Emotion flared in his eyes. Anger, or perhaps pain.
Ariana turned away. She couldn't undo the past, however badly she might want to.
"One of your maidens died on the battlefield soon after you left that day," he said, his voice quiet. "She was, as you said, crazed. She told us all the Ilinas were dying. It wasn't moments later that you severed the mating bond. I was afraid it was true, but I had to know. I went to the temple."
Ariana jerked around to face him. "You climbed the Himalayas in the eleventh century?"
"I had to know. The Wind and Horse accompanied me."
"How long did it take you?"
"Nearly a year. We were weak as newborn kittens from lack of radiance by the time we got back to Feral House. But in that temple, which I'd visited with you only once, I found the fires out, the magic gone. No evidence of life, and I believed you were gone."
Remembered pain sliced through his eyes, and, for a moment, she glimpsed the terrible grief she'd put him through. She reached for him, her hand going to his cheek.
"I'm sorry."
The pain in his eyes disappeared, shuttered behind strong male pride. But he lifted her onto his lap and held her, setting up a deep ache in her heart as she wished things between them could be simple.
As she wished he could be hers again.
Wulfe led Xavier into the kitchen, the young man grinning with an untempered emotion most seeing individuals would have long ago learned to mask. With his hand on the young man's upper arm, Wulfe led him to the center island, then pulled up as Pink glanced around from where she was working, mixing ingredients into a bowl.
"Xavier offered to give you a hand, Pink."
The bird-woman stiffened. Though she said nothing, it was clear he'd offended her.
Wulfe cleared his throat. "Let me put it another way. Xavier is human, and blind, and we can't steal his memories."
Pink's bird eyes tightened with understanding.
"Our options are limited." Wulfe shrugged. "I thought maybe you could use an assistant."
He didn't have to spell out the alternative if she refused. Pink might look as odd as they came, but she had a quick mind and a good heart.
"Then I'd be happy for the help, Xavier."
"Cool!" The human felt the space in front of him carefully, then extended his hand in her direction as if wanting to shake. "It's nice to meet you, Pink."
Pink didn't move. As Xavier's smile died, his hand slowly dropping to his side, her gaze flew helplessly to Wulfe.
Hell, just because the kid couldn't see didn't mean he didn't need to know. He laid his hand on Xavier's shoulder and explained. "Pink should have been a shape-shifter, Xavier, but an accident before her birth killed the animal within her and left her an anomaly. She's half woman, half flamingo. Her hands are like ours, but covered with pink feathers instead of skin."
Xavier's smile covered his face. "Cool. If you don't want to shake my hand, Pink, just say so. I can't read your expression or body language, so subtle doesn't work with me. Just tell me what you want me to do, or don't want me to do. Or you can hit me over the head with a rolling pin or something. I've got a hard head. Just ask my sister."
The kid grinned. "You can't hurt my feelings. Believe me, I've heard it all. That I'm too weird, that my eyes go every which way, that I smile too big, and my expressions aren't normal. It's hard to mimic 'normal' when you've never seen it." He smiled a soft, friendly smile. "If you can handle my strangeness, I promise I can handle yours."
Yeah, they were going to have to find a way to keep this kid alive.
"Xavier?" Pink said quietly. "I'd be happy to shake your hand."
The kid's grin widened as he reached out slowly, as if not wanting to startle her. As Pink slid her feathered hand in his, the human's expression changed to one of delight and amazement. Though Wulfe knew both he and Pink were watching for it, he saw not an ounce of revulsion.
"Your feathers feel . . . soft. Really nice."
"Thank you, Xavier."
Xavier released her hand with a laugh. "So, tell me what you want me to do. I'm slow at first, until I learn my way around, but I can do anything. Especially vegetables. I'm great at chopping vegetables."
"Chopping? But . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"Hey, blind people can chop. When you get going with the knife, you can't tell me you're watching and measuring every cut."
"No. I suppose I'm not." A pause. "Then I'll give you vegetable duty. I've only recently added them back into the menu on a regular basis."
Wulfe grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and strode through the swinging doors back into the dining room, where he settled his big frame on one of the chairs, out of their way, yet close enough to listen. He wanted to see what happened when he wasn't in the room. Xavier was a talker, and he wondered how long it would take the quiet Pink to tire of it . . . and him. But as he listened, he was surprised to hear Pink's soft words.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Xavier? I've never met a blind person before."
"Ask away."
"How do you cook . . . when you can't see?"
Lyon and Jag strode into the dining room. Lyon stilled at the sound of Xavier's voice, scowling. "What's he doing up here?"
"Xavier can cook." Wulfe took a swig of his beer. "I thought Pink could use a little help around here."
"No."
"We can't clear his memories, Roar." Wulfe rose to face his chief, eye to eye. "He can stay here."
"No. It's too dangerous."
"The bird could use some help," Jag said. At Wulfe's look of surprise, Jag shrugged. "Our numbers are growing, and while she lets the women help her, I can tell she doesn't like it. It makes her feel uncomfortable. Like she no longer has a purpose."
"Xavier needs her," Wulfe said quietly. "Just like her, he's stuck here. And he can help her."
Lyon shook his head. "If he escapes, or is even just spotted outside, the human authorities will be crawling all over Feral House before we know what's happened. I don't have to tell you all the ways that could turn into a disaster."
Lyon wasn't budging, and Wulfe was getting desperate. Even though Natalie would never know, he didn't want her brother's blood on his hands.
"We can bind him, Roar. Skye's people might be able to come up with some kind of cuffs like the Mage used on Paenther that will keep him tied to the house and away from the phones and computers so he can't tell anyone he's here."
"Can blind people use computers?" Jag grunted. "Wouldn't they need braille keyboards or something?"
"Not the point," Wulfe growled.
Lyon shook his head. "It's too danger--"
The sound of laughter stopped him cold. A sweet, high-pitched laughter as rare as a blue moon. Pink's.
Jag smiled, cutting Lyon a look that said the chief had just lost, and they all knew it. "Sounds to me like the bird has a new friend."
Lyon's growl was one of pure frustration. "Find a way to secure him. One slip, and he dies. No second chances."
Wulfe nodded, fighting back his own smile. "Yes, sir."
Lyon lifted a brow, then swung away.
Jag's smile was slow and satisfied. "Good job . . . Dude." With a chuckle, he slapped Wulfe on the back, then headed into the kitchen.
Wulfe let his own smile loose. As screwed up as everything else was, at least one thing had gone right. He lifted his finger to trace the newest scar on his cheek. Natalie had given him a gift in her smile, in her laughter. Most of all, in her lack of fear and revulsion.
He'd given her two in return even though, if all went as planned, she wouldn't remember. But he would.
He'd never forget.
Chapter Fifteen
Kougar woke suddenly, his feral senses and warrior instincts taking in the situation in an instant, telling him they were in no immediate danger. He and Ariana were lying, spooned, on the cool temple floor, her body warm and tensed with pain beneath the curve of his arm. And he knew, now, what had awakened him. She was getting another memory download.
He lifted his arm off her and stroked her hair, marveling that he'd actually slept. Not that he hadn't needed the sleep. He had. But, goddess, they were hardly safe down here, not with the Mage a mere two stories above, trying to reach them.
Ariana had suggested he sleep while she waited for Hookeye to dream, but he hadn't thought he'd actually do it. He hadn't thought he had that kind of trust in anyone but another Feral.
Apparently, he trusted her more than he'd realized.
He continued to stroke her hair until the tension slowly left her body. "You okay?"
"Yes. I'm remembering." The wonder in her voice eased his concern, lifting his pulse and his hopes. "I've remembered something important."
She sounded preoccupied, as if she was watching a movie he couldn't see. Which was probably exactly what she was doing. A movie in her own head.
He relaxed, sliding his hand up and down her arm in slow, soft movements while he waited impatiently for her to tell him.
When she began to speak, her voice was quiet and far away. "The Temple of the Queens was built in the Himalayas for a reason. This mountain actually breaches the Syphian Stream, the same mystical energy stream in which the Crystal Realm was built, although the Crystal Realm is far from here and high above the Earth."
That had always been incomprehensible to him--how a castle had been built in the air, in the clouds. Then again, the women who'd built it were themselves mystical creatures of light and mist. And magic.
"The queen who first discovered the wormhole into the Daemons' spirit trap lived during those dark days of the Daemon Wars. She'd been badly injured in a Daemon attack, unable to live without regular infusions of that mystical energy. Her name was Rayas. And the crystal through which she channeled that energy, much as a Feral's armband channels the power of the Earth, kept her alive.
"To reach the Syphian, Rayas stood atop the temple, at the very crown, lifting her hands into the air to draw down the power she needed to survive. One day, while she was up there, she turned to mist and found herself able to merge with the energy stream. She found the wormhole by accident and followed it down into the spirit trap. She'd known the Daemons possessed such a trap, but none had ever known where it was or how to breach it. Now she knew."
"So it's true. Olivia, Jag's mate, seemed to think there's only one actual trap. That it's accessed through various wormholes."
"Yes, there's only one. As the wars escalated, and word came of Mage or Therians who'd been caught in the trap, she went in and pulled them out. Often, she was too late with the Mage. Their souls and bodies were separated quickly. But not so the Therians, who, in those days, were all shifters. The separation of animal from body took days."
Eleven days, if the seventeen were anything to go by. Eleven days, of which eight had passed for Hawke and Tighe. The knowledge felt like dragon's breath on the back of his neck.
Ariana pulled away from him to roll onto her stomach, lifting onto her elbows. Her eyes shone like a pair of gems. "I know where that crystal is, the Crystal of Rayas."
Finally, something was going right. He lifted onto his elbow. "Let's get it."
"It's not here in the temple. It's in the Crystal Realm. And I can't leave the temple until it's through with me. It answered my plea this time, but I guarantee if I walk away now, it won't again. I can't leave until I've retrieved all the memories I've lost."
"You can get into that spirit trap and rescue them."
The light in her eyes died. She sat up, turning her back on him to face the pool. "I still can't turn to mist, Kougar. Now I know what to do once I can, but that's all."
They had one answer but not the other. He sat up beside her. "Still no idea how to solve that piece of the puzzle?"
She glanced at him, her expression pensive. "No. But I can feel the gathered energy still waiting to strike me with more memories. It may take days for me to sort through them all."
"Hawke and Tighe don't have days."
Her eyes softened, saddened. "I know. I'm trying, Kougar. I'm as desperate to defeat this thing as you are."
He reached for her, cupping the back of her neck. "I know." He pulled her toward him. When she turned to him, he covered her mouth, losing himself in the feel of her warm lips against his, her sweet taste and scent. The need to do something, to save his friends, was eating a hole in his gut. But kissing Ariana, he could almost forget anything and anyone else existed.
He stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, and she opened for him, her tongue sliding over his lips greedily. Blood began to pulse through his veins, pressure building in his head, in his chest. He pulled her tighter against him, the need to hold her, to be one with her, a pounding in his body. How had he survived a thousand years without her?
His fingers dove into her silken hair as his lips moved over her cheek, her jaw. Her taste was nectar on his tongue, her soft moan, as he trailed his mouth down her throat, the sweetest of music.
Fire burned inside him, a need as much of the soul as the body. A need to touch and hold, to be one with her.
Soft palms slid over his cheeks, her fingers curling around the back of his neck as she pulled him down to take one perfect breast in his mouth. He drank in the sweet scent of lilies of the valley mixing with Ariana's unique, seductive mating scent as he pulled her to him and suckled her soft flesh.