“Wulfe?”
At the sharp note in Tighe’s voice, Wulfe glanced at his friend.
“You’re about to snap the steering wheel. What’s up?”
“I heard Inir and Satanan again.”
“And?”
Wulfe told Tighe and the Shaman what he’d heard.
Tighe growled, pulled out his phone, and called Lyon, relaying the information.
Wulfe glanced at Tighe when he’d disconnected the call. “What did Lyon say?”
“Not much. He’s still not giving up on finding the ritual to make us mortal again.”
Wulfe just hoped they found it in time.
Minutes later, as they drove slowly past Natalie’s house, Wulfe felt something sigh inside of him. His wolf gave a whine of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again, but both man and animal spirit were going to be disappointed this time. Only the Shaman would be going up to the door.
Wulfe parked his pickup across the street and turned off the ignition, forcing himself to stay put while the Shaman climbed out of the truck and crossed the street, cookies in hand.
“Do you think she’s home?” Tighe asked.
“We’ve wasted two hours if she isn’t. It’s Sunday. Xavier says she’s an optometrist with a practice in town. Sunday and Monday are her days off.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s home.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s not.”
“She could be running errands.”
“She could be doing any of a hundred things.”
They were both watching the Shaman ring the doorbell, neither paying any attention to the conversation, which had devolved quickly.
Be home, Natalie. He needed the Shaman to tell him that she was fine. Please let her be fine. She deserved that, deserved a life without the threat of Daemons though if the Ferals didn’t find a way to stop Inir, all humans would soon know that terror.
The door opened. Wulfe’s heart began to thud in his chest. Natalie. She stood in the doorway in a pair of white shorts that accentuated her long, long legs, and a soft blue T-shirt that highlighted the blues and greens in her shockingly bright aura. At least he knew it hadn’t been a trick of his wolf’s eyesight. Dammit.
Tighe whistled. “That’s some glow.”
“You can see it.”
“Clear as day.”
Crud. Strike two. He’d really hoped it was him.
As he watched, the Shaman reached out his hand as if to shake hers. Natalie looked bemused, but she shook the proffered hand with a friendly smile. Probably, human children didn’t shake hands with their cookie customers. A moment later, she turned away but didn’t close the door, and the Shaman continued to stand there. When she returned, she handed the Shaman what appeared to be a few dollars and he, in turn, handed her the Oreos, shook her hand again, and turned away.
“Well?” Wulfe demanded as the ancient male climbed into the truck a minute later.
“I sense Daemon energy though what that means, I do not know. It may be a lingering effect of the energy all of you were exposed to on the battlefield in Harpers Ferry.”
“Then all three of the humans who survived that battle might have been affected. Xavier hasn’t shown any signs of it, yet,” Wulfe said.
Tighe grunted. “We’ll have to send someone to check on the screamer.” The teen, Christy, had done little but scream the entire time she’d been in their prison. “Can we leave Natalie in the human world looking like that?”
“I believe so,” the Shaman said. “Few humans can see auras. But someone should keep an eye on her.”
Wulfe eyed him sharply.
The Shaman held up his hand. “Just keep an eye on her.”
Tighe glanced over, met Wulfe’s gaze. “It might be safer to bring her back to Feral House.”
“No.” The word left his throat like a shot. Lyon would only command her locked up in their prisons again. While the Ferals never took human life without reason, Daemon energy might be deemed reason enough. He wouldn’t risk it. “She stays here.”
Tighe nodded, sympathy in his eyes as if he’d heard the thoughts rolling through Wulfe’s head.
Wulfe turned to the Shaman. “How do we cure her?”
“I have no idea.” The Shaman sighed. “I’m sorry, Wulfe. My expertise is Mage magic, not Daemon.”
Tighe reached over and clasped Wulfe’s shoulder. “You’ve had worse assignments than keeping an eye on a beautiful woman.”
In truth, there was nothing he’d enjoy more than watching over this woman even if he’d have to remain in his animal to do it. “I wonder if she’ll let a wolf in the house,” he mused. It might be worth a try. Tonight, he’d find out.
When they got back to Feral House, Tighe took him aside. “Be careful, buddy.”
Wulfe lifted a brow.“She’s human.”
“So?”
“I’m just saying, you’re strung tight about this. I knew you had a soft spot for her, but I think it’s more than that. A lot more.”
Wulfe’s jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter. She belongs to another male, and even if she didn’t, my severed mating bond has screwed me up good.” Not to mention, he didn’t know what in the hell was going on with his Daemon blood. He shook his head. “I’d never pursue her.”
Deep inside, his wolf whined unhappily.
Tighe nodded. “It would be best if you kept your distance. Then maybe, when this is over, you can forget about her.”
That was just it, though. He couldn’t forget about her. Not for one damned minute.
Tighe shrugged. “I’m just saying, humans don’t live long, buddy.”
Wulfe snorted. “The way things are going, neither do we.”
But he understood Tighe’s concern, and he shared it. The last thing he wanted or needed was to have his heart ripped out of his chest in fifty or sixty years—a blink of an eye if he managed to get his immortality back. Because fifty or sixty years was all Natalie had. Maybe far, far less.
The rain started just as Wulfe pulled to a stop behind the deserted warehouse. It was early evening, approaching sunset, though the sun was hidden behind thick rain clouds. He turned off the ignition and climbed out, tossing his keys beneath the vehicle so the rain didn’t ruin the electronics. Stripping, he shoved his boots and clothes into the backseat, then locked the doors and shifted into his wolf.
A thrill of pleasure snaked its way through him as he reflected on the fact that Lyon had officially given him the job of keeping an eye on Natalie Cash. Unfortunately, there was really nothing else for him to do. Not unless word came of another newly marked Feral for them to hunt down and throw in the prison beneath Feral House. Or they got a lead on the two escaped new Ferals, Grizz and Lepard.
Wulfe trotted through the woods, the rain soaking his fur and his mood, because there was zero chance Natalie would come out to see him this time, and slim to no chance she’d let a soaking-wet wolf into her house. Otherwise, he didn’t mind the rain. The day had been warm, and the cool rain felt good against his hide.
They’d tracked down the screamer, Christy, without much trouble and confirmed that she had no odd glow. Nor did Xavier. Which meant that whatever was going on with Natalie was hers alone.
Inside, his wolf gave a howl of misery. Neither man nor animal spirit liked it, not one bit.
As he reached the edge of the woods, he eyed the house with the yellow siding that he knew to be hers. The kitchen light was on, but he couldn’t see any sign of Natalie. Wait. There she was. She crossed the kitchen, the overhead light turning her hair to gold. His stomach did a little flip, but as he sat on the wet ground, the rain splattering against his snout, his heart felt heavy in his chest.
Natalie had already been through so much, even if she didn’t remember most of it. She wasn’t supposed to be in danger anymore, yet in his gut he felt it circling around her. The need to protect her clawed at his insides.
Somehow, he had to get her to let him in.
As the rain pattered against her kitchen windows, Natalie dropped the last teaspoonful of apple-spice cookie dough onto the baking sheet in front of her, slipped the cookie sheet into the oven, and set the timer. Baking had always been her comfort activity, that and work, and both were getting her through now. In the month since the incident, she’d made a dozen cakes, two dozen pans of brownies, and at least sixteen different cookie recipes. Her neighbors were starting to complain that she was trying to fatten them up, but she had to do something with the fruits of her crisis since she ate few sweets herself.
And there was no doubt she was in crisis. Especially after this morning.
Leaning back against the kitchen counter, she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, fighting back the thoughts that constantly flayed her—the days she had no memory of, the police investigation that continued to go nowhere. And the pounding, grinding grief. The police believed Xavier was dead, and she refused to accept that, but where was he?
She blinked back the tears that burned her eyes and turned to the sink to wash her mixing bowls. Her gaze caught on the package of Oreos, drawing a bemused smile and a disbelieving shake of her head. What had made the teen come to her door selling store-bought cookies? He’d almost certainly been up to something though she hadn’t sensed anything malicious. She’d detected a faint accent in his voice, so perhaps he’d been an immigrant or exchange student looking for a little extra cash and going about it in an odd way. Or he might have been a drama student having a little lighthearted fun with her. She probably wouldn’t have actually bought the cookies, but she’d always been very, very good at reading eyes, and in his she’d seen a wealth of kindness.
She loved looking at people’s eyes. Perhaps because she was an optometrist. Or maybe that was part of the reason she’d become an optometrist in the first place. She’d never been entirely sure. But from the day her youngest brother had been born blind, she’d been fascinated with eyes.
Oh, Xavier, how I miss you.
The ache beneath her breastbone pulsed so harshly it nearly doubled her over, the grief overwhelming her in that instant. Breathe. Just breathe.
Slowly, she pushed past it and began to clean up the kitchen. By the time she was done, the smell of freshly baking cookies filled the air but did little to tempt her. After what had happened this morning, her appetite was well and truly gone. She’d done the right thing, she knew that. But never in her life had she felt so alone.
If only her mom were in town. Picking up the phone, she made the call she’d been putting off all day.
“Natalie,” her mother said, her voice breathless with both hope and dread as it always was these days. “Any news?”
“Not about Xavier.” If only she had some good news to share. “Rick and I called off our engagement this morning.”
“Oh . . . honey.”
Natalie could hear the scrape of a kitchen chair against tile and imagined her parent sinking onto it, gripping the table unsteadily against this latest blow. The unmistakable sound of sobs filled her ear, and she closed her eyes, wishing she’d been able to deliver this blow in person instead of over the phone. But her mom was in Birmingham, visiting her sister, and planned to stay there another week. Someone was bound to break the news to her long before that if Natalie didn’t tell her first.
“Nat?” Aunt Deb’s voice rang in her ear suddenly. “Did they find him?”
“No. I broke up with Rick.”
“Oh, thank God. The way your mom collapsed I was certain they’d found Xavier’s remains.”
Natalie cringed at Deb’s frank talk. And then her mom was back on the phone.
“Why, honey? Why now? You need him.”
“I don’t know.” How could she explain that the relationship had become strained? That as patient and understanding as Rick tried to be, she found little comfort in his presence. He reminded her too much of her life before. And perhaps the real clincher was that she sensed he was working too hard to be patient. He was a good guy, there was no doubt about it. But he missed the old Natalie. He wanted her back. And that woman was gone for good.
He’d stayed over last night, and they hadn’t even made love. She hadn’t been in the mood. She was never in the mood anymore. Rick hadn’t complained, not about that. He rarely complained about anything, but she’d seen the frustration in his eyes. Finally, as he’d dressed to leave, she’d suggested they call off the wedding. Rick had nodded, sadly, as if he’d been thinking the same.
“I need time, Rick,” she’d said as she handed him back her engagement ring. “I just need some time alone.”
He’d looked at the ring sadly. “If I were the right man for you, Nat, it would be me you needed.”
She hadn’t been able to argue.
She gave her mom the shortened version, which set off another round of sobs. “We’ll talk later, Mom,” she said quietly. “The oven timer’s about to go off. Give Aunt Deb my love.”
In a way, she envied her mother for getting away. A change of scenery would do her good, too. But she had her practice and a full schedule of patients to see this coming week, and for now that would have to be enough. One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving. There was little else she could do except pray that someday the ache would ease enough that she’d be able to breathe again.
As she pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven, she heard the low bark of a big dog at her back door. Her mind flashed immediately to her canine buddy and she found a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth at the thought that he’d come to see her again.