Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8) 7

“Natalie, get back,” Lyon warned.

She kept her gaze pinned on Wulfe. “You’ve never forgiven yourself for failing Liesel, Wulfe, even though what happened to her was never your fault. I know you won’t hurt me. You won’t fail me. Fight the darkness. Come back to me.”

“Natalie, he could kill you with those claws.”

“He won’t.”

She took another painful step toward Wulfe, then another, praying she was right.

Power swirled inside Wulfe, smoke and fire, consuming his gaze, his mind, his soul—the power to take on every one of the insects that surrounded him.

Why didn’t the female cower before him?

He swatted at her, his claws coming close to her face, yet not touching her. Something inside of him growled at him not to touch her.

Rain poured down upon him, soaking his clothes. Lightning split the skies.

The female grabbed his wrist, and he pulled away, but she held on tight and nearly fell against his chest. Her scent assailed him, sweet and intolerable. Gray eyes. The thought rose from the smoke as her touch burned his wrist, but that snarling thing inside him ordered him to let her do what she wanted. A word burst out of the haze.

Natalie.

His head began to pound, his heart to thud. Dangerous. Light shone through the darkness, a golden glow threatening to burn away the shadows. A glow that was hers.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

“Loving you.” There was such agony in her eyes.

“Don’t.” Instinct told him to pull away before it was too late, and he did, jerking his hand from her hold, catching her palm with one of his claws as he jerked free of her. A faint ribbon of blood bloomed on her flesh, and something deep inside him howled.

Fighting it, he pulled back his lips and snarled at her. She was small compared to him, female and human and should be terrified. But instead of retreating as she should have, she lunged at him, grabbing his bare forearm, pressing against his side.

“Come back to me, Wulfe. I know you’re in there. Fight it. For me. For your friends.”

Her hands shook, her warm blood smearing his arm. Lines of pain bracketed her mouth, making him ache. He didn’t want her in pain.

Why did he care? The thought roared in his mind. He was power incarnate. With a swipe of his clawed hand, he could rip off her head.

The thought of it nearly brought him to his knees.

Natalie.

Protect her. Protect her.

The thought, the need grew and grew, pulsing in his veins, battering and silencing the shadows that yelled for him to push her away, ripping through the power, through the darkness, through the light.

Wulfe blinked, disoriented and confused, at the woman tight against his side, clinging to his arm. Natalie. He’d drawn fangs and claws. She’s in danger. The thought exploded in his head even as he took in the sight of his brothers, weapons drawn staring at him as if he’d become the enemy.

Understanding slammed into him like a rock. He’d lost it again. Badly. As he retracted his fangs and claws, his gaze flew to Natalie, to the agonized lines of her face, to the warm stickiness beneath the hand that still grasped his arm.

“I hurt you.” The words tore from his throat, cutting like razor blades.

“You’re back.” Her grip fell away and she sagged against him, clearly injured.

“I hurt you.”

“No. Just a little. It’s the primal energies . . . I’m okay.”

The primal energies.

“Wulfe,” Lyon called. “Destroy the warding.”

And everything snapped back into place—West Virginia, Inir’s ritual to free the Daemons, the heavy warding that surrounded the mountain that even he hadn’t been able to get through.

Turning until he once more gazed upon that colorful curtain of energy snapping in the wind, he lifted his hand with a snap and willed that curtain destroyed. As he watched with satisfaction, it hissed and popped, exploding into a million bits of light that winked out, one by one, until they were no more.

Goddess, he had power.

Deep inside, he could feel that golden thread, the beginnings of the mating bond, pulsing with light. It was Natalie’s love that had pulled him back, her love that had tethered him, just as she’d promised, but at what cost? She was shaking, the energies hurting her. And that golden filament was already beginning to tarnish and fade.

He pulled her around to face him, holding her up. “I have to shut off the primal energies.”

“No.” Natalie’s voice was strong, her gaze unyielding. “Stop Inir from freeing Satanan. Only that. Then turn them off.”

He shook his head, his heart threatening to shatter. “You’ll be dead by then.”

“I won’t.” She smiled at him through the pain with a strength that he envied. “I’m tougher than that.”

Lyon strode up, joining them, pushing his rain-drenched hair from his face. “How much of the warding did you disable? Is it safe for the Ilinas to mist us closer to Inir’s stronghold?” They were still miles away from the fortress. And, he remembered now, quickly running out of time.

Wulfe sent his senses flying outward, taking in the energy of the mountain, feeling the warding as if it were a part of him. And in a Daemon sort of way, it probably was. The sudden, unnatural storm had turned day to night.

“The outer warding has shattered,” he told his chief. “The inner is still strong, but I can get us through. It extends two hundred yards around the stronghold in every direction. It’s Ilina-proof, but the Ilinas are in no danger as long as they remain outside that.”

Lyon swung to Kougar. “It’s your call.”

Kougar closed his eyes for several seconds. “Ariana’s already on her way to test it.”

“Have they freed the Daemons?” Paenther asked, striding up.

In the part of him that was connected to Satanan, Wulfe could feel the ritual proceeding. “Not yet.”

Ariana appeared from mist beside her mate. “We can deliver you to the base of the hill, a short distance from the stronghold.”

Lyon nodded. “Take us.”

Ilinas appeared out of thin air all around them, snatching up Ferals and Therians alike.

“Hold on to her, Wulfe,” Ariana said. “I can take you both.”

Moments later, Wulfe was spilling his guts on the ground at the base of the stronghold, Natalie sitting a short distance away. Wulfe pushed to his feet, then helped Natalie to hers. She gasped with pain, a soft sound that stabbed him in the heart.

“I’m shutting the energies off.”

“No you’re not. I can handle this.” She met his gaze with granite in her eyes.

A shout went up. Moments later, Mage sentinels began to rush out of the stronghold by the dozens.

“Get the Ferals through those gates,” Olivia yelled to her troops.

Wulfe kissed Natalie gently. How could he leave her like this?

“I’ve got her, Feral,” Melisande said. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Wulfe nodded, sliding his palm along Natalie’s jaw, his own jaw hardening. “I’ll kill him quickly.”

“And I’ll keep you tethered. Stay away from the darkness.”

He smiled. “Deal.” He kissed her soundly, then ran to join the others just as Zeeland . . . Zaber . . . shifted into a saber-toothed tiger with a furious roar.

Deep in his mind, Wulfe heard his wolf howl in answer.

Thank the goddess. His animal was back. But he felt his wolf spirit’s pain, felt him at a distance. The Daemon energy might have cracked the wall the dark charm had erected between them, but it hadn’t destroyed it.

He pulled on his animal, trying to shift, but nothing happened. Dammit. The wolf whined and snarled. Then pain shot through his body in a searing rush, and slowly, slowly, in a spit of dark lights, he managed to shift.

“How’d you do that, Wolf-man?” Jag shouted.

Daemon blood.

“I’m starting to envy you, Dog.”

As the Therian Guard surged forward to take on the Mage sentinels, the Ferals charged. Wulfe and Zaber took point, a huge wolf and sabertooth tiger, attacking sentinels only when they had to, preferring to just run them down. This was not the battle that mattered.

The wind began to howl again, rain slashing, hail pounding, lightning bursting across the sky as Inir’s evil Mage died by the dozens. As Wulfe and Zaber approached the gate through which the sentinels had rushed from the castle, the heavy metal bars of the portcullis began to descend.

Acting on instinct, Wulfe shifted back to a man in the same flare of pain and dark, spitting lights, then lifted his hand and, with the force of his mind, stopped the gate’s descent, halfway down. He grunted. Daemon power was damn useful. Shifting back into his wolf, he dove under the gate after the sabertooth. Behind him, the other Ferals ducked beneath the half-lowered gate and followed them into the courtyard. Massive, steel-reinforced, wooden doors barred their access to the castle itself, but Wulfe sensed no magical warding blocking their way.

Wulfe looked at that door. Zaber, let’s take it together on the count of three. One, two, three!

The two huge beasts made a running charge, lowered their heads, and plowed through the massive doors, splintering them.

With a triumphant growl, Zaber leaped through the opening, and Wulfe dove through after him, the other Ferals following close behind.

As more Mage ran at them, the Ferals drew their swords. “We’ve got these, Wulfe,” Lyon shouted. “Keep going.”

Come on, Zee, it’s up to us. Wulfe raced forward, leading the way through the massive castle, running down one shadowed corridor after another. As he ran, the smoke began to curl in from the edges of his mind as if the darkness sought control again. His wolf snarled.

In his head, he heard Satanan’s voice. It’s taking too long!

My lord, the blood is not truly that of an unascended Radiant, so it will take time. But the ritual is working. The blade is opening.

The Daemon shifter nears, and he is not mine. His channel key interferes.

Can you tear him loose without breaking the connection?

Of course.

Wulfe’s heart dropped to his stomach. Natalie?

No answer.

Natalie!

When she still didn’t answer, he tried another route. Melisande?

Something’s happening, Wulfe. Natalie ran, and I caught her, but she’s not herself. She’s fighting me.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Wait. I think she’s snapping out of it.

Wulfe? Natalie’s voice. I don’t know what happened.

Satanan feels you tethering me. He’s trying to stop you.

He won’t. A bright pulse of her energy flowed through the slowly tarnishing thread that connected them, a pulse layered with determination. You battle him on your end, shifter, I’ll battle him on mine. Just the sound of her voice sent the smoke and shadows scurrying away.

He felt a fierce surge of pride and gratitude that the goddess had gifted him with the love of such a strong and glorious woman.

He wouldn’t fail either of them.

Finally, he and Zaber burst through yet another thick door and into the pouring rain. They were on the back side of the castle, overlooking the cliffs behind the stronghold. On the rocks, not twenty yards below, six bare-chested men stood in a circle ringed by fires that flickered and spit in the rain. On the rock at their feet lay a dagger.

The Daemon Blade.

Wulfe recognized four of the males—Polaris, Lynks, Croc, and Witt. The other two must be the pair Inir had forced Kara to bring into their animals when she was a captive here. They knew Lynks was an asshole—a coward and a pedophile. Polaris, whom they’d known as Ewan, was a good man who they believed to be the one the animal had meant to mark, but he’d been subsumed by the dark infection carried to him by his animal spirit, and an unwitting pawn of Inir ever since. Whether the other four had honor or evil in their souls was anyone’s guess.

Outside the circle, watching with eager eyes, stood a man dressed in a blood red ceremonial robe, his short hair, even wet, gleaming with a copper sheen. Deep within his Daemon blood, Wulfe sensed Satanan’s consciousness in the male. With a surge of hard satisfaction, he knew he was staring at Inir.

Inir is in a bright red robe, he told Zaber and the other Ferals. His hair’s as copper as his eyes. As Inir turned toward him, Wulfe realized his last observation was all too true. Inir’s Mage eyes weren’t just ringed in copper, they were copper through and through. And in them, Wulfe read dismay and a sudden, raw desperation.

His wolf howled in delight.

“Kill them!” Inir shouted, and the dozen Mage sentinels who stood between the Ferals and their targets drew their swords and started rushing up the stone walkway.

Wulfe’s muscles bunched. I’ll crash the ritual while you stop Inir, Zee. Don’t kill him. We’re going to need his blood to reclaim our immortality, and I don’t know how much. Bite off a leg or two, and he won’t be able to get away. You’ll enjoy the taste when you’re in your cat.

Zaber grunted. He won’t get away. Let me take lead. I’ll heal. As Wulfe, still mortal, would not.

Go.

Zaber leaped forward, the stocky, muscular cat bulldozing the Mage, taking their slashing swords without slowing. But as Wulfe followed, one of those swords caught him, slicing through his shoulder in a searing flash of pain. And with the pain, the tendrils of darkness began to crowd in on him all over again.

Natalie.

I see them. I’m here. But her voice was losing strength, and it was long moments before the shadows reacted, and they backed off too slowly, as if at any moment, they’d spring again. Natalie was weakening. And the distance between them was growing too much.