For millennia, there had been twenty-six Feral Warriors, twenty-six animal shape-shifters left in the world, each of whom shifted into a different, unique animal. Then, six centuries ago, seventeen of them fell into a spirit trap, never to return. The spirit trap had separated the men from their animal spirits, killing the men and holding the animal spirits so they could never mark another. For six hundred years, the Feral Warriors had numbered only nine.
Then a week ago, the first of the seventeen lost animal spirits had returned. Word hadn’t reached Dublin, but the Ferals had believed their new fox shifter had arrived. Instead, the new Feral had shifted into a saber-toothed cat, one of the seventeen lost animals. As the Ferals rejoiced, eight more had been marked and made their way to Feral House including Kieran and the Welshman. Tonight was their Renascence, the ritual that would bring them into their animals for the first time, revealing which animal had chosen each.
Kieran strode down to the cliffs beside Jag, one of the original Ferals, and Ewan, another of the newly marked, one he’d fought beside on both sides of the Atlantic, on and off for decades. A good man, thank the goddess. If they’d all been like the Welshman, Kieran might have begun to wonder if the animal spirits truly marked the best in the line, as had always been claimed. The new Ferals were, by and large, an unruly lot, but the originals showed every sign of living up to the legend. From what Kieran had seen, they were a good, honorable bunch and a true brotherhood.
“How does this work?” Kieran asked Jag, as the band of more than a dozen immortal males strode, shirtless and barefoot, along the rocks. Lyon, Chief of the Ferals, brought up the rear with his mate, Kara, their Radiant.
“We’ll call a mystic circle upon the goddess stone in order to hide what goes on from any humans who happen by. Then it’s ritual time, pretty boy.” Jag grinned. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
A hard thrill coursed through Kieran. He was about to shift into an animal for the very first time. How many times had he done so in his dreams? How many times had he wondered what it must have been like in those ancient days, when all Therians shifted? Too many to count.
As he climbed down the rocks, he wondered which of the animal spirits had marked him. He hoped the fox, for that was the ancestry he knew. His mother had possessed no knowledge of her own Therian heritage. Few Therians ever mated, and virtually none were monogamous unless they did. His mother had never known who her father was, let alone his deep animal DNA. Which meant, Kieran could potentially have been marked by any of the seventeen animal spirits as well as the fox.
He’d find out soon enough.
As the original Ferals gathered around Kara, Lyon turned to the newcomers. “Stay back until we come for you. If you touch Kara when she’s radiant, without an armband, she’ll kill you.”
“You should see her when she glows,” Ewan said quietly, leaning close. “It’s a sight you won’t forget.”
Kieran grinned. “It’s a sight we’ll become well used to.”
Ewan chuckled, his excitement matching Kieran’s own. “That we will.”
As Kieran watched, Kara lifted her arms and literally began to glow as if she’d swallowed a small piece of the sun. She was such a sweet thing, pretty and quite young, not even a true thirty yet. She wore a slinky ritual gown and flip-flops, her hair in a ponytail. And he liked her immensely.
Lyon watched his mate with the devotion of a truly besotted mate, at once fiercely protective and tenderly in love.
Ritual words were spoken, blood was let, and suddenly Kieran felt a blast of energy power through his body in a euphoric rush. Lights sparkled all around him, and he found himself standing at knee level, on all fours, his snout protruding from his face. Excitement burst within him, then joy as he turned his head, eyeing his red fur, bushy tail, and very foxlike body.
He was now surrounded by a polar bear where Ewan had stood, a crocodile in place of the Welshman, a grizzly, snow leopard, white tiger, lynx, and even an eagle.
“Shift back,” Kougar told them.
Kieran imagined himself once more standing on two feet, and in another shower of sparkling lights, in another euphoric rush, he found himself a man once more.
“Henceforth, you will be known as . . .” Kougar’s straight arm came down, pointing from one new Feral to the next, starting with him. “Fox, Grizz, Polaris, Lepard, Witt, Eigle, Lynks, Croc.”
Ewan slapped him on the back. “What do you say, Fox?” He laughed heartily. “The ladies will love that.”
Kieran . . . no, he was Fox now . . . grinned and slapped the polar bear shifter on the back in return. “I’d say it’s a fine night, Polaris. A fine night indeed.”
As Ewan turned to congratulate the others, Jag approached, slapping forearms with Kieran in the traditional Feral greeting. “Welcome to the pack, Fox-man.”
“Kara!”
At Lyon’s alarmed tone, Kieran and Jag whirled, watching as Lyon swept a fainting Kara into his arms. None of the other new Ferals seemed to notice, but the originals and Fox all gathered close.
“What’s the matter with her?” Fox asked.
Kara, rousing, curled her arm around Lyon’s neck. “I’m okay. It’s just . . . the rituals. It’s like they’re sucking me dry.”
Nine collective breaths released at once.
Lyon tipped his head against the Radiant’s. “You scared me.”
Smiling softly, Kara pressed her hand to her mate’s cheek. “I love you.”
“My heart.”
Kieran . . . Fox . . . watched them, wondering at the courage . . . and foolishness . . . it took to care so much, to love so deeply. A mistake he refused to ever make himself.
Chapter Two
Two days ago
Fox strode through Feral House, his boots clicking on the hardwood floor, the golden fox-head armband that had appeared during his first shift tight around his upper arm, his mind in turmoil. For days his gut had continued to whisper that same fecking word. Wrong.
And now he thought he knew why. Hell, everything was wrong. The situation at Feral House could not be worse.
Last night, the new Ferals, those who’d been marked by the lost animal spirits, had risen up against the rest of them, attempting to slaughter them. Jag and Paenther had been badly injured, badly enough that all had feared for their lives, but they were pulling through. One of the new Ferals, Eigle, was dead. And the rest were gone. Even Ewan . . . Polaris.
It was all too clear that the evil Mage were behind this. Somehow, the Mage had freed the trapped animal spirits and infected them with some kind of dark magic that had not only kept them from marking the best of the line but had somehow managed to control the resulting Ferals, turning them into their own evil Feral army.
The good Feral Warriors were in a hell of a mess.
Thank the goddess he’d been marked by the fox and not one of the seventeen lost spirits. As he strode down the hallway, he saw Kougar coming out of the media room.
“Any news?” Fox asked. Kougar was a cold-eyed warrior with a mustache and goatee that made him look more than a little unapproachable. But he’d welcomed Fox warmly and given him no reason to think he wouldn’t share whatever he knew.
“Jag and Paenther will be returning soon. And we may be able to cure the new Ferals of that dark infection.”
“That’s brilliant. Then the Mage plot will have failed.”
Kougar plucked at his goatee. “Not entirely. Not all those marked were the best of their line. Perhaps none of them were.”
While Fox had the highest respect for Ewan and hated that his friend had been caught up in this mess, he could only feel relief that the asshole Welshman wasn’t actually meant to be marked. His faith in the Feral Warriors as a whole, and his pride in being one of them, had been restored.
“The Shaman believes that my mate, Ariana, may have the solution buried inside the wealth of knowledge in her head,” Kougar continued.
“That’s a bloody intriguing comment.”
Kougar looked at him. “Are you aware that she’s Ilina? The queen of the Ilinas?”
Fox nodded. “I heard. Which is another bloody intriguing comment. For a thousand years, the world thought the Ilinas extinct.” He cocked his head at the far-more-senior Feral. “You knew the truth.”
“No. I only learned the truth recently.”
“Where have they been all this time?”
“Most of them in the Crystal Realm, their castle in the clouds.”
Fox knew he meant that literally.
“Ariana will be arriving momentarily.”
Even as Kougar said the words, Fox smelled a whiff of pine, then watched, awestruck, as two petite beauties materialized out of thin air.
Ilinas.
The one was a pretty brunette dressed in jeans and boots and leather jacket. The way she looked at Kougar, with a lover’s smile, told him she must be Ariana.
But it was the other one who caught Fox’s attention and clamped her pretty little fist tight around it. Her hair as light as her companion’s was dark, she was dressed in a timeless outfit that marked her a warrior—leggings and tunic that skimmed graceful curves, a knife hanging from the belt at her slender waist, golden hair falling in a thick braid down her back. She appeared as delicate as a doll—her head small and lovely, her nose pert, her mouth a pretty, petal pink.
But when she glanced his way, sapphire eyes pinned him, eyes as hard as blue diamonds, and, suddenly, she didn’t seem delicate at all.
As their gazes held, his heart went still, then began beating like a herd of spooked cattle. Fire leaped into her eyes, but not the kind of fire he was used to. There was no warmth in those sapphire eyes, no desire. Only a bright, cutting heat that promised to flay the flesh from his bones.
The beauty jerked her gaze from his, turning toward Kougar and his mate.
Hawke and Faith joined Fox. He hadn’t even seen them enter the hallway.
“Amazing that they still exist, isn’t it?” Fox murmured to the pair, unable to tear his gaze away from the Ilina. She was like a little spitfire, eyes snapping with anger, that pretty mouth twisted with annoyance. Still . . . “She’s a fine thing, the blonde.”
“That’s Melisande,” Hawke said quietly beside him.
Melisande. A lovely name for an intriguing woman.
“Apparently she tried to kill Lyon a couple of weeks ago,” Hawke continued.
Fox glanced at him with surprise. “And he let her live?” His gaze returned to the female with a new appreciation. So she knew how to use that sword. No, not delicate at all.
“That was my reaction the first time I heard. It was something of a misunderstanding, and they’ve called a truce of sorts. But the woman apparently has a chip on her shoulder the size of the South Pole when it comes to Ferals. That one’s trouble with a capital T.”
Sapphire eyes cut to him, then away again, without an ounce of interest. Without a modicum of warmth. “Chips can be knocked off.”
Faith snorted beside him. “So can heads.”
Fox chuckled. “She hasn’t met the right Feral yet, is all.”
Hawke clasped him on the shoulder. “You’d have more luck taming a tornado.”
Kougar turned to them. “Fox, Faith, I’d like you to meet Ariana, Queen of the Ilinas and my mate. And her second, Melisande.”
The blonde scowled, and he wondered if she was really as cold as she pretended to be. If he’d seen only her, he might wonder if that were typical of her race, but Ariana’s eyes radiated warmth and love along with strength.
Melisande interested him mightily. His gaze dropped to her mouth, a paradox if ever there was one. At once hard enough to flay a man alive and yet shaped like a lover’s dream—the bottom lip plump and kissable, the top sculpted in pale pink perfection.
Ariana strode forward and introductions were made. Then she turned back toward Kougar. “Where’s the Shaman? I understand we have work to do.”
As Ariana started back to the doorway, where Melisande and Kougar waited, Fox followed, eyeing Melisande, turning on the charm. Could such a cold woman be charmed? The thought made him smile. It had been too long since any female had presented a challenge.
With each step he took, the woman grew more beautiful. Her skin was a flawless cream, as soft, he was certain, as her eyes were hard. Her lashes, a darker gold than her hair, perfectly framed those magnificent eyes. Her body, though small, was perfectly proportioned, her curves neither too slender nor too round. And his hands itched to clutch her waist and pull her against him.
As he drew close, her scent, of wild heather, teased his nose, nearly drowning him in pleasure.
“Melisande, is it?” he asked, drawing on the full force of his Irish upbringing. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Sapphire eyes snapped at him with disbelief, certainly not the usual reaction to his attention, but he played the game the way he knew how. He held out his hand to her, uncertain whether she would meet him halfway and suspecting that if she did, it would be with a huff or a roll of pretty blue eyes. Either would be fine as long as he got to touch her.
“I’m Fox, Melisande. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“That’s what you think.” Her voice was music laced with acid. She ignored his outstretched hand, her eyes narrowing as she smiled at him, but there was nothing pleasant about that smile. Hawke’s words came back to him, that he’d have more luck taming a tornado, and it occurred to him that he might finally have come across a female who was immune to his charms.
“Mel,” Ariana warned.
The petite blonde flung her empty hand toward him as if it were not empty at all, as if she meant to toss a fireball in his face.
