All that mattered was that he wasn't here.

With another shrug, trying to loosen some of the tension in her neck and shoulders, she inserted the key into the lock and let herself into the dark living room. The streetlights illuminated furniture and shadows, revealing nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing moved. No sound carried to her ears. But as she closed the door behind her, a faint tingle pricked her skin, tripping her pulse. Telling her she was being watched.

Her breath caught. She wasn't alone.

But even as the adrenaline surged, her mind calmed. Even without her Ilina's energy, she was stronger than a human woman, equal in strength to any human male. And after a thousand years, her hand-to-hand combat skills were excellent. She could handle him, whoever he was. Because he wasn't Kougar.

The intruder moved, faster than any human.

Shit.

She grabbed for her bracelet, to escape back to the Crystal Realm. Before she could reach it, an iron-strong hand clamped around her wrist, yanking it away from her body as a second snagged her other wrist.

He was too strong. Too fast. Too big.

Feral Warrior.

Crap, crap, crap. Damn Kougar. He'd known she'd be able to sense him and had sent another in his place.

With a swift backward kick, she slammed her heel into her assailant's knee and might as well have hit a brick wall.

"Do your worst, Sugar."

She slammed her head back, hoping to hit his nose, but he was too tall and she barely clipped his chin. "Where's Kougar?"

"On his way."

Double shit. She tried to twist out of his grasp, and for a moment thought she was succeeding until she realized he'd used her own momentum against her. Before she could stop him, he picked her up and pushed her against the nearest wall, wrenching one hand wide from her body. She'd forgotten how strong the Ferals were!

The cold bite of steel snicked around the wrist of her outstretched arm. And though she struggled, her second wrist quickly met the same fate. And then he was gone.

A moment later, she heard the click of a lamp, and light flooded her living room, illuminating her captor. Like the Ferals she'd known in the past, he was tall, broad-shouldered, muscular. A man women of all races noticed . . . and most lusted after. His hair was in need of a good cut, his pants camouflage, his black T-shirt revealing the golden armband that wrapped around his upper arm, an armband with the head of some kind of predatory cat.

The shifter pulled out his cell phone even as he watched her with curious eyes. "Got her. Now are you going to tell me who she is?" A brief look of disgust passed over his features as he put the phone away.

"Verbose, the man is not. So who are you, Sugar?" the Feral drawled. "Why are you so important that I'm babysitting you instead of making love to my new mate?"

She didn't answer, her mind furiously searching for a way out. Within the throbbing, erratic mating bond, she felt Kougar beginning to move toward her. Hells bells.

The shifter studied her. "You're not Mage. Number one, you don't have the copper rims around your irises. Number two, Captain Death didn't warn me not to let you touch me, and he would have if you'd been Mage." He gave a brief scowl. "Probably."

She cocked her head at him. "Captain Death?"

His mouth kicked up on one side. "The man's cold as, and delivers it mercilessly. Always has." His expression turned serious, his gaze flicking down over her scrubs. "I don't know what he wants with you, Florence Nightingale, but for your sake, I hope it's nothing more than a quick roll in the hay."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Jag. You've got to be Therian. You're stronger than a human, though not by much."

Smart-ass. "Kougar's making a mistake, Jag. A grave mistake. You need to let me go."

"Nice try, sweetheart. Do I have idiot engraved across my forehead?"

If only she still had the ability to turn to mist. With her hands cuffed, she was all but helpless. There was nothing more she could do but wait for Kougar, then hope she could manage one more escape.

Kougar strode up the front walk of the small bungalow, certain he had the right house. He could feel Ariana inside as strongly as any beacon, small bursts of anger pulsing through the mating bond. His plan to capture her had worked like a charm. Now came the hard part--forcing her to free his friends from the spirit trap.

Opening the door without knocking, he strode into the living room to find Jag on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table, a baseball game on the television. Ariana stood with her back to the wall, her wrists caught in manacles Jag had attached to the wall.

He had to hand it to Jag. He'd carried out Kougar's directions precisely, though attaching her to the wall was a small bit of brilliance that was all Jag's. The drill he must have used sat on the coffee table.

Ariana's eyes speared him with fury. She was dressed again in medical scrubs, a black sweater over them this time. The clothing might be drab, but there was nothing plain about the woman wearing them. Her dark hair was up in a casual knot, her slender neck exposed and beckoning. Goddess how he'd loved to kiss her neck, to trail his mouth and tongue over the silken length from her shoulder to her ear, feeling her shiver, hearing the soft moan of pleasure in her throat.

Would this woman without a soul react to his touch the way his beloved had? Goddess, did he really want to know? No, he didn't. He wanted only one thing from her, and that was the rescue of his friends.

But as she watched him with hard, wary eyes, her mouth and chin stony, he knew it was going to be a battle all the way. He could hardly appeal to her compassion, not when the woman possessed none. Not anymore.

The cougar inside him leaped like an overeager pup, as if he longed to be free to race to her and lick her face. As if she were truly Kougar's mate and not some soulless look-alike.

She's not ours, Cat. She hasn't been for centuries.

"Release me, Kougar." Her eyes snared him, piercing in their intensity, even behind the brown contacts. He felt them stabbing, probing. Stroking the places deep inside him that had yearned for her for too long.

"Leave, Jag."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jag rise lazily to his feet. "Just when things were getting interesting." But the shifter turned off the television, picked up his drill, and sauntered to the front door, closing it behind him.

Pulled by forces beyond his control, Kougar moved slowly toward Ariana, drawn against his will. His body throbbed with alternate bursts of cold and heat, his newly awakened emotions ping-ponging between hatred and a need to touch her that tore at every shred of control he possessed.

Closing the distance between them, he watched her, noting the shadows of thoughts and emotions she tried to hide. Her breathing was as unsteady as his own, a pulse kicking at the base of her throat. Though her anger was written all over her face, in her eyes he saw worry, dark hunger, and rank exhaustion. But no true fear. Which told him that pounding pulse was all for him. That the need he felt to touch her wasn't one-sided.

Which was good, very good, since the only way he knew to force her to turn to mist was to arouse her to it. To make her lose all control.

He grabbed her jaw, and his cat made a low growl of approval.

"Let go of me," Ariana hissed, her eyes flashing like those of a cornered beast ready to strike.

"No."

His hand shook as he held her jaw, her scent rising to ensnare him in sensual memories and painful longing. She was turning him inside out. His Ariana, yet not. She smelled the same, looked the same--or she would once she took those contacts out. She felt the same beneath his hand. But she wasn't the woman he'd loved.

Goddess, he needed to get away from her. To forget her.

But first, she was going to save his friends.

He tightened his grip. "Why do you think you can't turn to mist? What's the matter with you?"

She jerked her chin as if trying to dislodge his grip, her eyes flashing at him. "Dark spirit slowly eats away an Ilina from the inside out. Didn't you know?"

Kougar studied her. Melisande had said as much, but his instincts now, as then, told him there was more to it.

"You can turn to mist, Ariana. You're going to."

"No."

Again that flash of . . . defiance? Desperation?

He didn't want to see it.

Her mouth tightened, the full, unpainted mouth he'd dreamed of for a thousand years. His arms ached to pull her closer, yet his mind rebelled. She wasn't the woman he'd loved!

His cat clawed at him, urging him to claim her.

Ariana stared at him, flaying him with her gaze even as she began to tremble beneath his hand. Her nostrils flared as she took a shuddering breath. Heat sparked in her eyes, igniting an inferno inside him.

He was losing the battle. "I have to taste you."

Her jaw tightened as if part of her wanted to object, but another part wouldn't let her say the words.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway. He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. The feel of her lips against his, the achingly familiar taste of her released a floodgate of need and grief and desperate longing. At that moment, it didn't matter who she was, what she was. Ariana was back in his arms, her mouth opening beneath his, her tongue welcoming the desperate stroke of his own.

Her taste wasn't quite right. How he knew that after all this time, he didn't know, but didn't question. She still tasted as she always had, of crystal streams and summer nights, but overlying the sultry sweetness was another taste. A taste of darkness, and darkness had a taste all its own. A sharpness, a tang that was not unpleasant. But then darkness was often all too seductive.

His hands framed her face, his fingers weaving into her hair as he feasted on her mouth. His senses swam, his heart breaking. The feel of her beneath his hands, the taste of her kiss, the scent of her hair all rushed together, swamping him with memories, pummeling him with so many emotions he couldn't make sense of any of them.

His hands began to shake, a deep quaking setting up inside him. How many times had he dreamed of having her in his arms again, of feeling her lips against his, her small breasts pressed against him? How many times had he longed to taste her kiss just one more time? To watch her spread her thighs and welcome him into her body? His Ariana. His woman. His mate.

But she wasn't, was she?

His Ariana--his bright, beautiful Ariana with the shining soul was not in his arms.

He tore his mouth from hers, released her, and stepped back. His hands were still shaking, his world tilting precariously. Whirling away from her, he strode to the window with harsh strides, his chest feeling like it was about to implode.

Goddess, he needed this over. He needed this woman . . . this thing . . . out of his life.

Pressing his hands to the window frame, he dipped his head and took deep, unsteady breaths. Every instinct he possessed told him to go, to get the hell out of there before she destroyed what was left of his sanity.

But he'd come for a reason. He had to force her capitulation, force her to enter the spirit trap. That was all that mattered.

Slowly, he turned back to face her. She watched him with eyes as deep as the darkest well, her mouth damp and full from his kisses. His body tightened, desire eclipsing everything else. He hated her. But, goddess, he wanted her.

He strode to her as he'd left her, his strides long and angry, but when he gripped her face this time, his fingers were steady. "I'm going to . . . fuck . . . this body of yours." He'd almost said make love to, but there was no love involved. Not anymore.

She swallowed visibly, the pulse pounding in her throat. But she didn't deny it.

He squeezed her jaw. "You're going to turn to mist, Ariana."

"If I do, I'll just escape you."

His grip tightened. "I'm aware of that. But then you'll return and help my friends, because if you don't, I'll give away your secret. I'll tell the immortal world you still exist."

She paled, and he felt a moment's hesitation as that old, fierce protectiveness tried to rise.

"You can't. You can't betray me, Kougar. The mating bond won't allow it."

He shoved off the protectiveness, reminding himself she wasn't the woman he'd loved, ignoring his cat's hiss of denial. "I'll find a way, never doubt that. And when I do, you soulless bitch, I'll destroy you and yours. I swear it. Unless you help me."

Her gaze never wavered from his. Shadows of fear slid through her eyes, then dissipated, replaced by a weariness that almost plucked at his sympathy.

"Do your worst, Kougar." Her words throbbed with exhaustion. Defiance, he would have understood, but not this. His threat hadn't hit its mark. Why not? Because she didn't believe he could betray her? Or because she truly didn't believe he could make her turn to mist?

The latter sent a frisson of fear skating down his spine. If he couldn't make her turn, his friends were dead.

Falling. Falling.

Hawke felt as if he'd been tumbling for hours, perhaps even days. One minute he'd been digging the heart out of one of the Daemon's throats, the next, the ground had fallen away, the earth opening to swallow him in a swirling red vortex.

He'd lost all sense of feeling, of sight, of sound. And the sense that he'd never landed was messing with his mind.

As was the fact that he had no idea where he was. Or how to get out. Inside him, his hawk let out a fierce and angry cry, clearly not liking this any more than he was.

Tighe had been right there beside him as the earth opened. Had he, too, fallen?

Tighe? Tighe! Lyon? Anyone?

They'd only be able to hear his telepathic call if they were in their animals. Would he be able to hear them if they responded? He couldn't even feel his body, though he knew his heart must be pounding, rivulets of sweat running down his neck. Everything primal inside him roared with a need to escape this forbidding darkness.