Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8) 7

Vivian/Strome glanced from one of them to the other. “I’ll share no more with you until you’ve freed Vivian. The rest will be over the phone.”

Lyon shook his head. “She’ll not be harmed unless we deem her . . . or you . . . a threat. But she’ll remain in this cell until I say otherwise. I want the Shaman to examine her. You’ve nothing to fear from him. He’s an ancient and honorable soul who will not harm her.”

“Pal,” Vivian said, clearly back in the fore, clearly talking to Strome, now, “I’ve already told them exactly who I am and where I work. Unless I run away from everything I know, they’ll be able to find me within hours. I think we should trust them. I think we can trust them.” She turned to Lyon, her expression rueful. “I’m sure you can understand how hard it is for an alpha male and former commander to ride in the passenger seat. He wants so badly to protect me. But he can’t.” Her gaze sharpened as she eyed Wulfe. “I hope we didn’t make a mistake in seeking you out.”

Wulfe glanced at Lyon. He wouldn’t speak for his chief.

“If Strome is what he says he is, an honorable spirit,” Lyon told her, “then neither of you has anything to fear from us. We’re at war with the Mage who are trying to free Satanan. You’ll forgive us if we’re overly cautious. But we would welcome a genuine ally, especially one who can help us to better understand our enemy.”

Vivian nodded. “Strome wants the mic.” She closed her eyes, and, a moment later, the Daemon was back in control.

“I will help you because she is inclined to trust you.” His gaze turned to Wulfe. “And because it would please Ciroc for me to aid his progeny. But, if you harm this woman in any way . . .” He shook his head, his expression dark with frustration. “Don’t. I have never in my existence begged, but I will beg of you now. Do not harm her.”

“We don’t harm innocents, not if we have any choice,” Lyon said. “What will happen if Wulfe were to pull the primal power for himself?”

“Roar.” How could Lyon even ask such a thing? “I would never. I’d have to cut a pentagram . . .” He swallowed back the bile that tried to rise. “In her chest.”

Vivian shook her head, her expression—Strome’s expression—horrified. “Why would you ever cut a pentagram into the chest of a human? You’d kill her.”

Wulfe stared at him. “That’s what Tighe’s clone did to Delaney when he made her his channel key.”

“His clone?”

“Long story,” Wulfe muttered. “Suffice it to say, he was evil, through and through.”

Strome watched him thoughtfully. Slowly, his eyes turned hard. “In the early days, before I understood what he was about, I watched Satanan pull the primal energies. I know how it’s done. For you to accomplish it, I believe you would need only to fully open the channel you triggered when you healed the human female. You would have to give her back the wound you took. Through that cut, the primal energies will flow. But I warn you, pulling that darkness corrupts even the most honorable of souls. Should you choose that path, you will quickly become too powerful for your friends to stop. You’ll kill them.”

“No.”

“I’ve seen only one other ride that wave of energy and not let it consume him. And even he eventually lost the battle because in the end he could not bring himself to give up the power he’d acquired.”

“So once the primal energy is pulled, it can be released?” Kougar asked.

“Yes. The ritual in reverse. The problem is, no one who knows that kind of power has the strength to give it up. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” He turned back to Wulfe. “I should warn you that even if you don’t pull the primal energies intentionally, the moment Satanan is free, he will seize control of you as he has the rest of the Daemons. And when he does, you will pull the power. And you’ll do it for him, without the ability to claim it for yourself. You, too, will become a pawn of his evil as so many have before you.”

“How do we stop him?” Wulfe demanded, holding Natalie tight against him. “How do I keep that from happening?”

“There is only one way. The connection must be broken. You, your channel key, or Satanan’s host . . .”

“Inir.”

“One of you must die.”

Natalie jerked within Wulfe’s hold.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered fiercely. But, goddess. To break this unholy connection he’d inadvertently created without endangering either of them further, he had to kill Inir. Not that he didn’t want to. Hell yes, he wanted to, but they’d been trying to find and kill that sucker for months, now, with no success.

“The Shaman’s here,” Tighe said.

As the youthful-looking ancient entered the prison block, accompanied by Fox, Wulfe straightened. Slowly, he relinquished his hold on Natalie, his head pounding with regret over what he’d done to her. And with shame. How could he have fucked up so badly again? Nothing good ever came of his gift. Ever.

As he stepped away from her, she looked at him with eyes filled with confusion and worry.

If only he hadn’t touched her, hadn’t healed her.

The Shaman walked over to the cell where Vivian stood and peered at her with interest. “I understand you’re host to a Daemon consciousness, one who claims to be an enemy of Satanan’s.”

“Yep. His name is Strome, and he’s one of the good guys,” Vivian said. “You look young to be a shaman.”

The Shaman smiled. “Looks can be deceiving when you’re dealing with immortals. Many things can be deceiving. I’ve never heard it said that Satanan had enemies among his own. If true, this is enlightening.”

“It’s true.” Vivian scowled, and it was clear that Strome was back in control. “Satanan had nothing but enemies. He became too strong before we ever knew the power he possessed. By the time we realized the threat, it was too late. We were already being pulled under his complete control. At the point in time I became lost—and I don’t know how long that was before—”

“Four hundred years,” Wulfe said, unable to stop himself when the knowledge was on the tip of his tongue. “Satanan gained full control over the entire Daemon race four hundred years before they all became trapped in the Daemon Blade.”

Vivian/Strome looked at him with interest. “How do you come by this knowledge, shifter?”

“I don’t know. It just started happening today. I suddenly know things.”

“You’ve tapped into Satanan’s consciousness. Or his memories and knowledge. How?”

Wulfe shook his head.

Beside him, Natalie placed a slender, yet strong hand on his forearm. “When you touch me when I’m in pain, Satanan gains some control over you. Is it possible that that connection is going both ways? That you’re tapping into him, too?”

Wulfe froze. He was starting to perspire. He hated this. Hated it.

“It’s very possible,” Strome said evenly. “And quite dangerous. If such a small portion of his consciousness is already gaining this kind of connection with you, you’ll stand little chance of escaping Satanan if he becomes free of that blade. You’ll quickly fall under his complete control.” The Daemon’s gaze traveled from Feral to Feral. “This is something you must be prepared for. Once Satanan has him, there will be no getting him back. I lost many a friend that way. Good men. Honorable men.”

“Satanan’s not getting him,” Tighe growled.

Wulfe stared at the woman, meeting the gaze of the Daemon. All his life, he’d believed Daemons to be evil incarnate. For the past month, he’d been horrified that such evil might be living in his blood, lurking inside him, waiting to come out. But if what Strome said was true, that might not be the case at all. It was a revelation, if confusing as hell. Unless this was all a ruse, an act by the woman, an ingenious way to infiltrate their ranks and gain their trust. But for what purpose?

No, he didn’t think so. His instincts told him Vivian Mars and the Daemon, Strome, were legit. Either way, he and Natalie were in a shitload of trouble.

The Shaman held out his hand to Vivian. “Let me touch you, please.” When Vivian slid her hand between the bars, he took it and closed his eyes. Finally, after several minutes, he opened them again. “I sense no darkness within this woman. On the contrary, I see only brightness and light, and a deep, abiding love.” He cocked his head as he looked at Vivian with surprise. “You’ve fallen in love with the Daemon who infected you.”

Vivian’s eyes snapped with feminine pique. “He didn’t infect me. He found me. We’re a team. And, yes, I care for him.” Her expression softened. “He’s my best friend.”

The Shaman nodded. “Unless I’m mistaken, he cares for you equally.”

“You are not mistaken,” Vivian’s voice snapped in Strome’s distinctive way.

The Shaman turned to Lyon. “I’m no expert on Daemons, but I sense no darkness.”

Lyon nodded. “Strome claims Natalie’s become a channel key.”

Youthful-looking brows shot up. “Who made her one?”

“I did,” Wulfe snapped, wishing his brothers would take their claws to him for it. Rip him to shreds. “I did it when I took her wound.”

As the Shaman turned to Natalie, Wulfe tensed even as he knew the ancient would never hurt her. The Shaman took her hand, once more closed his eyes, then shook his head. “No darkness, no shadows. I sense nothing amiss.”

“And yet the Daemon claims Satanan is gaining strength through her,” Lyon said. “Through her and Wulfe both.”

The Shaman’s eyes opened, and he dropped Natalie’s hand. “It’s possible. I know little about Daemons though I’ve heard it said they’re connected to one another far more than most races.” He looked at Wulfe. “Can you sense Satanan’s hold on you . . . on either of you?”

Wulfe shook his head.

The Shaman turned back to Vivian/Strome. “Can you explain?”

Strome’s hard gleam flared in the archaeologist’s eyes as Vivian turned to Lyon. “I can, but I won’t. Your Shaman has declared Vivian without darkness, therefore you will release her. I’ll share what I know when she is free of this dungeon.”

Lyon’s jaw tensed. “I’ll give you an answer shortly.” As he turned to leave, Kougar, Tighe, Fox, and the Shaman followed.

Wulfe motioned Natalie to precede him, then brought up the rear.

The small band weaved their way through the Guards in the gym, but when they reached the hallway that would lead to the stairs, Lyon turned into the ritual room instead, flipping the switch to light the electric sconces. The others started to follow, but the Shaman hesitated.

“If you’ve no further need of me, Lyon, Ariana and I have work to do.”

“Of course. Thank you, Shaman.”

Wulfe led Natalie into the room behind the others and closed the door. Wulfe had always liked this room, with its high, arched ceiling and dark walls that mimicked the feel of the ancient caves in which the Ferals had long ago performed their most primitive rites. While Natalie stood against the wall on one side of the door, Wulfe moved to the other.

She glanced at him, a wealth of shadows and questions in her eyes. Questions he wasn’t sure he knew how to answer.

“Do we trust Vivian Mars?” the Chief of the Ferals asked, turning Wulfe’s attention back to the problem at hand.

“That tale was too bizarre to be anything but true,” Tighe muttered. “My instinct tells me Strome sought to protect Vivian, not himself.”

“If we kill her, he dies,” Lyon countered.

“I think Tighe has the way of it,” Fox said. “The Daemon’s demands felt like a male protecting his woman.”

“He’s in love with her,” Natalie said with certainty, surprising Wulfe, and pleasing him that she had no compunction about speaking up around his brothers. “I’m very good at reading eyes,” she continued. “In Vivian’s, I see intense curiosity, but also a total lack of cunning. When Strome takes over, I see fierce honesty. And honor. And the love the Shaman sensed. I absolutely believe Strome, or at least this piece of his consciousness, is in love with Vivian Mars.”

“So do we trust them?” Lyon asked. “Do we let Vivian go or keep her locked in the prison?”

“If the Daemon is evil and/or in league with Satanan,” Kougar said thoughtfully, “letting him go might be a risk, but keeping him here could be more of one. Killing him would be, by far, the safest course.”

“But if he’s not in league with Satanan,” Tighe countered, “a Daemon could prove a powerful ally.”

Wulfe grunted. “I think he’s telling the truth. I think he hates Satanan’s guts.”

“I agree,” Tighe said. Kougar and Fox concurred.

Lyon nodded. “So we’ve decided to trust him. Do we keep him here or let him go?”

“Imprisoning one’s allies is a certain way to turn them against you,” Fox murmured.

Tighe nodded. “I have to agree. We let him go.”

Lyon opened the door. “Then we’ve reached a decision. We’ll reconvene in the war room in ten. Fox, call the other Ferals. I want them all there. Wulfe, see Natalie to her room. Tighe and Kougar, escort Vivian upstairs.”

As Wulfe led Natalie back to the foyer, he braced himself for her questions or accusations. Both practically danced in the air around her. But she said nothing, climbing beside him without meeting his gaze.