Kougar straightened. "Once they come into their animals, they'll settle down. Just as all of you did. Eventually."

"It could take years." Lyon grunted. "Jag took centuries."

Hawke hoped to hell they snapped out of it soon. The constant fighting and stupid-ass behavior were wearing his already-fraying control thin as copper wire. They were breaking things with abandon, coming on to whatever woman happened to be within sight, which had brought the original Ferals into the fighting. A dozen times a day, he had to stop himself from diving in for fear he'd lose control. Two dozen times a day, he had to pull himself back from the brink of fury. The good news was he seemed to be getting better at it. Knock on wood, he'd only lost control and pounded the hell out of one of the newly marked twice now, and he hadn't shifted once. Not once. But whatever had been calming the rage had been absent. Faith. It was Faith who'd been absent. No, not absent. He'd been avoiding her.

Goddess, he missed her. At least he knew the bastard wasn't with her now. Maxim was in the middle of the throng of new Ferals, as he so often was, the only one they never fought with.

"What is it about him?" Hawke muttered, watching one of them clap Maxim warmly on the back. "They act like he's the football star or something."

"I've been wondering the same thing." Kougar stroked his beard slowly. "He's become the ringleader."

A shout rang out from the foyer, echoing up all three stories and back, quickly followed by the loud splintering of wood and an earth-shattering thud that rattled the paintings on the walls. As one, the three Ferals ran to find the other two newly markeds going at it with claws and fists amid the splintered ruin of one of the stair railings. Hawke looked up and shook his head. They'd fallen from the second floor. It was a damn good thing they were immortals.

This pair were two of the biggest of the new Ferals - Ewan, a Therian Guard who'd been part of Olivia's squad and stayed on to assist them in their battle to stop the Mage, and the one they'd dubbed Mountain Man, the biggest of any of the Ferals, new or old. An inch or two taller than Wulfe, he was seven-plus feet of pure, angry male. His hair hung halfway between short and long, black as pitch, his face in constant need of a shave. But it was his eyes that had them giving him a wide berth, eyes raging with anger. He was at the middle of at least half the fights, pushing, shoving, refusing to give way.

"Cease!"

Though Lyon's roar of command rang through the foyer, only Ewan attempted to pull back. And got slammed into the nearest wall for his effort. Lyon and Kougar interceded, both grabbing Mountain Man, and still they struggled. Ewan snarled but stayed where he was.

Lyon pushed Mountain Man back. "You need a serious attitude adjustment!"

The big Feral's lip curled. "I didn't fucking ask for this job."

"None of us did!"

Mountain Man threw his hand outward, motioning to the hallway that carried the sound of cheers and thudding fists from the media room. "Half of those fuckers are beside themselves with glee."

"You haven't shifted, yet," Kougar said, his voice even. "Don't knock it until you've tried it."

Mountain Man growled and muscled his way free, then stalked up the stairs. Ewan headed for the media room. Hawke, Lyon, and Kougar watched them go.

"I hope to hell they settle down once they shift," Lyon muttered. "Like Catt has."

Hawke's jaw clenched. He'd been giving the saber-toothed shifter a wide berth for the past few days, but he'd come in contact with him a couple of times, and as much as he hated to admit it, Lyon was right. The prick had turned into a new man. He followed Lyon's orders without question and was civil, if not warm, to the older Ferals. He and Hawke ignored one another now instead of battling. They might even be able to live like this.

Then again, Faith was never there. He wasn't sure what would happen if she started accompanying Maxim again.

Goddess, he hadn't seen her in four days, not since that morning in the library when he'd made her cry. The thought of it still hurt.

Jag and Kieran strolled into the foyer, shoulder to shoulder.

"Shit," Jag muttered. "Look at this mess."

Lyon turned to him. "Feel like a little carpentry work?"

"I'm good with my hands," Kieran said with that light Irish accent. "Do you have tools?"

Jag slapped him on the back. "Do we have tools, Pretty Boy? You should see the tools we have. Come on, I'll show you."

Kieran grinned. "After you, Pretty Girl."

Jag hooted with laughter and headed toward the basement.

Lyon shook his head. "Kieran doesn't seem to be affected at all."

"Everyone reacts differently." Kougar turned to Lyon. "But I do think the sooner we get this lot shifted, the better. Is the Renascence still on for tonight?"

"It is. Just before dawn. Kara's ready." But a glimmer of concern entered his eyes.

"How is she feeling, Roar?" Hawke asked. Maxim's Renascence had taken a lot out of her. Which was why Lyon wasn't bring each new Feral into his animal as he arrived.

"Lyon, what happened?"

At the sound of Kara's voice, all three men looked up. Kara stood before the destroyed railing, a look of disbelief on her face. But it was the woman standing beside her that stole Hawke's attention.

Faith.

His heart soared at the glimpse of her standing in those same holey jeans and overlong sweater. His pulse took off in a fast, excited sprint. But while Kara started down the stairs, Faith remained where she was, a story away. It was all he could do not to go to her. She was so lovely, her dark hair framing her delicate face, the blue tips teasing her shoulders. Through the thudding in his ears, he barely heard Lyon's brief explanation of the railing's demise. He'd starved for sight of her. But as his focus narrowed from her face to her eyes, he frowned. Her eyes were as flat as he'd ever seen them. The sparkle completely gone. Dead.

His hawk cried out, the tone mournful and angry.

As Faith met his gaze, her mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile, a shadow of what he knew her capable of. Had he done this to her when he made her cry? No. No way had touching her hand stolen the life from her eyes. And she was trying to smile at him, wasn't she? There was no anger in her expression.

This was Maxim's doing, dammit. Dammit. The red haze began to tease the edges of his vision. Maxim was hurting her. He knew it. He knew it!

Kougar's hand grasped his shoulder none too gently.

"I'm fine," he growled.

"Then what's with the steam coming out of your nose?"

Funny, he thought sarcastically, then jerked his gaze to Kougar. He still wasn't used to Kougar's having a sense of humor. The surprise of Kougar's comment broke the spell long enough for him to get the rising anger back under control.

But when he looked up at Faith, she was turning away, starting up the stairs to the third story.

He tensed to follow. Kougar's grip on him tightened. "Don't."

He watched until she disappeared from sight, then whirled on Kara as she descended the last of the steps. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Kara looked at him with surprise. "Tell you what?"

"That he's been hurting her."

Kara shook her head, looking confused. "That who's been what?"

"Maxim's been hurting Faith. Her eyes aren't right."

"What do you mean?" Lyon demanded.

Hawke growled with frustration, turning away, then back again. "I can't explain it. I just . . . know. That bastard is hurting her."

Kara frowned. "She's never said anything, but I've hardly seen her since she and Catt worked things out. I hardly see anyone. We've all taken to our rooms to avoid the zoo animals. But she seems to be settling in okay."

"You were with her just now."

"Actually, I saw her coming down the stairs when I came out to investigate all the commotion." Kara looked around. "Did she go back up?"

Hawke nodded.

"I'll check it out," Lyon promised. "But, Hawke. Catt's room is between Wulfe's and mine. Neither of us has ever heard Faith cry out. We'd have investigated if we had, you know that."

Frustration burned in his blood. His instincts told him something was wrong with her, but he had no proof. No one else had noticed. Goddess knew, he hadn't thought straight since the moment he first saw her, but he couldn't be this mistaken, could he?

What if he was?

No, he wasn't. He'd thrilled to the sparkle in Faith's eyes too many times to not notice the lack. Even his hawk agreed, and they didn't agree on much these days. He'd rather risk her anger, even her tears, than realize later that she'd needed him, and he hadn't been there to help her.

Tonight, after her prick of a soon-to-be mate left to go draden hunting, he was paying the lady a visit.

Faith stood in the dark at the window of Maxim's bedchamber, looking out over the moonlit trees, seeing nothing. She felt . . . nothing. Drained. Empty. Sad in a way she couldn't explain. And scared, a dark terror swimming just below the surface of her thoughts, like a nightmare she couldn't quite remember, but that refused to fade.

She was losing her mind.

She'd moved into Maxim's room after he came into his animal, no longer sure why she hadn't to begin with. Now, every time she left the room, she found herself returning before she got very far. This was the only place she belonged. This room. These bare four walls. She pressed her fist against her breastbone as if she could hold back the misery she didn't understand and couldn't shake.

A soft knock sounded on the door, pulling her out of her dark thoughts. Turning from the window, she padded to the door in bare feet, the denim of her worn jeans brushing uncomfortably against her legs. Her skin was so sensitive these days. Everything hurt.

She pulled open the door, expecting Kara. But she found herself staring into a muscular chest instead. Her gaze slowly rose, her breath catching as she stared into Hawke's face, falling into warm, tender eyes. A fierce longing rushed up inside her, pressing against her lungs and heart, making her tremble with the fierce need to close the distance between them and feel his arms around her as she had, so briefly, when he'd swept her out of harm's way a few days ago.

I can't let him touch me. I belong to Maxim.

Hawke lifted his hands as if he'd heard the longing in her heart, then dropped them slowly to his sides. "We have to talk."

"You shouldn't be here."

Hawke grunted. "Tell me something I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair. "Please, Faith? I won't touch you. I promise. I just want to talk."

No instinct reared up to block her, so she stepped back, letting him in, then closed the door behind him.

"Turn on a light, Faith."

"Do I have to?" She could see him well enough in the moonlight filtering through the trees outside. At least she could see his shadowed form. And she preferred the dark these days. In the dark, she was safe.

"I want to see you."

With a sigh, she flipped the switch, illuminating the bedside lamp, then turned away from the light that blinded, turning her back to Hawke.

"Look at me, Faith." His words were velvety soft, achingly gentle despite the thread of steel that told her he would not take no for an answer.

"I'm blinded," she grumbled.

He chuckled, the sound holding little humor but a wealth of tenderness. "You'll get used to it soon enough."

The ache beneath her breastbone swelled and spread. In some corner of her mind, she knew that Hawke could banish the nightmares if only she remembered them. If only she didn't belong to Maxim.

Slowly, she turned to face him. He stood a few feet away, his hands now shoved into his front jeans pockets, his eyes watching her, probing as if he could look inside her, all the way down to the soles of her feet.

"What's happened, Faith? Where has your light gone?"

She swallowed, caught in the power of his gaze, her pulse hammering, her emotions in turmoil. "I don't know." She wanted to cry, to dive into his arms, to turn and run.

"What's he done to you?"

"Nothing."

"He's hurt you."

"No! He would never hurt me. Maxim loves me."

He shook his head, his face a mask of disbelief. "That's the cry of abused women everywhere! They hide it, even from themselves, justifying their men's behavior."

"I'm not!" She rounded on him. "I've been helping abused girls for decades. I would never . . . never . . . allow a man to treat me that way. Never! I'm not justifying." Tears began to threaten, and she dashed at one that escaped her eye. "He. Is. Not. Hurting me."

Pain tightened his features, and he turned away, tipping his head back. For long moments, she watched that rigid back, aching with a need to comfort him, trembling from the battle raging inside her - the longing for one man and the devotion to another.

"I love him, Hawke," she said softly.

Finally, he turned back, his eyes filled with misery. "Then tell me why you're so sad."

Why was she? She didn't even know.

You know, her heart cried. It's because you need Hawke, but it's Maxim you belong to.

"I don't know." If only she'd never left Warsaw. If only . . . "I want to go home."

He stared at her for long seconds. "You're homesick?" After a moment, he sighed, a big exhalation, the tension draining from his shoulders. "I guess that might do it." But he didn't sound convinced.