Wulfe Untamed (10 page)

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.”

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

N
atalie 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.

W
ulfe 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.

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.

The male rose and took the sandwiches with a nod, his dark eyes piercing, his expression enigmatic.

“One other thing,” Fox said as he handed out water bottles to the three prisoners. “We got a call from Lepard. Apparently he and Grizz are out West somewhere hunting for a woman who’s said to be able to see into a man’s soul. If they find her, they’ll bring her to us. Hopefully, she’ll be able to tell us which of our new Ferals were meant to be marked.”

Wulfe looked at him with surprise. “So they didn’t run.”

“No. They’re helping in their own way.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Castin said something in a language Wulfe didn’t recognize, a fervent string of words that sounded like a prayer of thanksgiving. Rikkert just grunted. The newest Feral said nothing, as usual.

Wulfe led the way back upstairs, feeling more hopeful for the males in the prison than he had on the way down. Being marked to be a Feral Warrior, to finally, after a lifetime, be able to shift as you were born to do, should be the greatest of honors. Wulfe himself had found absolution and salvation in his own marking.

“
Daemon?
” The word brushed across Wulfe’s mind, startling him.

“What is it, boyo?” Fox asked behind him.

“Nothing.”
Fuck.
He waited for it to happen again, but he heard nothing more. What in the hell was happening?

The only thing he knew absolutely, positively for certain . . . it was far from
nothing
.

N
atalie stood at the window, gazing at the vehicles that lined the Ferals’ circular drive—a bright yellow Hummer, a white Land Rover, and a low-slung sports car that she thought might be a Lamborghini, among them—as she waited for Wulfe to collect her for the spirit raising. Beyond the drive, the woods rose on all sides, and not far beyond them, she knew, lay the Potomac River and the horizontal falls for which Great Falls had been named.

She wondered if she’d ever be allowed to leave the house, to see them again. Xavier’s days of freedom were over, and the knowledge made her ache. No matter how happy he seemed to be, he was trapped here, unable to leave for fear of being recognized. He might never leave this house again.

But he was alive. Dear God, her brother was alive. Despite her concerns, her heart soared. She’d awakened to a bright, sunny day, to the sight of a gorgeous male with the sweetest smile, and in the house where Xavier now
lived.
It was a glorious day, and she would rejoice in every single moment.

The rap she’d been waiting for finally sounded on her door.

“Come in,” she called, turning away from the window. She was halfway across the room when the door swung open.

Wulfe’s gaze skimmed her body, taking in her jeans, her green T-shirt with the pretty detailing, and her sandals, setting off little flares of warmth along the way. Slowly, he looked up, meeting her gaze, a smile in his eyes that burrowed deep down inside her. Other men had looked at her over the years, but never before had she felt as if they really saw her. And Wulfe did.

“Ready?” he asked, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Ready.” Natalie returned his smile as she joined him. The warmth of his body wrapped around her, his masculine scent filling her nostrils. As they started down the hall, side by side, electricity arced through the air between them, making Natalie catch her breath. Glancing at Wulfe, she found him watching her with eyes that leaped with an answering awareness.

Natalie swallowed.

Wulfe frowned and took her arm, gently pulling her around to face him. Slowly, he lifted his hand, his knuckles caressing her cheek, making her pulse race and her body melt with longing.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he said, his voice low, rough, aching. With fingers shaking ever so slightly, he stroked her neck. “I can’t make love to you.”

“Can’t?” she asked breathlessly. “Or don’t want to?”

“Can’t.” He leaned in, his nose brushing the curve of her neck, his soft, fragrant hair caressing her cheek, sending her pulse into overdrive. He made a sound deep in his throat, half-human, half-wolf, a low rumble of pleasure. It took every bit of control she possessed not to weave her fingers into his hair and lift his face for her kiss.

He pulled away suddenly with a look of chagrin. “They’re waiting for us,” he said gruffly, and started back down the hall.

Natalie caught up to him, more confused than before, yet elated. Wulfe wanted her. Something was holding him back, but he wanted her. And that was all she needed to know.

Her step was light as they reached the stairs and started down. “After this ritual, do you think we can scare up a cup of coffee?”

“We’ll grab it on the way out.”

As they reached the foyer, they had to merge with the steady stream of people passing by.

“Quite a crowd today,” she murmured.

One of the women heard her and smiled. “The Guards have been invited to watch the Ferals shift. We wouldn’t miss it.”

Wulfe and Natalie joined the stream, following the others down the hall and into the dining room. Through the back windows, Natalie caught a glimpse of a brick patio and heavily treed yard quickly filling with people.

“Do I have time to say hello to Xavier?” she asked.

“Sure. They won’t start without me. And Lyon hasn’t brought Kara down, yet.”

Wulfe led her to the swinging door she’d watched Xavier come through last night, and into a first-class kitchen with granite countertops and gleaming appliances. Xavier was busy kneading dough. The joy that pulsed inside of her as her gaze took in his beloved, contented face was so great it was a moment before she noticed the extraordinary creature standing behind him, stirring a pot on the stove. The woman appeared to be part human, part bird, with . . .
my God . . .
pink feathers instead of skin.

The bird-woman turned and stared at Natalie. In unblinking bird-shaped eyes, Natalie saw a terrible self-consciousness, an almost palpable fear of rejection. Empathy curled around her heart. This was clearly Pink.