Pushing himself past the point of endurance, he climbed the last couple of steps, sweat rolling down his temples. Another draden found him, then another, and another, all tearing at his flesh until his sight blurred, until it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.
As he stumbled into the nearest room, a flash of lightning lit the bed and he pushed himself toward it, managing to lower Natalie onto the soft mattress and not . . . quite . . . follow her down. The moment she was out of his arms, he shifted back into his wolf, listening with satisfaction as the draden squawked their anger at the loss of their meal and flew away.
His vision tilted. If he were still immortal, the weakness would be a temporary thing. But he wasn’t, and there was no telling what would happen.
Goddess, he had to survive this. He had to. Natalie needed him.
Lurching toward the bedroom door, he managed to butt it closed with his wolf’s flank, then sink down in front of it, blocking her escape. Hopefully, he’d awaken if she tried to move him.
Hopefully, he’d awaken again period.
A loud crack of thunder startled Natalie awake. Lightning flashed across the room and she caught sight of the pictures on the wall.
“What am I doing in the guest room?” she muttered groggily. Confusion clouded her mind as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached for the lamp, but though her fingers turned the knob, nothing happened. The electricity was out. And the closest flashlight was in the master bedroom.
Utterly confused, she pushed to her feet just as another flash illuminated the room and the large dog lying in front of the closed door, his fur caked with . . . blood.
It all came back in a rush—the men breaking into her house. The dog, Wolf, attacking them . . . killing them . . . as he protected her. She swayed, her forehead heating at the memory of the violence, her stomach lurching. Had he killed them all? Heaven help her, she hoped he had, because they’d stabbed him, over and over, in return.
Stumbling forward, she sank to her knees on the carpet beside the beautiful animal and reached for him. Please don’t let him be dead. Her palm pressed against the warm fur of his shoulder and felt the steady rise and fall she’d hoped for. Thank God.
Downstairs, something crashed, stopping her heart. The intruders are still here. Her pulse began to thud hard enough to shake her entire body as she waited for the sound of boots on the stairs, a sound she might not hear over the howling wind and the rain slashing against the windows.
Lightning again illuminated the dog’s blood-soaked fur. Thunder cracked, startling her out of her momentary paralysis. She had to do something to stop the bleeding, or Wolf was going to die right here, right now. If the intruders broke through the door, so be it. They must know she was up here. Which made no sense.
Pushing to her feet, she moved quietly to the dresser where she kept the stack of old T-shirts she wore to exercise in. They’d have to do. Grabbing a handful, she sank down beside the animal and whispered softly.
“It’s me, boy. This might hurt, but I’ve got to staunch your wounds.”
Her fingers pressed gingerly, burrowing through Wolf’s fur, as she sought the site of the stab she’d seen him take to the shoulder. Warm blood coated her fingers and she knew she’d found it. As gently as possible, she pressed one of the shirts against the wound, then started searching for any others.
“Poor guy,” she whispered. “You chose the wrong night to come see me, but you probably saved my life.” She needed to get him to a vet. The beautiful animal made no sound, gave no indication of consciousness. He might be alive, but for how much longer?
Something skittered across the floor downstairs, stopping her heart for another moment. Why hadn’t they followed her upstairs? For that matter, how in the heck had she fallen asleep on the guest bed in the middle of an attack on her house? None of it made a bit of sense. The last thing she remembered was hitting one of the nasties with the lamp and the other one grabbing her. Had he hit her, then? She didn’t hurt anywhere. Somehow, she must have stumbled up here and passed out.
As she probed the dog’s side, she felt more warm blood and knew she’d discovered another wound. If only she could see them. If only she had a flashlight. Or . . . a camp lantern. Yes. Her camping supplies were stored in the closet in this room. Rising, she dug the lantern out of the bottom of the closet and turned it on only a little, bathing the injured animal in a soft glow.
He had blood everywhere. Her gut cramped. How was she supposed to know how much of the blood was his and how much belonged to the men? They’d been dressed so strangely, like some kind of foreign army, in matching blue tunics. And swords.
She pressed T-shirts against the two wounds she’d found so far, knowing she had to find the others, yet wondering what she was going to do with them if she did. She only had two hands. And no telephone or suturing supplies.
“Hang on, Wolf. Just hang on for me. Sooner or later, they’ll leave, and I’ll be able to get you to a vet. What are they doing down there?” She heard something roll across the hardwood foyer. Roll. Suddenly she remembered the way they’d broken down her front door and relief left her on a hard exhale.
“It’s not them, it’s the wind. Of course, of course.” Leaping to her feet, she stroked Wolf’s head. “This is going to hurt, boy, but I have to move you if I’m going to get you help.”
She scooted around to his back end and, as gently as she could, lifted his hips and lowered them again a few inches out from the door. Moving to his head, she did the same, back and forth, a few inches at a time until she nearly had him far enough from the door to open it. Once more should be enough.
Sweat beading on her brow, she took a deep breath, squatted at his tail, and lifted his hips one more time.
Suddenly, her hands were empty, the dog just . . . gone . . . exploding in a spray of colored lights.
Natalie fell back, landing on her backside, then stared, jaw dropping, as a man appeared out of thin air . . . a huge, naked man lying on the floor right where the dog had been.
She crab-walked back, the bed catching her in the shoulder blades. This isn’t happening.
The man groaned and began to stir. Natalie tensed, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she pushed herself to her feet, then sank onto the bed when her legs refused to hold her.
Slowly, the man sat up and leaned back against the door, his muscular body marred by half a dozen stab wounds, one on the shoulder . . . right where the dog’s had been.
This isn’t happening. Dogs don’t turn into men. They don’t!
But even as the argument roared in her head, her gaze took in the sight in front of her. The man was built, his waist narrow, his abs ripped, his biceps as thick as tree trunks, one adorned with a thick golden armband with what appeared to be the head of a wolf. His shoulders were easily half the width of her sofa. Her gaze continued up, reaching his face, and her heart clenched. Scars crisscrossed the flesh every which way, tugging down one of his lips, cutting across one eye. His body might be prime, but his face was made for nightmares. Within that ruined face, eyelids lifted revealing dark eyes that turned to her, contracting on a sheen of pain, radiating a dismay so raw it almost made her ache.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Natalie.” His voice was low and urgent as he struggled to his feet, grimacing. Towering over her—he had to be a full seven feet tall—he watched her with eyes filled with the same intelligence, the same gentleness she’d seen in Wolf’s. “I would never hurt you.”
She was shaking, her pulse racing, her stomach cramping from shock. But not from fear. Because as she stared into those dark eyes, she saw only truth and honor and kindness. And, odd as it was, she recognized the essence of the dog in the man.
“I would never hurt you,” he said again, his voice throbbing with sincerity and desperation that she believe him.
“I know,” she told him.
And she did.
I know.
Wulfe stared
at Natalie, trying to catch his breath through the pain of the wounds that refused to heal, as realization hit him like a sledgehammer. Somehow, he’d shifted back into human form and stood in front of Natalie in all of his scarred, naked glory.
Goddess, when had he shifted? It couldn’t have been long because the draden had yet to find him again. And they would.
She stared at him, white as a sheet, clearly in shock.
I know. He’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her, and she’d replied, I know.
“How much do you remember?” He must have failed to take her memories of before or, at the very least, her memories of the small friendship that had bloomed between them in the Feral prison.
Sitting there, her hands clasped in her lap, she met his gaze with the calm strength he’d come to associate with her despite the fact she was visibly shaking. “I don’t remember much—the men breaking into my house, Wolf attacking them, getting stabbed.” She blanched. “You.” The word was uttered on an exhale, the last of her color draining away as she doubled over until her head rested on her knees. “This isn’t happening.”
He frowned, wanting to go to her, yet afraid he’d scare her more if he tried.
“Are you okay?” If only he could see her face. Reaching for his wounded shoulder, he encountered stickiness . . . and pain. The one in his side was the worst, but the Mage swords didn’t appear to have punctured anything vital, or he’d be fighting for his life by now. How did humans stand this . . . this . . . not healing?
“I feel a little faint.” Natalie slowly lifted her head, then straightened. Her color was back, if only a little, her usual calm cracked, but not shattered. Even in the dark, she shone with a glow that had nothing to do with the unnatural aura. So lovely.
Her brows drew together. “What are you?”
“A shape-shifter. Man to wolf.” He reached for the door, feeling exposed, feeling like a monster. “We need to get out of here, Natalie. Those men were Mage, evil, and their leader is going to send more of them as soon as he realizes the first group failed. They may already be on their way.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’ll heal.” He hoped.
“I don’t have clothes to fit you.” She rose unsteadily. “It’s pouring out there. I could give you a blanket.”
Something warm and thick moved through his chest. She was worried about his getting wet. “I’m going to have to return to my wolf form in a minute. I can’t remain in human form long at night, not . . .” Not unless he was in his truck or at Feral House or somewhere else that had been warded against the draden. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I know this is a lot to take in all at once.” He was a lot to take in, the way he looked, the way he’d killed, right in front of her. “You shouldn’t have seen any of this.”
She swallowed, nodding, shadows of the violence she’d witnessed darkening her eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you. But we need to go.”
Straightening her shoulders, she shook her head. “I’m not going with you. I can’t. There are . . . dead bodies . . .” Her voice cracked, slicing open his heart. “I’m going to the police.”
His jaw tightened at all the reasons that wasn’t going to happen. The last thing they needed was for her to tell the human cops a crazy tale of a shape-shifting wolf, then bring them back to her house to round up all the dead bodies—bodies that would disintegrate suddenly, in a couple of days. Bodies that were not human.
His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he debated how to secure her cooperation. “Come home with me, Natalie. I can give you something the police can’t.”
Her expression turned wary, fear alive in those no longer calm, gray eyes. “And what is that?”
He met her gaze, his mouth twisting in a semblance of a smile. “Xavier.”
Natalie swayed, her heart suddenly in her throat.
“Where is he? What have you done to him?” She’d started to trust this man, this . . . werewolf. Was he nothing but a kidnapper? A murderer? “The week I lost, was I your prisoner, too?”
“We didn’t hurt you. We let you go.”
“But not Xavier.”
“We couldn’t take his memories of all he’d seen. We can only take memories through the eyes.”
She stared at him, the sudden feeling washing over her that they’d had this discussion before. “And his don’t work.”
“He’s fine, Natalie. He’s safe. And he’ll be glad to see you.”
Safe. How could he possibly be safe? Her pulse raced, her muscles tensing with the need to run. With him injured, she might be able to get away. But what if he was telling the truth? What if he really could take her to Xavier?
She pressed a trembling palm to her pounding head and met the werewolf’s gaze. The warm light of kindness emanating from his dark eyes slowly burned through her own haze of fear, reminding her why she’d been drawn to the animal in the first place. Despite every logical thing to the contrary, her instincts told her she could trust him. He wouldn’t hurt her.
And she would risk being wrong, risk anything, to reach Xavier.
“Okay.”
He watched her for a moment more, then nodded and turned. “We’ll leave through the front door and circle to the back. I don’t want you having to see . . .”
“The bodies.”
“Yes.”
She grabbed the lantern. “Why the backyard?”
“My truck is on the other side of the woods.”
The wolf always came to her through the woods. He drove a truck? Of course he did.
The man opened the door. “Pack a bag. Quickly. Essentials only, and just for a few days.”
A bag. With a shake of her head, she focused on that, just that, and slipped past him to run to her bedroom. “Does Xavier need anything?” she called as she grabbed the small, hard-sided, yellow suitcase out of her closet.
“Not that I know of.” She turned to find him standing in her doorway, watching her. “We’d have gotten him anything he asked for. Pink makes the shopping lists, and he’s become her best friend. Fuck.”
The man exploded into sparkling lights, and suddenly the wolf was back.
Pardon my language.
At the sound of his voice in her head, she met his wolf’s gaze and saw the man’s intelligence and personality in the wolf’s eyes. Chills ran down her arms, making the hair rise. He was speaking to her. Telepathically.
The draden are back, and I have to stay in my wolf. I’ll explain that later. Pack, Natalie. And change your shirt.
With a shake to clear her head, she glanced down to find her clothes and arms streaked with blood. For a moment, she just stared. Then, taking a shaky breath, she pulled herself together again. They needed to get out of here quickly, before more of those soldiers came. The thought spurred her to move. Grabbing a clean tee, she ran into the bathroom to change and grab a few toiletries, then packed quickly.
Feral House is full of women, these days, the wolf said as she added the last items. Most of my brothers are married. If you forget anything, you can borrow it.
Married werewolves. Her head was going to explode. “How many of you are there?”
One wolf shifter. More than a dozen other Ferals . . . shifters . . . each of whom shifts into a different animal. I’ll explain more later.
So not werewolves. Not exactly.
She zipped the suitcase, then grabbed the flashlight off the bottom shelf of her nightstand, deciding the lower light would attract less attention. Turning to the wolf, the shape-shifter, she said, “I’m ready.”
He rose and trotted to the stairs.
“I’m going to need my purse. It’s on the desk in the kitchen.” She really wanted her laptop, too, but she was afraid the rain would destroy it.
I’ll get the purse and your phone. Grab a raincoat. It’s pouring.
The wolf ran down the stairs ahead of her as the wind and rain blew in through the open front door. By the time Natalie snatched her raincoat out of the coat clo
set and pulled it on, her pants were already damp. As she turned her back to the buffeting wind to zip up the raincoat, she made the mistake of glancing toward the family room just as another bolt of lightning illuminated the house. Bodies . . . body parts . . . lay everywhere, blood streaking the walls and soaking the carpeting. The sight burned her eyes and made the bile rise in her throat. Swallowing it back down, she spun away.
Her house was ruined. Her life was in shambles. But Xavier might still be alive. The thought raced through her like a live wire, filling her with hope and excitement, strengthening her against all she’d lost. Because if she could really see him again, if she truly found him safe and well, none of this mattered. None of it.
Straightening, she pulled up her hood and waited. A moment later, the wolf returned with her purse dangling from his mouth. She took it from him, slung it over her shoulder, and braced herself against the wind as she stepped through the wreckage of the front door and into the driving rain. Without a backward glance, the wolf at her side, Natalie left everything she knew behind.
Chapter Five
As Natalie followed the massive gray wolf around the corner of her house, through her backyard, and into the woods, the wind buffeted her, dragging at the hood of her raincoat. She clung to her suitcase with one hand, her flashlight with the other.
Her hand shook as she struggled to assimilate all that had happened. How was any of this real?
“Do you have a name?” she asked the huge animal, desperate for any pretence of normalcy.
You already guessed it. I’m Wulfe, spelled W-U-L-F-E. All the Ferals, the shape-shifters, have taken the names of our animals. It’s tradition.
“You’re the only wolf.” Twigs snapped under her soles, the leaves torn free of the trees flying and swirling around her. The woods smelled of rain and damp fur this night.
Wulfe Untamed Page 5