Passion Untamed

Tears glittered in her eyes as her hands lifted in a helpless gesture, then dropped to her sides. "I can't."



The wrenching honesty of her whispered words combined with her courage in the face of his threat stayed his hand and saved her life.



But for how long, he didn't know.



Skye stood at the door of her cage, her temple resting against the cold steel as she watched Paenther in the cage across from hers with pained eyes. He was standing in the middle of the cell, vibrating with fury.



"Release me!" he shouted, but in his eyes she could still see the fog of Birik's enthrallment.



It had taken all three of the Therians, Delaney and Kara, and the four shape-shifters in their animal forms to wrestle Paenther into the house, back to the prisons, and into his cage. His clothes were torn and bloody, though the wounds from the cats' teeth and claws had already healed.



Outside the prison cells, the huge cats paced.



The Therians had left a short while ago when Wulfe, Hawke, and Kougar returned. Now the three Ferals stood eyeing the scene with grim expressions.



Lyon came to stand in front of her, his magnificent, maned head shaking back and forth, the anger rolling off him in waves.



If you value your life or his, tell me everything that happened, witch.



Skye straightened, meeting the lion's amber gaze and did as he asked, telling him all she knew. "All I could think to do was call to your animals."



"So that's why the yard suddenly filled with birds," Delaney said. She was standing beside the tiger, stroking his fur. "It looked like something out of a creeper movie."



Skye looked at the lion. "I'd hoped your animals would hear me so you could stop him. I don't know why calling you would make you shift."



Delaney released the tiger and started toward her, but the tiger swung his head, blocking her way.



"Tighe." Delaney groaned. "Can't you reverse it, Skye?"



"I've tried everything I know to do. I sent the other animals away, but doing so had no effect on the Ferals."



Even her gift had turned on her.



Paenther heard the voices as if from a distance interspersed with the growls and roars of the Ferals' animals.



Delaney's voice rang sure and clear. "Jag shifted accidentally at breakfast, but he was able to shift back after a few minutes."



"Has Jag spent more time around the witch than the rest of you?" the Shaman asked.



"Skye spent the night in Paenther's room," Kara said. "And Paenther's room is next door to Jag's."



"This is clearly the witch's doing," the Shaman muttered. "The question is how is she doing it? Jag, let me touch your head."



Slowly the fog of enchantment encasing Paenther's head began to lift, and he became aware of his surroundings. He was standing at the bars of one of the prison cells, his hands tied behind him. Feral animals paced just outside his cell, while Wulfe leaned against the wall, and Delaney stood with the tiger.



The Shaman had his hand on the jaguar. "Interesting. I feel the enchantress's call trapped within strong ropes of magic. Magic that's not hers."



Paenther's gaze caught on Skye leaning against the back wall of the cell opposite him, as if she would get as far away from what was going on as she could.



Skye. "What did you do to me?" He said the words quietly, but her eyes widened and she flew to the bars of her own cage, her gaze reaching for him.



"You're back."



He shook his head, trying to clear it. "What happened?"



What do you remember? Lyon's voice sounded in his mind.



He thought about it for only a moment. "I was getting Skye's cinnamon rolls. I dropped them."



Wulfe grunted. "I wondered why there were sweet rolls on the stairs."



You were enthralled, B.P., Lyon said. The witch claims your shackles are to blame, that Birik called you through them.



"From the mountain?" he asked incredulously.



No, the Shaman thinks he or his men were nearby. Within a mile. Hawke and Kougar have gone to look for them.



"May I touch one of your shackles?" the Shaman asked calmly.



Blinking slowly, Paenther turned around to allow him to grasp the metal encircling his wrist. His teeth ground together as he held control over the old torment of ungodly rage.



The Shaman grunted. "The magic that's binding you in your animal forms is coming from the shackles rather than the witch. I believe it may be acting as a magnifier for the enchantress's natural gift. She calls animals without always trying."



So we can't reclaim our human forms until those shackles are disabled? Jag's voice was ripe with disbelief.



Lyon roared. Find a way to remove them, Shaman.



"Trust me, warrior, I've been trying. I'm getting nowhere. I have a way with magic, but I'm not a Mage."



Paenther pulled his hand from the Shaman's grasp. "Cut these ropes off me and give me the knife. I'll get rid of the shackles."



What good is a knife going to do? Lyon asked.



"I'm going to cut off my feet and hands and pull them off. Someone else will have to do my right hand."



Like hell. There's no telling if that will work.



"There's one possibility," the Shaman said. "Though I think it's a long shot."



Name it.



"Mind-skinning."



Paenther groaned silently. Yeah, that was going to feel good. "If you think it'll work, do it."



"I actually have strong doubts that it will work. The very magic we're trying to break will likely keep me from reaching into your memory. But I've yet to find another option."



What exactly are you skinning his mind for? Lyon demanded.



"The spell that was used to lock the shackles on him in the first place. If I can get that original spell, I might be able to fashion a counterspell."



Lyon growled his displeasure.



The Shaman shrugged. "Do you have a better idea?"



"I do." Skye gripped the steel bars of her own cage. "I once wore those shackles."



All eyes turned toward her as her unspoken offer became clear. Somewhere in her head was the counterspell.



"No," Paenther ground out. "It's too painful."



Skye protested. "It's better than you cutting off your hands and feet."



"They'll grow back."



"I can do this, Paenther."



"It's going to hurt."



The Shaman shook his head. "This may not hurt her at all. Mage minds are built differently. It certainly won't hurt her as it did Kara. Kara's memory had been intentionally blocked. I had to strip away the layers of magic to reach what we needed. I shouldn't have to do that with the witch. I'll simply be accessing a memory no longer within easy reach of her conscious mind."



"See?" Skye cocked her head at him. "Easy."



He didn't like it. What if the Shaman was wrong? He trusted the man implicitly when it came to all things Feral or Therian, but the man hated the Mage. What if he hurt her, intentionally or not?



And yet...he clenched his teeth against the pain as he stared at the lion, tiger, and jaguar pacing in front of his cage. A cage he wasn't likely to get far from after what just happened. There was so much more at stake here.



"You're not doing it unless I'm with her."



Agreed, Lyon said. Wulfe?



Wulfe took a key off the hook and opened Paenther's cage. He pulled a switchblade from his pants pocket, and Paenther turned to allow him access to his ropes. As the ropes fell free, Paenther turned and greeted his friend properly, then pushed past him to go to Skye.



The moment he entered her cell, she slid into his arms. He pulled her tight, cradling her head against his shoulder as his hand burrowed into her hair.



"Tell me what happened, Beauty." As she quickly caught him up, he held her, stroking her, feeling her tremble. "Easy, little one." But he couldn't blame her for being afraid. Not with the beasts pacing outside her cage, eyeing her as if they meant to make her their next meal.



They wouldn't, of course. They'd damn well better not even be thinking about it. With a low growl, he dipped his head and captured her mouth, claiming her. Marking her in front of his brothers. She's mine.



The kiss eased his soul, and it was with reluctance that he drew back, cupping her face gently, briefly, before he turned on the Shaman with a fierce, animalistic growl.



"You hurt her, you die."



Skye touched his arm. "Paenther, it's okay. I can handle it."



"I've seen what you can handle." His hard gaze never left the Shaman. "But he has a deep-rooted prejudice against Mage, and I'd hate for it to creep into his actions here."



To his credit, the Shaman met his gaze with perfect calm. "I vow to you, I'll not intentionally harm her. I've never mind-skinned a Mage, warrior. I cannot be certain of the outcome. In any way."



Paenther growled, but nodded. "Do it."



The Shaman turned to Skye. "Lie down."



Paenther held her hand as she lowered herself to the stone floor. As the Shaman knelt at her head, Paenther squatted at her side, stroking his thumb over her fingers where they curled around his.



The pain tore at his flesh, but his only concern was for Skye. He held her tight as the Shaman gripped her head in his hands. He'd been there when the Shaman skinned Kara's mind. The pain...goddess, the pain. He'd already seen Skye in pain when he still thought she was against him, and every time it had nearly killed him. He wouldn't be able to stand it again. Not when she was coming to mean too much to him.



As the Shaman began to chant, Paenther steeled himself for the first wave of agony to hit her.



"How far back, witch?"



"Skye," Paenther snapped. "Her name is Skye."



"How old were you, Skye?" the Shaman asked.



"Eight."



The thought of her stretched out on that rock like he'd been, abused...Paenther's hand clenched hers. Birik was going to die.



Her hand spasmed around his, her mouth tightening as her entire body went rigid.



"It hurts," he growled.



Skye squeezed his hand. "It's okay."



"Like hell."



"I'm going to open your memories of that time, Skye. They may swallow you at first, pulling you back there, but we'll bring you forward again when it's done. It's up to you to find the spell. Find it and repeat it. Are you ready?"



"Yes."



The Shaman resumed his chanting, different though equally unintelligible words, then stopped abruptly. "We should be there."



Skye's body went rigid.



"How old are you, Skye?" the Shaman asked.



"Eight." Her voice had changed. It was higher. Younger. As he watched her face, her bottom lip began to quiver, tears springing into her eyes. "I want my mother."



She sounded...eight. For one horrible moment, he glimpsed the little girl she'd been.



"Skye," the Shaman said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Are you still wearing the shackles?"



"Yes."



"Has he put the cantric in you, yet?"



"I'm not...big enough for a cantric." Her eyes went wide with fear. "He's coming. I hear him coming." Her voice broke. "He's going to hurt me again."



Paenther felt her frantic grip on his hand and stroked her head, hating, hating, the man who'd done this to her. "He's not going to hurt you again, Skye. Never again."



The Shaman glanced at him, then spoke to her. "Skye, you're a little older now. I want you to come forward a few days. To the day he removed your shackles."



Her skin was cool but damp to his touch as Paenther stroked the short hair off her forehead.



"Are you wearing the shackles, Skye?"



"I don't need them anymore. He's taking them off."



"Repeat the spell, Skye. Repeat the spell Birik used to remove your shackles."



Softly, almost too softly to hear, she began to chant in ancient Mage in the voice of the girl she'd once been. The Shaman took her free hand and curled it around one of Paenther's manacles.



Magic began to dance at his wrists and ankles, a prickly, uncomfortable sensation that slowly began to burn. The metal shackles turned to gold, then bronze in a shimmer of light, the air filling with the smell of heated metal and burning flesh. His flesh.



With a sudden, blinding burst of light, pain roared through his body. He stumbled back against the wall, his vision turning black as the fire from the shackles spread, racing up his arms and legs to consume his entire body in a white-hot rush of agony.



"Get her out of here!" Lyon's human voice roared through the prison block.



"No!" Paenther reached blindly for Skye, feeling her strong, slender arms wrap around him as if she could keep him from stumbling. He locked her against him as he felt the strong hands of one of his brothers.



"Easy, B.P.," Tighe said.



Skye's small hand stroked his back. "You need to sit down."



His voice cracked with pain. "What did you do to me?"



"Nothing." Skye's voice sounded small. Injured. "The shackles are gone."



"Gone?" He reached for his opposite wrist and found...nothing. "I'll be damned."



"Kara's going to give you radiance, B.P." Lyon's voice reached out to him from a small distance. "You have to let go of the witch."



"Not the witch. Skye." He was finally starting to see through the white-hot pain. Lyon was back in his human form, standing in the doorway of the cell, sans clothes. He met his friend's amber gaze. "You hurt her, Roar, and I'll kill you."