Another thought stopped him cold. What if this was the fault of his Daemon blood?
He turned off the drill and stared at the hole, unseeing. Goddess, what if he’d done this to her? What if, thanks to his Daemon blood, he’d accidentally hurt her by taking that wound?
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hurt a woman he’d only meant to help. The thought made him ill.
A buzzing erupted suddenly in Wulfe’s ears. As he frowned, red smoke began to curl around the edges of his vision. Rage barreled through him from out of nowhere. His confusion disappeared, drowned beneath the rush of red smoke that ignited a full-blown fury in his mind. The drill that had been in his hand suddenly shattered against the floor beside him and he felt his fangs dropping, his claws erupting. He leaped to his feet with a roar, searching for something . . . anything . . . to bear the brunt of this sudden, ferocious anger.
His gaze caught on the female who was backing away from him, terror in her eyes.
Natalie.
As quickly as it rose, the smoky haze dissipated from his vision, his mind clearing, leaving him stunned. Shocked.
Natalie’s eyes took up her entire face, her skin pale as new snow as she stared at him, at the monster he must appear.
His wolf howled with misery.
“I won’t hurt you.” The words came out deep and nearly unintelligible.
But, goddess. What just happened? He’d lost himself. Even furious, that shouldn’t happen.
His fangs and claws retracted as he stared at her. The need to reassure her swelled in his mind and chest, yet he was clueless how to do that because he didn’t know what the fuck just happened.
“I’d never hurt you, Natalie,” he said, his voice still gruff. “I need you to believe that.” But was he certain? He could have killed her with a single swipe of his claws, and he wasn’t at all sure he’d have known what he was doing until it was too late. The thought turned his blood cold.
If he were smart, he’d hand her over to someone else, right here, right now. Except the first thing anyone else would do was lock her up in the prisons, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her down there again.
Slowly, the color returned to her face, the terror easing away. “Did I do something to make you mad?”
“No! Goddess, no.” He turned away from her, pressing both hands against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, to the disintegrated drill, and his knees went weak. What if he hadn’t come back to himself in time?
“I don’t know what set me off. It wasn’t you. The situation maybe—that you’re in danger. But not you.”
“You . . . changed.” Her voice wasn’t steady, and it broke him.
Slowly, he straightened and turned back, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I went feral. All the Ferals do from time to time. In that in-between place, halfway between man and animal, we can fight as equals, no matter which animal we shift into. We enjoy fighting that way—it’s like a Feral form of wrestling, and we usually beat the shit out of one another. But we don’t lose control like I did. I don’t know what happened.”
Natalie watched him, her mouth tight. “I’m very good at reading people, Wulfe. And animals. I knew the first time I met you in your wolf form that you were a friend, and that you’d never intentionally hurt me. I still believe that to be true.”
He nodded. But he’d caught the word intentionally, and that was what worried him, too. Because there was clearly something wrong. And the thought made him ill.
He swiftly finished installing the dead bolt, then turned to where Natalie now sat on the bed, exhaustion written all over her face.
“Do you want to see Xavier tonight or wait until morning?”
Her eyes snapped open, her spine straightening. “Tonight.”
“I’ll bring him up.”
Natalie nodded, and Wulfe left, locking the door behind him. His body felt leaden as he descended the stairs, as he saw again, in his mind’s eye, the terror on Natalie’s face. She’d stared at him as if he were a monster.
He had to tell Lyon. Maybe his loss of control was due to the dark charm, but so far no one else had suffered such a breach of control. No, he feared the cause lay at the feet of his recently triggered Daemon blood. And if he was right?
He might soon turn into a monster for real.
Chapter Eight
Natalie could barely keep her eyes open, but she fought the pull of the soft bed as she waited for Wulfe to bring Xavier up to her room. The evening’s events had begun to take on a dreamlike, perhaps nightmarelike, quality. And yet here she sat, for all practical purposes the captive of shape-shifters.
Good grief. Wulfe’s face, as he’d changed, had turned terrifying with those fangs and eyes that were not human, yet not quite wolflike. Especially when he’d first turned toward her, furious, staring at her without recognition. She’d honestly thought he was about to attack her.
Then he’d recognized her. She’d seen the moment it happened. He’d looked so confused, so horrified, chagrin and shame filling those dark eyes. And she’d ceased to be afraid despite the fangs. Wulfe had returned, regardless of the face he wore.
She heard the click of the dead bolt and rose from the bed as the door opened and Xavier entered, cane first.
“Nat?”
“Here, Xave.” She strolled to him, speaking as she moved. “I’m glad you weren’t already asleep.” As her hand slid around her brother’s arm, her gaze met Wulfe’s. Her heart clenched at the misery that still swam in his eyes.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said, then closed the door, leaving her alone with her brother.Natalie led Xavier to the bed, then sat cross-legged while he stretched out on his back, his hands behind his head.
“How are you holding up, Nat?”
She laughed, a single burst of air. “I can’t decide if I feel more like Dorothy in Oz or Alice in Wonderland.”
Xavier grinned. “It’s a lot like that, isn’t it?”
Natalie reached for him, her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay here, Xave? You’re safe, right?” She knew her brother would tell her the truth. If he didn’t, she’d know it anyway. He’d never been able to hide his expressions, certainly not from her.
“I love it here.” He took her hand and held it, the Xavier equivalent of meeting her gaze. “The moment the Mage found us in Harpers Ferry, our death warrants were signed, Nat. Your friends and Mary Rose’s brother died for real, killed by the Mage and the Daemons. It was a miracle that you and me and Christy survived. But all of our lives ended that day, at least the lives we had before. In a way, all our lives belong to the Ferals now. If not for them, we’d have died. You don’t remember what happened on that battlefield, which is good, but I do. The things I heard and smelled and felt that day still give me nightmares, Nat. If the Ferals lose this war, we’ll all be living in constant terror. People will be dying by the thousands. And every doomsday prediction about civilization’s collapse will come true.”
Xavier sat up and turned to her, his face older and wiser than she’d ever seen it. “This might not be what I’d have chosen for my life. Cook’s helper to a houseful of shape-shifters wasn’t exactly in the career-options manual I read in high school. But I have a purpose here, a purpose I never had at home. Pink needs me. Even if she thinks she can do it on her own, she needs me. She’s so cool, Nat, and the guys are great. Sure, they’re kind of scary sometimes, like when they go feral and draw claws and start ripping into one another. But they’re good guys. And their wives are really nice. If I could have chosen this life, Nat, I would have.”
His face fell. “I just wish I didn’t have to give up everyone at home to live here. I miss you and Mom. I love that you’re here now, but I don’t want you to get stuck here, not when you have such a great life outside. Rick has to be worried about you.”
Natalie sighed, hating to have to break the news. “Rick and I broke up this morning, Xave.”
Xavier frowned. “What happened?”
“I thought I was in love with him, but I wasn’t. He wasn’t the man I wanted to spend my life with.”
“I’m sorry, Nat,” Xavier said.
“Don’t be. I’m just glad I figured it out before we got married.” Even if nothing ever came of her attraction to Wulfe, the very fact that she’d discovered it—that she’d awakened to the possibilities within her—made it imperative that she find someone with whom she could feel that kind of excitement. Someone who, like Wulfe, would stir both her body and her emotions. And as much as she’d enjoyed Rick’s company, she knew now that he’d done neither.
Natalie and Xavier talked for a while longer until a huge yawn caught her midsentence.
Xavier smiled. “You’ve had a crazy night, Nat. Get some sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to Pink.”
Together, they climbed off the bed, and Natalie gave her brother another big hug, emotion welling all over again as she marveled at the miracle of his survival. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered.
Xavier hugged her in return. “Better than okay. You’re going to be fine, too.” But as he pulled back, a frown pulled at the flesh between his eyebrows, and she knew he wasn’t certain of that last statement. She was in a precarious position, a pawn in an immortal war. A dangerous place to be.
And they both knew it.
As he paced the hallway outside Natalie’s room, Wulfe heard the soft rap of knuckles, the signal that Xavier was ready to return to the kitchen apartments. He unlocked the door and Natalie pulled it open, meeting his gaze with a soft, tired smile.
“Thanks for letting us visit, Wulfe.”
He nodded, struck speechless as he was every time he saw her, every time he fell into the calm gray of her lovely, lovely eyes.
Xavier kissed his sister’s cheek. “Sleep tight, Sis.” Then he smiled in Wulfe’s direction, a worry in his eyes that dug at Wulfe’s gut. Because it was a worry he shared in spades.
He was still shaken by what had happened, by the way he’d lost control . . . lost time . . . when he’d gone feral. And by the fact that Natalie was feeling pain from a wound he’d taken from her completely. None of it made an ounce of sense.
As he accompanied Xavier downstairs, his skin crawled with the sick suspicion that it was somehow all his fault.
Entering the dining room, he found Kougar and Paenther sitting at the table, sharing a bottle of whiskey with Kougar’s mate, Ariana, the Queen of the Ilinas. The two males rose when they saw him. As Xavier headed back to his room behind the kitchen, Wulfe greeted his friends warmly and was greeted in return. He nodded at Ariana, who flashed him a smile and pushed a plate of ham sandwiches toward him.
“Help yourself,” she said. “Pink brought them out a little while ago, and we’ve already had our fill.”
Wulfe sat beside Paenther. “How’s Kara? Any change?”
Paenther shook his head and poured him a finger of whiskey. “She’s no worse, thank the goddess, but she’s no better, either. The Shaman’s convinced she won’t recover until she brings a good Feral into his animal.”
A month ago, Inir managed to free seventeen animal spirits that had been trapped for centuries, unable to mark new Feral Warriors. Seventeen animal spirits he’d infected with a dark magic meant to force them to mark the worst, most evil of the line, not the best. An infection passed to the ones marked, trapping them beneath Inir’s spell.
Some of the animal spirits had succeeded in thwarting the dark magic to mark good men. And Falkyn. Others hadn’t. Wulfe and his Feral brothers had been ecstatic as their ranks began to swell after centuries of being only nine—until the first batch of new shifters rose up against them and tried to kill them. Almost too late, they’d realized Inir’s plan—to destroy the good Ferals and order the evil to free the Daemons in their place.
With the help of Ariana and the Shaman, they’d managed to cure a few of the new Ferals from the poison passed to them through their infected animals, but they had no way of knowing for certain which of the males were the ones meant to be marked—good men—and which were, deep down, evil. The only one they were one hundred percent certain of was Falkyn, the lone female among them, and Hawke’s new mate.
They’d thought Grizz and Lepard to be honorable until the pair escaped. Six of the new Ferals belonged to Inir still, firmly under his spell. The rest were locked up in the Ferals’ prison or hadn’t shown up yet. No additional new Ferals would be brought into their animals until, and unless, the Ferals found a way to tell, conclusively, which were good men and which were evil, because bringing the evil ones into their animals was slowly killing Kara. One more, and they’d lose her for good.
Wulfe grabbed a sandwich and turned to Ariana. “Have you found anything?”
In a T-shirt and jeans, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, Ariana looked far too human to be Ilina, a race whose Crystal Realm castle sat, literally, in the clouds.
“I’ve found a couple of ancient Mage rituals for dispelling Daemon magic that might possibly help reverse the dark charm that’s turning all of you mortal.”
“They won’t work. There’s another one you need to be looking for.” Wulfe blinked, as startled by the words that had come from his mouth as his companions appeared to be.
“How do you know that?” Paenther asked evenly.
“I have no fucking idea.” But as he turned his thoughts inward, he knew he was right. He knew that no ancient Mage rituals would help them. No Mage had ever used this particular magic before. It was Daemon magic last used against the Nyads millennia ago. He turned back to Ariana. “The ritual you need to find is one the third Ilina queen witnessed near the end of the second Nyad War.” His heart was beginning to race because not only was he starting to lose control, now alien knowledge was somehow invading his mind.