Bewitched by Their Mate [Feral 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) Read online

  “Anything for Hewitt,” Mason answered without missing a beat.

  “I didn’t expect anything less. You will need help, though, as the orcs are very numerous and would overpower you.”

  “That’s where we come in,” Wolfram concluded. “We have to become feral as well.”

  A gasp escaped Doctor Blunt, and Devon knew the former human must be remembering the other times he’d seen ferals. It couldn’t have been pretty, and Devon had no doubt some nasty testing had been involved while perfecting the famous serum.

  “Only those with mates can do this,” the Spirit Mother added. “Two can turn for each pairing, as they need an anchor to come back to.”

  “Dietrich and I will go,” the Magistrate’s second mate, Fritz, said. “The spirit wolves can’t afford risking their Magistrate.”

  Wolfram looked like he was about to protest, but the white wolf didn’t give him the chance. “You are still human, Fritz,” the Spirit Mother said. “I’m afraid you cannot help in this. Our people would not take kindly should they hear of this, but we have no other choice.”

  Devon agreed. Spirit wolves weren’t fond of ferals, and having the Magistrate become one would plunge their entire fabric of society into chaos. To a certain extent, Devon was shocked that the Magistrate’s mates had offered to do this in the first place. True, Dietrich was Hewitt’s friend, but Devon had long ago learned that friendship didn’t mean squat when real challenges appeared. Devon only hoped no one ever heard the Magistrate had become a feral.

  “You can count on Val and me,” Trent Hart said. The doctor seemed upset, but he didn’t comment, having obviously expected this turn of events.

  “Good,” the Spirit Mother replied approvingly. “I will get the reinforcements. Remember that once you’re inside their lair, you’ll have to stay in separate groups, or you’ll attack each other. Devon and Mason will follow the trail to Hewitt, while the rest will have to distract the orcs.” She paused, as if considering her next words. “You can do this, my children. There is no doubt in my mind that you can beat them, if only you stand together.”

  Devon had the strangest feeling that she’d known about this for quite a while. But deities were supposed to be like that, weren’t they? They provided more questions rather than answers, and when they did offer solutions, they left those who believed in them without an explanation.

  In spite of this, Devon trusted the Spirit Mother. Hearing her say that they could save Hewitt encouraged him. Nodding briskly, he took one more look at the gathered spirit wolves. He still didn’t trust them, but the idea that they would give up their hard-earned control and become what they most feared, just to help Hewitt, made him see them differently.

  The increasing urgency he felt to find his mate didn’t allow him to dwell on that further, though. “Let us go,” he told them.

  Mason nodded, obviously thinking the same thing. “Hewitt could be hurt. We must hurry.”

  “All right. Close your eyes, my children,” the Spirit Mother said again. “And remember, stay together and don’t lose sight of your goal. Your mates need you.”

  Those words were meant not only for Devon and Mason, but also for the others. However, Devon could no longer focus on anyone’s presence but Mason’s. The world shifted once more, and Devon was propelled through time and space from the spirit wolves’ plane to a much darker, dangerous spot.

  Chapter Six

  When Mason opened his eyes, the darkness enshrouding his new environment took him somewhat by surprise. The air smelt humid and nasty, the acrid stench telling Mason exactly where they were. Why wasn’t he surprised the filthy creatures that had taken Hewitt lived in a sewer?

  Orcs. Mason had never thought he would ever have to face those creatures of nightmare, but he didn’t fear them. He only feared that they would be too late. What if they didn’t arrive in time to save Hewitt? Already, his incomplete connection with Hewitt told him the witch was in pain. Just that knowledge had Mason on the edge, terrified of what could happen.

  Mason shook himself, struggling to keep a clear mind. He and Devon were here, and they had support from Hewitt’s friends. They had not arrived together, but that was normal, given that the Spirit Mother had told them it would be best to approach their enemies in pairs.

  Mason still had many questions, one of them being who the famous leader of the orcs was. But there had been no time to go into details regarding that. He only knew that the guy was badass, and somehow trapped, possibly in some sort of magical prison. If that was the case, it might be why Hewitt had been taken in the first place. Mason couldn’t be sure, but right now, his priority was getting his mate to safety. He’d worry about the rest later.

  Together with Devon, Mason started walking down the sewer passageway. The smell irritated him, as it blocked his senses. Nevertheless, his instincts told him exactly where he needed to go and in what direction he would find his mate.

  The Spirit Mother’s voice appeared in his mind. “Ready?” she asked.

  Hell, yes. Mason might not know what he was getting himself into. Even after he’d become a feral, he’d always retained a portion of his spirit wolf nature. But Hewitt and Devon were relying on him, and Mason would give his very life for his mates if it was needed.

  After sharing one last look with Devon, Mason melted into his wolf form. Devon did the same, and for a few moments, they waited. Uncertain as to what would follow, Mason carefully started walking forward.

  And then, it happened. A wave of power swept over him, then returned, like a vengeful tide. It drew at something deep within Mason, snapping a cord inside him. A strange presence that Mason had never truly been aware of disappeared. The pain of it was staggering and so intense that Mason couldn’t even vocalize it.

  But no, he was no longer Mason. He was just a wolf, an animal whose territory had been encroached upon. The pain dissipated, and he bared his fangs in the darkness. In a strange way, it seemed that his whole outlook on reality had changed. He saw the world in different terms. He remembered his target, but they now represented prey, not enemies.

  There were only two things that remained the same. The wolf by his side, and their mate. In this form, they could very well be nameless, but that spark was still there, the only piece of their souls that had survived the shock.

  They started running, fully focused, every doubt and fear becoming pure, beastly determination. The orcs were close now. He could smell them even in spite of the putrid stench of the sewer. He couldn’t wait to rip them to pieces, tear them apart, and teach them that no one ever touched something that belonged to him and lived. Well, no one except his mates.

  Strange gurgling sounds echoed in front of him, and instinctively, he knew there were orcs waiting in the darkness. They hadn’t sensed him and his mate, however. The wolf could grasp the savage satisfaction in the air, but no apprehension, and certainly not that knowledge another predator had whenever an opponent approached.

  He saw several orcs standing guard, blocking his way. They were far uglier than he had expected, but his wolf didn’t care about their looks. His instincts took in the creatures, finding the most vulnerable spots, the places where he should strike.

  They did indeed seem quite powerful, their limbs and bodies built to maximize strength and agility, without care to appearances. Under normal circumstances, he’d have kept his distance, but today, he’d come here to take back what was his. And he had his mate by his side. He felt confident that the two of them could take down the group of orcs.

  As one, the wolves lunged forward, pouncing on the creatures in front of them. The first few went down without being able to fight back. The wolf instinctively knew that they would have put up a great deal of resistance, and as such, ripped the creature’s jugular in two brusque motions. His mate did the same, and so they took out the first two with ease. After that, however, the rest of the creatures snapped out of their shock and attacked.

  Like the Spirit Mother had said, these beasts were stron
g. However, the wolf found a new source of energy within him, pure brute strength that hadn’t been there before. He felt larger than before, his canines sharper, his senses fine tuned and able to detect even the slightest shift in the air. He intercepted two of his attackers and dodged them, drawing angry snarls from the creatures. Their claws could have easily torn into the wolf’s flesh, but he managed to avoid that. The beasts seemed surprised at the fluidity of his motions, obviously not knowing how to deal with him and his mate, and that gave the two wolves the advantage they needed. Faster than expected, the group of orcs were taken care of and left lying in the smelly sewer water.

  Satisfied with the outcome, the wolf didn’t feel particularly tempted to consume the flesh of his prey. Even the brief taste of the orc’s blood had been foul. Besides, the last spark of soul that remained within him beckoned him to advance, urged him forward. Hewitt was waiting for him, and the wolf’s need for his mate overcame everything else.

  There was something else, though, a growing fear, a terror that had not disappeared when he’d changed from a normal feral to…this. Hewitt’s pain was still there, more intense than ever, threatening to break what little control the wolf had left.

  With every second that passed, the agony increased and the bond between the three mates trembled under its weight. The two wolves rushed forward, occasionally running into more packs of orcs and eliminating them like they had the first.

  Some sort of distant knowledge made him aware that there were others like him within the premises of the area. The memories of his time as Mason identified them as the other former spirit wolves, probably in the same condition as him.

  At last, after what seemed like forever, he and his mate reached a large chamber filled with the nasty creatures. This time, taking the orcs out wouldn’t be easy, as they had sensed the intrusion in their territory. From several other corridors, more groups of wolves appeared, however, distracting and confusing the wicked beasts.

  Sadly, it seemed that all their efforts might end up for naught. Hewitt was in the middle of the chamber, lying on a slab of stone. Thick chains bound him, leaving him unable to move. Large incisions had been made against the full length of his arms, and blood dripped into the filthy water, making the entire picture look even more grotesque.

  The agony the wolf felt knew no bounds. He attacked, no longer being able to register anything else except the pain, the desire to kill, and his feral mate’s echoing urge. The orcs that fell in their path no longer moved fast enough, and their strength became useless in the face of the wolf’s anger.

  That boundless fury was something visceral, but also rooted in that small part of him that remained connected to his true self. To a certain extent, it couldn’t even be fully processed. The wolf just knew he needed to protect his mate, and avenge him. But there were so many foes in their path, and oddly enough, something else in the air and in the water, like a wave of energy that attempted to reach out to something deep within the spirit wolves. It was futile, as the magic of the powerful souls had disappeared behind the mask of the animal.

  For his part, the wolf understood little of the spirit-aimed spell that hunted him. He didn’t know what it meant, and didn’t care, just like he didn’t care about any of the creatures who lunged toward him, intending to stop him from achieving his goal. His animalistic anger swept away everything in his path. Still, it seemed to take forever until at last, he and his mate reached the slab where Hewitt lay.

  The witch was so still and so pale, no longer the man the two wolves had met and fallen for. Hewitt had been so full of life, of magic and beauty, that it was hard to believe these beasts had dared to destroy him. The sight of him crushed something within the wolf, and all of a sudden, he once more became Mason.

  The Spirit Mother’s voice echoed inside his mind. “Take him and get out of there. Hurry!”

  Mason knew what she meant and what she feared. This time, the magic that had attempted to stop him and failed could echo within that part of him most needing his mate.

  Unwilling to allow his despair to wreck what little chances he had, Mason changed into his human form. He ripped apart the chains holding the witch, hissing when ice-cold fingers seemed to wrap around his spine. Devon helped him, fully focused on Hewitt, even if he was probably suffering from the same thing.

  At last, Hewitt was free. Mason took the witch in his arms and, followed by Devon, started to run in the direction of the exit. Behind him, he sensed an ominous presence following. Wicked howls sounded all around him, and whatever being meant to catch them backed off, distracted.

  Mason and Devon managed to leave the chamber safe and sound. Once they were out of the strange power’s reach, the Spirit Mother spoke to them again. “Open your minds to me. Don’t lose yourselves. Reach out and you will be safe.”

  It was easy for her to say. Even if Mason had regained his identity, the almost insane terror he felt for his mate’s life had him on the brink of completely losing it once again. He focused on complying, knowing that it was the only way they could get out of there safe and sound.

  Devon squeezed his shoulder, and Mason found comfort in that brief touch. He allowed his eyes to drift shut, and once more, he was propelled beyond the boundaries of space. When he broke free of the trance, he found himself in the spirit wolves’ plane once again.

  The aircraft was quite luxurious, boasting armchairs and comfortable settees in the main room and even small bedrooms farther back. A couple of people were still here, the mates of the men currently risking their lives for Hewitt. Doctor Blunt approached Mason and Devon, giving them a serious look. “Take him to one of the rooms. I’ll check him over.”

  Mason chose a random chamber and placed Hewitt on the bed. In spite of having escaped the orcs, they were not out of the woods yet. Hewitt was gravely injured, and Mason had no idea how to save him.

  Doctor Blunt looked over Hewitt’s injuries, his expression grim. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do with the equipment I have here. Even if the Spirit Mother takes us to the hospital, I’m not sure I would be able to help.”

  As if summoned by the medic’s words, the white wolf appeared there, watching them with luminous, caring eyes. “You do know what you must do,” she told Mason.

  Mason shook his head. “It will crush him. There’s no way his body and soul can survive a change in his condition.”

  “He will die either way,” the Spirit Mother pointed out. “Won’t you take the chance for him?”

  The problem wasn’t that Mason didn’t want to take the chance. His instincts screamed at him to claim Hewitt, turn him into a feral, and give the witch the healing abilities he would need to survive this. It was almost impossible to keep himself from doing so, as his wolf was already begging, whining for him to act. But at the same time, something held him back. Turning Hewitt into a feral could break the witch, kill him beyond what the orcs could possibly do. Mason had seen many bitten humans, and they were no longer the same people they’d been before. While spirit wolves turned feral often managed to skirt the edge of madness and retain some of their reason, the former humans had no such luck. Mason dreaded turning Hewitt into that.

  “He will live through it,” Devon told him with more certainty than Mason felt. “We won’t let him leave us.”

  As Andrew discreetly left the room, Mason nodded, even if he knew Devon’s words to be an encouragement his mate didn’t truly believe in. In all his life, Mason had never felt so afraid, not even when he’d been a newly emerging feral, banished by his own kind. He realized all too well Devon was going through the same horrible moments.

  But what choice did they have? They couldn’t leave Hewitt to die, and at this point, the witch was beyond medical assistance. Both he and Devon climbed into the bed with their mate. Devon gathered the injured witch to his chest, and Mason lowered his mouth over Hewitt’s neck.

  His feral mate did the same at the other side of Hewitt, and together, they bit down, finally claiming the witch.


  Mason would have done anything to change the circumstances. They should be enjoying this, reveling in finally completing their bond, not fearing it, not pushed into it by factors beyond their control. Either way, the moment Hewitt’s blood hit his taste buds, Mason knew he and Devon had done the right thing. Something clicked inside his head, and a wave of peace swept over him, stronger than even the Spirit Mother could ever be. It was incomparable, indescribable, and for the first time in forever, Mason felt his wolf quieting down, tamed by a love that could transcend all limits.

  It seemed as if a thick, golden cord now bound him and his mates together. He sensed the same emotions echoing within the two men, and at the same time, could feel Hewitt’s aches and pains, his weakness and the burn left behind by the agonizing treatment he’d experienced at the hands of the orcs.

  Mason would have been inclined to fall back onto his old impulses and anger, except the warmth of their bond was flowing into Hewitt. The witch’s wounds began to mend, and Mason sensed Hewitt’s consciousness flare back to life.

  Hewitt moaned in his arms, and at the sound, Mason forced himself to release his witch from the bite. Devon followed his example and licked the wound, sealing it. Just as they did so, however, Hewitt twitched and fell back against Devon. His eyes flew open, and he started convulsing, his body writhing on the bed. He clutched Mason’s shoulders, fingernails digging painfully in Mason’s flesh.

  Mason and Devon could do nothing but hold their mate, focus on their bond, and hope. Hewitt had already been so weak, and having to withstand the harshness of the transformation could kill him. Mason had known that, but he had to believe Hewitt’s strength and that of their connection.

  With a distant part of him, he registered more people arriving, the rest of the spirit wolves being retrieved from the sewers. There was quite a lot of noise, snarling and shouting, and Mason sensed many ferals nearby. They were probably having trouble with going back to the way they’d been before.