“We’ll bring them. Lyon can take it from there.” A second later, Melisande disappeared.
Natalie stared, nonplussed. One moment she was there, the next . . . gone.
“You’ll get used to the Ilinas popping in and out,” Skye said softly. “The rest of us have.”
As exhaustion trembled through her, Natalie wondered just how many more surprises she could take in one day.
The woman with the linens and the gun plopped the pile down on the dresser, then grabbed a couple of sheets and came to join them.
She eyed Natalie with interest as she shook out one of the sheets. “I’m Delaney, Tighe’s mate. I used to be human, too.”
Natalie’s brows lifted. “Used to be?”
Delaney smiled. “It’s a long story that still gives me nightmares, but the result was worth it. I’ve got the hottest, sweetest male on the face of the planet for all of eternity.”
Skye laughed as she grabbed one end of the sheet. “I could argue that. Mine happens to be the sweetest. And the hottest.”
Delaney grinned. “We’ll call it a draw.”
Natalie helped the pair make the bed, her gaze drawn to Wulfe as he moved to the window and began screwing bolts into the frame.
“Wulfe, you should give Natalie one of those cell phones that Tighe gave me when I first got here.” Delaney looked at Natalie. “The only calls I could make from it were to Tighe or Lyon. They didn’t want me calling the FBI, which I’d been trying to do.” She glanced back at Wulfe. “Load Skye’s number, and mine, in case you’re not around and she wants company. Being locked up is no fun, even with a comfy bed.”
Wulfe just nodded but continued to concentrate on his task.
Lady began to bark and ran toward the door.
“That’s her gotta pee bark,” Skye said, hurrying after her.
Delaney met Natalie’s gaze. “If you need anyone to talk to, have Wulfe call me. I’m on lockdown, too, if in a different way.” Her smile turned beatific. “I’m pregnant with Tighe’s child and he barely allows me to leave the house, let alone join in the fighting.”
“He’s right,” Wulfe said.
“I know. But it doesn’t mean I’m not going stir-crazy. I’m barely even showing yet.” Her gaze turned serious. “They’re good guys, the best, but if you betray them, there’s nowhere you can hide,” she said, echoing Xavier’s warning. Despite the harshness of her words, Delaney’s eyes were sympathetic as she grasped Natalie’s hand and led her toward the door.
“Delaney . . .” Wulfe called, a note of warning in his voice.
“We need a moment of girl talk. She won’t be out of your sight.” Delaney led her into the hallway just outside the room. When Wulfe turned back to his task with a nod, Delaney met Natalie’s gaze, her own piercing. “When you were here before, Wulfe became your protector. He watched over you like a mother hen, and he hasn’t stopped.”
Natalie nodded. “He’s visited me as the wolf.”
“He cares about you, Natalie. But there are other factors. A lot of them. You’ve never appeared put off by his scars, and that’s huge. But tread carefully, please. In many ways, he’s the strongest, fiercest of the shifters. But in others, he’s vulnerable. I wouldn’t want either of you to get hurt because either of those scenarios will wind up hurting him. Just tread carefully.”
Natalie watched her. “You do realize you’ve given me only enough to make me intensely curious.”
“I know. The rest isn’t mine to tell. If you need someone to talk to at any time, I’m here.” She squeezed Natalie’s hand, motioned Natalie back into the room, and left.
Wulfe glanced at her as she approached, then turned back to the window without asking any questions.
“Here you go!” a feminine voice called from the doorway.
Natalie turned to find Melisande holding her purse and suitcase.
“I’ll leave them right here.” The Ilina set them by the door, then disappeared again before Natalie could thank her.
With a mind-clearing shake of the head, Natalie turned back to Wulfe, intrigued by the play of muscles across his broad, broad shoulders and back. He really had the most incredible build. Watching him did funny things to her insides, hot, quivery things. And she was just tired enough to not care if he knew it.
She moved closer, leaning against the wall beside him. “I’ve never seen you with a shirt on. Not that I remember.”
He glanced at her with dismay. “Do you want me to get one before I finish?”
A smile fought to escape. “I rather like you without clothes on.”
His hand stilled, his eyes changed, slowly darkening, watching her with an intensity that snagged at her breath, that made her body heat and soften.
Longing filled his eyes. “Natalie.”
For one charged moment, she thought he might drop his tools and reach for her. And she wanted that. Badly.
Instead, his eyes filled with frustration and he returned to his task. “Why don’t you unpack while I finish here?”
For a moment, she just watched him, her brows drawn with confusion. He’d reared back when she kissed his cheek, as if her touch was anathema. But just now, she’d seen longing in his eyes, she knew that. She read eyes too well to doubt herself. And yet . . .
“All right.” She got such mixed signals from him. Or maybe she just didn’t know how to read a werewolf. And, honestly, she was probably too tired to get anything straight right now.Unpacking quickly, she laid her clothes in the dresser drawers and set her toiletry bag on the sink in the small private bathroom, then hung up the towels Delaney had brought with the sheets. Last, she opened the little canvas bag Delaney had left behind and found hand soap, body soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, and half a dozen other female necessities including a fat Toblerone candy bar and an index card with a handwritten note across it. If I forgot anything, just yell. D.
Natalie smiled at the offering. They were treating her far more like a welcome guest than the unexpected problem that she was. Probably because she was Xavier’s sister and they were clearly fond of him.
Her heart tightened, tears burning her eyes, as the joy of finding him well and happy rushed through her all over again. A single tear escaped, and she swiped it away.
“Natalie?”
She turned to find Wulfe watching her with concern in those dark, gentle eyes.
“I’m fine.” She smiled. “The best I’ve been in weeks. I have my brother back, even if only for a little while. You have no idea what a gift you’ve given me.”
He watched her intently. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy.”
Sincerity throbbed in his words. And she wondered what he’d say if she told him that his taking her into his arms would make her very happy indeed. She wouldn’t put him on the spot like that. Nor did she want to find out it was the last thing he wanted.
But the thought of being that close to him tantalized.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Natalie’s voice, low and sexy, stroked Wulfe’s senses. I rather like you without clothes on. Goddess, had he ever received a clearer or more welcome invitation? Her eyes had beckoned without coyness. Natalie wanted him. She wanted him.
And he had nothing to give. The severing of his mating bond had ruined him in that way. In a lot of ways. His senses had dimmed—his eyes losing their ability to see color as brightly, food losing its taste. Only his sense of smell had yet to fail him, but his libido had disappeared altogether. He could still get an erection if he needed to, but it required hard physical effort on his part. His body hadn’t risen on its own in six months, not for any woman. And he feared it never would again. Even Natalie, as pretty as she was, failed to stir him in that way.
With not quite steady hands, Wulfe picked up his tools and strode past her. The windows were done. All he had left was the door.
“Have you ever installed a dead bolt?” His arms ached to grab her and haul her close, his wolf howling, urging him to do just that. But he refused to go down that path with her. No good could come of it.
“I’ve never installed one from scratch,” Natalie said, falling into step beside him. “But I replaced one once.”
The faint scent of her arousal nearly drove him to his knees.
“Then you know what we’re doing. I could use a hand.” Goddess. The thought of where he wanted her hand . . . Yeah and how much fun would that be when she found him flaccid and soft?
If he were smart, he’d send her to the other side of the room where her nearness wouldn’t tie him into knots of longing and of wanting something he couldn’t have. But he wanted her near him so badly, it was worth any amount of torture to watch the play of light on her creamy skin, to smell the tangy scent of shampoo in her hair, and to watch her full, lovely mouth draw up in those soft, Natalie smiles.
She followed him to the door, and he handed her the lock pieces, screws, and screwdriver, his fingers brushing hers as he laid them in her palms, the simple touch sending electricity buzzing beneath his skin and down into his body. But not far enough. Not nearly far enough.
Eyeing the door, he mentally marked where he wanted to drill, then picked up the tool and made the holes with a noisy whine. Then he grabbed the chisel and hollowed out a space for the faceplate to fit, all the while intensely aware of Natalie’s nearness, of her gaze. And of the attraction thickening the air between them. Goddess how he wanted to haul her against him and bury his face between her breasts. How he longed to feel her fingers in his hair as he had in his fur.
He imagined holding her close, stroking her soft cheek as she reached up . . .
The thought of her touching his scarred excuse for a face burst the sensual bubble, snapping him back to reality. His life was too fucked up to even think about getting involved with a woman right now. And never a woman like Natalie, one who deserved laughter and beauty, safety and happiness. He’d thought she’d found those things with her human fiancé. The fact that she hadn’t made the jealous male inside of him keenly satisfied. But not the part of him that just wanted her happy. Because he, with his damaged mating bond, his worrisome Daemon blood, and his waning immortality, had absolutely nothing to offer her.
As Natalie watched the muscles ripple across Wulfe’s beautiful back, her hand itched to reach for him, to stroke his flesh, to know if he felt as hard and strong as he looked. His hair gleamed in the lamplight, a rich blend of browns of every shade, and she yearned to touch it, to feel its softness between her fingers.
Standing so close to him made her breath unsteady and turned her pulse erratic. She’d never felt like this with Rick, ever. She hadn’t even known she could feel this way—this jittery, rubbery warmth that had her imagining the feel of his flesh against hers.
As he plucked one of the screws out of her palm, he glanced at her face and stilled. His nostrils flared, his eyes dilating as his gaze at once softened and sharpened, as hunger leaped into his eyes.
“Wulfe . . .”
He shook his head and turned back to his work, leaving her completely confused. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the ceiling and willed her thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but on the too-appealing male in front of her, a male who, for whatever reason, didn’t want what she offered. But she couldn’t ignore him, not even for a moment.
As she watched him screw in the faceplate, her left cheek began to tingle oddly as it had as they’d approached Lyon’s office earlier. As before, it slowly began to sting. But where before, the sensation had died as quickly as it had begun, this time it worsened. She touched it, brushing at it in case there was something there, but she felt nothing.
All of a sudden, her cheek began to burn, and she gasped, dropping the lock pieces onto the floor.
Wulfe straightened as if he’d been struck, rising to his feet, grabbing hold of her arms. “What’s the matter?”
“My face.” She lifted her hand, afraid to touch it. “What’s on my face?”
“Nothing.” He grabbed her jaw with careful fingers, turning it as the fire ripped through nerve endings, sending tears cascading down her cheeks.
“It hurts.”
“Where?” When she showed him, he covered the spot with one hand, pressing his palm against the fire as he cupped the back of her head with his other. Almost at once, the pain began to fade. To her surprise, she felt his lips against her forehead, a quick, soft kiss that melted her heart. Moments later, the pain was gone.
Natalie sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
Slowly, he released her and stepped back. As her gaze cleared, she saw, clearly, the dismay in his eyes, the worry.
She frowned. “What just happened?” Lifting her own palm to her cheek, she felt nothing but smooth skin, as if it had all been her imagination. “Earlier, just before we went in to see Lyon, I felt the same sharp pain. It wasn’t nearly this bad, and disappeared almost as soon as it started, but it was in the exact same spot.”
He looked away before she could read the answers in his eyes. “It’s probably nothing.”
But the quickness with which he’d turned away made her suspect otherwise. It wasn’t nothing. And though she couldn’t be certain, she suspected he knew that very, very well.
Wulfe returned to his work, the drill’s whine tearing at his eardrums as he dug out the place beneath the strike plate where the dead bolt would burrow. But while his hands worked, his mind spun. Why had Natalie suffered pain in the exact spot the Daemon had clawed her? She didn’t remember the wound, not consciously. Was it some kind of subconscious recollection? He’d never heard of such a thing.