Paenther shook his head and poured him a finger of whiskey. “She’s no worse, thank the goddess, but she’s no better, either. The Shaman’s convinced she won’t recover until she brings a good Feral into his animal.”
A month ago, Inir managed to free seventeen animal spirits that had been trapped for centuries, unable to mark new Feral Warriors. Seventeen animal spirits he’d infected with a dark magic meant to force them to mark the worst, most evil of the line, not the best. An infection passed to the ones marked, trapping them beneath Inir’s spell.
Some of the animal spirits had succeeded in thwarting the dark magic to mark good men. And Falkyn. Others hadn’t. Wulfe and his Feral brothers had been ecstatic as their ranks began to swell after centuries of being only nine—until the first batch of new shifters rose up against them and tried to kill them. Almost too late, they’d realized Inir’s plan—to destroy the good Ferals and order the evil to free the Daemons in their place.
With the help of Ariana and the Shaman, they’d managed to cure a few of the new Ferals from the poison passed to them through their infected animals, but they had no way of knowing for certain which of the males were the ones meant to be marked—good men—and which were, deep down, evil. The only one they were one hundred percent certain of was Falkyn, the lone female among them, and Hawke’s new mate.
They’d thought Grizz and Lepard to be honorable until the pair escaped. Six of the new Ferals belonged to Inir still, firmly under his spell. The rest were locked up in the Ferals’ prison or hadn’t shown up yet. No additional new Ferals would be brought into their animals until, and unless, the Ferals found a way to tell, conclusively, which were good men and which were evil, because bringing the evil ones into their animals was slowly killing Kara. One more, and they’d lose her for good.
Wulfe grabbed a sandwich and turned to Ariana. “Have you found anything?”
In a T-shirt and jeans, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, Ariana looked far too human to be Ilina, a race whose Crystal Realm castle sat, literally, in the clouds.
“I’ve found a couple of ancient Mage rituals for dispelling Daemon magic that might possibly help reverse the dark charm that’s turning all of you mortal.”
“They won’t work. There’s another one you need to be looking for.” Wulfe blinked, as startled by the words that had come from his mouth as his companions appeared to be.
“How do you know that?” Paenther asked evenly.
“I have no fucking idea.” But as he turned his thoughts inward, he knew he was right. He knew that no ancient Mage rituals would help them. No Mage had ever used this particular magic before. It was Daemon magic last used against the Nyads millennia ago. He turned back to Ariana. “The ritual you need to find is one the third Ilina queen witnessed near the end of the second Nyad War.” His heart was beginning to race because not only was he starting to lose control, now alien knowledge was somehow invading his mind.
Ariana watched him carefully. “All right. I’ll try to access that memory.”
As his friends watched him in contemplative silence, Wulfe returned to his food, devouring his first sandwich, then reaching for a second. By the time Kougar finally broke that silence, Wulfe was about to crawl out of his skin.
“I hear Xavier’s sister is back with us.”
Wulfe nodded. Just what he wanted, the discussion turning from his own increasing weirdness to Natalie’s. “Something’s up with her,” he told them. “She’s acquired an odd aura. And a little while ago, the wound I healed on her face started hurting like the Daemon had just clawed her again.”
All three of his companions frowned.
“What would cause that?” Paenther asked, sipping his whiskey.
“I wish I knew.”
Ariana reached halfway across the table, laying her palm flat on the gleaming surface. “I’ll add that to my search, Wulfe. If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” Wulfe finished his second sandwich, then said good night and left them before he started spouting more Daemon history. Goddess, he hated this.
No light shone beneath Natalie’s door when he reached it, so he knocked lightly. When she didn’t answer, he unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door wide enough for the hall light to illuminate her sleeping face above the sheet that covered her to the neck.
A rush of emotion swamped him—tenderness, protectiveness. Possessiveness. Mine. She’d been through so much, yet remained as solid and strong as hammered steel. She’d make a fine mate for a warrior.
For the right warrior.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Stripping out of his clothes, he shifted into his wolf and curled up on the rug beside Natalie’s bed, as close as he could get to her without actually joining her. He didn’t want to risk waking her.
Please, goddess, don’t let Natalie suffer more pain when I’m too far to hear her distress.
He shouldn’t have taken her wound a month ago. He hadn’t planned to. Despite days in their prison, she’d remained brave and stoic and so damned beautiful. And that wound on her cheek had made him ache every time he’d looked at it. Finally, he hadn’t been able to bear it any longer.
He remembered the moment so clearly. She’d awakened and greeted him with a smile that had turned him on his tail. They’d talked as she ate the meal Kara brought down to her, but then it had been time to try again to steal her memories of all she’d seen. He’d hesitated, knowing that once he took her memories, he’d have to send her home. And he’d just gotten the chance to talk to her again.
His gaze fell to that jagged cut on her cheek, his thumb lifting to trace it lightly.
Natalie flinched.
Wulfe jerked his thumb back. “It still hurts.”
“Not too much.”
Which was a blatant lie.
Her brows drew down. “How bad does it look?”
“Not as bad as mine.”
A genuine laugh escaped her throat, utterly delighting him. She caught herself with a groan, though wry humor continued to light her eyes and tug at her mouth. “I’m sorry, but that wasn’t quite the reassurance I was looking for.”
He grinned at her, amazed at how easy she was to be with.
To his surprise, she lifted her hand, almost touching his face, before lowering it again. As she did, her smile died, her expression sobering. “I’m sorry for all you must have suffered.”
He grunted. “It was a long time ago.” Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he made a decision. “Hold still. This may be uncomfortable for a moment, but I won’t hurt you.” When her eyes gave him the go-ahead, he said, “Close your eyes.”
She hesitated only a moment before doing as he asked. He opened his hand, covering her wound and half her face with his palm.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly.
Beneath his palm, her heart beat, throbbing beneath the surface of her skin. Once more, her scent wrapped around him like a warm summer breeze.
“I’m something of a healer.” Sometimes. His own cheek began to burn and throb with surprising misery. How did humans stand the pain that took so long to go away? “How do you feel?”
“The pain’s gone.” Her voice held a note of wonder.
Lifting his hand, he peered at her cheekbone with keen satisfaction. The wound was gone completely now, her cheek unblemished.
She opened her eyes, blinking. “How did you . . . ?” Her gaze locked onto his cheek, onto the throbbing, aching wound he knew to be there, now. Her hand flew to her own cheek, then rubbed, as if seeking . . . anything.
“What have you done?”
Wulfe shrugged. “What’s one more?”
But he saw no gratitude in her eyes, only a keen dismay. “No, no, no.” Her brows knitting, she grabbed his face between her hands without fear, staring at him, at the cut that would mark him as all the others had. To his amazement, her fingers slid gently over his scarred cheeks. “You took it.”
&nb
sp; Her voice was breathless, stunned. She stared up at him, pain in her eyes. “Why?”
He frowned, confused by her reaction. The last thing he’d meant to do was upset her. But the truth was, he didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe he just didn’t like seeing her suffer when he could help. Or maybe he hadn’t liked the sight of that ugly scar on her pretty face.
What difference did it make? Women were so damn hard to please.
He turned away, breaking her soft hold on him and ending the discussion. “Lie down.” The words came out harsher than he’d meant them to.
But when he turned back to her, she was still standing where he’d left her, still staring at him. Although her brows remained drawn, her eyes no longer flashed with pain but something infinitely softer.
“Will you heal?”
“Of course.”
“But it’ll scar you.”
“Like I said, what’s one more?”
“Plenty.” The softness in her eyes deepened, a fine film of moisture making them shine like diamonds. “That may have been the most unselfish thing anyone’s ever done for me. And I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m called Wulfe.”
Understanding lit her gaze, the memory of watching him shift, he was certain. “I suppose that makes sense. Thank you, Wulfe.”
He nodded, his jaw tight. Then he slid his hand to her neck and pressed beneath her ear, feeling a need to close those eyes that saw too much. As she fell unconscious, he caught her, then laid her down carefully on one of the pallets someone had brought down for the prisoners.
Straightening, he stared down at her, clenching his jaw at her now-unblemished beauty.
With a burst of self-disgust, he’d turned away, because nothing good had ever come from his healing gift.
Now, a month later, he was more worried than ever that in taking her pain, he’d inadvertently hurt her more.
He sank his chin on his paws and gave a low, miserable whine.
Chapter Nine
Natalie woke to the sound of Wulfe’s calling her name. Blinking against the brilliant sunlight pouring into the room, she turned her head to find him filling the doorway, watching her with those liquid eyes.
A small flutter of pleasure filled her chest, making her smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
A smile tugged at his mouth, and that flutter of pleasure intensified. She was coming to love those smiles of his. And, oh, he was a sight to wake up to. He wore a T-shirt today, tucked into his jeans, the first time she’d seen him fully dressed, but the soft fabric did nothing to hide the fine, fine shape of his broad chest, narrow hips, and thick, muscular arms. His golden armband curled around his biceps just below one sleeve.
If only he’d join her in the bed. If only he wanted to.
In one hand, he held a small silver laptop. She sat up, letting the sheet fall to her waist. “Is that mine?”
He nodded. “Hawke modified it, disabling the GPS along with your ability to get online.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry. Lyon’s rules.” His gaze dropped briefly to her chest, to her sleeveless cotton nightgown, then rose again all too quickly. If the sight in any way intrigued him, she couldn’t tell. “Lyon says you can make the calls to your mom and your assistant, but not alone, and not here. We don’t want the signal tracked.”
“Fair enough. I assume you have my phone?” It was no longer in her purse.
“We have it.”
She didn’t blame them for being so cautious. No good could come of humans’ getting involved in the Ferals’ war. She was certain of that.
Wulfe crossed his arms over that powerful chest. “We’ll be doing a power raising soon. I thought you might enjoy watching it. We’ll be shifting.”
“All of you?” At the thought of watching them change into all those marvelous animals her eyes went wide, and she found herself grinning. “I’d love to watch.” Flinging back the sheet, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “How much time do I have?”
Wulfe’s gaze made a slow, gratifying trail down her body to her legs, bared beneath the hem of her short nightie. Pleasure shimmered through her that he was at least looking.
“Are you going to wait here while I dress?” she asked, striding to the bathroom.
“No.” The word snapped out, his expression turning almost pained. “I’ll be back for you in thirty.” He disappeared out the door, half slamming it behind him.
Natalie glanced at the closed door, bemused. Perhaps the man wasn’t as uninterested as he appeared. She could only hope.
Wulfe leaned back against the wall outside Natalie’s bedchamber, searching for his breath. The sight of her in that nightgown, the soft cotton skimming her curves, hiding, teasing, enticing. Goddess. His mind was on fire even if his body was too damaged to respond. With her cheeks pink from sleep, her golden hair a tousled halo about her head, she’d looked like an angel—a sexy-as-hell angel. At one time, he’d have been burning to pull her beneath him. His cock would have been thick and throbbing, his pulse racing. Now it was only his mind that imagined, and longed, and wanted. And, goddess, how he wanted. He shoved himself away from the wall and started down the hallway, that vision of long, long legs and slender curves caressed by soft cotton burned into his mind.
With effort, he turned his thoughts back to the situation at hand. So far, Ariana had been unable to find any reference to the second Nyad War in the storage facility that was her Ilina queen’s brain. Of course, perhaps there had never been a second Nyad War, and he’d dreamed up the whole thing. How was he supposed to verify the veracity of information he shouldn’t even know? The whole thing made his gut cramp.
As he approached the dining room, Fox strode out through the doorway, a pair of large cloth bags hanging from each of his fists.
“Give me a hand, boyo?” Fox asked with a smile. “I’ve drawn short straw for the prison run.”
“Sure.” Wulfe backtracked and opened the door to the basement, then took one of Fox’s bags. He knew from experience they were filled with food and drink for their prisoners.
“Have you seen Jag this morning?” Wulfe asked as he followed Fox down the stairs.
“Aye. He seems to be fine. No change.”
Wulfe nodded, more relieved than he wanted to admit. None of them knew how long they had to live once they lost their animals.
“Did you hear about the female watching the place?” Together, they crossed the gym toward the hidden door at the back.
“Mage?”
“No. Either human or Therian. She parked her car along the road and was just starting up the drive when Vhyper spotted her. Before he could call for backup, in case it was some kind of trap, she lifted her hand, and yelled, ‘Wrong house,’ then backtracked to her car and drove away.”
Wulfe looked at him as he followed Fox through the door and into the long stone passage that led to the prisons. “What about that set off Vhyper’s alarm bells?”
“Nothing in particular. Not until he asked one of the Ilinas to follow and see where she went, and she drove straight out of the neighborhood.”
Wulfe frowned. “If she’d really approached the wrong house, she should have searched for the right one.”
“Aye, boyo. Precisely what Vhyper thought. We’re wondering if she’s a newly marked Feral who lost her nerve.”
“Did the Ilina stay with her long enough to know where she went?”
“No. Apparently tailing a vehicle while in mist form is extremely taxing. Lyon’s ordered the Ilinas to notify him immediately if either the vehicle or the woman are spotted again.”
Together, they entered the prison block where three newly marked Ferals languished in separate cells. None had been brought into his animal. They didn’t know any of the three well enough to be able to guess whether or not they were the ones their animal spirits had meant to mark. They could be either good or evil, and choosing wrong would sign Kara’s death warrant.
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br /> Wulfe set down his bag in front of Castin’s cell and pulled out three individually wrapped foot-long subs. Straightening, he handed them to the male through the bars.
“Any news?” Castin asked. Of all of the prisoners, Castin seemed the most accepting of his fate. From what they could tell, he was by far the oldest among them, possibly as ancient as the Shaman. He’d helped in the rescue of Kara from Inir’s stronghold, then returned to Feral House willingly, expressing his displeasure at being locked up with a tight jaw and little more.
When they’d first dragged this latest group of new Ferals down here, they’d discussed whether they should keep them in the dark about what was going on. The trouble was, they empathized with these men. And if the day came when they could free this group, bring them into their animals, and call them “brother,” they wanted to know they’d treated them as fairly as possible under these very trying circumstances.
“Inir is attempting to turn the blood he stole from Kara into unascended Radiant’s blood,” Wulfe told Castin. If their situations had been reversed, he’d be hungry for information, too. “It’s the prime ingredient he needs to open the Daemon Blade once the Ferals cease to register, but you probably know that as well as anyone.”
Just as a Feral had to be brought into his animal through ritual, so too did a new Radiant have to be ascended to her power. Months ago, Inir had arranged for their previous Radiant, Beatrice, to be killed so that the new one could be blooded before she was ascended, and that blood used to open the Daemon Blade. Not until the last minute had the Ferals figured out what was happening and thwarted that scheme.
“What are you doing to stop Inir?” Rikkert demanded from the next cell. The male had been bad-tempered from the moment he’d arrived.
“We’re working to get our immortality back, boyo,” Fox answered. “Jag lost the shift, or didn’t you hear? He can no longer access his animal. Inir has us over a barrel until we can reverse the effects of his dark charm.”
Wulfe passed three sandwiches to Rikkert, then moved to the last cell. The third male had arrived at Feral House a little over a week ago, hailing from Kenya. He’d said little when they’d explained the situation and forced him into the prison. He’d said nothing since. Wulfe didn’t even know his name.
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