CHAPTER 23. Paenther wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Vhyper walked into the small cell, grinning the old Vhyper grin

Paenther wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Vhyper walked into the small cell, grinning the old Vhyper grin, his bald head gleaming. But no warmth lurked in his eyes.

No humanity.

“Looks like old home week. Nice of you to join us, B.P. I told Birik to set a place at the ritual table for you, so to speak. I knew all he had to do was let you know we’d all be losing our heads tonight, and you’d come riding to the rescue. Do I know my friend, or what? ”

“You fucking turncoat, ” Jag snarled.

“He’s not Vhyper, ” Paenther said evenly. “Vhyper is as trapped by the evil as we are.”

Vhyper snorted. “You wish. I’m who I always was, but changed.” He lifted one ironic brow. “In a good way, of course.”

“You’re wrong. The man I would give my life for is still inside you. And he isn’t going to let us die.”

“Right.” The word was dry, Vhyper’s eyes hard. “Even if you were correct, and I could be saved, it wouldn’t be enough to get you out of here. I’m not the only Feral weapon in the Mage arsenal.”

Paenther glanced at the cub. “We’re aware Birik can control Foxx.”

“Oh, he’s doing a lot more than controlling him, B.P.”

Foxx made a sound of disbelief. “What do you mean by that? ”

“That’s the beauty of it, Cub.” Vhyper tugged on his earring. “Even you don’t know what you’ve become. Which is what made you such a powerful weapon.”

Paenther’s blood turned cold.

“What have I become? ”

“Zaphene’s pawn that Birik claimed once she was dead. Zaphene carved out your soul but left your conscience and personality in place so none of us knew. Not even you. Your youth combined with your intuitive talent made you especially malleable. You killed Beatrice, then switched the Daemon blade for the ritual blade that night on the goddess stone when we called the power of the lion. I lost my own soul that night thanks to that blade.

“When I found the Mage and turned over the blade to Birik, I told him about you. I knew Paenther would come looking for me. I suspected, correctly, that he’d bring you and your intuition. Of course, it wasn’t really your intuition that led you here. All the time, you were acting on Birik’s commands. He ordered you to come to the Blue Ridge and to stop at the Market, where Skye was waiting to choose a Feral.”

Paenther’s head was beginning to pound. Meeting Skye was no coincidence. It had never been an accident. Foxx had delivered him into her hands.

“Why are you telling us all this? ” Jag grunted. “You’re starting to sound like some movie villain, spilling your guts like this.”

“Jag…” Paenther groaned. If he ever got out of here, he’d string that cat up by his tail.

Vhyper glanced at Jag with a smirk. “Just thought you’d like to know.” But when his gaze swung to Paenther, something moved deep in his eyes. His friend. The real Vhyper was the one spilling the plan. Hoping Paenther could use the information?

“So I didn’t escape capture when Skye caught B.P.? ” Foxx’s voice rose with his mounting disbelief.

“Of course not. They called you into the caverns, fucked with your mind to make sure you were firmly under Birik’s control, then stole your memories of the mountain and sent you away so the Ferals wouldn’t find us.” Vhyper grunted. “Birik misjudged the grit of his little enchantress and B.P.’s determination to escape. Once they left, he sent minions to call Paenther back through the shackles, but when that didn’t happen, he called you.”

“To Jefferson Street, ” Jag muttered.

Vhyper shrugged. “The rest fell into place as I predicted, with B.P. riding to the rescue and Skye his only way back in here.” His look turned smug. “Now everything’s in place, ladies and gents. Tonight, we just might free Satanan.”

“Zaphene didn’t steal my soul, ” Foxx wailed. “She didn’t! ”

“Fraid she did, Cub. Look on the bright side. Birik’s sacrificing you tonight just saves the Ferals from having to destroy one of their own.”

Foxx had turned pale, his freckles stark against his skin. “I’m ruined, ” he whispered.

Vhyper chuckled. “Birik plans to strip away your conscience before the ritual tonight just in case anything unforeseen happens. You’ll be firmly in his camp soon enough. And after midnight? You’ll be dead.” He shrugged. “We all will.”

“Vhype.” Paenther nailed Vhyper with his gaze. “We’ll get out of this, Vhyper. Together. Don’t ever doubt it.”

He saw it again. That flicker of awareness, of humanity behind those cold eyes, and the memory of those words that Vhyper had said over and over again as they’d lain trapped in Ancreta’s dungeon all those years ago. His friend had heard him.

Vhyper frowned, then turned toward the door. “Enjoy your fantasy, B.P. I have a feast to indulge in before our big night.”

With Vhyper’s departure, the small cell turned quiet as a tomb.

Paenther eyed the youngest Feral, a deep regret encasing his heart. “Don’t despair, Cub. The evil controlling Vhyper is a liar. We can’t trust anything he says.” But, if he was right, if the real Vhyper had been behind the gut spill, he’d been telling the truth.

Foxx looked up, his eyes at once furious and terrified. “She didn’t take my soul, B.P. I know it. I know it.”

Jag grunted. “Doesn’t really matter whether or not you have a soul. They’re controlling you.” He eyed Paenther ruefully. “I hope to hell you still have a plan.”

Paenther sighed. “So do I.”

Skye’s stomach was in knots, her eyes burning with unshed tears, her skin crawling with fear as she led Faithful and the other three deer down to the Hall of Feasts as Birik had ordered. Behind her, the two sentinels followed. All four deer pressed against her, feeling her fear, but it was Faithful she clutched the tightest.

The moment she’d stepped outside, with the two sentinels at her back, she’d realized what would happen. Faithful would be the first to answer her call. She’d tried to send her away, but her friend had refused to leave her side. And one of Birik’s sentinels had slipped a rope around her neck.

Skye struggled to take a deep breath, to find some semblance of calm. If all went as planned, the deer wouldn’t die. None of them would, creature or Feral.

But nothing was going as planned. And it was nearly midnight.

A hundred things could go wrong, Tighe had said. And it seemed they already had.

As she neared the Hall of Feasts, she heard the sounds of the tables being cleared and removed. The hall was huge, with a soaring, irregular ceiling covered in stalactites, and a floor cut this way and that by columns and curtains formed over millions of years from the stone. Not only was the hall the largest of the rooms in the caverns, it was also one the most sumptuously furnished after Birik’s apartments.

Thousands of lightwicks floated through the air, gleaming off the gilt, crystal-laden tables and red brocade dining chairs. Thick rugs covered the floors, for though the stalactites remained, like icicles frozen in time, none dared drip in this place.

When she’d first come to the caverns, musicians had played, accompanying every meal with a symphony of sound. But that was before. No music sang in hearts robbed of souls.

As she led Faithful and the other deer down the wide entrance passage she saw that the cavern had been decorated for the Moon Feast—the most powerful night of the Mage calendar, when the energies of the moon and Earth were at their zenith. The lightwicks floating above the hall had been shot through with rainbows, the colors snapping and glittering over the rock.

As she’d suspected, the hall was being cleared, the tables carried out and the rugs rolled and removed. She’d never done the ritual in this hall, and she wondered why Birik needed such a large space. The question did nothing to ease the ever-tightening knots in her stomach.

Already, in the cleared area on the near side of the natural columns that divided the hall, fires had been lit in great caldrons, forming a large ritual circle. Set within the circle were four cages. Leading her companions into the hall, she saw that the cages were filled nearly to overflowing with snakes.

How many creatures does Birik intend to kill tonight?

It was a moment before she realized that beyond the columns were other fires. A second ring.

Two circles?

Of course. Birik would raise power through the sacrifice of Vhyper and his snakes, while he expected her to do the same with the other Ferals and her deer. If the two energies melded and joined the way he obviously hoped they would, the combination might well be explosive.

She skirted the first circle, heading toward the second. As she cleared the columns, her pulse began to skate, fast and erratic.

Within the fire ring sat three wood platforms, tilted at a slight angle. Jag and Foxx lay chained and unconscious on two of them, their heads at the lower ends. On the floor beneath each platform sat a large vat ready to catch the blood.

Paenther lay on the floor in the middle of the circle, naked and staked as he’d been the night they’d freed the Daemons. But like his friends, unconscious. Or enthralled.

Her stomach rolled. She’d been practicing the chant to remove the shackles since she entered the caverns, but it wasn’t going to do an ounce of good if they stayed like this.

Unconscious Ferals weren’t going to be able to fight, shackles or no shackles.

Dear Mother, what am I supposed to do, now? Please don’t let these men or these creatures in my care die.

She led her small menagerie between the fire pits and into the circle, trying not to stare at Paenther, but fear and love welled up inside her until she couldn’t look away. His black hair hung back from his face, revealing the tattoo on his chest and throat, and the claw marks across his eye. Even enthralled, there was a latent power about him that drew her, that excited her on a hundred levels. A hard strength and a silent bone-deep promise of retribution to anyone who dared cross him.

How was she ever going to live if he died?

She forced herself to turn away. He wasn’t going to die. She refused to allow it.

With a touch of her hands, she ushered the deer to the empty platform she knew Birik intended for her pets’ slaughter. Struggling against tears, she tied them loosely around the necks with the ropes attached to an eyebolt screwed into the rock. Then she knelt and calmed them as best she could, meeting Faithful’s dark-eyed gaze, praying she could save them all. At the sound of quiet steps behind her, she turned to find Vhyper approaching.

Part of her, the part beaten and abused too many times within the walls of these caverns, wanted to ignore him, or to run and cower against the wall. But something had happened to her in Feral House. Within Paenther’s strong, gentle arms, she’d recovered a lot of the strength she’d once had. And it was a strength she refused to lose again.

Taking a deep breath, she rose and faced him, her fists clutching the skirt of the dress she’d donned after she returned.

“Big night, ” Vhyper said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

She tried to reconcile this cold, dangerous man with the friend who had once risked everything to keep Paenther alive.

Lacing her fingers together at her waist, she cocked her head at him. “You do know Birik means to kill you, right? ”

“Of course.”

“Why would you sacrifice your life for him, Vhyper? ”

He tugged at his earring. “Not for him, little witch. For Satanan.”

“You’d give up your life to free the very evil you’re sworn to fight? An evil that will destroy everyone and everything you’ve ever cared about? That will decimate this world? ”

Something flickered in his eyes. A knowledge. A pain.

Paenther was right. The real Vhyper, the one with the soul, was still in there. But it was the other one who struck with the speed of a snake, backhanding her and knocking her to the ground. Face throbbing, she watched the large Feral walk away.

Pushing herself to her feet, she turned to find Birik coming toward her, a black snake wrapped around his arm, a second curved around his neck. As he neared, she looked away as she always had.

“It’s time to begin. When I tell you to, start your dance, then mount your Feral. You’ll have to ready yourself this time, unless you’d like one of my men to do it.”

She jerked her head, going cold at the thought. So many times her body had been used, in so many ways. But after knowing Paenther’s touch, the thought of anyone else touching her made her ill. “I can do it.”

Birik nodded. “The sorcerers will drench you in the blood of the deer. But not until you climax will we sacrifice the three Ferals, and we’ll do it all at once. The surge of power should be…astounding. Prepare yourself.”

He turned away and lifted his voice, sending a high call echoing over the stone, signaling the Mage to gather. Sorcerers, sentinels, and witches alike appeared through the doorways and rushed toward the circles.

Skye’s heart clutched. The Ferals were still unconscious.

“Birik…” As he turned back, she looked away before he saw the worry in her eyes and started to suspect its cause. “I need…I need them awake.”

“They’re safer this way. Order the panther to get hard for you and you should be able to mount him. If not, use your hand.”

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.