Faith sank back against the wall, pressing her fist to her stomach, her heart hammering. Now probably wasn't the time to admit to them that she'd gone feral.

Hawke and Lyon joined her. Hawke slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as they continued down the passage. "It's been a hell of a night," he muttered.

She shivered. He had no idea. "I'll be glad when it's over." But it would never be over, would it? Being marked as a Feral Warrior was a life sentence. She could never leave Feral House and the Radiant, not for any amount of time. Returning to Warsaw, to Paulina and Maria and her rolling-stone life, was out of the question.

Tears burned her eyes, a hopelessness sweeping over her.

The Ferals, the real Ferals, were going to be furious when they found out she'd been marked, that one of the animals had been wasted on her. She'd be useless to them as a fighter.

The only good thing to come out of any of this was that she now had no choice but to stay close to Hawke. For as long as he wanted her. Would he want her, once he learned the truth? Sooner or later, she'd have to tell him.

But for right now, she was keeping her secret to herself.

An hour later, Hawke followed Lyon through the front door of the Georgetown enclave - a long line of town houses that opened into a single mansion inside. He held Faith's hand tight in his, unwilling to let go of her. She'd been silent on the ride over. They all had, lost to their own thoughts and worries. But there was a turmoil in Faith's silence that ate at him. She'd been through hell today between the revelation that the man she thought she loved had been hurting her and the draden attack. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd needed some time . . . and space. He'd have given them to her . . . anything. But she'd leaped into his arms as if the only place she'd wanted to be was with him.

Goddess, he adored her. Whatever happened, he would make sure she was safe, and that Maxim didn't come after her again.

Kara met them, her face pale, dark shadows under her eyes. "They're stable," she said, calming their fears as she slid into Lyon's embrace. "Paenther's still unconscious, but he's doing better now that Skye's here. Jag's torso is almost completely regrown, so his organs are no longer falling out, but his legs haven't started to re-form, yet. He's in terrible pain. But they're alive. They're going to make it."

Lyon met Hawke's gaze over the top of Kara's head, his eyes revealing the same, soul-deep relief Hawke felt. His chief's sigh was lion-sized. Lyon pulled back to look into his mate's face. "And you?"

"Tired. But fine."

"Good. Take me to them, little one."

As Kara led Lyon toward the stairs, one of the Therian women strode over to Hawke, a woman he knew only casually.

"Hello, Hawke. If we'd known the Feral Warriors were coming, we'd have prepared a proper feast. As it is, we can make you sandwiches if you're hungry."

Hawke glanced at Faith. She shook her head tiredly, the shadows in her eyes tugging at him. "We're fine, thanks, Irina."

Faith pulled her hand from his. "I'd love to use the bathroom."

Irina smiled. "Of course. This way."

The pain hit him out of nowhere, like it always did, jagged bolts radiating along the inside of his skull. Right on cue, the hawk screeched in his head, digging his talons into Hawke's brain until he almost felt as if they were drawing blood. Seven seconds, eight . . . fourteen, fifteen. Finally, the misery began to recede, and he could breathe again.

Faith, led by Irina, had already turned the corner, out of his sight, and it was all he could do not to go after her. She was his. He felt it in every bone in his body. But the last thing she needed was to get involved with him in his current state. For all that she seemed to have a calming effect on the rage, her presence had done nothing to help when he had lost control. Thirty-seven hours he'd been gone.

He didn't even know how she felt about him. He wondered if she knew. She was drawn to him, certainly, had kissed him with passionate abandon in the foyer of Feral house. But whether or not her feelings for him were anywhere near as deep as his own were for her was anyone's guess.

He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. It would be best if she never developed strong feelings for him, not if the break with his animal continued on its current downward spiral.

If he really cared about her, he'd push her away.

But it would be easier to stop breathing.

Chapter Eleven

Faith slipped into the bathroom, closed and locked the door, and began stripping. If she had feral marks, she wanted to see them. And if she didn't? Then something else was at play. With determined hands she yanked her shirt over her head, unfastened her bra and tossed it aside, then stood in front of the mirror, turning her back to peer over her shoulder, lifting her arms, her breasts. Where are they?

Kicking off her shoes, she unsnapped her jeans and pulled them off, then studied her legs, front and back. Still no sign of the scars that all Ferals sported somewhere on their bodies. That glimmer of hope grew inside her. Maybe it really was something else that had made her draw claws and fangs.

She closed the toilet lid and used it as a step to the counter until she was standing stark naked in front of the oversized mirror, hunched over so she didn't hit her head on the ceiling. Turning her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder, and that was when she saw them, high on her inner thigh - four small claw marks.

Damn.

Reaching between her legs, she felt for them, her fingertips sliding over the shallow indentations she could barely feel and wouldn't have noticed unless she'd been looking for them. That glimmer of hope sputtered and died. After a last, dismayed glance at those treacherous marks, she jumped down, then quickly dressed again. At least no one would accidentally see them. Unless she went feral again, no one would know. She'd have to tell someone eventually, of course. When the time was right.

She swallowed. Not now.

Hawke was waiting for her when she left the bathroom. His brows drew together as if he could read her thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"You keep asking me that."

"I care." His hand slid beneath her hair, cupping her neck, his eyes warm as a summer sun, then dimming as he frowned. "You're shaking."

Who wouldn't be at the prospect of having nine Feral Warriors furious at her? Maybe even ready to toss her in their prison. She shrugged and tried to smile, uncertain how good an effort she'd made. "It's been a rough day."

Hawke's eyes softened, his hands lifting to frame her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. "I'm sorry." The truth of those words throbbed in his voice, bringing tears to her eyes. He leaned close and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then pulled back, watching her for several long moments before his gaze dipped to her mouth. His nostrils flared as his touch grew more firm, more . . . needy.

She trembled in anticipation as his head bent down to hers. The moment their lips touched, reason fled. With a groan, he hauled her against him, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, stealing her breath, her thoughts. His lips were at once firm and soft, his kiss tender and fierce. She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him tight as their tongues stroked one another, sliding together in a spiraling, sensual ballet, a melding that teased and inflamed, sending a flush over her skin and damp heat pooling between her legs.

She pressed herself against him, needing to be closer, and felt the hard press of his erection against her stomach.

Hawke groaned, then leaned down and swept her into his arms, still kissing her. Vaguely, she was aware that he carried her a short distance, around a corner, into an empty sitting room of some kind. Still kissing her, he released her legs, holding her upper body tight against him until she twisted and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing swollen, sensitive flesh against his male hardness.

Hawke gripped her buttocks, pulling her tighter, and she gasped at the stroke of sweet fire. He tore his mouth from hers, kissing her cheek, then pulled back just enough to look into her face as he slid himself slowly along her mons, sending rippling shards of pleasure straight up into her core even with them both fully clothed. Her eyes too heavy to fully open, she smiled at him.

"You like that," he murmured, his voice rich with male satisfaction.

"Oh, yeah."

Holding her hips tight, he rubbed himself against her again and again until she was rocking back, gasping with impending release. The orgasm broke over her, fast and explosive and she cried out, the sound swallowed by Hawke's hard, passionate kiss. He continued to rock against her as the spasms rolled through her, one after another, until finally she floated back down from the ether.

As she calmed, he buried his face against her neck, kissing the curve, kissing her jaw. Beneath his gentleness, she felt the strain of his own unrelieved need in the tension of his back and neck and the fine vibrations in his hands.

Slowly, he pulled back and let her legs slide to the floor. He pressed her against the wall behind her, looking down into her face with heavy, sexy-as-sin eyes. "You are so beautiful. Always. But in the throes of passion . . ." He shook his head, his eyes growing even heavier, burning with a fire that made her shiver with longing all over again. He gripped her waist, his warm hands sliding under her shirt, caressing her heated skin, then rising to cover her breasts.

He leaned forward, kissing her temple as his fingers found her nipples and squeezed, making her gasp and arch into his touch. His hands were shaking, his breaths coming hard and fast as he pulled one hand away, pressed his palm against her abdomen, and slid it down into her pants, inside her panties, and down into her wetness.

His big body shuddered, his cheek pressed against her temple. "You're so hot, so ready for me. I need to be inside you."

She pressed against his seeking fingers, moaning with pleasure as he stroked her sensitive clitoris, then slid inside her heat. "Yes." She wanted him inside her, covering her, under her, beside her. Now. Always.

"I need to find a room with a lock. And a bed."

Where he'd undress her. Part her legs. See her feral marks.

She froze.

Hawke stilled, then slowly pulled his hand from her pants. "When you're ready."

She stared at him, drowning in the gentle concern she saw in his eyes. But this wasn't about Maxim as Hawke believed. They'd never had any kind of physical relationship. A wisp of nightmare seared her mind. Pain. Her breath caught on a shudder. Yes, they'd had a physical relationship, just not a loving one. None of her feelings for Maxim had been real.

Hawke cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb, as he watched her with a gentle intensity, the fire banked beneath layers of tenderness. "I'll give you all the time you need, Smiley. But you're mine."

Inside, an answering cry sounded from her heart. But would he feel that way when he knew the truth of what she'd become?

"There you are." Tighe stuck his head in the room. "Lyon's called a meeting. The conference room is at the end of the hall." He motioned with his head and was gone.

Hawke turned back to her, still stroking her cheek as he looked deep into her eyes as if he'd find and steal her secrets. As if he'd keep them safe for all eternity. As if he'd keep her safe. He slid his hand over the back of her head, pulling her against his side as he turned for the door.

Minutes later, they were seated side by side at a large conference table. Kougar took the seat beside Hawke.

"I heard you were injured," Hawke said to his friend.

"Lost an arm and shoulder." Both of which had fully grown back.

Wulfe, Tighe, and Olivia filed in and took seats across from them. Olivia looked pale. Faith understood why as Jag's yell echoed down from high in the house.

Wulfe frowned. "I thought he was doing okay."

Olivia grimaced. "His legs are regrowing. Along with everything in between."

Several of the Ferals blanched.

"There's nothing in this world more painful than regrowing a penis," Kougar said quietly.

"It's taking longer than the legs." Olivia crossed her arms tight as if shielding herself as another of Jag's yells echoed through the house.

"That's part of the reason it's so painful. It takes forever."

"How much longer?" Olivia asked.

"Another hour, maybe."

Every man shuddered this time. Olivia squeezed her eyes closed. "It better come back as good as new, that's all I'm saying."

Vhyper joined them, and Lyon took his place at the front of the room. Over the next ten minutes, they recounted the battle, everything that happened on that battlefield, even before Maxim reached them.

"They attacked all at once." Tighe leaned forward, his hands fisted on the table in front of him. "One well-choreographed move that we never saw coming. One moment they were fighting the draden, the next, us. If we'd been any less skilled, they might have killed us all."

Olivia made a sound of disagreement. "I've known Polaris for centuries. He's as good a man as any man here, and he would never have turned on you willingly." Her gaze sought Lyon's. "You know that. He had to have been enthralled."

"I have to agree with Olivia." Beside Faith, Hawke leaned forward. "Maxim told Faith that the new Ferals planned to kill us and free the Daemons. The Mage have found yet another way to fill the Feral ranks with those who'll release the Daemons from their magical prison."

Wulfe frowned. "Fox didn't attack us at all. He fought with us. He got a chunk of fur torn out of his hide from one of the seventeen in that initial battle. He fought them, not us."

"Grizz was the one who went after Fox," Vhyper added. "I was too preoccupied with fighting to pay a lot of attention, but I remember thinking it was a lame-ass attack."