Wulfe Untamed (25 page)

She smiled softly. “Of course I’m right. Now give me back my wound, shifter, so that we can stop those bad guys.”

His smile was fleeting as he closed his eyes. At first nothing happened. Then a throb erupted in her cheek beneath his hand, uncomfortable, but not truly painful, as his scar—the one that should have been hers—began to fade.

Wulfe pulled his hand away suddenly and peered at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Now call the power you were destined for.”

“We need a pentagram.”

“Here,” Hawke said. Kneeling, he quickly dug a pentagram in the wet ground with his knife.

Wulfe’s big hand closed carefully around hers, and he led her into the center. Turning her to face him, he cupped her face gently in his hands, his mouth compressing.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

In his eyes she saw dread, but also the acceptance of the responsibility that he’d been laden with thanks to his Daemon blood. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and covered her wound with his palm. Then he began whispering in a language that sounded like nothing Natalie had ever heard.

Deep inside her, something began to happen. She felt a tingling in her feet that rushed suddenly upward, through her legs, her body, her chest, her neck, then into her face, finally coalescing in the cheek beneath Wulfe’s hand. As the words flowed from his lips in a never-ending stream of visceral sound, he threw his head back as if in pain . . . or ecstasy.

The words flew from his mouth, faster and louder, no longer a whisper.

The tingling in Natalie’s body began to sting, then burn, but she clamped down on the groan that clawed at her throat.

Wulfe’s grip on her face tightened, the words shooting from his mouth, the power rushing up through her, hot and furious, until she feared she would scream. She couldn’t breathe, could barely stand. Too much.
Too much.

Suddenly, Wulfe released her.

As Natalie fell to her knees, gasping for breath, Wulfe let out a bark of alien joy. A roar of power and strength, of invincibility and cruelty.

With dread, Natalie looked up into the eyes of a stranger, eyes glowing bright red. Eyes filled with evil.

Chapter Twenty-two

N
atalie stared, her vision narrowed from the pain, her heart pounding as the man she’d fallen in love with stared down at her as if he’d never seen her before. She’s promised to keep him tethered, but she’d never had a chance to grab hold! And he was already gone.

No, he wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be.

Closing her eyes, she pushed past the physical discomfort to concentrate on the man she knew, the one who looked at her with such soft adoration, not this red-eyed stranger. She thought of him in his wolf, protecting her with his life. And his gentle, tender touch when he’d made love to her as a man.

Emotion rushed through her, raw and bright, and something moved inside of her, a thick, irregular beat. Not her heart.
His
. She could swear she felt Wulfe’s heart, covered in shadows.

Impossible.
Then again, what was truly impossible in a world with shape-shifters and Daemons?

Beneath the shadows, Wulfe’s heart still beat whole, bright, and golden. She could feel it. It wasn’t lost. Not yet. But the darkness attacked that core of his goodness, of his honor, and if she didn’t find some way to stop it, and soon, it would steal him away for good.

Fire shot down her limbs as she tried to stand, and she gasped, sinking back to her knees.

“Natalie?” Hawke asked, warily.

“Don’t move.” Lifting her hand to her eyes to block the worst of the rain, she looked up. “Wulfe, I love you. You love me, too.”

He didn’t respond, and she sensed the shadows darkening inside him. They were already winning. Desperation rushed up inside of her. The golden light flared suddenly, the edges of the shadows curling away as if her need to save him had driven them back. Maybe it had. Maybe, within the strange connection they’d developed, her thoughts and will really were that powerful. The thought filled her with a fierce determination.

Wulfe swung toward her suddenly, his face a mask of fury. With a growl, he grabbed her by the neck, his rain-slicked fingers nearly encircling it, lifting her to her feet. The pressure against her windpipe choked.
He’s going to kill me.
Her heart raced, her mind began to scream, and she struggled, clawing at his hand, his wrist. But he was far, far too strong.

“Natalie!” one of the Ferals called.

“Wulfe, stand down,” Lyon shouted.

For one bright moment, she thought rescue was on the way. But all hope was dashed a moment later when Wulfe raised his free hand and the Ferals flew back as if they’d simultaneously hit warding.

The Ferals couldn’t help her.

Hope died. The next moments, perhaps her last, were utterly out of her control. But it was that knowledge, that kernel of truth that stole fear’s power over her, easing her panic long enough for rational thought to intrude. The man she loved would never be able to live with taking her life, if he ever returned.

The need to protect him burst within her, hot and bright. That golden glow flared, sizzling the shadows, burning the edges away. The fingers that gripped her neck loosened just enough for her to breathe—but not to escape—as if she’d somehow brushed the mind or heart of the honorable male inside. But not enough. Not yet.

With every ounce of concentration she possessed, she stared into the red eyes of the stranger and loved the man within. As she did, she watched the shadows retreat from her assault, then push back, then retreat again.

Around them, the Ferals recovered, rising to their feet. Kougar and Hawke circled behind Wulfe, and she knew they were looking for a way to take him. But her focus remained steady.

For just a moment, she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a glimmer of horror, but it lasted only seconds, then was gone.
Dammit.

But even as the darkness rushed back into his eyes, he released her, snatching his hand away as if she’d burned him. And maybe she had. Or maybe touching him gave her far more power over the shadows.

Wulfe spun, suddenly, facing the brothers he no longer recognized. “You think you can harm me?” With a flick of his wrists, he sent Hawke and Kougar flying back a second time, then turned back to her as if somewhere inside he recognized her as the true danger. Fangs erupted in his mouth, claws from his fingertips. A feral snarl rose from his throat, terrifying her at her most primitive level. But she was going to pull him back from this if it was the last thing she did.

Sweat ran down the back of her neck, melding with the cold raindrops. The primal energies ran through her, a steady, painful stream, but no longer incapacitating. Only one thing mattered—winning this battle for Wulfe’s soul.

Slowly, she took a step toward him.

“Natalie, get back,” Lyon warned.

She kept her gaze pinned on Wulfe. “You’ve never forgiven yourself for failing Liesel, Wulfe, even though what happened to her was never your fault. I know you won’t hurt me. You won’t fail me. Fight the darkness. Come back to me.”

“Natalie, he could kill you with those claws.”

“He won’t.”

She took another painful step toward Wulfe, then another, praying she was right.

P
ower swirled inside Wulfe, smoke and fire, consuming his gaze, his mind, his soul—the power to take on every one of the insects that surrounded him.

Why didn’t the female cower before him?

He swatted at her, his claws coming close to her face, yet not touching her. Something inside of him growled at him not to touch her.

Rain poured down upon him, soaking his clothes. Lightning split the skies.

The female grabbed his wrist, and he pulled away, but she held on tight and nearly fell against his chest. Her scent assailed him, sweet and intolerable.
Gray eyes.
The thought rose from the smoke as her touch burned his wrist, but that snarling thing inside him ordered him to let her do what she wanted. A word burst out of the haze.

Natalie.

His head began to pound, his heart to thud.
Dangerous.
Light shone through the darkness, a golden glow threatening to burn away the shadows. A glow that was hers.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

“Loving you.” There was such agony in her eyes.

“Don’t.” Instinct told him to pull away before it was too late, and he did, jerking his hand from her hold, catching her palm with one of his claws as he jerked free of her. A faint ribbon of blood bloomed on her flesh, and something deep inside him howled.

Fighting it, he pulled back his lips and snarled at her. She was small compared to him, female and human and should be terrified. But instead of retreating as she should have, she lunged at him, grabbing his bare forearm, pressing against his side.

“Come back to me, Wulfe. I know you’re in there.
Fight
it. For me. For your friends.”

Her hands shook, her warm blood smearing his arm. Lines of pain bracketed her mouth, making him ache. He didn’t want her in pain.

Why did he care? The thought roared in his mind. He was power incarnate. With a swipe of his clawed hand, he could rip off her head.

The thought of it nearly brought him to his knees.

Natalie.

Protect her.
Protect her.

The thought, the need grew and grew, pulsing in his veins, battering and silencing the shadows that yelled for him to push her away, ripping through the power, through the darkness, through the light.

Wulfe blinked, disoriented and confused, at the woman tight against his side, clinging to his arm. Natalie. He’d drawn fangs and claws.
She’s in danger.
The thought exploded in his head even as he took in the sight of his brothers, weapons drawn staring at him as if he’d become the enemy.

Understanding slammed into him like a rock. He’d lost it again. Badly. As he retracted his fangs and claws, his gaze flew to Natalie, to the agonized lines of her face, to the warm stickiness beneath the hand that still grasped his arm.

“I hurt you.” The words tore from his throat, cutting like razor blades.

“You’re back.” Her grip fell away and she sagged against him, clearly injured.

“
I hurt you.
”

“
No
. Just a little. It’s the primal energies . . . I’m okay.”

The primal energies.

“Wulfe,” Lyon called. “Destroy the warding.”

And everything snapped back into place—West Virginia, Inir’s ritual to free the Daemons, the heavy warding that surrounded the mountain that even he hadn’t been able to get through.

Turning until he once more gazed upon that colorful curtain of energy snapping in the wind, he lifted his hand with a snap and willed that curtain destroyed. As he watched with satisfaction, it hissed and popped, exploding into a million bits of light that winked out, one by one, until they were no more.

Goddess,
he had power.

Deep inside, he could feel that golden thread, the beginnings of the mating bond, pulsing with light. It was Natalie’s love that had pulled him back, her love that had tethered him, just as she’d promised, but at what cost? She was shaking, the energies hurting her. And that golden filament was already beginning to tarnish and fade.

He pulled her around to face him, holding her up. “I have to shut off the primal energies.”

“No.” Natalie’s voice was strong, her gaze unyielding. “Stop Inir from freeing Satanan. Only that.
Then
turn them off.”

He shook his head, his heart threatening to shatter. “You’ll be dead by then.”

“I won’t.” She smiled at him through the pain with a strength that he envied. “I’m tougher than that.”

Lyon strode up, joining them, pushing his rain-drenched hair from his face. “How much of the warding did you disable? Is it safe for the Ilinas to mist us closer to Inir’s stronghold?” They were still miles away from the fortress. And, he remembered now, quickly running out of time.

Wulfe sent his senses flying outward, taking in the energy of the mountain, feeling the warding as if it were a part of him. And in a Daemon sort of way, it probably was. The sudden, unnatural storm had turned day to night.

“The outer warding has shattered,” he told his chief. “The inner is still strong, but I can get us through. It extends two hundred yards around the stronghold in every direction. It’s Ilina-proof, but the Ilinas are in no danger as long as they remain outside that.”

Lyon swung to Kougar. “It’s your call.”

Kougar closed his eyes for several seconds. “Ariana’s already on her way to test it.”

“Have they freed the Daemons?” Paenther asked, striding up.

In the part of him that was connected to Satanan, Wulfe could feel the ritual proceeding. “Not yet.”

Ariana appeared from mist beside her mate. “We can deliver you to the base of the hill, a short distance from the stronghold.”

Lyon nodded. “Take us.”

Ilinas appeared out of thin air all around them, snatching up Ferals and Therians alike.

“Hold on to her, Wulfe,” Ariana said. “I can take you both.”

Moments later, Wulfe was spilling his guts on the ground at the base of the stronghold, Natalie sitting a short distance away. Wulfe pushed to his feet, then helped Natalie to hers. She gasped with pain, a soft sound that stabbed him in the heart.

“I’m shutting the energies off.”

“No you’re not. I can handle this.” She met his gaze with granite in her eyes.

A shout went up. Moments later, Mage sentinels began to rush out of the stronghold by the dozens.

“Get the Ferals through those gates,” Olivia yelled to her troops.

Wulfe kissed Natalie gently. How could he leave her like this?

“I’ve got her, Feral,” Melisande said. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Wulfe nodded, sliding his palm along Natalie’s jaw, his own jaw hardening. “I’ll kill him quickly.”

“And I’ll keep you tethered. Stay away from the darkness.”

He smiled. “Deal.” He kissed her soundly, then ran to join the others just as Zeeland . . . Zaber . . . shifted into a saber-toothed tiger with a furious roar.

Deep in his mind, Wulfe heard his wolf howl in answer.

Thank the goddess.
His animal was back. But he felt his wolf spirit’s pain, felt him at a distance. The Daemon energy might have cracked the wall the dark charm had erected between them, but it hadn’t destroyed it.

He pulled on his animal, trying to shift, but nothing happened. Dammit. The wolf whined and snarled. Then pain shot through his body in a searing rush, and slowly, slowly, in a spit of dark lights, he managed to shift.

“How’d you do that, Wolf-man?” Jag shouted.

Daemon blood.

“I’m starting to envy you, Dog.”

As the Therian Guard surged forward to take on the Mage sentinels, the Ferals charged. Wulfe and Zaber took point, a huge wolf and sabertooth tiger, attacking sentinels only when they had to, preferring to just run them down. This was not the battle that mattered.

The wind began to howl again, rain slashing, hail pounding, lightning bursting across the sky as Inir’s evil Mage died by the dozens. As Wulfe and Zaber approached the gate through which the sentinels had rushed from the castle, the heavy metal bars of the portcullis began to descend.

Acting on instinct, Wulfe shifted back to a man in the same flare of pain and dark, spitting lights, then lifted his hand and, with the force of his mind, stopped the gate’s descent, halfway down. He grunted. Daemon power was damn useful. Shifting back into his wolf, he dove under the gate after the sabertooth. Behind him, the other Ferals ducked beneath the half-lowered gate and followed them into the courtyard. Massive, steel-reinforced, wooden doors barred their access to the castle itself, but Wulfe sensed no magical warding blocking their way.

Wulfe looked at that door.
Zaber, let’s take it together on the count of three. One, two, three!

The two huge beasts made a running charge, lowered their heads, and plowed through the massive doors, splintering them.

With a triumphant growl, Zaber leaped through the opening, and Wulfe dove through after him, the other Ferals following close behind.