Wulfe Untamed (22 page)

“Or the blood of Daemons,” Kougar said thoughtfully.

Wulfe’s head pounded. “We could try it again using my blood alone.” But as he turned to Lyon, he saw that Kara was asleep in his arms. Pulling the radiance had taken everything she had.

Lyon shook his head, his jaw rigid, his eyes bleak.

“Maybe it was
all
wrong.” Wulfe shook his head back and forth, frustration and fury building inside of him. “What if Satanan’s fucking with my head, making me think I know things? He could have told me about that ritual specifically to destroy any chance that we might succeed.
Fuck!
”

Fury barreled up and out of him on a ferocious yell of anger, grief, and pain. When he’d quieted, as his gaze slowly roamed the circle, he saw despair in his brothers’ eyes, a despair he knew must darken his own.

Their last chance had failed.

N
atalie stood in front of the window of her bedroom, Jane Austen’s
Emma
clutched against her chest. She’d tried to read, but her mind simply refused to quiet long enough for the words in front of her eyes to register. It didn’t matter that she’d already read the book three times in years past and practically knew it by heart. For a short while, she’d worked on her computer, but that had been even less productive.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she’d shattered an empty wine bottle against the edge of Kara’s dresser. Had she really intended to attack shape-shifters? Maybe she had. Or maybe she’d been out of her mind and would have turned on anyone within reach.

The thought scared her. Twice now, she’d lost time, though the first time her memory had been intentionally taken from her, presumably for her own good. This time she found far more disturbing because she hadn’t been in her right mind. She hadn’t been conscious of her actions at all. And there was a chance Satanan had been controlling her in some way.

Turning away from the window, Natalie set the book on the nightstand, then sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at nothing. She felt as if she’d awakened in an alternate universe where nothing she knew or believed was true anymore. Shape-shifters, Daemons, magic all existed in this world. Xavier lived. And she, herself, was somehow being used to empower a Daemon, perhaps the most evil creature ever to walk the Earth.

For the first time, she thought she understood what it felt like for some of her patients, when, after years of seeing one way, of their brains processing the words on the page in a way that sometimes made the words all but impossible to read, their eyes were opened. What was once invisible or distorted finally became clear. Just last week, she’d gotten a call from the mom of one of the kids she’d taken through a full course of vision therapy. The woman was in tears because her daughter was now reading at grade level, a thing they’d feared would never happen. Words that had appeared to her seven-year-old’s eyes, to leap and bounce across the page, now lined up straight and still as they were meant to.

Seeing clearly in the child’s case was a blessing. Natalie wasn’t so sure she could say the same. Not when her eyes had been opened to a truth she was beginning to fear she wouldn’t survive.

Pushing to her feet, she walked back to the window, turning her gaze northwest, toward Frederick, toward home and the life she needed to return to. She had work to do there, still. There were too many kids at risk and too few doctors available to help them. How many times had she heard otherwise excellent eye doctors disparage vision therapy as
voodoo
? Many viewed it with the same skepticism she suspected medical doctors viewed acupuncture, unwilling to explore a specialty they knew little about, thereby leaving at-risk patients without the options that could profoundly change their lives.

Yet, returning to that life meant leaving this one and never seeing Wulfe again. Or Xavier. And the thought felt like a fist to the solar plexis.

Cut yourself.

Natalie stilled, her pulse leaping erratically at the strange thought that blazed suddenly in her mind.

Draw your blood.

To her disbelieving horror, she lifted one hand and began to claw at her opposite wrist, raking the tender flesh with her fingernails.

“No.” The word was a bare whisper, uttered between clenched teeth. Pain tore along her wrist, ice filling her veins, because she couldn’t move of her own free will. She couldn’t call out. She could do nothing but what the voice in her head told her to do.

Satanan. This was his doing!

Suddenly, pain sliced across her cheek.
Oh, God, no. Not now. Not this, too.

She opened her mouth to call for help, but she could force no sound between her lips. He was controlling her completely. Eyes filling with tears, heart pounding with terror, she tore at her wrist until her fingertips were slick with blood.

Finally, the words came, but they weren’t her own. They fell from her lips in a whispered, frantic torrent, in a language she’d never heard. If only she could make some kind of sound, even just bang against the wall. But her body refused to cooperate. It was no longer her own.

She’d been caught fast in the web of a Daemon.

Chapter Nineteen

“I
need to get out of this fucking house!” Wulfe shouted, slamming his fist into the wall of the ritual room so hard that plaster rained down on him from above. He was trapped within a body that could no longer shift, within a four-story prison from which Satanan just waited for a chance to come after him again.

Worst of all, he feared Satanan might be fucking with his mind.

If only he could take a run in his wolf, but his other half was lost to him, now. He couldn’t even walk out to the goddess stone to listen to the rumbling falls of the Potomac River and feel the wind in his face.

He was so fucking angry! So frustrated. So . . .
terrified
. . . that this nightmare would never end.

Hawke clapped him on the back. “Come on, buddy. Get Natalie. It’s almost time for dinner. You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.” Hawke grunted, the shadows from the loss of his own animal clouding his eyes. “No, you won’t. But your stomach will feel better, and that’s something, at least.”

Wulfe nodded. But as he turned for the door, he felt an odd tug at his mind as if his subconscious was trying to get his attention. Had he forgotten something?

He shook his head. No, this tug felt external. Satanan? The thought chilled.

“Wulfe?” Kougar asked. “What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure.” He felt the tug again, hard and insistent. Was his animal trying to reach him? The thought lifted his heart until he realized that it was coming from another place, his heart and that gossamer thread that he’d recognized as the beginnings of a mating bond.

Down that finest of threads, he heard something, as faint as a whisper in a gale.

A scream.

“
Natalie.
” He shoved forward, pushing his brothers aside. “Natalie’s in trouble.”

The others parted for him, and he ran, up the stairs, through the foyer, up two more flights. But as he neared the third-floor hallway, wisps of red smoke began to seep into the edges of his field of vision.

“Roar!” He couldn’t lose it. Not now, not when Natalie needed him.

“We’re right behind you,” Lyon said.

Wulfe ran down the hall, hearing the reassuring footfalls of his brothers following close. “She’s in pain, and the darkness is gunning for me. If I don’t reach her before it gets me, knock her out.”

“We will.”

But as he neared her door, he heard nothing. No scream, no sound of pain or shout for help. Just a perfect, terrible silence. Either the Ilina had already whisked Natalie away, or Natalie had never called out. Wulfe burst through the door, then came to a sudden halt at the horrible sight that met his eyes.

Natalie stood in the middle of the room, facing him, blood dripping from her fingertips onto the carpet, her head thrown back in agony, tears running into her hair as she whispered words he didn’t understand. No, words he
did
understand.
Daemon words.

“Satanan has her.” Wulfe lunged forward, gathering her close, and watching as terrified gray eyes swung toward him with relief. Placing a kiss on her brow, he jammed his thumb beneath her ear, then swung her into his arms as she fell unconscious.

Shaking badly, he turned to where Lyon, Hawke, and Kougar stood just inside the door. “The words were Daemon words designed to open the channel to the primal energies.”

“Maybe you should put her down, Wulfe,” Lyon said evenly. All three males watched him as if they thought they were going to have to tackle him to the ground again at any moment.

“I’m okay. The shadows have subsided.” For now.

“Is the channel open?” Kougar asked.

“Yes.” He could feel a slight buzz of energy he hadn’t before. Goddess, what if that darkness started to build in him? What if he lost it and never came back? But even as the worry flew through his head, knowledge followed. He wouldn’t lose control to such a small amount of primal energy.

With a shake of his head, he met Lyon’s gaze. “The channel has only been opened a crack. I’m the one who needs to say the words to open it, not Natalie. But Satanan has managed to get himself a steady, if small, flow of power. It’s going to strengthen him.”

“Does he have complete control over her now?” Hawke asked.

“No.” He frowned, his stomach full of lead shot. “I hope not.”

“This connection Satanan has with you is no good, you know that,” Lyon said evenly.

“I know.” Wulfe’s grip on Natalie tightened, and he knew what was going through Lyon’s head. Probably all of their heads. The safest course of action would be to sever the connection. Here. Now.

“I love her.” He met the gazes of each of his brothers in turn, men he’d lay his life down for in an instant. “I’ll kill you before I let you hurt her.”

Lyon’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “We risk much for the women we love.”

“Without them, what do we have that’s worth fighting for?” Hawke asked philosophically.

To Wulfe’s surprise, Kougar nodded. “Natalie lives. It’s Inir that dies.”

But they were back to square one. Wulfe looked down at the woman in his arms and wished he could pack her up and take her somewhere, away from the wary gazes, somewhere that Satanan and Inir couldn’t send Mage sentinels after them.

He turned to Kougar suddenly. “Would the Ilinas host a couple of corporeal visitors for a few hours? I’ll go stark, raving mad . . . again . . . if I don’t get out of this house.”

“The Ilinas would welcome you, but I suggest Melisande accompany you.”

Lyon nodded. “If you have any trouble, she and her mist warriors can either whisk you both back here, or us up there.”

“You’ll be safe enough there,” Kougar added. “As safe as anywhere.”

And that was the real crux of the matter. As long as Satanan had his claws in them, there was nowhere they could really hide.

N
atalie came awake to the feel of a large, tender hand stroking her hair. Wulfe’s. Even without opening her eyes, she knew he was the one who held her on his lap, cradled against his strong chest.

“Are you back?” he asked softly.

With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and met his concerned gaze, then tensed as she saw the bleakness there. Struggling to sit up, she reached for him, her hand pressing against his cheek.

“What happened? Something terrible happened. Someone died.”

He stared at her, shook his head. “You amaze me with your perception. No one died, not exactly. I lost my animal.” At those last words, his brow tightened, grief slashing across his eyes.

“Oh, Wulfe.” This was bad, in so many ways, she knew that. But in that moment, all she could feel was his anguish, and it slew her. Sliding her arms around his neck, she pulled him close, held him tight as he buried his face against her shoulder. Fear washed through her in an icy flow because she knew that a Feral without his animal would not survive.

Her hold on him tightened until her muscles began to quake. “You can’t die.”

“It’s not going to come to that,” he said against her hair. “We’re not going to let it come to that.” But while he made a decent effort to reassure her, she heard no certainty in his voice.

As her gaze slowly took in her surroundings, she began to frown. They appeared to be sitting at the base of a cascade of rocks, beneath a bright blue sky. But the air . . . It was sparkling, as if filled with tiny crystals!

She jerked upright and peered around. In front of her sat a lovely pool of clear water fed by a small, tinkling waterfall. It was lovely in a stark kind of way. There wasn’t a plant or flower in sight despite the fact that she smelled the unmistakable scent of pine.

“What
is
this place?” she asked, pushing off Wulfe’s lap to stand and look around.

“We’re safe here.” Wulfe’s bare feet dangled in the water. “We’re in the Crystal Realm. The Ilinas’ castle is just beyond the rocks.”

She cocked her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “Where?”

“In the clouds.”

Natalie scowled. “That’s not possible.”

“And a race of women who can turn to mist, disappear at will, and travel anywhere in the world in seconds is?”

Natalie stared at him a moment more, then blinked, giving up. She’d already accepted shape-shifters, Daemons, and Mage. And she’d seen the Ilinas appear and disappear, had even traveled with one. What was a castle in the clouds compared to all that?

Of far more concern was
why
they were here. “What happened, Wulfe? The last thing I remember, you were about to perform some ritual with the Ferals to reclaim your immortality.” With a frown, she understood. “It didn’t work, did it?”

“No. Do you remember anything of what happened in your room?”

The way he was looking at her, she knew it must be bad. “Tell me.”

He held out his hand to her and when she took it, pulled her onto the rock beside him and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Somehow, Satanan forced you to perform a ritual that opened the channel a little bit.” When her jaw dropped, he added hastily, “Not far. I knocked you out and brought you here afterward.”

Vaguely, she remembered . . . something. More like a nightmare than reality. “I hurt myself, didn’t I?”

“Yes. He forced you to scratch open your wrists and whisper a string of ritual words. I got there in time to stop you before it accomplished much.”

She lifted one of her wrists and looked at clear, uninjured flesh. With a purse of her lips, she reached for his free arm and turned it over, eyeing the thin scratches.

“You took my wounds again.”

Eyes filled with infinite warmth watched her softly. “I will always take your injuries. I can’t stand to see you in pain.”

Love welled up, filling her chest until it nearly cut off her breath. She lifted a hand to his cheek, lifted her face for his kiss, and he met her halfway. Warm lips brushed hers, featherlight. Strong arms pulled her tight against his muscular chest, and he kissed her with increasing urgency, with rising need and passion. Her pulse took off, her breath growing shallow, then disappearing altogether as their mouths merged, their tongues twining, their limbs shaking with need and desire.

His hand slid into her hair, cupping her head, as he deepened the kiss. His need transmitted to her through desperate hands and fierce kisses, and the growing erection that pressed more and more insistently against her hip. Liquid heat slid through her, and she shook with the desire to feel him inside her again, to become one with him once more.

Wulfe’s hand slid down her back, then up under her shirt to press against her warm flesh. His mouth tore from hers, his lips pressing against her cheek, her eye, her temple.

“I need to be inside you, Natalie.”

“Yes.
Please.
”

He moved with swift grace for such a big man, stripping them both of their shirts and her of her bra before she could lift a trembling hand to help him. As she pulled off her shoes, he rose to his feet and divested himself of the remainder of his clothes. Laying their T-shirts on the rocks, he scooped her up and set her atop them, then quickly stripped her bare.

For long moments he sat back on his heels, gazing at her, naked except for the gleaming golden wolf’s-head armband, his gaze skimming slowly over her bare flesh, setting every single inch on fire.

Watching him filled her with such happiness, despite everything, that a fleeting smile found its way to her mouth. His gaze flicked to hers, a wry, answering smile lighting his eyes as his hand reached for her, skimming up her abdomen, then cupping her breast. A moment later, she was on her back, his mouth on her breast, his hand between her legs. He drove her up, hard and fast, until she was crying out from an exquisite release. Finally, he settled between her thighs, met her gaze with an expression so full of heat and tenderness that it melted the heart in her chest, and slid thickly, deeply,
wonderfully
inside her.

Natalie reached up and clasped her hands behind his neck, holding on as she met him, thrust for thrust. Their gazes locked, her heart opened so fully she began to think their hearts, too, were becoming one.

“Do you feel that?” he asked with wonder.

The love overwhelmed her, misting her eyes with tears. “Yes.” Yet neither of them had ever said the words. And then no words were possible as her body began to rise again, higher than before. Wulfe drove into her harder and faster, following her to those impossible heights, shattering right alongside her as she cried out with triumph and stunning release, and a love so deep she wondered if, within its glorious depths, she might drown.

Bracing himself on his forearms, he watched her, his eyes softer than she’d ever seen them. “I love you, Natalie Cash.”

Tears misted her eyes all over again. “I love you, too, my wolf.”

He kissed her nose and lifted up again, a gentle smile on his mouth. “I know. Your love is a miracle. It’s healing me in more ways than I’d imagined.”

She gave him an impudent grin. “Everything’s in fine working order, now.”

He laughed. “Thank the goddess.” But his gaze turned serious. “It was the strength of your love that broke through the tangled mess of my shattered mating bond, sweeping it all away. The sweetness of your kiss.” He stroked the hair back from her face. “Food has taste, colors are back to their true, vibrant beauty. And I can
feel
again. Passion, desire, need.”

As she watched him, as she loved him, her heart pinched. Because what would come of this love? What
could
come of it? Despite his words, he’d said nothing about the future.

Then again, given the precariousness of their current situation, any future might be very, very short.

Wulfe pulled out of her and rolled to her side, gathering her against him. She curled into him, her cheek on his shoulders, her arm around his waist, as he stroked her back. His mood, too, had lost its buoyancy, and she knew he had many of the same thoughts she did, the same concerns about the hours to come.

His fingers slid into her hair, and he kissed her forehead. “I’m going to keep you safe. Whatever else, I promise you that.” Quietly, they lay together, enjoying the feel of one another’s body pressing close. He traced the curve of her ear with his thumb. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me about your life, your work. I want to know everything there is to know about Natalie Cash.”