Obsession Untamed - Памела Палмер

Pamela PalmerOBSESSSION UNTAMED

CHAPTER 1

draden.

The Feral Warriors were in a world of hurt.

Tighe lifted his face to the night wind, trying to cool the frustration lodged beneath the surface of his skin as he traversed the rugged, rocky woods high above the Potomac River.

The Mage had lost their freaking minds and were apparentlyto free the Daemons. After sacrificing so much five millennia ago to imprison them, Tighe couldnt fathom why, but there was no denying at least one Mage, the witch Zaphene, had been determined to free Satanan. Zaphene was dead, but shed left a hell of a legacy.

One of the Ferals, Vhyper, was missing. The Daemon blade itself was gone. And one of Zaphenes creations had run off with half of Tighes soul. Literally.

Where the Mage witch had come by the magic to split souls, no one knew, but shed done so to make clones of the Ferals. Clones who would raise the Daemons from the blade in the real Ferals stead, since the real Ferals werentenough to want that plague freed again. ?

A growl rumbled deep in his throat as he climbed the last of the stone outcroppings onto the cliffs above the river. The night was clear, the brightest stars little more than a dull glow, thanks to the damned humans and their incessant need to battle back the dark.

His clone was, by all indications, currently wreaking havoc on the human population. Tighe and two other Ferals had been tracking him for three days as hed left a path of dead between Great Falls, Virginia, and nearby Washington, D.C.

And while, yes, the clones deadly rampage needed to be stopped, Tighes stake in his capture was a lot more personal. He needed his damned soul back. No one knew for sure how long he could survive with it split like it was, but the consensus was, . At least not with his sanity intact.

Which was why he returned to Great Falls and Feral House each night instead of remaining on the trail of his clone. Hed seen what could happen to a Feral with a split soul, and it wasnt pretty. Hell, it gave him nightmares. He was determined to hold on to his sanity, even if every Feral watched him as if he expected to have to lock Tighe up in the prison deep below Feral House at any moment.

Wulfe stepped onto the rock beside him. Any sign of draden? Wulfe was the biggest of the Ferals, a monster of a man close to seven feet tall, with a face that looked like it had once been used as a cats scratching post.

Tighe released his frustration on a huff. Not yet. Theyll come. Then hed rip their hearts out, as he did every night, and release some of this gut-eating frustration. Enough to feel relatively safe returning to the hunt for his clone in human-infested D.C.

Im surprised Lyon let us take you out without a leash, Jag drawled behind him.

A growl rumbled in Tighes chest. The idiot wasnt satisfied until he had every Feral ready to rip his throat out. And Tighe was in a foul enough mood to accommodate him.

Shut up, Jag, Wulfe snarled. The last thing he needs right now is your needling.

The last thing hewas everyone treating him like he was filled with gunpowder, a lit fuse dangling from the corner of his mouth. He was .

But the burn in his fingertips gave the lie to that little assertion. He struggled for control, struggled to pull back from the feral rage engulfing him. Under normal circumstances the feral state was merely a place of lost tempers and healthy fighting. The place halfway between man and beast, where human teeth elongated into fangs, claws erupted from fingertips, and human eyes no longer looked human. A place where a hawk and a tiger could access their wilder natures yet fight on equal footing.

But these were not normal circumstances. Thanks to the rending of his soul, he didnt know how much longer hed have the strength or control to pull himself out of that state again.

He fought against the fury engulfing his body, clenching his teeth even as he willed himself calm, but it was too late. Claws unsheathed from the tips of his fingers. Fangs dropped from the top of his jaw. Daggerlike incisors rose from below as a backload of dammed-up rage ripped free of his control. In a rush of feral anger, he lunged, tackling Jag to the rocky ground.

In a haze of bloodlust, he felt the slash of claws and the ripping of flesh as Jag went feral, too. Blood spilled into his mouth, both his own and Jags, tasting warm and fine. His vision hazed in a wild bloodlust that had him suddenly longing to sink his teeth into Jags neck and rip out the bastards throat for real.

His logical mind recoiled. He was losing it. He could almost see the dark, swirling waters of chaos lapping at his sanity. As his sane mind clawed its way back from the precipice, Wulfe wedged himself between the two warriors, jerking Jag out of his grasp.

Tighe slowly struggled back to his controlled, human, form. As his claws and fangs retracted, Wulfe balled up his fist and hit Jag in the jaw with a hard right hook.

Jag went sprawling. Whatd you do that for?

You can be such an ass, Wulfe snarled. Do youto see him locked up? ? Would it be too much to ask you tohasten the destruction of one of our strongest warriors?

Jag scowled and pushed to his feet. Fuck you.

Im not heading for destruction, Tighe growled, standing and adjusting his ripped shirt so that it continued to hang, , from his body. He wouldnt let it happen. Heto let it happen.

But he couldnt deny he was shaken.

Lets kill some draden, then, Wulfe said.

Tighe compressed his mouth and nodded. They hunted draden by waiting for the little fiends to smell their Therian energy, energy the Ferals emitted in their human forms. It wasnt much longer before a faint dark cloud appeared over the cliffs across the river.

Incoming, Wulfe said quietly. The draden had found them.

Wulfe yanked off his tee shirt and unzipped his jeans, tossing his clothes onto the rocks. Jag stripped out of his camouflage pants and army green tee. Tighe did nothing. He was one of the Ferals who possessed the ability to retain his clothes when he shifted. A handy trick, especially when he hunted among humans.

The dark cloud of draden moved quickly toward them over the gleaming river, a smudge against the stars and the shadowy distant cliffs. Asmudge.

Holy . Jag whistled low. Is it just me, or is that five times the usual number?

There had to be hundreds coming at them. Maybe more than a thousand. Holy shit was right. Theyd known the draden were multiplying faster than usual, but the evidence was alarming. If they didnt get them under control, there wouldnt be enough Therian energy for them to feed on. Theyd turn on the humans.

And if that happened, theyd decimate the population in no time, without the humans ever knowing what hit them.

Then lets get em, boys, Jag said.

Ill take first bait. Tighe pulled his knives. One of them had to remain in his human, or Therian form, or the draden would fly off. But as , he would absolutely be fighting for his life.

In a sudden, heart-jarring instant, a veil of darkness dropped over his eyes, swallowing everything. Tighes blood went cold.

Whats the matter? Wulfe asked beside him, as if nothing were wrong.

. His pulse began to pound in his ears. This must only be happening to him. His vision was gone. Totally. Was this the first step to losing his sanity?

As quickly as his sight vanished, it reappeared, but his relief lifted and plummeted in the same instant. He wasnt actually seeing. Like a movie lighting a dark screen, a scene appeared before his sightless eyes.

A harsh, bright light lit a rough room, nothing but half a dozen washers and dryers on a cement floor. A public laundry room. Two heavyset women worked, one shoving wet laundry from the washer into the dryer, the other standing before a nearby table, folding clothes. The standing one glanced toward him, her expression at once appreciative and wary.

Hi, she said cautiously.

Suddenly, her face grew in his vision as if a camera lens were pulling in close. Her eyes widened with terror as the room lurched dizzily. As if hed attacked her and taken her to the ground.

Was this a premonition, , of what he was to become?

Behind him, the other woman screamed, piercing his eardrums.

No! His victim threw up her hands, the terror in her eyes churning up rancid memories buried deep in his mind.

Memories of another time, another place.

His gut knotted until he thought hed be sick. But he couldnt deny the evidence. It seemed he was finally doomed to become the very thing hed been accused of being all those long, miserable years ago.

A monster.

FBI Agent Delaney Randall strode up the front walk of the Potomac Side Apartments in southwest D.C., her hand fisted tight around her notebook, her gut burning with a need to find the bastard whod killed more than a dozen women and children in the past three days.

To stop him before he killed again.

It was late, nearly 10:00 P.M. The last three murders had taken place in that general neighborhood, and shed spent all day canvassing the nearby apartments, interviewing residents, searching for clues. Someone had to know . She was bone tired, but she wasnt quitting until her body refused to move another inch.

Not while the murderer was still on the loose.

And, unfortunately, that could be a while. Even with more than a dozen victims, there was no real evidence. So far, there had been no witnesses and no DNA left at the scenes despite the teeth marks on the victims throats. Even the cause of the deaths was a mystery. It was as if God had pointed His divine finger at each of them, and said, Times up.

The breeze blew loose tendrils of hair into her face as she strode up the front walk of the apartment building. A man in a polo and khakis walked toward her, the streetlight illuminating a nice-looking face. White male, late twenties, not visibly armed. Her brain clicked a mental picture, filing him away as yet one more suspect.

He flashed her a bleached smile. Evening.

But Delaney had already logged him, and her gaze had moved on to the pack of smoking teens sitting on the front steps ahead.

Bitch. The muttered word carried to her from the man shed just passed.

Her gaze jerked back to him, her hand lifting to hover at her waist, a hairbreadth from her gun. But the man never looked back as he strode away purposefully.

, he called her. As if she had time to flirt when yet another scumbag was prowling the streets, hunting innocents. .

She ran up the steps, past the teens, and tried the door. Locked, as shed suspected. Through the glass, she saw a balding African-American with tufts of gray hair over his ears running with an awkward gait toward her. The buildings super, she supposed. Shed called a short while ago and asked him to meet her here.

As he neared the doors, the mix of agitation and fear on his face became apparent. Her instinct for trouble kicked into high gear, her pulse speeding up, the fingers of her right hand flexing. Had she stumbled on a domestic situation in progress or finally hit the jackpot?

The instant the man opened the door, a keening cry high in the building raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

She flashed her badge and pushed through the doorway. Agent Randall, FBI. What happened?

I called the cops, but they arent here yet.

Her gun was in her hand now, senses on high alert.

A lady dead in the stairwell. Her kid just found her.

Her kid. .

How? Who did it?

Dont know. Theres no blood.

Without waiting for further explanation, Delaney ran for the stairs in the middle of the building, following the sound of the crying.

But as she neared the third floor, the stairwell became so clogged with people she could hardly get through. She holstered her gun, and barked, FBI! The nearest residents parted for her to pass, eyeing her with varying degrees of curiosity, wariness, and relief.

Pushing through the crowd, she finally reached the source of the wailing. A little girl of no more than seven lay across the prone and lifeless body of a woman, the teeth marks that had become the trademark of the serial killer in a perfect oval on her neck.

Delaneys jaw clenched hard.

Momma! Tears streaked the childs brown cheeks, her dark eyes wells of fear as she rose to pat her mothers face. .

Delaneys heart clenched as the childs fear flowed into her, echoing deep in her soul. She remembered that fear all too well. And hated, , the bastards who caused it. Thirteen people, now, that they knew of. Thirteen . Seven of whom had left motherless children behind.

As she called in the murder, she pressed her palm to the top of the little girls head. Im going to get him. The promise was too softly spoken for the child to hear, but the words imprinted themselves on Delaneys heart.

Death was part of life. She accepted that. Right or wrong, it was mans nature to fight and to kill. She understood deaths caused by war, even the misguided inner-city drug and gang wars. Wasteful as those deaths were, there was some testoster-one-laden male sense to them.

But there wassense to attacks like this. None.

Shed dedicated her life to stopping them. To stopping the evil that caused them. And this son of a bitch was at the top of her list.

Through the babble of voices and crying, a fresh scream sliced the air, echoing up from the bowels of the building.

Delaneys blood went cold.

She pushed her way back into the crowd but had only managed to descend a couple of steps when an overweight blonde appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Hes got my sister! Hes got my sister!

Where? Delaney shouted.

Laundry room, the woman cried. The basement.

Im FBI. Get up here and stay here.

You got to save her.

As the woman dissolved into hysterics, Delaney scanned the crowd still standing between her and the blonde, then pointed at the two toughest-looking males. You and you. Keep everyone back and send the cops down when they get here.

The pair nodded soberly and parted the crowd for her to pass.

By the time she pushed through the metal door into the basement, she was alone. No sound reached her ears except the dull thud of her boots on the cement floor.

No screams. No crying. No woman begging for her life.

Delaney held her gun aloft, her heart thudding as she eased down the hall to the wide, brightly lit doorway. Pressing her back to the wall, she peered around the corner.

A huge, muscular man with short, sun-bleached hair looked up from where he knelt beside the prone and lifeless body of a woman who could have been the twin of the one whod sent her down.

With both hands she lifted her gun. . FBI! Hands in the air!

The man rose with an ease that belied his size, staring at her, not with the eyes of the guilty but the cold eyes of a hunter spotting prey. Green eyes without humanity. Without mercy.

The eyes of Death himself.

A bead of sweat rolled between her shoulder blades. She was far from short, but this guy towered over her, his shoulders broad, his body lean and strong beneath the navy blue dress shirt and too-short khakis he wore without shoes. No way was she risking hand-to-hand combat.

A chill slithered down her spine. Hands in the air, or I shoot!

He moved so suddenly, so quickly, she barely got a shot off before he was on her, knocking her to the ground. Her head slammed against the cement as her gun went flying, jagged lights streaking her vision.

Shed hit him in the chest. Point-blank. He should be going down, dammit. She tried to fight him, but he was as strong as a bear as he pinned her to the floor.

His head dipped. As she felt his cold mouth open on her neck and the press of his teeth into her skin, she struggled against her immovable assailant, a scream of fury filling her mind.

She didnt have time to die.

CHAPTER 2

Still deep in the vision, beneath the harsh, bright lights of the public laundry room, the sound of footsteps had Tighe looking up from the body of the dead blonde into the face of a stunning, dark-haired beauty. Dressed in a no-nonsense navy blue suit, the brunette was tall and leggy, her hair pulled into a casual knot at the back of her head, the gun in her hands pointed at his heart.

A strange sensation pummeled the inside of his chest as he stared into her fierce, determined face. A feeling of connection gripped him. Almost a recognition.

. FBI! she shouted at him. Hands in the air!

He leaped at her as he had the other one. The gun fired, but if she hit him, he couldnt tell. He couldnt feel anything, could only hear the sound of her thudding heart and the slam of her head against the cement floor as he took her to the ground.

Their gazes met, and in the brown depths of her dazed eyes he saw not fear, but fury, and recognized the soul of a fellow warrior. Then he dipped his head to rip out her throat.

He came back to the night in a rush, desperately swallowing the bile that tried to rise in his throat. Even as the stunning, dark-eyed beauty chiseled herself into his mind.

Wulfes voice echoed in his head at the exact moment fire slashed through his flesh like a thousand tiny knives ripping him out of his vision and back to his dark reality.

The horde of draden had found him.

Instinctively, he lifted his knives and began attacking the creatures, little more than floating gas beneath heads shaped like hideously melted human faces. They would steal his life if they got the chance. Beside him, his jaguar and wolf companions leaped and snapped at the attacking fiends.

Sweat rolled down his temples as the womans face, , swam in his memory. . His gut fisted with horror over what he was destined to do even as the draden tore at his flesh. He fought them off, the blood running in small rivulets down his neck and back.

What would drive him to attack a human woman?women?

But he knew. That chaos hed seen swimming at the edges of his consciousness would overtake him before they found his clone, just as it had Wulfe before theyd destroyedclone. Like Wulfe before him, he was destined to become locked in a feral rage, lost to the violence that would transform him into an unthinking, unreasoning killing machine.

At least Wulfe had never gotten free of the Ferals prison. Hed never harmed anyone in that state.

Wulfe, whatever you do, .

, Wulfe said mentally from his wolf form. .

.

The huge wolf turned into a man in a shower of sparkling lights. His friend looked at him grimly. .

Damn, Tighe muttered. He must look as bad as he felt. In a harsh rush of power, he pulled on the energy and magic deep in his body and shifted into his animal form, his vision a quick flash of light. Raw, primitive joy surged through him as he shifted into a fifteen-foot Bengal tiger.

The draden released him with a high-pitched squawk. Tighe went on the attack, scattering and destroying the little fiends alongside the jaguar. Wulfe, standing naked in the moonlight, came under attack from the ungodly throng, digging out their hearts as fast as he could, before they sucked the life force out of him or ripped him to shreds.

You okay? Wulfe asked. Tighe didnt have to ask who he was talking to.

An answering growl was his only response.

. The jaguar leaped, snapping his jaws around the largest of the draden, swallowing its beating heart to destroy it, dissolving the creature in a puff of smoky energy. The sire, or leader of the swarm, was the one who directed their flight. Kill the sire, and the rest would remain right where they were, lost and leaderless, making them easy marks for the animals, whom they couldnt feed from and wouldnt attack.

Wulfe shifted back into his animal and joined the slaughter of the disordered swarm.

Tighe caught one after another of the little demons in his massive jaws. Neither the hearts nor the creatures themselves had any real taste, for they werent flesh and blood but made almost entirely of energy.

. Jags voice sounded in his head.

Tighe swung his massive tigers head in the direction Jag was facing. Sure enough, two teenaged boys stood in the woods not twenty yards away, watching a sight that must be unbelievable to them. Humans couldnt see the draden, but they could sure as hell see the huge tiger, wolf, and jaguar.

Tighe gave a mental groan of frustration. Damn humans, always getting in the way. Fortunately for them, draden only attacked humans if there were no Therians for miles around. Still, the humans were a problem.

, Tighe said. The two cats possessed the ability to change the size and, to some extent, the forms of their animals at will. While Wulfe continued to fight the draden in his wolf form, Tighe and Jag shifted into what most humans would see as house cats, then circled behind the two boys.

Whered the tiger go? a youthful voice asked.

Dude, is this for real? I thought it was the weed.

As Jag closed in on one, Tighe moved behind the other. As one, the two Ferals shifted into human form and rendered the youths briefly unconscious with a quick application of pressure beneath their ears.

As Tighe knew they would, the draden followed his and Jags now-Therian scent. He pulled the switchblades from his pockets and tossed them to Jag, then knelt on the ground beside one of the boys. Wulfe joined them, and as the draden swarmed, the two Ferals, one man, one wolf, covered Tighe as he called on the ability all Ferals possessed to some extent, though his was undeniably the strongest.

Tighe gripped the face of his captive. Open your eyes. When the boy did, Tighe looked deeply into those glazed irises. You saw nothing in the woods tonight except a couple of dogs. When I tell you to, youll go home and never venture into these woods at night again. And youll flush the weed and swear off it for good, you little punk.

As the battle raged around him, Tighe rose and moved to the second kid, performing the same bit of mind control. When both boys minds were successfully clouded, he told them to go, then shifted back into his animal and rejoined the fight.

Hours later, they were still destroying draden when the nocturnal fiends began to take off as they always did an hour before sunrise. In all that time, the Ferals had only managed to destroy half the swarm.

This is bad, Wulfe muttered, shifting back into human form and grabbing his clothes.

Tighe couldnt deny it.

As they headed for home, Wulfe turned to him. What happened to you as they descended, Stripes?

I dont want to talk about it. But he was going to have to tell Lyon.

Goddess forbid he get loose and become that.

Bleed, Lyon said, striding forward as Tighe walked into the dining room of Feral House a short while later.

Tighe glowered at the Chief of the Feral Warriors, but thrust out his left hand, palm up. Lyon made a short, shallow cut in the center of Tighes palm, nodding when the slice welled with blood as his clones would not have.

The thought that the draden-based fiend that wore his face could sneak into Feral House gave him chills.

Though it annoyed him to have to submit to someones knife every time he walked into a room, the alternative was worse. Much worse. The clone could potentially kill one of the Ferals. Or Kara, Lyons mate and their Radiant. No one was willing to take that chance.

But knowing what he was to become, he feared the clone might no longer be the greatest danger.

Lyon closed his switchblade and greeted Tighe properly, offering his right arm. The two men slapped forearms as they grasped one another just below the elbow in the traditional greeting of the Ferals.

Youre going to have to lock me up, Roar.

Lyons gaze narrowed. Why?

He told him about the premonition. Im not going to turn into that monster. And I will if you dont lock me up.

You will if we dont catch that clone in time. Lyons amber gaze bored into his. But we will, Stripes. Were going to catch him.your help. He clasped Tighes shoulder. Were spread too thin right now to give you a vacation in the prisons.

Tighe growled. Vacation my ass.

Kara entered the dining room and joined them, her pert, blond ponytail swinging as she slipped her arm around the waist of her much larger mate. As Lyon pulled her tight against him, she met Tighes gaze, a sweet smile lighting her blue eyes.

Hi, Tighe.

His own ready smile slid into place with an ease born of deep affection for this slip of a woman whod shown more strength in the past days than all the Radiants whod come before her over the centuries, combined.

Hi, yourself. Tighe held out his arms to her, pleased when Lyon released her, and she gave him a quick, badly needed hug. He closed his arms around her and held her tight, absorbing the closeness as much as her sweetness.

At any given time, there was one Radiant, one Therian woman through whom the Ferals reached the great stores of natures energy and the power they needed in order to shift into their animals. Theyd nearly missed finding Kara. Shed been raised human, thousands of miles away. Their energy had been flagging, their ability to shift gone when Lyon finally managed to locate her. And thank the goddess he had. Theyd never have defeated the witch Zaphene without Karas power, courage, and surprising talent with radiance.