Feel what? Kougar asked in reply.

It sounds like we’re getting close to a power station.

I don’t hear it, Kougar said. He and Lyon hadn’t heard the voices, either.

With a mental frown, Wulfe continued on, following Estevan’s trail through the mountain forest, praying to the goddess they were on the right path this time. About an hour ago, they’d come upon a lake they hadn’t seen before on their perpetual loop around the mountain, and for the first time, they were slightly hopeful they’d finally penetrated the mountain’s mischief.

But that hope did little to lift their spirits. Several hours ago, Ariana had felt one of her maidens die, one of the two who’d gone with Jag and Fox. Assuming the group had come under attack, Ariana had tried to mist Kougar to them, but she’d been unable to find any of them. Ever since, they’d been riding a knife’s edge of tension, worried their friends were no longer alive. The only thing that kept hope from dying was the fact that Ariana was certain Melisande still lived even though she could neither find her nor communicate with her. If she was lost, but alive, so, too, they reasoned, were Jag, Fox, and Olivia.

All they could do was keep going.

It was midday, the sun high in a sky dotted with wispy clouds, the day warm, though not hot, even though Wulfe had spent the entire morning in his fur. The wolf was the best tracker of them all. If anyone could follow Estevan’s scent, it should be him.

Even with the mountain fucking with them.

I sense one of mine.

Shit. The voices were back.

That’s not possible. The Ferals killed them all.

Not one of those. This is different. Blood calls to blood.

The voices faded away, the same pair he’d heard before, leaving Wulfe more perplexed than ever. And far more disturbed. Who had the Ferals killed? And they’d killed them all? What did that mean? They certainly hadn’t killed all the evil Ferals. Perhaps all those with true evil inside? But they’d only killed two of them. If he’d meant those two, wouldn’t he have said both?

A dog barked in the distance, a familiar bark echoing down from the rise above. A bark the Ferals mimicked when they wanted to call one another when speaking telepathically wasn’t necessary, or possible.

Relief swept through Wulfe as he followed the direction of the sound to find Jag and Olivia starting down the slope.

Where’s Fox? Lyon demanded.

Alive, Jag replied. I’ll tell you more when we reach you.

Thank the goddess.

All three Ferals shifted into human form as Jag and Olivia joined them. Ariana moved close to her mate, and Kougar pulled her against his side.

“What happened?” Lyon sounded almost like his old self though Wulfe knew that was an illusion. The Chief of the Ferals was practically shaking with the need to continue forward, to snatch Kara out of the enemy’s hands.

“We hit some serious-ass warding,” Jag told them. “The two Ilinas burst into flame on contact. Fox body-slammed the blond bitch . . . I mean Melisande . . . and somehow took the fire for himself. Phylicia’s dead. I’m sorry, Ariana.”

Ariana nodded. “Thank you, Jag, but I felt her death the moment it happened. Are Melisande and Fox all right?”

“Fox is hurting, but he’s okay. Melisande is injured, I think. She’s emitting energy like a nuclear reactor, and she can’t mist, but her vocal cords were working just fine.” He pulled Olivia against him. “We’ve been trying to frickin’-ass find you for hours, to warn you to get your Ilinas off this mountain before they fry, too.”

Kougar squeezed Ariana’s shoulder, then released her. “Go.”

“Take Olivia,” Jag said.

Both females, warriors through and through, scowled at their mates. Olivia crossed her arms. “No way.”

Jag hauled her around to look at him. “Liv, the magic on this mountain is fucking powerful, you’ve seen that. We can usually get through warding in our animals. What if you can’t? What if you go up in flames, too?”

Kougar nodded. “We’re not risking your lives.” He turned to Ariana. “Find Hawke and Falcon and let them know what’s going on. Have them continue to patrol the periphery, but stay off the mountain. They’ll be able to find cell service to get word to Feral House if they think backup will do us any good.”

Jag kissed his frustrated mate, and she kissed him back after only a moment’s hesitation. “Be careful,” she whispered.

Kougar kissed Ariana. She pressed her hand to his cheek, then handed him the backpack with Wulfe’s and Lyon’s clothes. A moment later, the two Ilinas and Olivia disappeared in mist.

The four Ferals shifted back into their animals and continued on. Wulfe felt the weight of worry lifted a little bit, knowing Fox and Jag were fine. But Kara was still in the hands of the enemy, and they had no idea where Fox and Melisande had gone. Deeper into the mountain’s sorcery?

Less than a mile later, they crested a rise. Wulfe gave a mental gasp as he stared at the sight below. In the valley, hung a curtain of shimmering color, blues and purples and reds, rippling and flaring as if the door behind it had been left open on a windy day.

To his surprise, his three companions continued forward without comment. A chill ran down his spine.

Don’t you see that? he asked all three at once.

See what? Jag replied.

Dammit. As he loped forward to catch up with them, energy charged his skin, making his fur rise, and he realized the buzz had been getting steadily stronger.

The cougar gave him a quizzical look. What exactly do you see?

And suddenly he knew. The warding. The curtain stretched as far as the eye could follow in either direction, curving back on the ends as if enclosing the mountain. It’s moving, rippling.

Why in the hell was he the only one who could see it? Why was he the only one hearing the voices? He didn’t like it, not at all. Then again, it was probably a good thing someone could.

More than a little fascinated by the sight of the warding, he started forward, leading the way down the hillside. The buzzing grew more intense the closer he got, until he was less than a body length away.

Where is it, Lyon demanded, the African lion coming up beside him.

Right in front of us.

Lyon leaped through it with a single bound. Kougar and Jag followed, Wulfe bringing up the rear. But beyond the first warding curtain, he saw another not a dozen feet away.

There’s another one, he told his friends. And, like before, they leaped through it, one after the other, Lyon leading the way.

What the fuck? Jag exclaimed.

Wulfe understood a moment later when he joined them. They weren’t in West Virginia any more. Instead, they stood on a cobblestone path between two high stone walls. A short distance ahead, an opening in the wall offered a choice.

Kougar and Lyon shifted into men, pulling knives from the backpack Kougar alone was able to carry through the shifts.

“Where the hell are we?” Lyon growled. But none of them had an answer. And a moment later, Wulfe realized, all three of his companions were giving him guarded looks.

What? he demanded, still in wolf form.

“Why you?” Kougar asked quietly.

Hell if I know. A chill slid down his spine. But he was pretty sure it had something to do with the voices he was hearing in his head. What had the one said? I sense one of mine. Blood calls to blood.

For the first time in centuries, he remembered the old tale of the origin of the wolf clan. A horrific tale he’d never given any credence to.

Until now.

Fox ran down the empty road, along the deserted waterfront, and back up the steep cobblestone street, where even now, Melisande lay trapped by the vines. Vines almost certainly designed to kill her.

Bloody fecking hell.

The street was now clear of vines except the swath around Melisande. But he knew with certainty that the moment he stepped into their path, they’d rise up and try to snare him just as they had before. This time they would fail. In one hand he held a torch, in the other, a jug of oil, both of which he’d just snatched from a nearby saddlery. This place might not be real, but much of it was realistic down to the finest detail.

I’m coming, pet. Hang on for me.

Taking a deep breath, he launched himself forward, running as fast as he could, covering as much ground as possible before the vines started snaking upward. They caught him not six feet from where Melisande lay, the blood coating her neck and running into the cobbles beneath her.

His heart pounded and he knew he was going to have to be quick and careful or he’d wind up setting himself on fire, which would help her not at all. He sprinkled the oil on the roots of the vines just below him on the hill, then stabbed them with the burning torch.

As he’d hoped, the vine disappeared, snaking back into the street. In a wide swath behind him, he sprinkled more oil, setting it on fire. Instantly, the vines there disappeared as well. The oil burned, the fire not large enough to hamper his movements.

But the vines were climbing his legs, now, coming at him from the front and below. He dispatched those in front of him as he had the ones behind, letting the oil run beneath his feet . . . carrying the fire. And suddenly he was free. He leaped forward, battling back the vines as he had the others until finally he reached Melisande.

“I’m here, luv.”

Her eyes fluttered open, their sapphire depths dark with agony. His heart contracted as he spied the orange vine around her neck. It was already halfway through. Goddess, it would soon sever her head completely. With a speed borne of desperation, he transferred the jug to his torch hand, pulled his blade, and attacked the orange vine viciously, hacking it away. But as it lost its grip on her, half a dozen more of the serrated vines rose up to take its place.

Goddess, goddess, goddess.

Fox yanked and pulled, stabbed and burned, careful not to catch Melisande on fire in his haste. Finally, finally, he had her loose. Even as badly injured as she was, she scrambled up, her immortal blood quickly healing the damage done by the orange vines.

“Stay close, Mel. We’re heading downhill. Watch behind.”

As she leaped beside him, he dribbled oil over the vines that had held her, that still reached for her, setting them on fire. Together, they eased their way down the hill following the same path he’d traveled up, burning and hacking their way through.

Until, finally, they were free.

At the bottom of the empty street, yards past the last of the vines, Fox finally set down the jug and torch and hauled Melisande to him, studying her face, her neck. “Are you all right?”

She trembled beneath his hands, the shadows of terror still in her eyes. A softness filled those sapphire depths, suddenly, taking his breath away.

Small hands pressed against his chest. “You saved me.”

“Of course.” He cupped her soft cheek in his hand.

The moment grew thick. The need to touch her, to taste her, nearly overwhelmed him. He lifted his other hand, framing her delicate face, watching for her surrender, waiting for her to pull away. Heat and confusion warred in her eyes, but when he lifted his thumb and stroked it lightly across her plump, pink bottom lip, her breath caught. And then she was reaching for his face as if to pull him down, and he was dipping his head.

Lips brushed, passion exploded, sweetness drenched his senses as Melisande melted in his arms, her own arms slipping around his neck, holding him tight. All thought fled, all caution, as her fingers dove into his hair and her mouth opened to his, seeking a deeper kiss, one he gladly gave her. Pure, unadulterated desire tore through his body as her tongue stroked his. She was heaven in his arms, small and precious, her taste like fresh, cool water to a man dying of thirst.

As her tongue thrust into his mouth, her hips rocked against him, stroking his cock, nearly making his eyes roll back up into his head. Goddess help him, she was on fire, and he quaked with the need to give her exactly what she wanted.

Her scent tore through his senses, the soft smell of wild heather, but a thousand times more erotic until his mind was so clouded with passion he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was. The need to touch her everywhere was almost more than he could control.

His hands roamed her back, falling to her small, perfect ass as he hauled her against the erection that was demanding release.

“I have to be inside of you,” he groaned against her lips.

In his arms, Melisande froze, turning to stone.

Fox pulled back slowly, easing his hold on her, letting her go when she pulled away.

“Mel . . . ?”

“This isn’t the time, Feral,” she snapped. “We need to find that key and get the hell out of here. Kara’s in need of rescuing, or had you forgotten?”

He felt as if she’d slapped him, and at the same time knew he’d needed the reminder because he’d absolutely been lost within the pull of passion.

“You’re right.”

She looked at him with surprise, then nodded.

Extending his hand to her, he smiled, because they were free . . . for now . . . and because, despite the abrupt ending of their passionate interlude, sooner or later, the woman was going to be his. When the time was right. He knew that now.

When she cut those sapphire eyes at him, then, with a small huff placed her hand in his, he felt the world right itself.

Hand in hand, they strolled along the wharf, where people once more worked—unloading crates from a boat, cleaning fish. All ignored them as if they weren’t even there.

Fox’s senses remained on high alert, as they had since the Ilinas first dropped them in West Virginia. If the populace of this strange place had turned on them once, they could do so again. But even as his senses traveled outward, seeking danger, part of his torn attention remained firmly on the woman at his side.

Something was bothering him mightily. Something he needed to understand. “You’ve been captured before, haven’t you, pet?” he asked quietly, uncertain how she would take the question.