If they remained unconscious all was lost. And if Birik suspected anything, he'd never release them from their enthrallment.

Her heart pounded as she hazarded a glance at her tormentor and risked saying too much. "I can't feel their animals. I'm...I'm afraid I won't be able to call the power through them." It wasn't entirely true. She could still feel the animals, but their energy was low beneath the magic. It was possible she really wouldn't be able to pull the same level of power through them.

She felt Birik's eyes on her, his cold gaze chilling her. "You're right. Their power is greatly dampened." But he didn't move. He continued to stand there, spearing her with his frigid gaze until she was certain he knew every thought in her head, could read every plan. She didn't move. Didn't react. Her gaze held steady in the center of his tunic-clad chest.

Finally, he turned and went to the Ferals. One after the other, he touched them, freeing them from the enchantment that would have eventually worn off on its own if there had been time.

Skye watched them, her breath held as she waited, but nothing happened. They didn't move. Birik's enchantment was like a drug in the system, a drug that took minutes to wear off. And they didn't have minutes. Midnight was upon them.

Their animals woke, rising, greeting her sluggishly. But the men remained enthralled.

They were out of time!

As the sorcerers in their bloodred hooded robes assembled outside the twin circles of flames, Birik laid a knife on top of the half column between them. Skye looked at it and knew it must be the famed Daemon blade, the prison of Satanan and his horde for five thousand years.

A chill slithered down her spine.

Birik nodded at her, a silent admonition to prepare herself, then stripped off his tunic, leaving his skin bare. Like her, he would perform the ritual sky-clad, wearing nothing but the blood of the sacrifices.

She watched Paenther, trying not to stare, not to make it too obvious she was desperate for him to wake up. She felt as if her heart would stop from the pounding fear.

She gripped the hem of her dress and pulled it off in a single move, tossing it below one of the platforms.

As she watched, Paenther's eyes opened and blinked, but didn't stray from the ceiling. Wake up completely, Paenther. Please wake up.

Glancing at Jag and Foxx, she found them both watching her with eyes that were still glazed.

The cool, damp air of the cavern caressed her skin as she went to Paenther. Birik had told her to prepare herself, but the thought of touching herself with the two Ferals watching was too much, even for her. But there were other ways. She knelt beside Paenther.

"Can you hear me?"

"I can, Beauty, though my head feels clogged with cat hair."

She bent low over him. "Maybe I can help you clear it." She kissed him, pressing her lips to his. His mouth opened beneath hers, his tongue sweeping in to claim hers. Moment by moment the kiss changed in intensity, from soft and lazy to hard and demanding. When she pulled back, sharp clarity cut through his eyes

"Where are the others?"

"They're here. It's midnight."

"Beware of Foxx, Skye. He's been turned."

She wanted to ask him why he thought so, and how it had happened, but there wasn't time. Instead, she stood to find the sorcerers circling the fire pits, Mage sentinels standing in a larger circle around them. If Paenther was right, and Foxx was no longer on their side, it was two against so many. It would take a miracle for them to win.

But if she didn't free them, they would absolutely die.

As the sorcerers took up the midnight chant, Skye turned into her dance. In her head, she repeated the spell to free their shackles. Her gaze went to Foxx, then skirted to Jag. He watched her, waiting. Ready. When she looked down at Paenther, she found him staring up at her with hatred in his expression and love in his eyes.

"Witch," he snarled loudly. "Beauty," he whispered, his voice low nearly to the point of silence. That single word, said with reverence, sang in her heart.

It was time.

Skye flung back her head, closed her eyes, and said the words to release their shackles. She felt the moment the animals within them roared in approval. She opened her eyes to a flash of sparkling lights as the Ferals shifted into their animal forms.

"Stop them!" Birik roared from across the hall.

Within a heartbeat, the Mage were on the animals with knives and magic.

On two of the animals. Foxx walked toward her, still a man, unmolested by the Mage. In his eyes was a coldness she'd never seen before. A coldness she knew all too well.

Paenther was right.

They'd stolen Foxx's soul.

She turned and ran, but Mage blocked her way, and Foxx caught her before she'd gotten out of the hall.

Skye! Get out of the cavern. Paenther's voice rang in her head.

But it was too late. For all of them.

Foxx jammed his thumb beneath her ear. Darkness descended over her mind.

Too late.

Chapter Twenty-four

No sooner had he shifted into his animal form and leaped onto his feet, than Paenther found himself surrounded by Mage wielding knives. They couldn't enthrall him in this form, but if he didn't move fast and lethally, they'd rip out his heart before he ever got a chance to attack.

The only way to beat a Mage in battle was to remove his hands so he couldn't enthrall, and that was exactly what he did. He leaped at the nearest opponent, clamped his jaw around the Mage's wrist and ripped his hand off his arm. The bastard would grow another within the hour, but for now, that was one hand that wouldn't enchant or wield a knife against him. He only had to dispose of about fifty-nine more.

Jag! Paenther called telepathically. Find Skye and the Daemon blade and get out of here!

No way.

Beauty?

Searing pain tore through his abdomen as a blade slid between his ribs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the jaguar in the middle of a battle as fierce as his own.

Beauty?

Where was Foxx? If he'd already gotten to Skye...

That's an order, Jag!

Jag's snort sounded in his head. Tough shit, Geronimo. You're not expendable. We're leaving this place together, or not at all. How many Mage do we have in here?

Thirty something. And two turned Ferals.

Oh yeah, forgot about that. We're fucked.

Paenther grunted. Get free if you can and find Birik. He's the only one who has to die.

Roger.

Paenther tore off another hand, and another, as a blade sliced through his right hindquarter. He stumbled beneath the pain and muscle damage. He'd heal, if he got the chance. The Mage were bearing down hard.

His gaze searched frantically for Skye. Beauty?

No answer. And there was no sign of Foxx.

In his heart, he knew the young Feral who'd fought by his side now fought for his enemy.

And he had Skye.

Skye? The beloved voice rang in her head.

Paenther.

Beauty! Where are you?

I don't know. Murmured voices sounded all around her, but she was still struggling back to consciousness and had yet to open her eyes. How long ago had Foxx grabbed her, knocking her out? Now she lay on her back on a thick rug, still naked, as she'd been when the ritual had begun.

Paenther, are you okay? Is Jag? So many Mage.

We have our hands full - or our mouths full, as the case may be - but we're holding our own. I'm fine now that I know you're all right. I'll find you, Skye. When you figure out where you are, tell me. I'll find you!

Skye opened her eyes slowly, a little at a time, taking in her situation, her surroundings. Her heart sank as a familiar gleaming, sumptuous decor filled her sight.

I'm in Birik's apartments, Paenther.

The chambers gave away nothing of their cave roots. The walls had been painted and hung with bright red and yellow silk; though thick stalactites clung to the ceiling, they'd been sealed against the moisture that pervaded most of the rest of the cavern. Gilt furniture filled the chamber, ornately carved tables laden with decorative crystal and power orbs.

On the walls hung the heads of animals, beasts whose lives Birik had sacrificed in the hunt for more power. The heads included several black bears who'd come to her in the woods over the years, a couple of wildcats, and four stags, with their huge racks of antlers. Each one had been drawn to her gift. Each had died at Birik's hands as she'd danced in their blood.

She hated him. Hated him!

"What are we doing in here?" Foxx asked. "Why aren't we out there fighting?"

"Seal the doors!"

As Birik's voice broke through the others, she froze, then slowly turned her head.

Birik sat on a large throne at the far end of the room, his three most powerful sorcerers on one side, Vhyper and Foxx on his other. In an arc around them, stood twelve sentinels, each armed with half a dozen blades. Birik's private guard.

Paenther...She quickly told him what she saw.

Birik looked at the young Feral with the disdain he held for all Therians. "You're in here instead of out there because I won't have you destroying them. Or helping them."

His cold gaze flicked over her and stilled. "You're awake."

Skye struggled to her feet and forced herself to face him.

Birik stepped down off his throne and crossed to her, clamping his hand around her neck the moment he reached her. "You freed them. How did you learn to remove the shackles?"

She couldn't speak through the hand cutting off her air.

"Mind-skinning," Foxx replied for her, his voice bored.

Birik squeezed. "You helped them."

Foxx snorted. "She's B.P.'s girlfriend. If she weren't Mage, he'd probably make her his mate."

If she weren't Mage. The words cut, yet she knew they were the truth. Even if they managed to make it out of here alive, there was no future for them. Paenther could never take her as his mate.

Birik's grip tightened until she could barely stand, could barely see through the pain. A fraction more and he'd crush her windpipe or snap her neck. "You willingly spread your thighs for that piece of animal trash?"

Fury erupted through the desperation. He wasn't trash! The Mage had always considered themselves superior to the Therians, yet it was the Therians, the Ferals, who acted with honor and courage. Who fought to save the world instead of destroy it.

She speared him with her gaze, something she had not had the courage to do in too many years. The flicker of surprise in his eyes pleased her.

Skye! Paenther's voice cut through the pain. I need a distraction. Pull the power, for me, little witch. The good power.

Can't...remember.

I'll say it with you.

As Birik's hand threatened to snap her neck, Paenther's voice began chanting in her head. The words Ezekiel had taught them.

Skye closed her eyes, mouthing the words, saying them in her head as she pulled her power, the true power, through the only warm-blooded animal in the room, the one inside Foxx.

Pain sliced through her chest as her cantric objected, but with the pain came a warm rush of energy. Gathering the power close, she let it grow and grow, then opened her eyes, trapped Birik in her gaze, and threw it at him.

Disbelief flashed in Birik's eyes a split second before he released her and flew backward, crashing into the table behind him. Crystal and power orbs shattered as the table collapsed beneath his slender weight.

Behind her, the door splintered, deep growls filling the room as the two jungle cats leaped inside. A jaguar and a black panther, the beautiful black panther she'd fallen in love with.

Skye, behind you!

She whirled too late. Birik hadn't stayed down and now his arm went around her neck, yanking her against his chest as his knife slid deep into her chest on a river of fire.

"You blast your power again, and your heart goes with me," he said loudly enough for all to hear. "And if your Feral makes another move, the result will be the same. If you move, cat, she dies."

Paenther froze, poised to spring at the Mage whose blade was sunk hilt deep in Skye's chest.

Beauty!

Paenther, no. Don't stop. Kill him!

He'll kill you without hesitation, I can see it in his eyes.

My life doesn't matter.

It matters. You matter.

The trouble was, how in the hell was he going to save her without getting himself enthralled in the process? A knife between Birik's eyes, another in that wrist. Tricky, since he had to be in human form to throw.

Jag, can you free a knife or two from these bastards?

Nothing I'd enjoy more, Hiawatha. But unless you've learned to throw with your tail, you're seriously risking enthrallment.

Just get me the knives, Jag. I'll do the rest.

Without hesitation, Jag went on the attack, tearing the blade hands off the closest two sentinels and tossing the metal. In a flash Paenther shifted and grabbed the knives.

But as he prepared to throw them, he froze, caught in some kind of magical net. Too late, he saw them, the three sorcerers on Birik's right staring at him with eyes of evil, murmuring beneath their breaths. Pain sliced through his head and down through his body.

Jag, get out! They've caught me. Get out before they trap us both.

Shit, the jaguar muttered, but the shout of the guard told him Jag had done as he'd commanded for once.

"Let the jaguar go," Birik said. "The others will catch him. And if they don't, I don't really care. This is the one I want."

Pain leaped inside him, scorching him from the inside out, but he watched with tearing relief as Birik slid his knife from Skye and pushed her away from him.

Skye fell to the floor, struggling for breath, but her heart was still in her chest, still beating. To an immortal, that was all that mattered. Her head turned, and she met his gaze, those blue eyes pained. For him.