him, not even to catch him, per se. No, they’d wanted him caught in the traps. First the vines. Then this pit. And in both cases, the moment he was trapped, his opponents had walked away. Or disappeared.

All evidence pointed to the Mage wanting him taken alive. And he could only assume it was because of whatever it was that Inir had done to the fox animal spirit after he’d killed Sly.

But the Mage didn’t want Melisande. The labyrinth wanted her dead.

Goddess, he had to reach her.

He shivered, then wondered what useless bit of untruth his gut was about to offer him this time.

Drop.

Bloody hell. His gut was bent on getting him captured. Why? Had it really turned against him, or was it trying to give him exactly what he wanted . . . a way to find Kara? While he’d never in a million years expected to be the one among them to accomplish that feat, he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he’d derive from doing so. The validation. And his gut would know it. But, while getting captured by the Mage might be a way to reach her, there had to be a better way than becoming a Mage captive himself.

If he were to be captured, Melisande would stand no chance.

No. He wasn’t giving up and letting himself be caught. Not in a million years.

Painstakingly slowly, Fox dug one foothold then handhold after another until, finally, he was able to pull himself up and out of the pit.

Sweat ran down his back and chest as he searched for signs of Melisande. She wasn’t dead. At least he didn’t think so. Phylicia had quickly turned to dust after she died. The pain that went through him at the thought that Melisande could already be gone, all trace of her existence wiped from the Earth, was excruciating. She was still alive. He had to believe that.

Maybe she’d fallen into one of the pits and been knocked unconscious. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t answered his call.

“Mel!” Still no answer. He began making his way carefully between the pits, peering into each, searching for sign of her. The last thing he wanted to do was to slide into the next world with her still trapped in this one.

But with his next step, snow covered his booted foot, and he knew it was done. He’d left the island. At the same time, he heard the roar of a beast and whirled to see Melisande flying through the air over the strangest creature he’d ever seen—a beastie with six sharp swords for horns. A monster who was about to kill Melisande.

Chapter Fourteen

In a running leap, Fox shifted into his animal, four feet able to traverse the snowy field better than his human two as he raced to save Melisande. Even as he ran, the six-horned beastie turned and began to charge her as she struggled, bloodied, to her feet. She pulled her blade, but though her leg appeared to be healing, it wasn’t happening fast enough. Goddess, she wasn’t going to be able to move out of the way in time.

He raced over the snow, thanking the goddess that he’d followed her from that world to this. As he neared the beastie, he shifted to human form and pulled his blade, then leaped onto the beast’s back and stabbed it through the neck.

But the creature didn’t slow. It was almost upon her. Leaning low, he cut hard through the monster’s thigh muscle. The beastie went down, tossing Fox over its head into the snow, but as Fox leaped up again, Melisande took his place on the struggling animal’s back, stabbing it in the neck over and over.

“It keeps healing,” she called to him, annoyance in her voice. “Want to give me a hand with his head?” She asked the question as calmly as if she were asking for help with an unwieldy suitcase.

He grinned, his relief at finding her whole and alive bursting from his throat on a deep chuckle.

“Aye, pet. I’ll give you a hand.” He strolled to the pair of them and with a pair of hard hacks, cut off the beast’s head. A moment after Melisande leaped clear of the carcass, the creature disappeared.

He sheathed his blade and turned to Melisande, barely opening his arms in time as she threw herself at him.

“I thought they’d caught you,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist, clinging to him tight.

He hauled her against him, burying his nose in her hair, shaking from relief and joy and an emotion he was afraid to name. “I thought I’d lost you,” he breathed. “I wasn’t even sure you’d survived.” How had she come to mean so much?

Finally, she pulled back to where she could see him. “I feared the labyrinth had separated us.”

“Apparently there’s only one path through the gauntlet. Escape the trap, and it propels you into the next world, offering you another chance to fail.”

“I need to kiss you,” she said softly, fervently.

“Oh, pet . . .” They came together in a blaze of need and thanksgiving, her lips cold, their kiss hot enough to scorch the flesh from his bones. He devoured her, drinking in her taste, her sweetness. The need to keep her with him, safe and protected, trembled through his muscles. As badly as he needed to be inside her again, he longed even more to tuck her within his heart, where no one could ever threaten her or hurt her again.

Snow began to fall as their mouths melded, their tongues twining in a fierce yet gentle dance. She smelled of wild heather and crisp mountain air, and tasted of honey. So sweet, so incredibly precious.

Snowflakes landed on his cheeks, his hands, melting in the heat of their passion. But as he slanted his head to deepen the kiss, their noses brushed and he felt hers, ice-cold. He pulled back. “We need to find shelter, angel.” The wind was beginning to whip and the sky to darken.

She gave her head a little shake as if trying to reclaim her equilibrium. “Yes. Shelter.” But her mating scent wrapped around him, sinking into his blood, and it was all he could do not to take her mouth again.

“The rocks,” he said. “Maybe we can find a windbreak, if nothing else.”

She nodded, and he set her on the ground, then took her small, cold hand firmly in his. Together, they climbed into the crags, searching for a cave, or any kind of shelter as the snow fell harder and visibility became so poor Fox could no longer see the snowy plain below the rocks. An army could be approaching, and they’d have little warning.

He didn’t like this, not at all. The beast had been sent to kill Melisande, nothing more. But at some point, in some way, the labyrinth would try to corral him into a trap.

“I see something,” Melisande said, pulling away from him.

Fox followed her gaze to a low split in the rock, much too small for him to fit through, and watched as she bent low and stuck her arm into it with ease.

He might not fit, but his fox would. “I’ll shift and scope it out. I can see in the dark.”

Pulling on the power of his animal, he shifted too big, of course, but quickly downsized until he was the size of a small fox. With ease, he trotted through the hole and into a cave about the size of the war room at Feral House, the ceiling high enough for him to stand up in with ease, once he’d shifted back. But as he looked around, he saw something in the corner that made his hackles rise—a large pile of firewood. And a box of wooden matches.

“Fox?” Melisande called softly.

“Come in, pet.” He shifted back into a man, and the cave went dark for a moment as his human vision slowly adjusted to the minimal light allowed in through the cave’s small mouth. Light temporarily doused by Melisande’s arrival.

She’d had to do little more than bend over to squeeze inside. Rising, she looked around, blinking to adjust her sight. “This is perfect. Unless they’re my size, or can shift into something smaller, no one else will be able to get in. Certainly, no more than one at a time, and then with difficulty.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to get out in a hurry.” Her mating scent perfumed the air in the small space, igniting the fire in his blood all over again.

“It’s better than standing out in the snow. Especially for those of us without fur or coats.”

He nodded toward the firewood. “It’s a little too perfect. All it’s missing is gingerbread walls and candy light fixtures.”

Melisande shrugged. “We’re not going to escape whatever this place has in store for us, you know that. It won’t let us go until we’ve evaded its traps.”

“Walking into one isn’t exactly evading.”

“No,” she said huskily. “But we’re safe from the storm. And alone.” Sapphire eyes leaped with heat.

She was right. Fox knew she was right. And even if she wasn’t, at this moment, he didn’t care. He took a step toward her as she moved toward him, and they met in the middle, coming together like two halves of a hole. He pulled her hard against him, devouring her mouth, remembering too late to be careful with her. But as she met him, kiss for kiss, hunger for hunger, he felt a triumphant rush of relief. Her mating scent invaded his senses, sending his already-raging passion spiraling out of control.

“I have to touch you.” Despite the need tearing him apart, he forced himself to move slowly, aware she might balk at any moment. He slid one hand to the hem of her tunic, then under, against her cold abdomen, then higher to palm her breast.

The feel of her sweet flesh against his skin pulled a moan of pure pleasure from deep in his throat. “You feel like heaven,” he said against her lips. He longed to whip the tunic off of her, to bare her to his sight. But he wouldn’t undress her when she was still so cold. And he couldn’t see her nearly as well as he wanted in the almost nonexistent light.

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to pull away from her. It pleased him when she resisted, groaning in protest.

“Let me start the fire, luv. Let me get you warm.”

“The fire will lead them right to us.” She snorted. “Who am I kidding? They know where we are.”

“They do. And they’ll come for us. When that happens, we’ll fight. Until then, we’re going to stay safe. And warm.” He cupped her soft cheek, his hand unsteady as the need to touch her everywhere powered through him. “I want to undress you. Will you allow me that?”

She hesitated, tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth. Slowly, she nodded. “If I can do the same to you.”

A grin broke across his mouth. “Aye, you can.”

The wood was dry, and he built the fire quickly and easily. As the flames began to flicker over the walls, the wood popping and crackling as it took to the flame, Fox turned back to the beautiful woman at his side.

Their gazes met, need leaping between them in a raw, carnal burst. Goddess, he wanted her. And by the passion gleaming in her eyes, he knew she felt the same. He slid both hands to the hem of her tunic and she lifted her arms high, allowing him to pull it up and over her head.