Wulfe Untamed (27 page)

Snatching up the blade in his teeth, Wulfe tossed the magical steel into the air, then shifted back, and caught it with one hand. Without pause, he whirled and stabbed the Daemon Blade deep within Satanan’s chest.

The High Daemon roared with fury, the scream echoing across the mountain and far into the sky. And a second later, Satanan disappeared, sucked back into the blade.

Shadows began to fly at Wulfe from all directions, following Satanan, vanishing, one after another, by the score.

With a roar of triumph, Wulfe lifted the blade aloft, the wind whipping at his face and hair, energy crackling over his skin. Victory sang in his blood. And more.

Power.

The primal energies rushed through him in a torrent, no longer siphoned by Satanan. Dark, rich, and seductive, they filled him, strengthened him.

The shadows rushed in, clouding his vision and his mind as the power consumed him.

N
atalie lay on the rain-soaked ground, beneath the trees, her knees pulled against her chest, her teeth grinding against the horrific pain. Wave after wave of fire rushed up through her feet, through her body, a constant, steady stream of molten energy.

On one side of her, Kara stroked her face. On the other, Melisande pressed her hand to her arm, stealing as much of the pain as she could. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

Wulfe’s love caressed her mind, lending her strength, helping her heart continue to beat.

“He’s won!” Ariana cried, taking form a few feet away. She’d been moving between them and the Ferals, giving the women a play-by-play as she stood ready to call in her mist warriors if the Daemons turned against the Ferals. “Wulfe stabbed Satanan, and the wraith Daemons are following him into the blade!”

“But not the other Daemons?” Melisande asked.

“No. I guess we’ll find out what that means soon enough.” She knelt beside them. “How’s Natalie?”

“I can’t keep hold of her much longer. Wulfe has to shut down the channel, or he’s going to kill her.”

But it was too late. As she lay there in misery, the soft flow of Wulfe’s love suddenly shut off. And a moment later, a piercing cold rushed into her in its place.

“He’s . . . lost,” Natalie gasped. “To the darkness.”

Kara made a sound of despair, but Melisande only growled. “He’s not lost, yet. Get back, Kara. Natalie and I are going for a little ride.”

A moment later, Natalie’s world flipped end over end, then righted itself suddenly as she came to lie on her back upon cool, wet stone, her stomach turning. The rain beat softly against her face and hair, telling her she was still alive. For now.

“Natalie’s dying, Wulfe,” Melisande announced. “The woman you love, is dying.”

With a start, Natalie forced her eyes open, turning instinctively toward the male who held her heart and her life in his hands. Electricity arced all around him as if he stood in the middle of his own private lightning storm. His eyes stared at her without recognition, once more glowing red. Around him, the Ferals circled, ready to attack him, to kill him if they had to.

Strome had warned that the darkness always won. She’d pulled him back once. But heaven help her, it was all she could do to keep breathing through the pain. Where was she going to find the strength to save him one more time?

Chapter Twenty-four

E
xtraordinary, magnificent, glorious power raced through Wulfe’s veins. They would bow before him, the insects. They would worship at his feet!

If only he could silence the one inside, the wolf, and his snarling, his fury, his howling.

The shifters—he’d known them once—surrounded him, their weapons drawn.

“Wulfe, buddy, don’t let the darkness win,” one of them said.

“Come on, Wolfman. We need you, dude.”

“Wulfe, release the darkness. That’s an order!”

“Natalie is going to die, Wulfe,” yet another said quietly, his voice throbbing with emotion. “Don’t let her die, Wulfe. If she does, you’re both gone.”

But the male they spoke to was already gone. Couldn’t they see that?

“Wulfe.” The female on the rock at his feet spoke, her voice a mere whisper. He recognized her, his channel key. Once she died, he’d gain no additional power, which was a pity. But he could barely hold all he’d claimed already, so it was no matter.
All
would kneel before him!

Something pulsed in his head, a small golden glow that flared, then disappeared, again and again, each pulse igniting the darkness of his mind, dissolving a few of the shadows, but it was no matter. The pulses grew weaker, fainter. Dying.

Natalie’s dying.

The words broke through the shadows, stabbing him through the gut. The wolf trapped inside him howled with fury and desperation.

He gathered the shadows close, pushing back the words and their inexplicable pain, concentrating only on the power. But the words pushed again, attacked again, over and over and over.

Natalie’s dying. Natalie’s dying. Natalie’s dying.

The pain grew. Emotion began to break through the wall of shadows, at first a mere trickle, slowly becoming a small stream, then a flood.

No
. He didn’t care. He
wouldn’t
care.

He was panting as he fought it back, fought against the love that battered at the walls he’d thought impenetrable. Though he struggled to destroy all emotion and shore up the walls, the light slipped through his defenses, burrowing deep, filling him with warmth and love and fear. Scattering the darkness to the winds.

Wulfe came back to himself in a dizzying rush, his gaze dropping to the woman lying dead at his feet.

“
Natalie!
” He fell to his knees beside her, his heart splintering as he gathered her cold hand in his warm one. And felt life.
Not dead. Thank you, goddess.
His own heart began to beat again even as he knew she must be at death’s door. Scooping her unconscious body against his chest, he turned to the throngs who stood all around him, watching.

“How do I save her?” he yelled.

A deep male voice he didn’t recognize answered him. “Release the primal energies, shifter. Send them back through her, back where they came from, and close the door.”

“How?” But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He found it written on the Daemon sliver of his soul.

Closing his eyes, he began to say the words—words he’d never known yet had always known. Words that repudiated the darkness, banishing it back into the bowels of Hell.

The darkness inside him resisted, trying to seduce, to beguile, but Wulfe had no need for power beyond what he’d always had. He needed Natalie. Only that. Only her. Though the darkness fought valiantly, it was no match for the determination of a man in love and, slowly, it lost its hold on him and slipped away. He felt it flee back through Natalie, back to where it had come from. Out of his head, his blood, his bones, draining, evaporating, until it was no more.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Wulfe blinked, feeling odd and yet wonderfully himself again. From his mouth, slipped another string of unknown words, words he knew would close the channel once and for all. Lifting Natalie closer, tucking her head against his chest, he bent and kissed her lips.

“Come back to me. Please come back to me.”

Her aura was gone, now. Amazingly, so too was the wound on her cheek.

She stirred in his arms and his heart began to beat again. Slowly, her lashes lifted. As she saw him, a small, calm, gray-eyes smile lifted her lovely mouth.

“You did it.”

A shudder went through him, and he pulled her tight against him. “We did it together,” he whispered against her hair. Inside, his wolf let out a howl of pure happiness.

Lifting his head, Wulfe faced his brothers. Behind them stood several dozen Daemons of the human-looking variety, each armed with a sword or knife, though none appeared to be actively threatening. In fact, unless he was mistaken, the expressions on most of their faces were a mix of gratitude and disbelief, of relief and wonder.

“I can stand,” Natalie said quietly, and he set her on her feet, if reluctantly, keeping an arm tight around her.

His brothers surged forward, gathering around him, slapping him on the back. Lyon grasped his forearm. “A hell of a job, Wulfe. One hell of a job.”

Wulfe handed his chief the Daemon Blade.

“Wolfman,” Jag crowed. “You just saved the whole fucking world.”

“Perhaps,” Paenther said quietly, drawing their attention back to the dozens of Daemons watching them, reminding them that although Satanan might be defeated, much of his horde was still loose.

The tattooed Daemon stepped forward. “We are in your debt, shifter.”

Lyon faced him. “You’re Daemons.”

“Most of us, yes. But there were many races subjugated and ensnared by Satanan, and all those who survived were freed this day.”

“The world you left is no more.” Lyon’s voice resonated clearly across the gathering. “The humans now number in the billions, and they’ve acquired great power. They don’t know the immortal races exist and they must never know if we wish to survive. Find a way to live in this world without discovery and without harming the other races, including the humans. Or we’ll be hunting you down.”

The tattooed male nodded. “Satanan’s way was never ours. We wish only to return to the mountains and live in peace.”

Jag snorted. “Good luck with that.”

The Daemon’s jaw hardened. “Many of those who were freed today have already escaped, many whose souls were long ago destroyed by Satanan. They have neither heard your warning nor would likely pay it any heed if they had. We will hunt them and destroy those who cannot be saved.”

Lyon nodded. “If you need assistance—and you may until you learn the ways of this world—we’ll help you. I am Lyon, Chief of the Feral Warriors, the shifters.”

The Daemon male nodded. “I am Strome, the last true king of the Daemons.”

Wulfe jerked. Around him, several of the others made noises of surprise.

The male eyed them curiously. “You have heard of me.”

Fox gave a small smile. “You’re something of a legend where we’re from, boyo.” None of them, it seemed, were willing to endanger Vivian’s life, not when she’d risked so much to help them.

Lyon looked around. “You may remain here, in this fortress, for as long as you wish. The owner no longer needs it. But the humans inside will be set free. Leave the humans alone.
All
humans.”

Strome turned to Wulfe. “You, shifter, are part Daemon.”

Wulfe nodded, wondering if they’d always know he was one of them. “Apparently I have a Daemon ancestor.”

Strome nodded. “Ciroc.”

That was the name Vivian’s Strome had given him.

A fur-clad Daemon stepped forward, his beard full, his shoulders nearly as wide as Wulfe’s. “I am Ciroc.”

Wulfe stared, a chill dancing over his skin. This male was his . . . how many greats? . . .
grandfather
.

Ciroc smiled with a startling pride. “You honor me and all who have come before and after me, son of my son of my son. Relinquishing, nay
shoving away
that kind of power was a sight to behold, a display of strength and nobility few men possess. Of any race.”

Strome nodded. “You honor all who challenge evil. You would be most welcome should you wish to join my tribe, shifter of Ciroc’s blood.”

The distinctive sound track of the original
Star Wars
movie cut the stillness suddenly. All heads turned toward the door, where one of the Daemon males held a laptop like he feared it would explode in his hands. As he approached, all the Daemons stared, wide-eyed, many of them backing away.

“What is this?” Strome demanded.

“It’s harmless,” Lyon assured him. “Human technology. Playacting.”

The Daemon moved to where he could watch the battle on the screen, then shook his head, his eyes wide. “The world has indeed changed.”

Lyon grunted. “We don’t live in the Star Wars universe, but yes, it’s changed. More than you can imagine.”

Strome moved away from the laptop and extended his hand to Lyon. “I thank you, shifter. You and your people have freed me and mine. We are in your debt.”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Lyon met him halfway. “You have a lot of catching up to do. I suggest you coerce the remaining Mage into showing you how to use the televisions and computers, and learn how to live in the twenty-first century. I’ll send Wulfe back to see how you’re doing in a couple of days. Right now, we have other things to attend to.”

Lyon turned to Ariana.

“Home?” Ariana asked.

Lyon smiled, reaching for Kara as he turned to Wulfe with a lift of a tawny eyebrow.

Wulfe’s still-stunned gaze returned to Ciroc. He nodded, getting a nod and a smile in return, then glanced down to find Natalie watching him with color in her cheeks and an incandescent joy in her eyes.

The smile tugging at his mouth bloomed fully. “Home.”

T
wo hours later, the Ferals sat or stood around the massive dining table in Feral House with their mates. Their numbers had swelled, and would continue to, it seemed, until they were twenty-six once more. The moment they’d returned to Feral House, a carafe of Inir’s blood in hand, they’d performed a series of rituals to bring the new Ferals residing in their prisons into their animals. Castin, as they’d expected, had shifted into a cheetah. Rikkert, into a rhino. Kougar had declared their Feral names to be Cheet and Rhyne, respectively. The third male, now known as Dact, had shifted into a startling creature—a long-extinct pterodactyl with a twenty-foot wingspan. A one-man demolition team if he ever shifted in the house.

With each Renascence, Kara had felt stronger and better, making it clear that the souls inside these Ferals were honorable and good. Sabine had been right, and they had no more qualms about Lepard, whom she’d declared also good. Only Grizz’s soul remained in question, though only, it seemed, to the grizzly shifter himself. No one else doubted the honor of a male who’d risked his life to save his brothers.

The second ritual had cleared the new Ferals and Polaris of the dark magic that had infected all the animal spirits of the seventeen. The third had cleared Lepard and Grizz of the dark charm’s curse, restoring their immortality.

Now, seventeen Ferals sat or stood around the table.

Nine new Ferals had yet to come in—the ones who would be marked to replace the evil Ferals and the three who’d yet to appear. Kougar had finally revealed the ones missing to be the horse, the gorilla, and the arctic wolf.

Wulfe liked the idea of another wolf in the house.

In addition to the Ferals, all the wives had joined them. And Natalie.

She sat beside him, leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders. Her sweet scent filled his senses, her nearness, his heart. Goddess, he loved her. As if she felt that surge of emotion, she turned to meet his gaze, her eyes soft as a summer breeze, setting his pulse to flight at her loveliness. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy. Pulling the energies through her hadn’t injured her permanently from what he could tell. She’d recovered almost immediately. All he wanted to do now was sweep her up to his room and make love to her until neither of them cared about the future, about anything but lying in one another’s arms.

But now wasn’t the time. And he was dreading getting her alone as much as he was looking forward to it. Because the moment he did, they were going to have to have
the talk.
He intended to pop the question. And he was terrified she was going to kiss him and tell him that her life was in Frederick, not here.

How could he ask her to give up her work, her mom, her home?
Everything?

But, goddess, he wanted her to stay with him.

“Victory to the Feral Warriors!” Tighe shouted, thrusting his fist into the air.

“Victory to the Feral Warriors!” the others shouted in reply, their fists rising as one. Only Grizz, standing apart, didn’t participate.

“Can we claim victory?” Hawke asked, ever practical. “With the Daemons now free?”

“The wraith Daemons are gone,” Lyon replied. “As is Satanan.”

“And Inir,” Paenther added. “Perhaps now, some of the Mage who’ve lost their souls will begin to reclaim them again.”

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on the Daemons and the others who escaped.” Kougar took a sip of his whiskey. “More than one has traditionally fed on humans though I’m the first to admit I know little about most of those races. They inhabited a different part of the world from the shifters in those ancient times, and they were already firmly under Satanan’s control by the time I was born. Perhaps, as Strome indicated, the evil we’ve always attributed to Daemons in general was only a reflection of Satanan’s control over them.”

“We can hope,” Lyon said somberly. “If they prove otherwise, we’ll have our work cut out for us.”

“What about the draden?” Fox asked, his arm around Melisande’s shoulders. “We always believed they were the remnants of the Daemons incarcerated in the blade, but there’s no doubt they’ve multiplied a thousandfold since ancient times. Do you think they’re gone now?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Grizz suddenly pushed away from the wall and strode to Melisande. “I need to find Sabine.”

Melisande nodded, then gave Fox a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.” A moment later, she and Grizz disappeared.