As he watched her, he went feral, his eyes turning yellow, fangs erupting from his gums, though not the huge saber teeth that would appear with his animal. With a single, brutal swipe, he laid open her cheek with his claws. Pain screamed through her face, blood running down her chin and neck and into her sweater as the wound healed and the fire died.

"Take your place," Maxim said coldly.

Blinking away the tears of pain, Faith turned, carried by feet that no longer answered to her. The girls hung in the middle, Maria whimpering, fear and pleading in her eyes. Paulina had closed her eyes, a hard expression on her face, as if she knew all too well that no one ever got rescued. Only the tears silently tracking down her young cheeks betrayed her terror. Faith's heart broke at her utter inability to help them.

Beneath the girls, carved into the stone itself, lay a wide pentagram. On a low stone pedestal directly in front of Maxim sat a bleached skull painted with crude red and gray stripes, what looked like blood and ash brushed on with nothing but fingertips. Maxim passed his hand over the skull, murmuring words too low for even her sharp Feral hearing. What was he doing? A pressure began to build in her ears, making them pop. The hair began to stand up on her skin. What was he doing?

A strange rattling noise began, and she realized that the skull had begun to shake of its own accord. Faith's breath caught, her pulse tripping with real fear as the feel of magic rose in the room, pressing in on her from every direction. The skull began to glow, subtly at first, a hint of light which grew, changing colors - blue, green, yellow. With a sudden, horrific scream of air, the skull burst into flame - an unnatural, magical fire. Shock blasted her body like a jolt of electricity, igniting inside her a low, dark burn.

Her gaze flew to Lepard's and she saw in his eyes the same horror she felt. And she knew, given the chance, he would fight Maxim, too. She spoke to him telepathically, telling him of the dark magic the animal spirits had been infected with, and of the cure.

The skull is the key, Lepard told her. It empowers him and increases his control over us. So long as he lives, none of us will ever be entirely free of him.

If we can destroy the skull?

You'll weaken his power and perhaps, since you've been cured of the Mage infection, you'll no longer be under his control at all. The darkness still has the rest of us. I fight it, but . . .

It's powerful. I know.

You're really a Feral Warrior? His voice held only surprise and curiosity.

I am. Pride flowed warmly through her, joined by a brush of approval against her mind - her falcon's.

"Only one thing more is needed to fully open this conduit." Maxim's gaze rose to hers. "Blood. Human blood."

Maria gasped.

Faith's stomach spasmed. She was going to be ill.

Maxim lifted a knife, his gaze still fastened on her. "You'll do the honors, Faith. You'll cut out their hearts."

Maria began to scream and kick. "No, Faith! No, no, no!"

Faith's scalp turned hot, then cold. Her body began to shake with the force of her will as she fought the compulsion to step forward, to cross the circle, and to take the knife. As she fought to keep Maxim from killing the girls she'd come to care for so deeply.

As she lost.

Chapter Twenty

Faith's voice rang in Hawke's head, the horror in her words turning his blood to ice. He's going to make me kill the girls. He's going to make me kill them!

Hawke knew her, knew what this would do to her. Goddess, he'd suffered for nearly a century and a half from merely harming Aren. He had to reach her. The minute Faith finished carving up the girls, Maxim would turn that knife on her, Hawke had no doubt. Maybe not to kill her. She'd only wish he had. Even if she managed to survive this, killing the girls would destroy some essential part of her.

He had to get into that castle!

If only he could shift, he could fly in to help her. Dammit. If only he could have been the Feral the hawk wanted him to be. Faith was right.

I blamed you, he told the hawk. I'm sorry for that. I failed you. In so many ways, I've failed us both.

The hawk's cry in his head had a strange quality to it. A cry without anger. Almost of . . . understanding. Forgiveness? His heart began to pound.

What would happen if he handed over control right now? Now, when the falcon was nearby, when the hawk might be ready to forgive him. Would the hawk take off again, leaving the others behind? Did he know Hawke would die if he did? Did he understand that Faith would likely die, too?

Goddess. What if he did understand? What if he could be trusted in this desperate hour?

Hawke's breaths were beginning to come fast and shallow, sweat dampening his brow. There was only one way to find out, wasn't there?

Faith needs us, buddy. I'm asking you, I'm begging you, to take me to Faith now. I'm her only hope. We're her only hope.

Goddess, what was he doing? "Take me to her" meant shifting. And what if it didn't work?

Shit, what difference did it make? What did he have to lose? His connection to the animal was all but gone.

His hands began to shake. Could he really throw his lot in with the bird? With the wildness? The memory of the day he'd attacked Aren was still too fresh. It still cut too deep. But as Faith had said, he wasn't that newly turned Feral anymore, and hadn't been for a long, long time.

And this might be Faith's only chance.

Hawke turned to Kougar. "I'm shifting. I'm going in after her."

The other Feral stared at him.

Hawke swallowed hard and lifted a hand. "I can't get in there through my will alone. It's up to the hawk spirit."

"And if he takes off with you as he has in the past?"

Hawke shrugged. "I've been told that one more struggle for control with him, and our connection will snap. It's only a matter of time, Kougar. I don't have anything left to lose by trying."

Kougar stared at him long and hard, then extended his arm, his free hand clasping his shoulder. "I beg of you, spirit of the hawk, bring him back to us. He's the best of us, and you'll never mark a better man. We need him, both you and us."

"If this fails . . ." Hawke began.

"If we can get Falkyn out of there, I'll watch over her."

"She was no accident. The falcon chose her."

"I suspected as much."

Hawke released Kougar's arm and stepped back, his pulse erratic as he risked everything. He would either fly again. Or die.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused on Faith. Just Faith. Nothing else mattered but reaching her. Nothing. Slowly, he released the breath, willing the tension over what he was about to do to slide away. Okay, buddy, it's up to you. Our lives are in your hands, now.

He started to pull on the energy to shift, but it barreled through him so fast, it was a moment before the euphoria caught up with him. He was already flying!

Goddess, it worked! He was conscious, flying, aiming for the chimney Faith had flown into. For the first time, he didn't feel like he was flying alone, and it was just as Faith had described. The animal spirit wasn't exactly in control, yet neither was the man. They both knew where they had to go - into that castle after Faith. But it was the bird who powered the flight. Hawke had always been able to fly in his bird, but this was something altogether new. It felt as if the hawk spirit had brought along booster rockets!

As one - one creature, one mind - they shot down the flue, intent only on saving Faith.

And the falcon.

Huh. The bird hadn't spoken to him, yet he felt the hawk spirit's need to claim the other bird spirit as fiercely as his own to claim his mate. And Faith was, without a doubt, his mate.

They erupted into the room he'd seen in the video, what could only be called a dungeon, the walls dark stone, stained with centuries of smoke. And blood. In the center of the open room hung the two girls above a large pentagram carved into the stone floor. A Daemon's sacrificial pentagram, he relayed to his men outside.

One of the girls screamed as Faith lifted a knife in front of her and aimed it at her breast. Muscles straining, her mouth granite hard, tears streamed down Faith's beloved face, cutting out his heart and honing his determination to stop this.

Around the women stood the other new Ferals - Lepard, Polaris, Croc, and Whit, like soldiers at attention. Or puppets on steel wires. At the head of the circle stood Maxim, his expression one of hungry glee.

Without conscious thought or direction, Hawke swooped toward Faith, desperate to keep her from killing the girl. Just as her blade pierced the girl's chest, he reached her, shifting into his human form on the fly, grabbing the knife from her hand.

Maxim yelled with anger.

Hawke! Faith's voice sang in his head even as she whirled toward him, claws and fangs erupting, weapons he knew would be used against him. You did it! You shifted.

I just needed the right motivation.

Her sweet laughter rang in his head for one bright moment, a glimmer of light peeking out of the darkness. Destroy the painted skull, and you might free me. But the only way to stop this ritual is to kill Maxim.

He'd gladly do both, though that would surely be easier said than done. Sliding one of his own knives into his free hand, he turned to find the five male Ferals stalking him with blades gleaming in the flickering torchlight.

The smile on Maxim's face told him this confrontation was exactly what he'd been waiting for. And Hawke was raring for the fight. For the first time since he fell into that spirit trap, he felt whole again. Hell, more than whole. Strong, powerful, right, as he'd never been. Like a rubber band snapping into place, he'd become one with his animal at last. The bird made a low cry of agreement, his anger completely gone.

Hawke turned, keeping each of the warriors in sight. He was a skilled fighter, but no one . . . no one . . . could take on six Feral Warriors bent on his death and come out alive. And he had no doubt his death was Maxim's goal. That saber-toothed bastard appeared to be the one pulling all the strings. Adrenaline pulsed in his blood, his senses flying out in every direction. The first thing he had to do was move the fight away from the girls.

He lunged for Maxim, but Polaris, still firmly under the thrall of the dark magic, blocked him with a massive stroke of his blade. Hawke parried the blow, then whirled as Croc came at him from behind, then Whit. With both hands he fought them, his speed double what it had been before, yet the blades came too fast. Maxim shifted into his saber-toothed cat, eyes gleaming. Whit, the white tiger, did the same. Could he possibly fight off so many animals at once before they tore him to shreds?

Hawke. Faith's voice was a cry of despair. Get out of here!

No.

It's too late. The magic has been activated. The blood . . .

His gaze snapped to the girl hanging over the now-glowing pentagram, and to the blood dripping from her bare feet from a wound he hadn't been quite soon enough to prevent. But he wasn't giving up, dammit, not when he'd come this far. And he wasn't about to leave without Faith.

Her plea that he shift and escape gave him an idea. The hawk cried his satisfaction and just like that, thought became reality. In the blink of an eye, he shifted back into his bird, dodging the striking blades and snapping teeth as easily as Faith had flown through the tree limbs. Incredible what he and the hawk could do together.

Careful not to transmit his destination until the last moment, he weaved his way through the attacking Ferals until they were shouting with fury and confusion, unable to keep him in their sights. Finally, he flew for the skull and shifted back into human form as he landed. Before Maxim could react, Hawke grabbed the macabre, glowing thing and slammed it to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot.

The evil glow flickered out.

The saber-toothed cat gave a furious roar and leaped at him, those fangs gleaming in the torchlight.

Hawke, it worked! Faith's voice rang in his head. I'm free.

As he dove out of the big cat's way, slicing his blade deep into the cat's shoulder, power crawled over Hawke's skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the symbol on the floor flare with an unnatural greenish glow. He might have destroyed the skull, but he hadn't destroyed the ritual itself. Maxim had to die.

Hawke smiled. It would be his pleasure.

The other four Ferals circled around him. Destroying the skull hadn't freed the rest of them. Only Faith. She'd been cured of the infection. They hadn't. Maxim apparently still had them under his control.

Let's get him, Hawke! Faith's battle cry rang in his head.

He looked for her beyond the circling Ferals, finding her, awed by the warrior's fire in her eyes. Thought pictures appeared in his head - the two of them flying together, attacking Maxim together.

His hawk cried his approval, but the man didn't like it, not at all. It was too dangerous. The slightest mistake, and she'd be dead.

Suddenly, Lepard, Croc, and Polaris turned on Faith in perfect synchronicity. No, not perfect. Lepard was off, a beat behind. As if he struggled against the compulsion.

Before Hawke could warn her, she was gone, shifting and flying high out of her would-be attackers' reaches in the blink of an eye.

Let me go alone, he told her. Fly back up through the flue. Get out of here.

Not a chance. Her voice rang hard as steel. We're a team, now. The four of us. Two Ferals, two animal spirits. One for all and all for one.

Faith . . .

I thought you'd learned your lesson with the hawk, she said testily.

I refuse to lose you.

You're not going to lose me! You'll be right there with me. Give in to the wildness, Hawke, and trust that we can do this. Because we can!

Where in the hell had she gotten all this confidence? She was asking the impossible!

The Ferals turned back toward him, slowly lifting their blades.