True matings between pureblooded Weres had become nothing more than a distant legend until Salvatore had driven the demon lord back to his hell.
Now she could only hope that the primitive instincts that had been buried deep inside her would take over and complete the mating ceremony that had begun the moment Caine had rescued her.
Or at least it had begun for her, she was forced to concede.
She had no actual proof that Caine felt the same connection.
In fact, it was just the opposite.
What little she read of the ancient matings said that they usually drained the power of the males. The theory was that the female would always have the last say on whether or not to complete the mating. But Caine’s strength had been steadily increasing.
Of course, he wasn’t a traditional pureblood and his powers had been fluctuating since he’d been transformed from a cur to a Were, she hastily reassured herself.
Oh, and he hadn’t yet marked her with his musk. Wasn’t that a part of the whole mating thing?
Damn.
Refusing to consider failure, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her connection to Caine. Or at least on the painful void in the center of her heart where she’d come to depend on feeling his presence.
It was still there, she grimly assured herself. Just . . . muted. As if his current transformation was suppressing the signal.
For long, stressful minutes she focused everything she had on the tenuous bond. He was there, she could feel him, but every time she tried to hold on to his presence he would slither away.
Slippery as an eel. The stupid cliché teased at her mind even as she clenched her teeth and dug her fingers into his patchy fur.
No. He wasn’t going to elude her.
Ignoring the simmering fear, she again concentrated on the thin connection, releasing her power until the entire cell was flooded with the thick heat of her desperation. And still she couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t force . . .
Her eyes abruptly flew open.
Of course she couldn’t force him. Any more than he could force her into the mating.
All she could do was try and offer her heart and hope that he could battle through his madness to accept it.
Yeah, one hell of a plan.
Sucking in a deep breath, she thrust aside her rising panic and released her fragile connection with Caine. Then, returning her focus inward, she concentrated not on the void in her heart, but the warm, boundless love that spilled through her like a rich, intoxicating nectar.
She didn’t know when it had started.
Perhaps when Caine had stepped in front of her to protect her from the demon lord. Or when he’d taken her to his lair and badgered her to eat because she’d forgotten.
Or when she opened her eyes after yet another vision to find him patiently waiting at her side.
Or maybe she’d been fated to love this man before she’d ever been born.
The when didn’t matter.
Only the fact that it filled every particle of her being.
Not allowing herself time to marvel at the strength of her emotion, which had become so familiar she took it for granted, Cassie regained command of her connection to Caine. This time, however, she didn’t attempt to bludgeon him with her power.
He didn’t need more strength to battle back from the edge of madness. He needed a reason.
Releasing the tidal wave of love, she stroked her hand softly over his head, her wolf impatiently prowling beneath her skin. Her beast had been oddly passive since Caine’s transformation, as if patiently waiting for his return. Now it was anxiously straining to reach something just out of touch.
A low growl stirred the air and, opening her eyes, she met Caine’s glowing gaze.
Her heart briefly halted at the glitter of feral insanity that remained in the astonishing blue depths. Gods, had she failed? Was he too far gone to accept the mating she was offering?
Or had she mistaken the instinctive need of a male alpha to protect her for something more . . . eternal?
She was pulling back in raw disappointment when she belatedly caught the scent of his musk. His wolf. She leaned closer, fiercely concentrating on the faint sense of his wolf that strained to reach her.
“Caine,” she breathed, leaning down to bury her face in his neck. “I’m yours. Bond with me.”
He growled again, but there was no threat in the sound. She pressed herself closer to his trembling body, feeling his power brushing over her skin and the familiar heat of him cloaking around her.
Then, as if a leash had suddenly snapped, she could feel the essence of his wolf slamming into her, filling the void in her aching heart with an intoxicating combination of wild animal and human male.
Reeling beneath the impact, she made a sound of shock. Oh . . . gods. It felt as if she’d been run over by a truck.
Was this the mating?
The question lasted only long enough for her own wolf to surge up to meet the charging assault, a stunning joy exploding through her.
Caine.
He was a part of her.
In every beat of her heart. And in every breath.
They were one.
Complete.
Slowly pulling back, she shuddered, still trying to adjust to the new sensations racing through her.
And the power.
Not just her power. Or Caine’s power.
But an astonishing new melding of the two that sizzled through her like a bolt of lightning.
Her gaze encountered the blue eyes that still glowed with a feral wildness, but deep in her heart Caine was firmly entrenched.
“Just hold on, Caine,” she rasped. “Hold on.”
Styx’s study
Dawn was approaching, pressing on Styx with a ruthless heaviness. He needed to shower, to feed, to spend several hours in the arms of his mate, and at least a week of uninterrupted sleep.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to be getting any of those things. At least, not any time soon.
Instead, he was closeted with Salvatore and Roke as they poured over the maps he’d spread across the desk. Regan had done a good job getting reinforcements to Kostas’s warehouse, but now they needed a full-out strategy. Which meant coordinating with Salvatore.
The King of Weres didn’t look any better than Styx. His elegant suit was gone and replaced with a pair of dojo pants and a loose sweatshirt. And his lean face lined with a tension that was echoed in all of them.
Roke was standing silently on the other side of the desk. The younger vampire possessed a talent not only for reading prophecies, but for speaking demon dialects. He would be needed if they had to contact the leaders of other species.
Styx pointed to a spot on the map south of Chicago, speaking directly to the King of Weres.
“Viper has his clan stationed where the rift is opened, as well as several of your Weres outside the warehouse to protect them from any enemies that might be sent to stop them.” He brought Salvatore up to speed. “Ariyal should be arriving with several of his tribesmen within the hour.”
Salvatore nodded. The Sylvermyst were the most powerful of the fey and as their prince, Ariyal was the most talented at creating portals. If anyone could find a way to shut the rift it would be him.
“Does he think he can close the opening?”
“No one knows,” Styx conceded with a shrug. “If he can’t close it they intend to try and block it.”
“If they can’t?”
“I’m still working on plan B.”
They grimaced in unison.
“What about the Chalice?” Salvatore at last asked.
Styx stroked the amulet at his neck, grateful that he hadn’t been forced to inform Abby that she was going to be spending the next few weeks hidden from the oncoming war.
As the Phoenix—the mortal chalice who held the Goddess of Light—she had the ability to scorch demons into tiny piles of ash. A wise man didn’t like to annoy her.
“Dante has taken her to a secret lair.” Even Styx wasn’t sure where they’d gone. “She’s not happy to be taken out of the fight, but we have to protect the goddess she carries inside her. If we can somehow strip the Dark Lord of her newest powers, then we’ll need the Phoenix to keep her trapped in her current prison.”
“Good.” Assured that the goddess was properly protected, the Were turned his attention to the looming fight. “Where’s Jagr?”
“With Regan for now. Tomorrow at nightfall he will lead Troy in the search for other rifts that the Dark Lord might have opened.”
Salvatore arched his brows at the mention of Troy, the Prince of Imps. “Poor schmuck,” he muttered.
Styx couldn’t argue. The tall, crimson-haired fey who strutted around in spandex and flirted with anything that crossed his path was a pain in the ass, but war truly did make strange bedfellows.
“Troy is eccentric, but there’s no one who possesses a greater talent in sensing the dimensions that separate worlds,” he said. “Even Ariyal admitted the imp was superior to his Sylvermysts in predicting where the veils are thinning. He should be able to detect a rift long before any of us could.”
“Fine. I’ll send Hess with them,” the Were agreed. “He can help coordinate with any packs in the area if a rift is found.”
Styx smiled with wry amusement at the thought of the barely house-trained cur and the nearly feral vampire trying to work together. “That should make an interesting partnership.”
