His gaze followed Natalie, watching her as she listened somberly to Kara describe the cruelties she’d seen in that place, and how she’d been forced to bring two new Ferals into their animals, two males she believed were evil. As he watched, Olivia picked up the box in the middle of the bed and offered it around the circle. One by one, the women pulled out a chocolate-covered strawberry, but it was Natalie he watched, his gaze following the sweet fruit as she lifted it to her mouth and closed her teeth and lips around it.
Something stirred deep inside of him, a surprising rush of heat that flowed down through his body and into his loins, making them grow heavy and full. He sucked in a startled breath at the unmistakable feel of his first hard-on in months, maybe years. Why now? There were too damn many things happening to him!
He pulled away from the door before anyone even knew he was there and went in search of advice. He found Kougar in the library talking to Hawke, and shut the door behind him.
Both Ferals turned, concern in their eyes.
Hawke sighed. “You lost your animal, too.”
“No. Hell, no. I’ve got a woody.”
Kougar said nothing, made no indication he’d even heard him.
Hawke merely lifted a brow. “What caused it?”
“I just watched Natalie eat a chocolate-covered strawberry.”
Hawke nodded, all seriousness. “You like her.”
“Yeah, but I’m damaged, Wings. I haven’t gotten a woody without effort since Beatrice died.”
“Maybe you’re healing.”
“How can you heal from a broken mating bond?” He whirled to Kougar. “Is it possible?”
Kougar stroked his beard. “I’ve heard of its happening before, but only in cases where the original mating wasn’t right. And only when the right person came along.”
“And your mating to Beatrice was never right, buddy,” Hawke said. “We all knew that. If it had been . . .” Hawke shook his head, his eyes glowing. “What I feel for Falkyn, my Faith, I have trouble vocalizing, because finding the words for such depth of emotion stymies me every time. She’s the world to me—my heart, my life, the breath in my body. There are no words to express such overwhelming love. A love I’m almost certain you never felt for Beatrice.”
He hadn’t. He’d thought he’d loved her, and he might have if she’d ever cared for him at all. But what Hawke described resonated inside of him. Because of Natalie.
“Did something happen?” Kougar asked. “Did you kiss her?”
Wulfe hesitated, then decided he might as well come clean. “She kissed me.”
Hawke smiled. “That must have been a hell of a kiss.”
“It was as chaste as they come.”
Kougar plucked at his beard. “It may have been chaste, but the emotion behind it was powerful indeed.”
“You think my feelings for her did this?”
“And her feelings for you.”
Wulfe blinked, confusion colliding with joy. She liked him, he knew that. But Kougar had used the word powerful. “I have no idea what she feels for me.”
Hawke clasped him on the shoulder. “Whatever the reason for your woody, it’s a blessing. Go find her and kiss her back.”
As if he hadn’t already done that and much, much more.
Wulfe nodded. His friend was right. With his body stirring like a summer storm, he could finally share the intimacy with Natalie they both wanted.
The question was . . . should he, when everything was so screwed up?
Wulfe was halfway up the second flight of stairs, his blood on fire with dreams of pulling Natalie into his arms and stripping both of them bare, when the sound of pounding footsteps had him glancing back. Lyon and Tighe were running up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
“Wulfe,” Tighe called.
“What’s going on?”
Lyon’s mouth compressed. “Natalie. Melisande found me.”
Hell. Natalie was in pain and the women had sent for Lyon, not him. Turning, he ran up the remaining stairs and started down the hall.
“Don’t touch her!” Lyon called from behind.
Wulfe strode into his chief’s bedroom to find Natalie hunched over on the bed beside Kara, her hands clenched against her knees, tears glistening on her cheeks.
The women looked up as he entered the room, Delaney and Falkyn scooting aside to give him access. But as he reached Natalie, as he pulled her into his arms, she threw up her hands, blocking her face.
“Don’t. Please. It’ll stop.” She grabbed his hand. “Just hold me.”
“Always.” But it flayed him alive to see her in such pain and not do what he could to end it.
Lyon and Tighe rushed into the room, coming to a standstill halfway to the bed. Lyon began issuing orders. “Melisande, move Kara to the Radiant’s room. All non-Ferals out of here. Now.”
Olivia stood her ground. “Let me help, Lyon. I can weaken him if you need me to, and he can’t hurt me. I’m still immortal.”
Wulfe felt like a fucking wild animal on the verge of going rabid.
Lyon nodded, then turned to Melisande. “I could use you, too, once you have Kara settled.”
One Ilina couldn’t mist an unwilling Feral Warrior, but one Ilina could call half a dozen more in two seconds. And half a dozen Ilinas could mist him to the North Pole, if they wanted to. Or the Crystal Realm, for that matter.
“I’ll be right back.” A moment later, Melisande and Kara disappeared.
Wulfe’s jaw worked as he swallowed the need to yell at them all that he wasn’t going berserk, dammit! Because, hell, he didn’t know what he might do. Even if he managed to keep from easing Natalie’s pain, for all any of them knew, he might still go crazed. Because none of them really knew what the fuck was going on with him.
In his arms, Natalie’s shaking grew worse, the tears a steady flow down her cheeks, now. How much more of this could she take? How much more could he take?
He pulled her tighter, his big hand stroking her hair, her back. “Natalie, sweetheart . . .”
“Don’t, Wulfe. I’ll get better.”
But he wasn’t so sure. “Roar, what if each time Satanan tries to set up a steady flow of the primal energies through us, I disconnect it by closing the loop and stealing Natalie’s pain? If I don’t do that this time, her suffering might never end. Satanan might just get stronger and stronger.”
Lyon frowned. “We don’t know that’s how it works.”
How the fuck were they supposed to tell?
His hand shook with the need to cover that wound and end her suffering. And she was suffering. Goddess, she was in pain. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the trembling. Her skin was damp with perspiration, her cheeks wet with tears.
Small cries began to escape her throat, tiny, strangled screams that tore at him.
“It’s not stopping, Roar. It’s not going to stop.” And he’d taken all he could take. Lifting his hand, he pressed his palm against her cheek, closed his eyes, and willed the pain away. But like before, it fought him. Satanan fought him, struggling to keep the connection intact.
“Get two more Ferals up here, ASAP,” Lyon barked.
Wulfe gritted his teeth, growling low in his throat as he pulled at the pain, as he battled back the Daemon’s hold on it. On her. Finally, finally, he felt it give way. Deep inside, his animal whined with relief.
Natalie sagged against him. “Thank you.”
Wulfe shuddered with relief, cradling her close. She felt so good, so right, in his arms. Her sweet scent warmed the air between them, weaving through his senses, lighting tiny fires in his blood. Now that she was no longer in pain, his body sprang to life, suddenly, intensely aware of the touch of her hand where it clung to his wrist, and of the press of her soft breast against his arm. His own hand traced the contours of her slender back, her spine, her elegant neck, his fingers sliding into the spun-gold silk of her hair. It was all he could do not to bury his face in the clean, feminine scent of it.
His hands began to shake with need. With every beat of his heart, the desire to pull her closer, to taste her again, grew more intense, more difficult to control.
His pulse quickened, his breath becoming increasingly shallow. The last time, he’d felt her silken flesh beneath his palms and lips, he had not been moved. Never had he been physically moved in her presence.
Until now. He throbbed with the need to slide deep inside of her.
Natalie pulled back. Their gazes caught, locked, and he watched lovely, if tired, gray eyes light with wonder, then fill slowly with dawning passion. Her own breath hitched.
“Oh, Wulfe.” Her words were the barest whisper.
“Wulfe,” Lyon barked. “We need to get you out of here. Down to the gym.”
All he wanted was to sweep Natalie into his arms and into his bed. Instead, he stroked her hair with a shaking hand. “Go. Melisande will take you back to your room.”
Without warning, the familiar buzzing began in his ears. A split second later, the red fury swept across his mind, stealing his will.
“Wulfe!” a male yelled.
Enemies. He drew fangs and claws, leaping from the bed and whirling toward the ones who would attack him.
“Watch his claws! Get Natalie away from him.”
Two males tackled him to the floor. “Jag, Fox, give us a hand.” Two more locked his wrists against the hardwood. “Olivia, weaken him. Not too much!”
Wulfe fought against their hold, struggling against the four who held him down, but lethargy began to steal through his limbs.
The sound of shattering glass had him turning to find the female he’d been holding now wielding a broken wine bottle like a weapon, a wildness in her eyes that gut-punched him.
“Natalie.” The name tore from between his lips and fangs. “Natalie, no.”
“Hell, not her, too,” one of the males muttered. “That bastard has his claws in both of them.”
As Wulfe fought his captors, struggling to reach her, to reach Natalie, the darkness and fury dissolved and he came back to himself in a rush.
“Let me up,” he snapped, his fangs and claws retracting. “Let me go to her!”
The hands holding him down disappeared, and Wulfe leaped to his feet as Natalie struggled in Jag’s far stronger hold.
“She tried to cut me,” Jag told him. “I think she was trying to protect you.”
“Natalie.” Wulfe reached her, gripping her jaw carefully, forcing those wild eyes to meet his. “Natalie, come back to me.”
She stared at him, the wildness slowly sliding from her eyes, and she blinked with confusion.
“Wulfe?”
He took the broken wine bottle from unresisting fingers and handed it to Jag before pulling her into his arms. “It’s okay.” But as he said the words, his gaze rose to his chief’s, and he knew the words for the lie they were. Because it wasn’t okay. Nothing was.
“Is it the primal energies or Satanan that’s affecting them?” Tighe asked, his gaze meeting Wulfe’s. “Do you know?”
“No.” This connection needed to end, and soon. Goddess help them. He curled his arm around Natalie’s shoulders and ushered her toward the door. “We’ll be in my room.” Not only did he need time to think, but he needed to get away from the wary, worried eyes of his brothers.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Lyon asked evenly.
“I’ll call you if anything happens.” His head was beginning to pound, his body about to implode.
He needed Natalie Cash in his arms.
Natalie followed Wulfe out the door of Lyon’s room and the few steps to her own. What in the heck had happened? One minute she’d been watching, terrified that Wulfe would attack his friends with those deadly claws. The next thing, Wulfe was holding her, taking a broken wine bottle out of her hand, and everyone was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head.
Wulfe ushered her into her room, then closed the door and pulled her around to face him. His hands caressed her shoulders as he studied her with soft, worried eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” Her pulse was pounding. Her hand slid up to cover her chest. “My heart’s racing.”
“You’re no longer in pain?”
“No, not at all. Thank you for that. But, Wulfe . . .” She shook her head. “We can’t let that happen again.” Her brows drew together. “What if, next time, you knock me out?”
His brows lifted, his expression turning thoughtful. “I don’t know. It’s possible that would disconnect you. We can try it.”
“Okay. Good.” The tension began to ease from her shoulders. “We have a plan.” For now. Until that didn’t work, either. And then what? She’d heard Strome as well as Wulfe had. The only way to break this connection was through the death of one of the three of them. And while it might be heroic to offer to give up her life, Wulfe would never go for that. He’d blame himself for it, hate himself for it. Besides, she liked her life, thank you very much, even as strange as it had become. No, Inir was the one who had to die. For both their sakes.
Wulfe lifted a hand and stroked her cheek. “Let me hold you.” Something in his expression crumbled for the barest second. “I need to hold you,” he said quietly.
She wasn’t the only one shaken, she realized. Sliding into his arms, she pressed her body against the hard, muscular planes of his and knew that nothing had ever felt so right. Wulfe pulled her closer still, locking his arms around her, brushing his chin against her hair on a deep, heartfelt sigh.
As her arms went around his waist, she pressed her cheek to his T-shirt. “It’s all going to be okay,” she said quietly. “It’s all going to work out.”