He pulled back, his gaze narrowing even as he brushed the hair back from her face with shaking hands. "What do you mean?"

"The falcon is talking with the hawk. She's relaying the gist of the conversation to me."

The look he gave her would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so dire.

She shrugged. "What can I say? I have a gift for language."

"Falcon speak?"

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter! All I know is the spirit trap frayed the connection between you, you're making it worse, and he's frantic."

"I'm making it worse? He's the one who keeps stealing control! How am I the one making it worse?"

"You're not working with him, you're doing nothing to heal the connection."

He stared at her, as if not quite believing, yet trying to. "Tell me how."

"You have to give up control to him." She persisted despite Hawke's scowl. "You have to become one with him."

"You think I haven't tried? He takes over, and I lose hours at a time. Thirty-seven, last time."

Faith stroked his hair back from his face before once more pressing her hand to his temple. "You've never given up control to him, Hawke. He snatches it, but you've never truly given it."

The scowl returned. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I'm asking you to do what you have to in order to survive." She gripped his face, leaning forward until she felt as if she were pouring her will into his eyes. "You're going to die if you don't. And soon. The connection is nearly broken." Emotion ripped through the wall of will and darkness, rushing her with anguish and pain. She caressed his cheek. "I don't want you to die."

His jaw clenched beneath her fingers. "If I give in to him - "

"No. Not give in. That's just it. You must freely, willingly, completely hand him control."

He stared at her. "I can't."

The darkness began to sweep over her again. She felt it rushing back in and snatched her hands from his face. "Hawke!"

He must have realized what was happening because the next thing she knew, she was on her stomach, his warm body lying along the length of her, his hands pinning hers above her head.

"Don't leave me, Hawke. Don't leave me."

"I won't, Smiley. I won't."

But he didn't understand. And she couldn't help him any more. Terror ripped through her at the thought that she'd try to fight him again, that she'd drive him past the brink.

"Don't die," she whispered brokenly as the dark magic swept her away.

"We have to get her cured."

Hawke turned his head from where he lay atop Faith's back, both of them stark naked, as she fought and bucked beneath him, struggling to get free of his hold. Kougar stood just outside the cell door.

"Have you been standing there the whole time?" The thought of another Feral watching him make love to a woman didn't bother him. Hell, if he ever got the chance to take Faith as his mate, they'd all watch. It was part of the mating ceremony. But the thought that Kougar had witnessed him attacking her made him sick with shame. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"First, I haven't been standing here the whole time - I shifted and curled up on the floor in the corner. But I heard clearly enough - rough sex and two very willing participants. If you'd been harming her, I'd have stopped you."

Hawke would have liked to get up, but Faith was still thrashing, facedown, lost once more to the darkness that demanded his blood. She couldn't draw it like this, which helped him hold on to his own control. Besides, he was just possessive enough not to like the idea of Kougar seeing the full extent of Faith's beauty, though with her being Feral now, they'd all see her nude, eventually. It was just a matter of time.

He heard the heavy tread of footsteps. Company. He let his forehead fall to the back of Faith's head and almost got a broken nose when she reared back.

"Still both human, I see," Lyon drawled.

"It's been an eyeful," Kougar replied.

Hawke glared at him. "You said you hadn't watched."

Kougar shrugged. "I lied." He turned to their chief. "Any word on the cave?"

"They're not making any progress. Like so many things now, the magic the Mage used seems to have threads of Daemon magic woven into it. We may never break through."

Hawke growled, tired of lying on the floor while the discussion went on high above his head. He pushed to his feet, dragging a struggling Faith with him. She kicked out, catching him hard in the shin. He pressed her face-first against the wall where he could still see his brothers. "She has to be cured."

"Ariana believes the exorcism can be performed in any mystic circle, now that they know how it works." Lyon opened his mouth to continue, then closed it with a frown and a shake of his head.

Hawke read him all too easily. "There was an enormous but at the end of that sentence, Roar. Quit trying to spare me."

Lyon met his gaze, his own somber. "They aren't sure. And if it doesn't work, they're worried they may make the situation worse. They may make the magic's hold on her stronger. They want to give it more time. A day or two."

Hawke growled.

"No," Kougar said. "It has to be done now. Hawke's connection is nearly gone, and Faith's situation is driving the nails into his coffin. Separating them isn't the answer. We've got to get her cured."

Lyon's gaze met Hawke's, a deep well of feeling in his eyes. "Then we do it now."

An hour later, they were gathered in the mystic circle behind Feral House. Dawn had broken, though the sun had yet to rise. The earth smelled damp and new.

Hawke stood within the fire circle, with Faith locked in his arms, still struggling. Unlike the goddess stone, this spot didn't possess strong enough mystic energies to create a barrier through which she couldn't pass. If he let her go, she'd escape, and they'd never get her cured. At least they were dressed, more or less. He'd escaped the prison cell long enough to pull on a pair of clean sweatpants and T-shirt from the gym, then returned with several more shirts, afraid he'd have trouble getting one on Faith. He had. She'd shredded two, but the third hung to midthigh, covering the important parts. It was the best he could do with her still literally fighting him tooth and nail.

As Ariana and the Shaman chanted, the magic rose, sliding over him, different from the cold, creeping sensation of the cave's magic. This was more of a pressure that came and went, like snakes wrapping themselves around his limbs and torso and moving on.

Within his arms, Faith cried out, arching back as if in terrible pain.

"Hold on, Smiley. Hold on. Let them free you."

She thrashed in his arms, then cried out again, over and over, each cry more brutal than the last, flaying him. But unlike last time, her body didn't bend in impossible angles, breaking bones. If that started happening, he was going to lose it, there was no doubt in his mind. Simply watching her in pain was bad enough. Deep inside, the hawk's distress melded with Hawke's own silent roar. It was all he could do not to carry her away, to free her from the pain. But he wasn't that lost, not yet. Her only freedom came through exorcising the infection.

Faith screamed, gripping her head, no longer trying to fight him. He held her now, keeping her upright as her body sagged against his. The deepest, most primitive part of him began to roar in earnest, hating this. They were hurting her! The red haze began to swirl. Faith screamed again, and the haze rushed in faster, thicker. He was losing it. He had to help her.

His claws erupted.

He was going to hurt her! Releasing her, he stumbled back, watching her sink to the ground. Strong hands gripped his shoulders.

"Easy, buddy," Tighe's voice. "Ease down."

"It's done." Ariana's voice barely cut through the screaming in his head.

Too late. The fury roared up, crashing over him, and he was fighting, claws raking flesh, fangs sinking into blood.

The exquisite sensation of shifting rushed over him. Sparkling lights consumed him.

Despair swallowed him whole.

And he knew no more.

Chapter Eighteen

Faith pushed herself to her feet, panting, drenched with sweat, her mind a wreck. Confused. She blinked at the fires in a ring of pots beneath the trees, illuminating the woods brightening with dawn. Feral House with its glowing windows stood a short distance away. Around her, Ferals stood, tense, groaning, while behind her she heard the sound of growling, of battle. Hawke. Even without looking, she knew.

She whirled just as he began to sparkle, watching with horror as he disappeared in a flash of colored lights, the great red-tailed hawk he'd become screeching and lifting into the air.

"No! Hawke!" And it all came rushing back, the darkness, the way she'd fought him. The pain as the magic was driven out of her. "Hawke!" But all she could do was watch as he disappeared over the house.

Follow him! The falcon spirit's will exploded in her mind. Quickly!

Faith ran to Lyon. "I have to go after him. I can help him." She thrust out her wrists and the bands that bound her to human form. "Free me!"

Lyon eyed her with uncertainty, a wariness melded with desperation.

"Lyon, I'm cured. It worked. Free me so I can help him!"

Decision slashed through his eyes, his sharp gaze cutting across the circle. "Shaman!"

As she turned, the Shaman rushed to her, his youthful-looking hands grasping the bands as he closed his eyes and murmured. Seconds later, the bands fell away from her wrists. In her head, the falcon's desperation pounded at her. Go!

Yes, but . . . she didn't know how. Show me how.

The bird's will lifted her, rushing through her with a power and certainty unlike anything she'd ever known. Incredible pleasure swept through her, the sparkling lights barely taking hold before she was airborne, racing into the sky.

The voices of the Ferals trailed behind her.

"Shit, she's fast!"

"Can we trust her?"

"Do we have a choice?"

"Pray she can bring him back to us."

The land fell away. The wind sliding through her feathers, an intoxicating rush she might have enjoyed if Hawke were beside her instead of lost. How was she supposed to find him? Movement caught her attention. Smaller birds. Amazing how well she could see them through her bird's far keener vision. She searched for the hawk . . . wait . . . was that him?

The falcon's affirmation bloomed in her mind. Faith wasn't about to question how she knew. She picked up speed, uncertain if it was her doing or the bird spirit's, and she didn't care. She was smaller than the hawk. What if she couldn't catch him?

The hawk is in no hurry. We'll catch him.

The falcon's certainty calmed her. And, as predicted, she was soon close enough to see the markings on the magnificent bird, the way the wind fluttered in his feathers as he soared.

Hawke!

The bird gave no sign that he knew she was there. If not for the falcon's certainty, Faith might be afraid she followed a real hawk instead of the shifter she loved. She tried again to reach him.

Please let him go, hawk spirit. Please don't take him from me.

But the great bird continued on his path, following the wide, snaking river west toward the mountains.

In her mind, she heard the cries of her falcon, a musical language she understood as she understood all language. Words directed at the hawk spirit. Faith began to smile as the falcon praised the beauty and greatness of the bird, his strength, his honor, his compassion.

Laying it on thick.

All males need to be praised.

If falcons could laugh, Faith would have laughed, though the situation was still dire. Deep in her mind, she felt the animal spirit's smile.

The falcon continued her feminine plea. He is needed, great hawk, by my Feral, whom I fought hard to claim. You know this. You feel it, too.

Gratitude welled up inside Faith with startling force as she realized the falcon fought to save Hawke. But the rest? Had the falcon really fought to claim her? The idea floated, tantalizing and fragile. Impossible.

Not impossible at all, the falcon said. You were the one I've been waiting for.

Chills rippled across Faith's mind. I thought I was marked by accident.

You most certainly were not.

Faith listened in wonder. If she'd been wearing flesh instead of feathers, she'd have been covered in goose bumps. The animal spirit had chosen her . . . her . . . to be a Feral Warrior. Impossible. Incredible.

We shall be magnificent together. But you need the hawk Feral, if the hawk spirit will free him. If they can mend the broken bond between them.

They continued to fly, Faith following Hawke as the falcon spirit talked to the hawk spirit, alternately praising him and cajoling, her tone turning increasingly frustrated.

The hawk spirit is badly offended and violently stubborn.

It wasn't working.

No. I'm sorry.

Faith felt the panic bubbling up, the fear that the hawk spirit would never relent, would never release the man. And with it anger, pure and bright. In the language of the birds, she spoke directly to the hawk spirit, without the falcon's diplomacy. I know you're angry at him, but there's more at stake here than your pride and your frustration. He's a good man. You know that, or you'd never have marked him in the first place. And he's needed. The world is in danger. The Daemons threaten again. If Hawke has wronged you, it was unintentional. I've told him what he has to do, that he has to trust you. Give him time!

She sensed no reply but a fine mist of anger. But her own anger was spent, desperation taking its place.