He watched her intently. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy.”
Sincerity throbbed in his words. And she wondered what he’d say if she told him that his taking her into his arms would make her very happy indeed. She wouldn’t put him on the spot like that. Nor did she want to find out it was the last thing he wanted.
But the thought of being that close to him tantalized.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Natalie’s voice, low and sexy, stroked Wulfe’s senses. I rather like you without clothes on. Goddess, had he ever received a clearer or more welcome invitation? Her eyes had beckoned without coyness. Natalie wanted him. She wanted him.
And he had nothing to give. The severing of his mating bond had ruined him in that way. In a lot of ways. His senses had dimmed—his eyes losing their ability to see color as brightly, food losing its taste. Only his sense of smell had yet to fail him, but his libido had disappeared altogether. He could still get an erection if he needed to, but it required hard physical effort on his part. His body hadn’t risen on its own in six months, not for any woman. And he feared it never would again. Even Natalie, as pretty as she was, failed to stir him in that way.
With not quite steady hands, Wulfe picked up his tools and strode past her. The windows were done. All he had left was the door.
“Have you ever installed a dead bolt?” His arms ached to grab her and haul her close, his wolf howling, urging him to do just that. But he refused to go down that path with her. No good could come of it.
“I’ve never installed one from scratch,” Natalie said, falling into step beside him. “But I replaced one once.”
The faint scent of her arousal nearly drove him to his knees.
“Then you know what we’re doing. I could use a hand.” Goddess. The thought of where he wanted her hand . . . Yeah and how much fun would that be when she found him flaccid and soft?
If he were smart, he’d send her to the other side of the room where her nearness wouldn’t tie him into knots of longing and of wanting something he couldn’t have. But he wanted her near him so badly, it was worth any amount of torture to watch the play of light on her creamy skin, to smell the tangy scent of shampoo in her hair, and to watch her full, lovely mouth draw up in those soft, Natalie smiles.
She followed him to the door, and he handed her the lock pieces, screws, and screwdriver, his fingers brushing hers as he laid them in her palms, the simple touch sending electricity buzzing beneath his skin and down into his body. But not far enough. Not nearly far enough.
Eyeing the door, he mentally marked where he wanted to drill, then picked up the tool and made the holes with a noisy whine. Then he grabbed the chisel and hollowed out a space for the faceplate to fit, all the while intensely aware of Natalie’s nearness, of her gaze. And of the attraction thickening the air between them. Goddess how he wanted to haul her against him and bury his face between her breasts. How he longed to feel her fingers in his hair as he had in his fur.
He imagined holding her close, stroking her soft cheek as she reached up . . .
The thought of her touching his scarred excuse for a face burst the sensual bubble, snapping him back to reality. His life was too fucked up to even think about getting involved with a woman right now. And never a woman like Natalie, one who deserved laughter and beauty, safety and happiness. He’d thought she’d found those things with her human fiancé. The fact that she hadn’t made the jealous male inside of him keenly satisfied. But not the part of him that just wanted her happy. Because he, with his damaged mating bond, his worrisome Daemon blood, and his waning immortality, had absolutely nothing to offer her.
As Natalie watched the muscles ripple across Wulfe’s beautiful back, her hand itched to reach for him, to stroke his flesh, to know if he felt as hard and strong as he looked. His hair gleamed in the lamplight, a rich blend of browns of every shade, and she yearned to touch it, to feel its softness between her fingers.
Standing so close to him made her breath unsteady and turned her pulse erratic. She’d never felt like this with Rick, ever. She hadn’t even known she could feel this way—this jittery, rubbery warmth that had her imagining the feel of his flesh against hers.
As he plucked one of the screws out of her palm, he glanced at her face and stilled. His nostrils flared, his eyes dilating as his gaze at once softened and sharpened, as hunger leaped into his eyes.
“Wulfe . . .”
He shook his head and turned back to his work, leaving her completely confused. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the ceiling and willed her thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but on the too-appealing male in front of her, a male who, for whatever reason, didn’t want what she offered. But she couldn’t ignore him, not even for a moment.
As she watched him screw in the faceplate, her left cheek began to tingle oddly as it had as they’d approached Lyon’s office earlier. As before, it slowly began to sting. But where before, the sensation had died as quickly as it had begun, this time it worsened. She touched it, brushing at it in case there was something there, but she felt nothing.
All of a sudden, her cheek began to burn, and she gasped, dropping the lock pieces onto the floor.
Wulfe straightened as if he’d been struck, rising to his feet, grabbing hold of her arms. “What’s the matter?”
“My face.” She lifted her hand, afraid to touch it. “What’s on my face?”
“Nothing.” He grabbed her jaw with careful fingers, turning it as the fire ripped through nerve endings, sending tears cascading down her cheeks.
“It hurts.”
“Where?” When she showed him, he covered the spot with one hand, pressing his palm against the fire as he cupped the back of her head with his other. Almost at once, the pain began to fade. To her surprise, she felt his lips against her forehead, a quick, soft kiss that melted her heart. Moments later, the pain was gone.
Natalie sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
Slowly, he released her and stepped back. As her gaze cleared, she saw, clearly, the dismay in his eyes, the worry.
She frowned. “What just happened?” Lifting her own palm to her cheek, she felt nothing but smooth skin, as if it had all been her imagination. “Earlier, just before we went in to see Lyon, I felt the same sharp pain. It wasn’t nearly this bad, and disappeared almost as soon as it started, but it was in the exact same spot.”
He looked away before she could read the answers in his eyes. “It’s probably nothing.”
But the quickness with which he’d turned away made her suspect otherwise. It wasn’t nothing. And though she couldn’t be certain, she suspected he knew that very, very well.
Wulfe returned to his work, the drill’s whine tearing at his eardrums as he dug out the place beneath the strike plate where the dead bolt would burrow. But while his hands worked, his mind spun. Why had Natalie suffered pain in the exact spot the Daemon had clawed her? She didn’t remember the wound, not consciously. Was it some kind of subconscious recollection? He’d never heard of such a thing.
Another thought stopped him cold. What if this was the fault of his Daemon blood?
He turned off the drill and stared at the hole, unseeing. Goddess, what if he’d done this to her? What if, thanks to his Daemon blood, he’d accidentally hurt her by taking that wound?
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hurt a woman he’d only meant to help. The thought made him ill.
A buzzing erupted suddenly in Wulfe’s ears. As he frowned, red smoke began to curl around the edges of his vision. Rage barreled through him from out of nowhere. His confusion disappeared, drowned beneath the rush of red smoke that ignited a full-blown fury in his mind. The drill that had been in his hand suddenly shattered against the floor beside him and he felt his fangs dropping, his claws erupting. He leaped to his feet with a roar, searching for something . . . anything . . . to bear the brunt of this sudden, ferocious anger.
His gaze caught on the female who was ba
cking away from him, terror in her eyes.
Natalie.
As quickly as it rose, the smoky haze dissipated from his vision, his mind clearing, leaving him stunned. Shocked.
Natalie’s eyes took up her entire face, her skin pale as new snow as she stared at him, at the monster he must appear.
His wolf howled with misery.
“I won’t hurt you.” The words came out deep and nearly unintelligible.
But, goddess. What just happened? He’d lost himself. Even furious, that shouldn’t happen.
His fangs and claws retracted as he stared at her. The need to reassure her swelled in his mind and chest, yet he was clueless how to do that because he didn’t know what the fuck just happened.
“I’d never hurt you, Natalie,” he said, his voice still gruff. “I need you to believe that.” But was he certain? He could have killed her with a single swipe of his claws, and he wasn’t at all sure he’d have known what he was doing until it was too late. The thought turned his blood cold.
If he were smart, he’d hand her over to someone else, right here, right now. Except the first thing anyone else would do was lock her up in the prisons, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her down there again.
Slowly, the color returned to her face, the terror easing away. “Did I do something to make you mad?”
“No! Goddess, no.” He turned away from her, pressing both hands against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, to the disintegrated drill, and his knees went weak. What if he hadn’t come back to himself in time?
“I don’t know what set me off. It wasn’t you. The situation maybe—that you’re in danger. But not you.”
“You . . . changed.” Her voice wasn’t steady, and it broke him.
Slowly, he straightened and turned back, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I went feral. All the Ferals do from time to time. In that in-between place, halfway between man and animal, we can fight as equals, no matter which animal we shift into. We enjoy fighting that way—it’s like a Feral form of wrestling, and we usually beat the shit out of one another. But we don’t lose control like I did. I don’t know what happened.”
Natalie watched him, her mouth tight. “I’m very good at reading people, Wulfe. And animals. I knew the first time I met you in your wolf form that you were a friend, and that you’d never intentionally hurt me. I still believe that to be true.”
He nodded. But he’d caught the word intentionally, and that was what worried him, too. Because there was clearly something wrong. And the thought made him ill.
He swiftly finished installing the dead bolt, then turned to where Natalie now sat on the bed, exhaustion written all over her face.
“Do you want to see Xavier tonight or wait until morning?”
Her eyes snapped open, her spine straightening. “Tonight.”
“I’ll bring him up.”
Natalie nodded, and Wulfe left, locking the door behind him. His body felt leaden as he descended the stairs, as he saw again, in his mind’s eye, the terror on Natalie’s face. She’d stared at him as if he were a monster.
He had to tell Lyon. Maybe his loss of control was due to the dark charm, but so far no one else had suffered such a breach of control. No, he feared the cause lay at the feet of his recently triggered Daemon blood. And if he was right?
He might soon turn into a monster for real.
Chapter Eight
Natalie could barely keep her eyes open, but she fought the pull of the soft bed as she waited for Wulfe to bring Xavier up to her room. The evening’s events had begun to take on a dreamlike, perhaps nightmarelike, quality. And yet here she sat, for all practical purposes the captive of shape-shifters.
Good grief. Wulfe’s face, as he’d changed, had turned terrifying with those fangs and eyes that were not human, yet not quite wolflike. Especially when he’d first turned toward her, furious, staring at her without recognition. She’d honestly thought he was about to attack her.
Then he’d recognized her. She’d seen the moment it happened. He’d looked so confused, so horrified, chagrin and shame filling those dark eyes. And she’d ceased to be afraid despite the fangs. Wulfe had returned, regardless of the face he wore.
She heard the click of the dead bolt and rose from the bed as the door opened and Xavier entered, cane first.
“Nat?”
“Here, Xave.” She strolled to him, speaking as she moved. “I’m glad you weren’t already asleep.” As her hand slid around her brother’s arm, her gaze met Wulfe’s. Her heart clenched at the misery that still swam in his eyes.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said, then closed the door, leaving her alone with her brother.
Natalie led Xavier to the bed, then sat cross-legged while he stretched out on his back, his hands behind his head.
“How are you holding up, Nat?”
She laughed, a single burst of air. “I can’t decide if I feel more like Dorothy in Oz or Alice in Wonderland.”
Xavier grinned. “It’s a lot like that, isn’t it?”
Natalie reached for him, her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay here, Xave? You’re safe, right?” She knew her brother would tell her the truth. If he didn’t, she’d know it anyway. He’d never been able to hide his expressions, certainly not from her.
“I love it here.” He took her hand and held it, the Xavier equivalent of meeting her gaze. “The moment the Mage found us in Harpers Ferry, our death warrants were signed, Nat. Your friends and Mary Rose’s brother died for real, killed by the Mage and the Daemons. It was a miracle that you and me and Christy survived. But all of our lives ended that day, at least the lives we had before. In a way, all our lives belong to the Ferals now. If not for them, we’d have died. You don’t remember what happened on that battlefield, which is good, but I do. The things I heard and smelled and felt that day still give me nightmares, Nat. If the Ferals lose this war, we’ll all be living in constant terror. People will be dying by the thousands. And every doomsday prediction about civilization’s collapse will come true.”
Xavier sat up and turned to her, his face older and wiser than she’d ever seen it. “This might not be what I’d have chosen for my life. Cook’s helper to a houseful of shape-shifters wasn’t exactly in the career-options manual I read in high school. But I have a purpose here, a purpose I never had at home. Pink needs me. Even if she thinks she can do it on her own, she needs me. She’s so cool, Nat, and the guys are great. Sure, they’re kind of scary sometimes, like when they go feral and draw claws and start ripping into one another. But they’re good guys. And their wives are really nice. If I could have chosen this life, Nat, I would have.”
His face fell. “I just wish I didn’t have to give up everyone at home to live here. I miss you and Mom. I love that you’re here now, but I don’t want you to get stuck here, not when you have such a great life outside. Rick has to be worried about you.”
Natalie sighed, hating to have to break the news. “Rick and I broke up this morning, Xave.”
Xavier frowned. “What happened?”
“I thought I was in love with him, but I wasn’t. He wasn’t the man I wanted to spend my life with.”
“I’m sorry, Nat,” Xavier said.
“Don’t be. I’m just glad I figured it out before we got married.” Even if nothing ever came of her attraction to Wulfe, the very fact that she’d discovered it—that she’d awakened to the possibilities within her—made it imperative that she find someone with whom she could feel that kind of excitement. Someone who, like Wulfe, would stir both her body and her emotions. And as much as she’d enjoyed Rick’s company, she knew now that he’d done neither.
Natalie and Xavier talked for a while longer until a huge yawn caught her midsentence.
Xavier smiled. “You’ve had a crazy night, Nat. Get some sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to Pink.”
Together, they climbed off the bed, and Natalie gave her brother another big hug, emotion welling all over agai
n as she marveled at the miracle of his survival. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered.
Xavier hugged her in return. “Better than okay. You’re going to be fine, too.” But as he pulled back, a frown pulled at the flesh between his eyebrows, and she knew he wasn’t certain of that last statement. She was in a precarious position, a pawn in an immortal war. A dangerous place to be.
And they both knew it.
As he paced the hallway outside Natalie’s room, Wulfe heard the soft rap of knuckles, the signal that Xavier was ready to return to the kitchen apartments. He unlocked the door and Natalie pulled it open, meeting his gaze with a soft, tired smile.
“Thanks for letting us visit, Wulfe.”
He nodded, struck speechless as he was every time he saw her, every time he fell into the calm gray of her lovely, lovely eyes.
Xavier kissed his sister’s cheek. “Sleep tight, Sis.” Then he smiled in Wulfe’s direction, a worry in his eyes that dug at Wulfe’s gut. Because it was a worry he shared in spades.
He was still shaken by what had happened, by the way he’d lost control . . . lost time . . . when he’d gone feral. And by the fact that Natalie was feeling pain from a wound he’d taken from her completely. None of it made an ounce of sense.
As he accompanied Xavier downstairs, his skin crawled with the sick suspicion that it was somehow all his fault.
Entering the dining room, he found Kougar and Paenther sitting at the table, sharing a bottle of whiskey with Kougar’s mate, Ariana, the Queen of the Ilinas. The two males rose when they saw him. As Xavier headed back to his room behind the kitchen, Wulfe greeted his friends warmly and was greeted in return. He nodded at Ariana, who flashed him a smile and pushed a plate of ham sandwiches toward him.
“Help yourself,” she said. “Pink brought them out a little while ago, and we’ve already had our fill.”
Wulfe sat beside Paenther. “How’s Kara? Any change?”
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