Pamela PalmerPassion Untamed
Thanks to all the wonderful, talented people who helped me bring this book to life, in particular, May Chen, Helen Breitwieser, Laurin Wittig, Anne Shaw Moran, and Kyle Poulsen. I couldnt have done it without you.
To Denise McInerney for a million things.
And to my family for their support and patience when deadlines took priority. Youre always first in my heart.
The newly marked Feral Warrior, Black Panther, prowled the wide, flat stone overlooking the raging Potowmack River. Snow swirled around him, driven by a harsh wind as he waited for the ritual that would, goddess willing, transform him into a shape-shifter, one of the most powerful creatures on Earth.
Months ago, the animal spirit of one of the deceased Ferals had marked him as his own. A bare week later, as hed set out to find Feral House, the Mage witch Ancreta had tricked him, capturing him. For long months hed endured her torture as she viciously tried to pry loose the animal spirit inside him, burning a rage into his soul that never eased.
Now the time had come to know if shed succeeded.
Around him, the six Feral Warriors paced bare-chested, a thick gold armband snaking around each mans arm as they raised the mystic circle. In their midst stood the Radiant, the lone woman accompanying themthe one through whom they pulled their power from the Earth. The mystic circle would enclose the great rock and hide all within it from the prying eyes of the Indians that still occasionally hunted these woods.
The day was dreary, the cold biting against the bare skin of his upper body, a body broken too many times beneath Ancretas torture.
Hatred curled in his belly. Fury lived in his blood. For seven months hed been her captive, the third of three newly marked Ferals the witch had captured over the past two years.
Only two had survived, Vincent and him. Ten days ago, Vincent had escaped. Nine days ago, hed risked capture and death to return. Black Panther tilted his head, letting the wind brush his long black hair from his face. Vincent had returned for . And finally, this very day, they would complete the ritual,to be reborn as Feral Warriors in truth.
Vincent stood beside him. The leather strip that bound his blond hair at his nape had loosened, and his hair whipped around his face, hiding and revealing eyes lit with a humor that never died, even when Ancreta had done her worst. The two newly marked, soon-to-be shifters stood as one, their wary, fascinated gazes taking in the Feral Warriors, the pride of the Therian race. To a man, the warriors were as tall as they wereall well over six and a half feet, with strong, powerful bodies. Black Panther remembered and relived the awe hed felt the morning hed woken to find the claw-mark scars across his eye and known hed been chosen to join them.
As he watched, the warriors took their places around the circle, raising their voices in chant. The magic might keep out prying eyes, but it did nothing to dissuade the weather. The biting wind raked across his skin, the snow swirling around his ankles.
The woman pulled her billowing cloak tight around her, a petulant look on her face. Why we cannot wait a mere day or two to perform the ritual, I do not understand. Tis snowing!
The Chief of the Ferals, Lyon, met her discontent with calm command. The warriors have been through much, Oudine. They need your radiance, and I need their strength added to our numbers. Weve been six for too long.
The woman huffed. You said yourself they may be too damaged by the witch to shift. They may be useless.
Silence, Oudine. Lyons voice was no less harsh for its quietness.
Black Panthers hands fisted at his sides. . The word ripped through him like a cold steel blade, chilling his blood with sharp crystals of frost. Had Ancreta destroyed everything hed lived for?
From the moment he awakened to find the feral marks across his eye, hed waited for this moment. No, in truth, from the moment he was born. His grandmother, the Tauxenent tribes seer, the woman who had given him the name , had predicted at his birth more than 140 years ago that he would someday walk the Earth as both panther and man.
All these years hed believed. All these years hed waited.
Yesterday, arriving at Feral House at last, hed learned that the Feral Warrior killed by the Mage shortly before he himself was marked had in fact been the black panther. The prophecy would, at last, come true. But only if Ancreta had not destroyed his ability to reach that animal as shed sought to do. A Feral Warrior who could not shift would not live long.
We shall shift as we were meant to, Vincent said quietly, curling his arm over Black Panthers shoulder. Never doubt it.
Black Panther met his friends level gaze, feeling a deep and abiding bond, deeper than any hed felt for another. It was Vincent whod kept him sane and strong through the months of shared torture. It was Vincent whod shared his grief when the third of their number, Frederick, had finally died. And it was Vincent whod found his way out, yet returned, risking everything for his friend.
He owed the man his life.
He nodded to his companion. We shall shift. Tempered excitement lifted his pulse as he prayed to the goddess of the Therians that his hope wasnt in vain.
It is time, said one of the Ferals, a man with cold pale eyes, the one called Kougar.
Lyon turned to the woman, the Radiant. Prepare yourself, Oudine.
With a disgusted huff, the woman sat in the middle of the wide rock, her woolen skirts and cape billowing in the harsh wind.
As the men formed a broad, loose circle around her, Lyon motioned to the two newest members. Join us.
Vincent at his side, Black Panther stepped forward, into the circle, with a mix of tense anticipation and pride. As he watched, Kougar slashed a knife across his own chest, slapped his palm against the bright red ribbon, and curled his fingers into a fist around the blood. Then he handed the knife to the warrior at his side. One by one, each man did the same until all held a fist damp with his own blood. The last of the six handed the knife to Vincent.
His friend took the blade with a rueful frown, then cut himself as the others had. Bollocks, he muttered. Have they been taking lessons from Ancreta?
Silence, Kougar said evenly.
When Vincent handed him the blade, Black Panther cut his own chest with the bloodied knife, the pain radiating through his body in an arc of fire, but dulling rapidly as his body healed the insult to his flesh. He slapped his palm to the warm stickiness and fisted his hand. As the others shoved their fists into the air, he did the same.
Lyon nodded. It is time, Oudine.
Sitting at their feet, the Radiant pushed back the sleeves of her gown and raised her arms above her head.
The chief turned and met his gaze, then Vincents. New Ferals, you cannot drink the radiance directly until after your first shift. If you touch her, you will die.
The six moved to stand between the newcomers and the Radiant. Lyon opened his fist and pressed his bloody palm atop Black Panthers fist. A second pressed his palm atop Lyons and a third atop his. The other three gathered around Vincent in the same manner.
Kougar began to chant, and the others joined in. Spirits rise and join. Empower the beasts beneath this sky. Goddess, reveal your warriors!
Thunder rumbled. Black Panther tensed as the rock beneath his feet quaked and trembled. Power raced through his body in an arc of excruciating pain. He clamped down against the unwarrior-like urge to yell his misery to the heavens and hung on.
His vision clouded with small, sparkling lights as something started to shift deep inside. Pain erupted within his body as if he were being stabbed by a thousand knives. Only by sheer dint of the strongest will did he remain upright and not fall to his knees in agony. In the distance, he heard the sound of Ancretas laughter. He fought the pain, embracing the power that rushed through him, transforming him.
And suddenly his vision shifted. No longer was he standing at the height of men, but far lower, on four legs. His sight sharpened. Sounds bombarded his ears. Scents overwhelmed himthe snow, the forest woods, the river, and the men and woman surrounding him. Each carried a different scent, each heart beat at a different pace, and he was suddenly, strikingly, aware of them all.
Joy coalesced within him, rare and pure, despite the pain that continued to stab at his body. He threw his cats head back and roared in triumph. He was, finally,a black panther in truth. Ancreta had not won after all.
Shift back to a man, Black Panther. Lyons low voice landed softly on his ears.
He stilled. How was he supposed to shift back?
As if hearing his question, Lyon spoke again. Will yourself a man, warrior, and it will be so.
He did. He wished himself to be a man once more and in a second burst of colorful lights and mind-ripping pain, he returned to his human form. Panting from the dulling pain, filled with an odd mix of rage and elation, he turned to Vincent.
A strange flatness lay in his friends eyes.
Henceforth, Kougar intoned at Lyons side, you will be known among us as Paenther.
Vincent studied him, his eyes hard as his gaze dipped. You accomplished the feat, B.P. You bear the armband.
Paenther looked down at the thick gold snaking around his upper arm. At one end, a panthers head glowed with emerald eyes. His gaze snapped to Vincent, to his friends arms, devoid of gold. And with piercing, painful clarity, he understood.
You did not shift. The realization came out on a hard burst of disbelief.
Vincent shook his head, his expression as grim as Paenther had ever seen it. Even during all those miserable months, Vincent had been the one who believed theyd eventually get out of there. That they would eventually become Feral Warriors. Now it seemed even that was to be stolen from him.
Paenther frowned, his head moving in denial. You shifted before. You should not have been able to, but you did.
Perhaps tis why I cannot now. Ancreta and her dark magic have fouledthe one good thing in my life.
We shall try one more time, Lyon said, drawing their joint gazes. The Chief of the Ferals expression was grim.
Paenther stilled. And if he fails to shift a second time?
Lyon shook his head. A Feral Warrior who cannot shift cannot receive radiance and will eventually die.
He knew it to be true. The third captive, Frederick, had been trapped in Ancretas dungeon for nearly two years when his immortality began to wane. Hed bled to death from one of Ancretas tortures as an immortal never would have.
We are at war with the Mage, Lyon continued. We cannot wait two years to replenish our ranks.
The rage boiling beneath Paenthers skin found an outlet as he whirled on the Chief of the Ferals. He lunged forward, stopping a mere yard before the powerful chief, baring his human teeth. You shall estroy him.
Lyon growled low in his throat, a sound of warning. Then he must shift.
Paenther whirled back to his friend with fierce determination. Did you feel anything? Anything at all?
Vincent shook his head. I heard Ancretas laughter.
As did I. In the distance.
No. I heard it as clear as if she stood at my side.
Paenthers lip curled. She still has her claws in both of us. More so in you. He turned back to Lyon. The witch must die. This day. Before we try again.
Lyon held his gaze, his own hard. The Earth retaliates when we kill the Mage. The Elemental has already died this day. The witch is safely locked away in our prison. It is enough.
Paenther held firm. She must die. Her power over us must die for Vincent to shift.
The Chief of the Ferals shook his head, unbending. We shall try again, this moment.
Fury and denial stole Paenthers fraying control. Before Lyon could turn away, Paenther ripped the knife out of Kougars hand and plunged it into Lyons breast, pressing it against his heart.
In a lightning-fast move, Lyon grabbed him around the neck, his claws sprouting and sinking deep into Paenthers throat until the blood ran warm down his chest.
Animals growled all around him, the tension on the rock turning thick as tree sap in winter. If Paenther killed their chief, hed never take another step. But none dared tackle him when doing so might cut out their leaders heart.
Lyons fangs dropped, his eyes turning the glowing amber of a lions. You would kill me? he growled, his voice calm, but deadly.
Not unless you give me no choice. I will do whatever I must to save his life as he saved mine.
For long, breathless moments, the two bleeding men stared one another down. On some dark level of his mind, Paenther knew he was sacrificing his status as a Feral Warrior in order to preserve Vincents. The devastation of that thought was nothing compared to his desperation to save his friend.
Finally, never taking his eyes from Paenthers, Lyon spoke, his voice clipped and tight. Get the witch. Shell die this day. Before we try the ritual again. In those hard amber eyes, Paenther saw the truth. The Chief of the Ferals had made the choice to comply with his demand. If he had chosen to kill his attacker instead, Paenthers throat would be gone, and he would be the one with the blade in his chest.
Paenther withdrew the knife and offered the hilt to Lyon. Hed won the concession hed wanted. Now he would suffer the consequences. He understood all too well the law of the pack, as hed been raised by the law of the tribe. If you challenged the chief, you killed him. Or expected to die.
If Lyon chose to take his life for the attack, he would accept his death like the warrior he was.
Vincent stepped beside him, shoulder to shoulder, his tone hard as granite. Youll only destroy him through me.
Lyon growled, a low, threatening rumble, his hand tightening around Paenthers neck, his claws digging deeper with a fiery pain. Abruptly, Lyon released him, his gaze traveling slowly between the two newest Ferals.
I would punish you severely, both of you, if I did not believe the witch had already done so. Youve emerged from that hell with a rare loyalty toward one another. Turn that loyalty toward the nine, and youll make fine Feral Warriors. If you do not His eyes glittered with warning. if either of you ever threatens one of us again, Ill clear the way for your replacements without a second thought.
Paenther stared at the man, taking his measure, finding both strength and fairness, making him all the more proud to be a Feral Warrior.
Return to your places within the circle, Lyon growled.
Paenther slammed his fist against his chest as he met Lyons gaze. My loyalty is yours.
Lyon nodded once. Good.
By the time Ancreta was dragged onto the rock, Paenthers hair was dripping from melted snowflakes, his hands nearly numb.
The blond beauty cowered at his feet in fear.
Face your fate! Paenther snarled, a borrowed knife in his hand. He looked at Vincent. The head or the heart?
The head.
Paenther nodded once, then shoved the struggling witch onto her back. He wanted her to see death come for her. As fear lanced her copper-ringed irises, he saw again the innocent young beauty hed believed her to be as hed come to her rescue all those months ago. A bit of chivalry he had rued every moment since.
He knelt beside her, lifting his blade to strike, Vincent mirroring his action on her other side.
Die, witch, they said as one.
As Vincents blade hacked off her head in a shower of blood, Paenthers blade carved out her heart. Raw, savage satisfaction poured through his body, doing much to heal his soul.
It was done.
The two men rose as one, blood-splattered but grimly satisfied.
Are you ready to try again? Lyon asked.
Vincent nodded, a glimmer of a smile lifting his mouth, though his eyes remained hard and wary. Ready as a stallion in rut.
Once more, the circle formed, blood bloomed on the warriors chests, fists rose into the air. This time Paenther didnt shift, but in a flash of sparkling light, Vincent did. Where hed stood, a huge black-and-green snake now curled on the rock, his scales shimmering as he grew in both length and width. Nine feet long. Twelve feet. Fifteen feet.
In a second flash of light, Vincent reappeared, grinning like a loon, his hair gone, his bald head gleaming, a gold armband with the head of a snake curving around his arm.
Paenther felt a rush of joy five times what hed felt when hed shifted himself.
Henceforth, Kougar intoned, you will be known as Vhyper.
Vincent/Vhyper whooped, a grin splitting his face as the two men embraced, slapping one another on the back. They pulled apart, grasping one anothers shoulders.
Is it not an astonishing feeling to shift, my friend? Vhyper asked. The rapture. The utter feeling of well-being.
It is a fine feeling, Vhyper, Paenther said. The others had told him to expect as much. But for him, the shift had brought only pain. A pain to match the rage Ancreta had burned into his soul. The witch might be dead, but he feared her legacy would torment him until the very end of his immortal existence.
His hatred of all things Mage would endure through eternity.
CHAPTER 1
Paenther floated, his mind in a sensual fog trapped somewhere between dream and reality. Remembering
She held out her hand to him, an ethereal beauty with short, dark hair and soft eyes the color of a summer sky. Eyes that smoldered with passion as she led him behind the building, through the parking lot, and up the steep, heavily wooded hill behind the Market deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western Virginia.
He didnt even know her name.
Beyond the sight of prying eyes, he pulled her to a stop and kissed her, passion exploding as he pressed her against the nearest tree, desperate to be inside her. The deep rumble of a truck sounded in the distance. She kissed him back frantically, as if she feared they didnt have much time. The feel of her hand on his zipper made his blood pound. The touch of her fingers along the length of his bare flesh nearly stopped his heart.
Gentleness and care be damned, he needed her now. Shoving his hand beneath her dress, he found her bare and ready. His finger probed her depths, and she forced him deeper, whimpering with desire.
Yanking her dress up to her waist, he lifted her, positioning her sheath to his height. As she wrapped her bare thighs around his waist, he pushed inside her, filling her in a single, perfect thrust.
Heaven. Nothing in his life had ever felt more right. Within moments, her release broke over her with a cry, her inner muscles contracting hard around him, driving him over the edge.
Look at me, she cried.
And he did, staring into eyes suddenly encircled by shiny copper rings.
The eyes of a Mage.
Paenther fought his way back to consciousness like a man hacking a path through a fog-shrouded jungle. Little by little, he parted the misty enchantment that encased his brain, impressions flying at him through his senses. Cold, rough stone dug into the bare flesh of his back as he lay with his arms pulled taut above his head. He flexed his muscles and tried to move, but harsh metal bit into his wrists as the sound of chains clanked against the rock.
Icy disbelief clawed through his mind. His pulse began to race.
He was chained. Naked.
Finally, finally, his vision tore free of the enchantment. His eyes snapped open, and he stared around him at the unlikely sight. He was alone.
In a cave.
High above him, dozens of daggerlike stalactites dripped from the roof. Floating around them were small flames encased in luminescent bubbles. A sight he hadnt seen since Ancretas dungeon. A sight that filled him with cold dread.
Mage lightwicks.
He fought against his bonds in furious desperation as he struggled to remember what had happened.
The beauty. Innocence and wisdom shining from eyes the color of a summer sky. Hed buried himself inside her and found a passion and release more intense, more incredible, than any hed ever known. Until, at that moment of raging perfection, shed revealed herself to be Mage, and hed felt the net of enchantment snare his mind.
The memory stopped his breath, cramping his guts. For the second time in his life, hed been captured by a Mage witch.
Fury charged through his body, a yell of denial roaring through his head as he struggled to free himself.
This couldnt be happening. He had not fallen into another Mage trap! Hed barely survived the first one.
Goddess, he had to get out of here.
He studied his cage with a strafing gaze. It appeared to be a room, an uneven room roughly fifteen feet by fifteen feet, with a steel door that had been left open. Through the doorway, he glimpsed more stone, telling him he was probably in one of the extensive caverns that riddled the Blue Ridge. The air was damp and cool, but he barely felt the chill through the rage boiling his blood.
The rock slab beneath him appeared to be high off the ground yet attached to the wall like some kind of wide, natural shelf. The wall curved just enough to shield him from the mineral-laden water dripping from the stalactites into the puddles on the floor.
As he tipped his head back to look behind him, he caught the odd sight of a showerhead sticking out of the rock. Plumbing? Was this actually the Mage stronghold, then, and not simply a prison?
He turned to look in the other direction behind him, and froze. Hanging from wooden hangers, from a single peg on the wall, were three softly colored dresses in a shapeless, long-sleeved style he recognized all too well. Hers.
Fury ripped through his mind as he remembered, in painful clarity, lifting the hem of one of those soft, worn dresses and sliding his hand beneath to encounter only warm flesh and damp heat. A heat the witch had invited him to drive himself into. He had, and it was an act hed regret for the rest of his life.
He wondered just how long that would be, now.
Ice congealed in his heart. His only reason for being in these mountains at all was to find Vhyper. Something had happened to his friend during a ritual a few weeks ago. Hed been cut by the Daemon blade, as they all had. But unlike the rest of them, Vhyper had changed. Some of the Ferals thought the evil in the blade had stolen his soul.
Paenther refused to believe it. He would save Vhyper just as Vhyper had saved him all those years ago. But he had to find him first. Getting trapped and chained in a witchs lair sure as hell wasnt the way to go about it.
His muscles corded as he fought the chains with every ounce of strength he possessed until his skin was damp with sweat and his wrists slick with blood. Yet he accomplished nothing. He was pinned fast, his arms trapped above his head, his legs spread and tethered.
Ah, goddess. If only youd stopped me. No fate could be worse. Hed have sold his soul to have escaped this.
Heaven help me. His soul was probably the very thing the witch wanted. To finish what Ancreta had started all those years agotearing him loose from his animal once and for all.
Go! Flee! Skye clapped her hands at the small herd of deer gathering around her. Pouring her will into the air, she set them to flight with a swish of their white tails. Im death, she cried, as they scattered into the surrounding woods. Im nothing but death to you!
But even as the beautiful creatures disappeared, Skye knew theyd return. They always returned, drawn to her as deeply as she was to them. Tears burned her eyes. Not for the first time, she bitterly wished shed never been born with this affinity for the Earths creatures. The gift that should have been a source of joy had turned her life into a living nightmare.
Skye collapsed back against the nearest tree trunk, her heart thudding with agitation, her stomach sick from the weight of hatred.
Dear Mother, she prayed. Take Birik and burn him in Hell!
But the Mother never heard her. How many years had she been trapped in this darkness, chained to this mountain as surely as the warrior shed captured was chained to the rock slab in her room, even if her chains were less visible?
Two days ago shed been sent to capture hima shape-shifter. One of the elite Feral Warriors. One of the most rare creatures in the world and, without a doubt, the most beautiful. Hed shown her such extraordinary gentleness, such fierce passion, and shed repaid him with the ultimate betrayal.
But shed had no choice. If only she could end this nightmare. If only she could escape Birik and this mountain!
The nudge at her hip had her sinking to her knees to embrace the doe whod come right back to her. Ever loyal, arent you, Faithful? The white-tailed deer with the notch out of her ear was her favorite. Her only true friend. One she would never take into the caverns. Ever.
The doe nuzzled her cheek, staring at her with those huge brown eyes, giving her the only loyalty shed known in too many years. Unhappiness burned the backs of her eyes. Fear twisted inside her. Though Birik had assured her he had no intention of killing the Feral, she was terrified hed lied.
She curved both arms around Faithful, burying her face in her soft brown neck, wishing for a miracle that would save them all. But shed long ago ceased believing in miracles.
Slowly, the other deer returned to gather around her, as did several dozen other forest creatures. Drawn to her, every one, much to her joyand sorrow.
With a last caress, she said good-bye to Faithful, sending her away as she chose another doe to accompany her back to the caverns, along with several smaller animals.
As much as she dreaded facing the Feral, dreading the anger she knew shed see in those dark eyes that had looked at her with such gentleness, she had to get back to him.
And pray she could keep him alive.
Paenther caught the witchs scent, that delicate, damning smell of violets, moments before she stepped into the doorway, the ethereal beauty whod shown him heaven between her thighs, then captured him in her net of bewitchment. At the sight of her, lust slammed into him all over again.
Even as hatred seared its way through his blood, his gaze drank in the vision. She was slender, with few curves revealing themselves beneath the soft, shapeless blue dress. But her short hair accentuated a long, graceful neck and features that were too fine, too delicate for a coldhearted witch.
Mage or not, she stole his breath.
She watched him, her eyes wary, as she gently stroked the rabbit in her arms. At her side, a doe pressed her head against the witchs hip while several excited squirrels chased one another around her ankles.
Hed thought she was human.
Closing his eyes against the sight of her, he prayed that grave error didnt turn out to be the last mistake he ever made.
At the soft sound of her movement, he opened his eyes and watched her cross the room, leading her small menagerie to a cage in the corner. The rabbit and squirrels ran inside, and she fastened the door, then tied the docile doe loosely with a rope attached to the wall. Empathy for the creatures jolted him. Creatures shed captured as surely as shed captured him.
The animals seemed to like her. Pets, no doubt. A growl rumbled low in his throat. He would never be her pet.
The hatred inside him was so raw, so pure, if his gaze could kill, shed be dead. Goddess, he couldnt remember the last time hed let his cock do his thinking for him. No woman had pierced his icy control in centuries. The fact that this one had should have rung a thousand warning bells that she wasnt what she seemed.
Witch, he snarled. What do you want from me?
She rose from her animals with the grace of a dancer and turned to him. There was a fragility about her that tried to tug at his protective instincts. But like everything about her that pulled at him, he knew it was a lie. If he ever managed to free himself from these shackles, hed carve the heart out of her chest just as he had Ancretas.