Desire Untamed - Памела Палмер

Pamela PalmerDESIRE UNTAMED

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I'd like to thank the following people:

Laurin Wittig and Anne Shaw Moran, extraordinary writers and dear friends. You're always there for me and, though I hate it sometimes, you're always right. I'd be lost without you two.

My agent, Helen Breitwieser, for your wise counsel and willingness to follow me to the dark side in your reading. Your enjoyment of this story moved me more than you know.

My editor, May Chen, whose enthusiasm and support for this project changed my life. Your wisdom and vision are my guiding lights.

My dad, for borrowing Mom's romances when you found out I was writing one, so you'd understand the genre I loved. My mom, for sharing your love of reading with me and for being the perfect role model, always. And my brother, Bud Palmer. You're all the good and honorable things I aspire to make my heroes, even if you can't quite bring yourself to read my books.

Fellow writers Denise McInerney, Kathryn Caskie, Sophia Nash, and Elizabeth Holcombe for your sage advice and friendship. And the incomparable Anna Campbell for friendship, chocolate, and laughter. Wish you lived closer!

And, finally, thanks to my web designers, Emily Coder and Misono Yokoyama at WaxCreative Designs, and my right hand, Kim Castillo, for your tireless efforts on my behalf.

CHAPTER 1

One woman, in all the world, held the key to the survival of life on Earth.

And they'd lost her.

The Therian race called her the Radiant , for it was through her that nature channeled the energy to their guardians, the Feral Warriors, enabling them to track and destroy the Daemon remnants, the draden , before they snuffed the life from Therians and humans alike. In return, the Feral Warriors protected the Radiant with their lives.

Which was damn hard to do when they didn't know where or who she was.

Lyon grimaced as he led his eight warriors along the dark, rocky trail high above the falls of the rugged and deadly Potomac River. Hell, they'd lost two Radiants. The old one to death. The new one, the one marked by the goddess to take her place, had never come forward. And the situation was growing dire.

The rocks felt cold beneath Lyon's bare feet as he left the trail and climbed down toward the goddess stone wearing nothing but a silk shirt and a pair of jeans. In his hands he carried two deadly switchblades in case of a draden attack. Below, the glow from the full moon tripped over the bounding water, shooting brilliant shards of light into the night air.

"What in the hell are we doing out here at 3:00 a.m. ?" Jag's tone, as always, challenged.

Anger rumbled deep in Lyon's throat, the sound of an irritated lion. Which he was, down deep.

Jag had no use for any of them, and the feeling was more than mutual. Lyon cut his gaze toward the warrior, taking in the oh-so-familiar belligerence in Jag's eyes and the sneer forming on his cynical mouth. In his camouflage pants and army green tee, Jag took his role of warrior a bit too literally. None of the Ferals had ever served a day in the United States military. As a rule, they stayed out of all things human.

"Cat got your tongue?" Jag prodded.

"What do you think we're doing out here at this hour? We're raising the power of the beasts." He leaped down to the path he sought, Jag close behind him.

"So you haul us out here in the middle of the night because you , mighty chief, couldn't do your job?"

Raw violence clawed at Lyon's self-control, his beast's instincts begging to rip the asshole's throat out. His control, battered by their increasingly critical situation, snapped. The tip of his fingers burned a moment before his claws sprang out. With a growl, he shifted both his blades to one hand while he whirled and sank the claws of his other in the man's neck as he slammed him against the rock.

Blood trickled down Jag's throat, but no fear flickered in his eyes, only a spark of malicious amusement that he'd pushed Lyon too far. Even if Lyon completely lost it, he'd be hard-pressed to do Jag any real damage. Physically, they were a match, Shape-shifters simply didn't break that easily.

What he longed for was a comeback to Jag's snide remarks, something to put the surly warrior in his place. The bitch of it was, he didn't have one. Jag was right. Lyon had failed to find their new Radiant. With a jerk and a snarl, he released the man and shoved himself away, sheathing his claws. Every muscle in his body vibrated with frustration as he climbed down to the goddess stone.

Within a couple of months of their old Radiant's death a Therian woman, should have woken to find a mark upon her breast like a long-healed scar. Four-inch-long claw marks.

The mark of the chosen one.

It was Lyon's job to find her and get her ascended to her power, renewing and empowering all the Feral Warriors. As the finder , Lyon was the only one who possessed the ability-the senses-to seek her out. He'd waited, knowing the marking wouldn't happen immediately. But now too much time had passed. The only thing he could figure was that she was out of range of his human senses. Worse, his Feral strength had drained to the point he could no longer access his deeper, more primal power-the power of the beast that lived inside him.

Without an ascended Radiant to renew them, the Feral Warriors-the guardians of the Therian race and last of the true shape-shifters-grew weaker by the day. Except for the occasional show of claws, fangs, and animal eyes, they'd all lost the ability to shift. With each passing sunrise, Lyon's ability to find the woman diminished.

He had one chance left. Tonight.

Vhyper joined him, his bald head glistening pale in the moonlight, a silver earring hanging from his right lobe. "So, what do you say we build a campfire and make s'mores while we're out here? We could send the cub back to the house for marsh-mallows and grahams and those little chocolate squares."

Lyon threw the man a rueful glare.

"You're a moron, Vhype." Tighe's short pale hair gleamed in the moonlight as he threw his arm around Vhyper's shoulders, buddy style, in the easy manner of most shape-shifters.

An ease Lyon had never understood. "Let's get this over with."

"Are we really going to bleed ourselves?" Foxx had a shaggy fall of orange hair and the pale complexion and freckles to go with it. The youngest of the Ferals, he showed surprising power and great promise, if he ever matured.

Lyon glanced at him. "Didn't you bring the ceremonial blade like I told you?"

"Yes. But I thought"

"We're going to invoke the Feral Circle, pooling all our energy into a single force. The ritual requires blood."

"Well, shit," Vhyper drawled, tugging on his earring as Tighe released him. "I'd rather sing a few campfire songs."

"Shut up, Vhyper," Jag snarled.

Lyon clapped his hands. "Let's do it." His palms were damp, the muscles in his neck tense with worry as he prayed they still had enough power among them to make the ritual work. Raising the power of the beasts would steal what little mystic energy they had left. They wouldn't get a second chance.

Lyon shoved his knives into his pockets since the draden couldn't reach them within the mystic circle, then pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it onto the rock. The chilly, early-spring air felt good against his heated flesh. While the others stripped to the waist, Lyon continued, pulling off his jeans. If this worked, he was shifting. And unlike a couple of his comrades, he possessed no odd strains of Mage blood that would allow him to keep his clothes intact. Only the thick silver armband that snaked around his biceps and channeled the Earth's energies stayed with him through a shift.

The nine formed a circle on the flat, wide goddess stone, silver armbands gleaming as the men stood bare-chested against the clear night sky.

Lyon held his hand out to Foxx. "The knife."

Foxx slapped the hilt onto his palm. Lyon turned the blade on himself and made a shallow, searing cut across his chest. An odd surge of energy twined with the pain, sending a jolt through the blade and into his flesh. He handed the knife to Tighe, glad the mystic powers were with them this night. He slapped his right hand to the burning wound, then fisted his hand around the blood and thrust his arm into the air in front of him. Tighe followed, slicing his chest and slapping his bloodied hand around Lyon's fist, then handed the knife to Jag. One by one, they added their slick hands to the knot of flesh until only one remained.

Vhyper carved his chest with the knife as the others had, then jerked, the knife clattering to the rock. " Damn this is a bitch. We need some new rituals."

But as Vhyper squatted to reach for the blade, his hand stilled, his body going rigid. " What the hell ?" He grabbed the knife's handle and surged to his feet, whirling to face Lyon. " It's the Daemon blade !"

The words sliced through Lyon's mind, icing his skin. He thrust out his hand. "Give it to me."

As Vhyper laid the blade on Lyon's palm, faint etchings snaked over the flashing steel in the moonlight. Lyon's eyes widened, shock washing through him as his hand closed around the blade's handle.

With a snarl, Lyon sprang across the circle, grabbed Foxx around his thick neck and jerked him off his feet. " What have you done?"'

The kid looked as shocked as Lyon felt. "Nothing. I mean I didn't know. You said get the ceremonial blade, and I did. I swear, I didn't go near the vault. Why would I get the Daemon blade ?"

Lyon felt his eyes turn feral as fury had his claws unsheathing. Blood began to run freely down Foxx's neck. " You. Tell. Me ."

Foxx's face began to turn red. "Can't talk."

With a growl, Lyon retracted his claws and dropped him to his feet. " Tell me ."

Foxx coughed and backed up a step, his hand against his throat, his eyes wide and confused. "I wouldn't. I didn't. I swear."

Vhyper grabbed the kid's arm and jerked him back from Lyon's reach. Tighe stepped in front of Lyon, his mouth grim. "We're blooded. Let's finish the ritual before we mete out punishment. We can't accidentally free the Daemons."

But Lyon wasn't so sure. "Hawke?" If anyone knew, it would be the whipcord-lean warrior with more college degrees than most of his men had Weapons.

Hawke shook his head. "The first step in freeing Satanan and his horde is the same as raising the power of the beasts-the blooding of the nine. But there's far more involved. A complex ritual requiring the free will of all the Ferals and the blood of their Radiant. The ancients made certain the Daemons would never rise again."

"Then there's no problem," Vhyper said, shielding the kid from Lyon's fury.

Hawke frowned ruefully. "Every time that blade comes out of the vault, there's trouble."

Lyon gave Foxx a look that promised deep and painful retribution, then turned back to the others. "Tighe's right. Let's finish this before the blood dries and we have to start over." Lyon shoved his fist into the air. The warriors resumed their positions, covering his fist, one by one.

Lyon began to chant. "Spirits rise and join. Empower the beast beneath this moon." The others joined in, the murmured words flowing around him, over him, sliding across his flesh. Thunder rumbled in the clear sky. The ground beneath his feet trembled as the great force of Mother Nature herself rose from the depths of the Earth, through the vessels of bone and skin and up through their arms to the blood raised to the heavens.

"Empower the beast of the lion!"

A flash of lightning lit the sky, burning through the flesh of Lyon's palm, sending energy and power flooding his body like a wash of hot oil. Power. Strength. He thought of his other half and shifted into his animal form at last. Fierce joy surged through him at the change. The others moved back, circling around him as he raised his thickly maned lion's head to the starred canvas above and let out a deep, rumbling roar. It was a damned good thing the mystic circle enclosed all sight and sound or they'd have Fairfax County Animal Control on them within minutes.

Lyon paced in the tight circle, reveling in the rush of power flowing through him as he used his beast's senses to search slowly in every direction. Tens, dozens, hundreds of miles.

A spark lit his mind, a connection formed that could not be severed. Relief surged through his brain.

He'd found her.

His nose high in the air, he let out another fierce roar and shifted back into his human form. Around him, his fellow warriors watched, their eyes glowing with the feral light of the animals they'd shift into once they got their Radiant ascended.

"Did you find her?" Vhyper asked.

Lyon grabbed his jeans and pulled them on while the knowledge from his beast's senses flowed into his brain. "West. Beyond the Blue Ridge. Beyond the Mississippi."

Vhyper grunted. "How did she get all the way out there?"

"Beats the hell out of me."

"You'll take someone with you?" Tighe asked.

"No." Lyon shook his head once. "I go alone."

Vhyper frowned. "I wonder if she even knows what the mark means."

Jag laughed, an ugly sound. "If she doesn't, our little Radiant is in for one hell of a surprise."

For once, Lyon had to agree

Kara MacAllister paced the floor of her mother's blue-sprigged bedroom, frustration and grief shredding her insides as rain slashed at the windows.

"Kara, honey." Her mom's words sounded pained and slurred as she eased out of another drug-induced nap. "Why don't you hire a nurse?" The same question every day.

"No nurse, Mom." Kara's heart shriveled as she met her mother's pain-filled gaze. Propped up on thick pillows stuffed into white, lace-trimmed pillowcases, her mother looked twenty years older than she had just a few months ago. Her once-full cheeks lay sunken in pools of skin, the pasty gray of the terminally ill. The doctors had opened her up to remove a tumor on her left lung only to close her back up and send her home to die. A few weeks, they'd said. Maybe a month. That was two weeks ago.

It felt like two lifetimes.

"But your job, honey. You'll lose your job."

Kara squeezed her mother's thin hand. "It's okay, Mom. I found someone to cover my class until I get back." If she went back. For nine years, ever since high school, she'd been content to stay in tiny Spearsville, Missouri, to share the old farmhouse with her mom and teach preschool in the basement of the local church. Maybe it wasn't the most exciting life, but her mom had begged her to stay, and she'd been okay with it. Even happy.

Until three months ago. Two days after Christmas, she'd woken up a frustrated bundle of restlessness as if overnight she'd developed a chronic, severe case of PMS. Everything annoyed her all of a sudden. Her boyfriend, her friends, her life, even the preschoolers she adored. She'd felt as if she needed something, but didn't have a clue what.

The only thing she knew for certain was that her mother's dying wasn't it.

Her mom squeezed her hand, her grip weaker even than yesterday. "I want you to have fun, honey. Not watch me die."

Fun. As if she could possibly enjoy herself doing anything under these circumstances. Kara leaned down and kissed a fragile cheek. "I love you, Mom. I'm right where I want to be." For now.

Her mother was all the family she had, all the family she'd ever had, and her cancer was killing them both. If only Kara could share with her a bit of her own remarkable health. It was so unfair. Kara was never sick. And her mom lay dying.

She rose, unable to remain still a moment longer. "I'm going to heat some soup and make a batch of blueberry muffins. After dinner we can watch a movie. How's that?"

"Lovely."

On her way out of the room, Kara reached for the television on the dresser and flipped on the local news. Glancing back, she caught her mother's sad smile twisting in pain.

It wasn't fair . She slammed the heel of her fist against the blue-painted wall as she started down the stairs. Her mom didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve this.

Kara blinked back the film of moisture that suddenly clouded her eyes. In a few weeks' time, she'd be all alone. Orphaned.

Could you call it orphaned at twenty-seven?

The sun had set while Kara was upstairs, and the main level of the old farmhouse was shadowed with dusk. But she'd grown up in this house, lived here all her life, and could find her way blindfolded.

She slipped into the dark kitchen and froze.

Silhouetted against the thin gray light coming through the back window was the dark form of a man inside the house .

Her heart rushed to her throat. Her stomach buckled beneath the slam of fear even as her logical mind screeched, It's just a neighbor . But when she flipped the light switch, the sight that met her gaze beneath the fluorescent strips did nothing to dispel her terror.

He was huge, well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick, bulging biceps. Tawny hair hung in waves to his shoulders, framing a hard face and cold amber-colored eyes. With his dress pants and expensive-looking shirt, he could never pass as one of the local farmers even if she hadn't known everyone within a ten-mile radius of town. This man was a total, and frightening, stranger.

"What do you want?" Her words came out breathy, forced around the constriction in her throat.

Her mind screamed, Run ! But she couldn't. Not with her mother upstairs and helpless. Heart thundering, she gathered every last scrap of her courage, rose to her full five-foot-five, and lifted her chin.

"Get out of my house."

A single, tawny eyebrow rose. "Bare your right breast."

Kara gaped at him as the full realization of his intent sent her pulse into a grinding thud in her ears.

As if reading her mind, the man rolled his eyes with an exasperated grunt. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Kara choked out a laugh. "Right. You just want to see my breast, then you'll go."

"Something like that."

She stared at him, her terrified mind grasping for a plan. Any plan.

He started toward her. Kara lunged for the knife rack, but as her fingers curled around the handle of a small paring knife, the, stranger closed the distance between them. He hauled her against his chest, face to pecs, his large hand clamping around her wrist, immobilizing her.

Swallowing a scream, she struggled against his ironlike hold, but she might as well have been a fly in a spiderweb for all the good it did her. He was too strong . Kara tried to kick him, to knee him, but he only pressed her against the counter, his hips tight against hers as he towered over her.

Terror flashed in her mind like an explosion of light. He was going to rape her. Murder her.

Her pulse began to slow, the terror slipping away as if someone had opened a drain in her head. Even her shallow, desperate breathing evened out as if she'd suddenly, inexplicably, lost her fear of the huge man.

He eased the knife from her hand and returned it to the knife block. "I'm calming you."

And that's exactly what it felt like,, she realized. A strange, unnatural calm settling over her as if an invisible hand were squashing her fear.

"How?" Though the word rang incredulous in her head, her tone, as it left her lips, was one of simple curiosity.

This wasn't right. He shouldn't have this kind of control over her. Her pulse tried to leap fearfully but was instantly stroked into complaisance.

"Stop it." She needed to be afraid of him. He overpowered her. Overwhelmed her. Her senses swam in his nearness, in the elemental scent of wind and earth and pure, raw male. The intoxicating blend teased and tantalized, sending the blood rushing to the surface of her skin in a hot flush of awareness. An awareness that horrified her.

"Let me go."

"I'm not going to harm you. I need to know that you're the one I'm looking for."

"I'm not."

He stepped back, putting a slight distance between them even as he kept tight hold of her wrist. Feeling utterly detached, she watched him reach for her with his free hand, felt the pad of his finger slide down her upper chest to hook into the top of her scoop-neck tee and tug downward.

His eyes flared, those well-sculpted lips compressing as his thumb brushed over the flesh rising above the lace of her bra, tracing the odd stretch marks she'd noticed for the first time around Christmas.

Her gaze caught on his lips, mesmerized by their perfect fullness as a single, disturbing emotion finally broke free of his unnatural control to sweep her imprisoned body. Lust. Delicious fire skimmed over her skin, burrowing deep into her bones and blood, rushing straight down to her core.

He released her shirt as if he'd been burned and met her gaze, his own cool and shuttered. "You are the Radiant."

"I'm the what?" She stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. Of any of this. "What do you want?"

Those amber eyes glowed with a dark determination that would have made her heart pound if he hadn't been tamping her emotions. He slid his free hand over her jaw, his palm rough and callused, his touch not ungentle as his forefinger hooked around the back of her jaw, coming to rest beneath her ear.

"What do you want?"

"You."

The sudden, sharp pressure at the base of her ear stole her thoughts and vision, sending Kara tumbling into a dark, unconscious abyss.

CHAPTER 2

Rain fell heavily on Lyon's head and shoulders as he carried the unconscious Radiant out to his BMW, keeping her tucked tight against his body. A surge of protectiveness tightened his arms.

Damn his finder's senses and the connection that linked him to the chosen ones. That connection had to be at the root of the sudden, sharp attraction he'd felt the moment he saw her, though he was certain he'd never been attracted to a Radiant before. Not like this. He tried to focus, tried to escape the awareness, but even through the rain the scent of her, a sweet smell, almost of peaches, pumped the blood straight to his groin.

As he laid her across the backseat, the rain-drops on her cheeks glistened in the overhead light, drawing his gaze to her flawless skin and the sweet curve of her mouth. Her features possessed a simplicity, a girl-next-door freshness, that pleased him. She wasn't beautiful so much as cute, with heir blond ponytail and that one crooked eyetooth. Perhaps not beautiful, but decidedly appealing.

As he released her, the fall of her damp hair brushed his hand like a silken caress, a touch that sent heat spiraling through his veins. He gave a rueful snort. He had a miserable couple of days ahead of him if he didn't find a way to curb the unfortunate rush of need he felt every time he touched her. Slamming the door closed, he slid into the driver's seat and started the car.

The windshield wipers kept a steady rhythm as the road cut through the center of the small Missouri town, past a strip of nightclubs and burger joints. Cars lined the street on both sides as he headed east on the two-lane toward the highway that would take them back to Great Falls, Virginia, and home.

The sound of a feminine groan behind him had his neck muscles spasming. She shouldn't be waking. The pressure he'd exerted should have been enough to knock her out for hours. Barely ten minutes had passed.

The woman was stronger than he'd thought.

Lyon glanced in the rear view mirror as she pushed herself upright, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face with groggy awkwardness.

"Where am I?" He knew the moment she remembered. A thick wave of tension rolled off her, her eyes widening in alarm. "Take me back!"

"Easy, Radiant. I'm taking you home. I don't know how you got all the way out here, but you've been marked by the goddess."

Pitching forward, she leaned between the front bucket seats. " You're going the wrong way . Take me back!"

"Your life here is over."

"You idiot. She's dying!"

She sat back or he thought she had until her hand shot past his face and grabbed the steering wheel, jerking it hard to the right as they passed close to a row of parked cars.

Lyon wrenched the wheel, but it was too late. The car slammed into the back of a Toyota, inflating the air bag in his face, knocking him back, stunned. When his head cleared, he whirled to find himself staring at the empty backseat, a gust of damp, chilly air blowing in from the open door.

"Mick, I need to borrow your keys!"

At the sound of the woman's voice, Lyon twisted toward his own door and caught sight of the Radiant hopping into an old blue pickup truck across the street. Before he could disentangle himself from the deflated air bag, the truck squealed away from the curb and took off, leaving two young men watching, bemused.

Dammit to hell.

Lyon tried to back up, but the bumper of his BMW was caught on the Toyota. Swearing, he threw open the rear door and leaped out in a frustrated fury as the two men sauntered across the street to inspect the damage.

"Jerry's going to be pissed when he sees what you done to his car, man."

"Jerry will get over it," Lyon snapped, and lifted the front of the BMW until the bumpers unhooked.

"Dude!" One of the men laughed. "Fucking Superman."

"Yeah." Lyon climbed back into the car, pushed the air bag out of his way, then spun the vehicle in a tight circle and headed once more to the farmhouse. Anger slicked his palms as he gripped the wheel. What was the matter with her? Every Therian female dreamed of waking with the mark of the chosen one on her breast and finding her true mate among the Feral Warriors. Yet this one had run halfway across the continent and was still running.

Vhyper's words replayed in his head. I wonder if she even knows what the mark means . Was it possible she didn't even know she was Therian?

Sweet goddess . That would explain much-why her fear had leaped at the sight of him, why she'd fought to escape.

Lyon pushed the air from his lungs in a harsh burst. He'd thought he was dealing with a reluctant Radiant, or at the very least, a Therian who'd intentionally turned her back on her people. Now he had to consider the possibility she thought herself human.

Pulling into the driveway of the yellow clapboard house, he parked behind the old truck and debated the best way to extricate the woman from her human world. There was no time left to ease her out.

As he opened the car door and stepped into the rain, he heard a shout behind the house.

"Mom?" The alarm in the Radiant's voice twisted something deep inside him. "Momma!"

Lyon took off at a run, the rain stinging his face with small, cool pellets, soaking his hair and clothes. When he reached the come? of the house, he found her kneeling in the wet grass beside the slight, prone form of a woman. In the swath of light from the open back door, the downed woman's soaked white gown clung to her emaciated frame like a second skin.

Crying and frantic, the chosen one tried to lift the woman without success. Even an unascended Radiant should have double the strength of a human, simply from absorbing the energy of other Therians over the years. But this one had none, a sure sign she'd been cut off from her own kind for most, if not all, of her life. The new Radiant of the Ferals had most certainly been raised human.

Hell.

As he neared her, a twig snapped beneath his boot, drawing her wild, hate-filled gaze.

"My mother must have heard us in the kitchen. She tried to come after me. You killed her!" Emotion swirled around her like harsh fire in the cold rain.

"She's not dead." His boots slurped in the muddy grass as he reached her side. "I can feel her life force." Barely. The woman's hold on life was as thin as the finest thread. "She's human. She's not your mother."

A sound of disbelief escaped the Radiant's throat on a burst of humorless laughter. "You're insane, you know that? Just leave us alone."

"Radiant"

"Don't call me that!"

"I don't have another name to call you." Pushing his dripping hair back from his face, Lyon knew he was handling this badly. He was the wrong warrior to woo her back into the fold. Tighe would turn on the charm. Vhyper the humor.

Lyon had no softness in him to give this woman. To give any woman. He was the chief. The leader. And she would simply have to do as she was told.

"I'm Kara. Just" The anger on her face crumbled, tears welling in her eyes until her face was a solid sheet of moisture. "Help me. Please . She's going to die right here if I don't get her inside. I'll give you whatever you want. Just help me save her."