Jag knew what was coming next. It hardly took a brain surgeon to understand why the Therian Guard had been invited to this party. Chiefy wanted them to use the buddy system. Wasn’t that cute?
His gaze slid to Olivia, daring her to turn her head, but she studiously ignored him. Beneath that trim jacket of hers he could make out the swell of a well-curved breast. His body tightened at the remembered feel of that softness beneath his hand. A softness he longed to feel again.
He wasn’t kidding about being obsessed. He could think of little but getting near her again. Waking or sleeping, she filled his thoughts, his mind, as he imagined her naked and writhing, legs parted as she begged him to fill her.
Gray eyes cut to him, narrowing as if she’d heard his thoughts.
No way in hell
sang in the air between them.
He smiled. They’d just have to see about that, wouldn’t they?
Lyon’s voice pulled his attention back to the meeting. “There’s been a rash of human disappearances up near Harpers Ferry. No bodies, but that doesn’t mean the third Daemon isn’t behind the carnage.” Lyon’s gaze swung between Jag and Paenther. “The two of you were in that cavern. Can either of you pick up Daemon scent?”
Jag nodded. “Hell, yes. I’m not sure my nose will ever be the same.”
Paenther shook his head. “I’m not sure I can, Roar.
With my link to my animal breaking down at the time, my senses were shot.”
“Jag, you’re on it, then. I want to know if we’ve got Daemon or Mage involvement in those disappearances. And if it’s Daemon, I want it dead.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. Do I get to take me a buddy?”
Lyon glanced at him, a wary sharpness in his eyes. As if he didn’t quite trust what his jaguar shifter might do or say. Imagine that.
“One of the Guard will accompany you, yes. Which one is up to Olivia.” Lyon turned to Tighe. “You’ll take the other two members of the Guard and join Kougar and Hawke. You’ll be in charge out there. Paenther, I’m sending you in a different direction. The Shaman and Ezekial are putting together a small team of Mage and Therians to hunt the Daemon blade and get a lock on Inir. You’re in charge of it.”
Jag leaned forward, willing Olivia to meet his gaze. “Whatcha say, Red? Be my buddy? We’ll have oh so much fun, Sugar. I’ll fuck your brains out when we’re not hunting Daemons.”
Olivia’s eyes flared with shock, and something more, something dark and hot.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her two men go tense as iron rods against the back wall, as if ready to leap to her defense. Against a Feral. Idiots.
Olivia’s hand shot toward the pair like a traffic cop’s, though her gaze held Jag’s.
“Jag!” Lyon snapped. “You will show some respect.”
Jag leaned back in his chair, his mouth pulling up in a small, satisfied smile. Ah, yes. He did so love to spread good cheer.
Olivia turned her body fully toward him, mirroring his earlier position as she leaned forward, her expression condescending. If his words had offended her, nothing in her face let on. Instead, one flame-colored eyebrow rose imperiously. “I see my first obedience lesson didn’t take. Not a quick learner, are you?”
Jag leaned forward again, as if they were nose to nose instead of separated by four feet of table. As if they were alone instead of surrounded by his team and hers. “I’ll learn best with you sucking my cock.” Deep inside, his animal growled at him.
I don’t need you acting like my damned conscience
, he muttered to the jaguar spirit.
Not even a hint of a blush stained Olivia’s cheeks, but challenge glittered in her eyes. “Next time I’ll have to drive my heel through your balls.”
Jag grinned. Goddess, but the woman charged his senses like lightning in a storm. “I dare you to try it, Sugar.
Dare
you.”
Come with me
,
Olivia. Be my partner.
He couldn’t say the words out loud. She’d get too much pleasure in denying him. No, he had to appeal to her pride. Unless he missed his guess, that pride of hers was going to be his friend.
Jag smiled.
Hot damn, this is going to be fun.
“Those heading west should be aware that last night Hawke and Kougar came across a draden swarm of nearly forty. They’re not just multiplying here, but apparently everywhere.” Lyon glanced at Olivia from the front of the war room. “You and your men are going to have to remain behind warding at night unless you’re with a group large enough to handle that many.”
Olivia nodded even though the warning didn’t apply to her at all. The draden were no threat to the draden-kissed. Their life forces were her favorite food. Of course, she couldn’t tell Lyon that. She couldn’t tell anyone. Not if she wanted to remain alive.
And her life was finally starting to mean something.
She’d had some initial discussions with Lyon about
potentially setting up a permanent Guard auxiliary nearby, whose sole mission would be to aid the Feral Warriors in this new war against the Mage. Up until now, it had been her life’s work to destroy as many draden as possible. But now, with the Mage trying to free Satanan, her mission had changed. Finally, she had a chance to fight on the front lines, to make a difference on a grand scale, fighting Mage and Daemons…if Lyon was pleased with her work and the work of her men.
If Jag didn’t screw this up for her. She glanced toward the back wall, where her men, Niall and Ewan, stood, still glaring at Jag for his open sex talk and blatant disrespect of their team leader. Which of the three of them would she force to partner the jackass?
Even as she struggled to ignore Jag, the raw sexual nature of their very public discussion had left her throbbing and damp. If only she weren’t so bloody attracted to him. Despite his lousy social skills, every time he came near, she felt his hot gaze on her, stripping her of her clothes and heating her body from the inside out.
But she refused to let anyone know he affected her the way he did, especially Jag himself.
“Tighe, are you taking Delaney?” Lyon asked.
“I am. I need her FBI expertise.”
“Good enough.”
Olivia watched Jag’s gaze zero in on Tighe, a gleam of devilment leaping into his eyes. As his mouth opened, she instinctively tensed, knowing he was at it again.
“Sorry I won’t be joining you and your FBI mate, Stripes. I’ve been looking forward to that little three-some. Like I’ve said before, I’m happy to let you take her from the front while I take her in the rear.”
Olivia gave a jerk of disbelief, her gaze swinging between Lyon’s hard displeasure and Tighe’s raw fury. She was used to ribald male sex talk, but such blatant disrespect for another’s mate in front of not only the female herself, but one’s own superior, went beyond the pale.
The growl that ripped from Tighe’s throat sounded exactly like that of a furious jungle cat.
“Tighe.” Delaney grabbed her mate’s wrist. “Jag, for God’s sake, quit provoking him.”
Jag just grinned, as if that was exactly what he’d done.
“I know you want me, too, FBI. I see the way you look at me when I’m naked.”
“Jag.”
Delaney’s voice was a deep groan of frustration.
Tighe’s fangs dropped, his claws unsheathing as his irises grew to fill his eyes, making them look like true tiger’s eyes. Though he hadn’t shifted—he’d only
gone feral
as they put it, that halfway place between man and beast—he presented a terrifying visage as he lunged across the table, taking Jag to the floor with a crash.
Olivia rose to her feet, watching in fascinated disbelief. As Tighe went for Jag’s throat, Jag’s own claws and fangs sprouted on a vicious smile as if the fight was exactly what he’d been gunning for.
What was the matter with the guy? Did he know how many Therians woke each morning racing to the mirror to see if they’d been marked as they slept? Did he have any idea how badly many Therians wanted to be part of this rarefied band that he so clearly took for granted?
The two Ferals fought tooth and fang, drawing blood, ripping one another’s flesh and clothes to shreds.
At least now she knew Jag didn’t have it in for her specifically. No, he seemed determined to make everyone furious with him.
As if he wanted their fury.
Recognition slammed into her.
Damn.
He acted as if he needed the punishment on some dark level he probably wasn’t even aware of. She’d lived with that kind of self-destructive need once. Was that his problem?
Or was he just a sociopathic jerk?
Lyon allowed the fight to continue for nearly three minutes before finally calling a stop to it.
“Enough!” Lyon roared, his voice thundering off the walls.
Instantly, Tighe shoved himself off Jag, his fangs and claws retracting. Blood splatters patterned his ripped clothes.
Jag stumbled back, the blood running freely down his face and neck. His cheek had been ripped open, but his eyes were alight with an unholy fire and keen satisfaction. He’d taken the worst of it by far, even though the two Ferals were, to all appearances, evenly matched.
Instinct told her Jag wasn’t any less of a fighter. No, he’d intentionally drawn Tighe’s fury, then done little more than defend himself against any real damage.
Which just supported her theory that he’d invited the attack. He’d wanted the beating.
Lyon stepped between the two combatants, his own claws unsheathing as he shoved Jag back against the wall and dug his claws into the shifter’s bleeding neck.
A deep growl rumbled from Lyon’s throat. “For two and a half centuries, I’ve put up with your surly attitude because nothing I do makes a difference. Rile the other Ferals and me all you want, but you will
not
disrespect the women in this house. Do you understand?”
Jag just grinned. “Riling away.”
And he had, hadn’t he? Tighe was furious with him, as was Lyon.
Another deep lion growl rolled through the room. “Back off, Jag, or the instant those Daemons are dust, I’m going to throw you in the prison and leave you there to rot. I need a
team
, dammit. A team I can count on to work together to contain this threat. And I need you on it.”
Jag just smiled that small, nasty smile. “You’re looking a little tense there, Chief. That little mate of yours finally figure out she’s too good for you?”
Lyon yanked his claws from Jag’s throat and shoved him away. “Shut up, Jag.”
Olivia watched the confrontation with interest. She’d
have been lying if she had said she didn’t enjoy watching Jag get his butt kicked. Except for that stab of unwanted empathy caused by the niggling feeling that she understood what drove him and the suspicion that deep inside he was hurting as badly as she once had. And she wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
She resumed her seat, crossing her legs. Regardless of what drove him, he was one messed-up male. She’d be out of her mind to agree to partner him. Yet could she really, in good conscience, make one of her own men go with him?
Jag straightened, his T-shirt hanging in shreds on his well-muscled torso, his camouflage pants stained with blood. As he reached for his chair, a flash of pink caught Olivia’s eye, and she turned to see the Ferals’ housekeeper, a striking, pink-feathered bird-woman, slowly amble into the room with a tray of steaming mugs, her flamingo legs taking long, awkward steps.
Olivia had met Pink briefly on her first visit and found the woman to be retiring in nature, uncomfortable with her odd appearance in the company of strangers.
“What the hell?”
Niall muttered against the back wall, loud enough, unfortunately, for all to hear. He hadn’t been with her when she’d met Pink.
Olivia cringed.
Jag froze, going feral once more as he leaped at the unsuspecting man, pinning Niall against the wall with one clawed hand.
“Don’t disrespect the bird,”
the Feral growled through wicked fangs.
Niall turned pale, the blood running into his shirt as he stared up at the furious shifter.
“I…” Niall’s gaze shot past Jag to Pink. “I apologize. I meant no offense.”
“Jag,” Pink said softly.
Amazingly, the shifter responded to her as he’d responded to no one else, releasing Niall and whirling away with a low growl.
As Jag took his seat, retracting fangs and claws as he swiped away the blood from his already-healing face, his hard gaze slid over Olivia. In his eyes she saw real anger and a flash of true protectiveness.
Interesting. Apparently there were those he wouldn’t torment.
Pink moved away, offering mugs around the room.
Jag’s gaze locked on Olivia, his lip curling, his look turning insolent as his gaze dropped to her breast. Coming to Pink’s defense had cracked his hard-ass façade and he knew it, which was why he was doubling up on the insolence. Transparent as glass.
Yet knowing why he stared at her breast did nothing to protect her from her body’s untoward reaction. Though she fought to ignore his laser stare, she felt her breasts tightening beneath his fierce regard, her nipples turning to small, hard buds. Heat burst inside her, raising her temperature in a telltale flush that
warmed her skin and charged her blood. Goddess, what he did to her.
The more time she spent around him, the less control she had over her body’s reaction to him. And she needed that control, badly. Part of her trouble was that she was getting hungry. Not for food, but for the life energy all draden-kissed needed to survive. Little pinpricks danced over her skin, telling her it was time to feed.
Slowly, carefully, she drew energy out of the air, as she often did. She drank a mere sip of the raw, testosterone-laden strength that filled the room, skimming a fine layer of life force that none would feel. That none would miss.
Jag snarled, a low, dangerous, animalistic sound, drawing Olivia’s startled gaze. And everyone else’s.
Jag rose to his feet, his own gaze whipping across the table to spear Paenther. “That witch of yours is doing something again. I can feel the energy rippling over my skin.”
Skye’s head snapped up with surprise.
Olivia ceased feeding abruptly.
He’d felt her.
No way.
Impossible.
Paenther uncrossed his arms, one hand clasping Skye’s shoulder protectively as the other hovered over his knife. “Skye is as loyal to the Ferals as anyone here.”
Tighe shook his head. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Me either,” Wulfe said.
Lyon’s gaze zeroed in on Jag, his expression reveal
ing wariness and concern, but no doubt. “What exactly are you feeling?” Jag might be a jerk, but clearly the Chief of the Ferals knew him well enough to know he wasn’t making this up.
“Something…” Jag shook his head. “It’s gone.”
Olivia flushed hot, then cold. No one had
ever
sensed her feeding before.
“It felt like magic?”
“I don’t know. Not like Skye’s. At least not like what I felt with her before.”
Lyon turned to the scarred warrior. “Wulfe, get the Shaman over here. B.P. and Skye, make sure there’s no damned Mage in this house.” He cringed. “Forgive me, Skye. I meant, no
unwanted
Mage in this house.”
Skye nodded, a small, wry smile on her mouth. Paenther squeezed her shoulder, then held out his hand to her, and the pair followed Wulfe out the door.
Lyon’s gaze swung back to Jag. “If you feel it again, I want to know.”
Jag gave Lyon a cocky salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Olivia swallowed hard, willing her pulse to slow before she gave herself away. Ferals were reputed to be able to hear even a racing heart. Whether their hearing was really that acute, she didn’t know, but now wasn’t the time to test it.
Dammit, how was she supposed to feed if Jag could feel her doing it? She couldn’t. Not with him anywhere close.
Which made her decision about partnering him easy and critical.
She most certainly could not.
She’d long ago learned to control her feeding so that she stole only low levels of energy, not enough to harm anyone. But she wasn’t sure she could shut it off completely for any length of time. She’d never had to try. What if she forgot? What if, in her sleep, she started to suck energy? With Jag close enough to feel her, sooner or later he’d figure it out. Sooner or later the game would be up.
Her life would be over—the life her father had sacrificed his own for. Although Therian law no longer demanded death to the draden-kissed, those revealed had a habit of swiftly disappearing. At the very least, she’d be kicked out of the Guard and ostracized by the entire race. The only ones who would let her live among them were the humans, who didn’t know what she was in the first place.
No, this was not a risk she could afford to take. Her heart sank as her grand hopes crashed around her feet. There would be no living near Feral House, not for her. Someone else would have to lead the Feral’s Guard auxiliary.
She’d help them find the Daemons because she’d committed to doing so and because it was too late to fly in a replacement. But once this assignment was done, she’d return to Scotland, far, far away from the
only man to pose a real threat to her life since she was draden-kissed all those centuries ago.
The first man to get under her skin in too many years to count.
Jag.