A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(26)

Or captured by the Mage.

Chapter Six

Wulfe stared in disbelief at the now-all-too-familiar rock formation, a pair of rocks sitting at an angle he’d thought interesting the first time he saw it. This was now the third. Dammit!

At the roar rumbling out of Lyon’s throat, he knew his chief had seen it, too. The sound, more animal than man, raised the hair on the back of Wulfe’s neck. It was a roar filled with a pain and fury no man should suffer, especially one as fine as the Chief of the Ferals.

This mountain was messing with them big-time. They’d picked up Estevan’s scent without too much trouble, but it just kept circling back to this rock even when they felt certain they were traveling in a different direction. Twice now!

Lyon went feral, his eyes turning to cat eyes, his fangs and claws sprouting. He turned on Ariana even as Kougar stepped between them.

“Find. The. Way,” Lyon growled.

Ariana met that dangerous, furious visage without an ounce of fear. Instead, she shook her dark head with mounting frustration. “I can’t, Lyon. I can’t sense the way through this mountain’s magic any better than you can. You know I’d take you to her if I could. You know that.”

Lyon dipped his head and swung away, his body radiating barely contained rage as he lifted a small boulder and threw it as hard as he could, taking down two pines with a pair of echoing snaps.

Wulfe ached for his friend. They were all desperate to find Kara. They loved her, every damned one of them. And the bastard Mage, probably Inir himself, had her.

“Why can’t I sense her?” Lyon released a roar of such anguish, such rage, Wulfe felt gut-punched.

If only they knew. Lyon was the Finder, the one Feral among them all capable of tracking down the Radiant, even if he weren’t mated to her. If Kara died, goddess forbid, it would be Lyon who would have to search out her replacement if she didn’t come forward on her own.

He physically hurt for his old friend. Lyon wouldn’t be right again, nothing would be right again, until Kara was once more safely back at Feral House.

Wulfe felt an echoing ache at his own empty arms and was ashamed to admit it wasn’t for his dead mate, Beatrice, but for another. For Natalie, a woman who’d never been his and never would be. A woman he didn’t even want to be his, not really. She was human. And he . . . He wasn’t fit to be any woman’s mate.

The Ilina, Brielle, fell into step beside him, surprising him. Few women ever came to him freely, most too put off by the riot of scars that crisscrossed his face.

“Who is she?” Brielle asked quietly, soft understanding in her eyes.

“Who is who?” he growled, nonplussed when she didn’t mist away in fright.

Brielle didn’t so much as blink. “The woman who lives in your eyes.”

It was tempting to tell her that she was mistaken. Or that it was none of her business. Instead, he found himself answering. “She’s human. Marrying another.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is she marrying another when you’re in love with her?”

He scowled, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. “I’m not in love with her.” It was ridiculous to think he was in love. He just wondered how Natalie fared. He was worried about her. “Besides, I wiped her mind. She doesn’t remember me. She . . . can’t. For her own safety.”

“I’m sorry, Wulfe.”

“It doesn’t matter.” But the words felt like glass in his throat.

“Do you know where she lives?”

“I . . .” He wanted to deny it and couldn’t. He’d been to her house once, in wolf form, on the pretext of keeping an eye on her for her brother, Xavier, who was now a guest and prisoner of Feral House since they’d been unable to steal his memories of the horrors they’d both seen. “I know where she lives.”

“I can take you there,” Brielle said softly. “Anytime you like.”

He met the Ilina’s vivid gaze. But though he searched for subterfuge, or agenda, all he saw was soft understanding.

“Thank you. But no.” Hell. The longing to see Natalie again was an ache inside of him that never went away. But no good could come of it for either of them. Even if she never saw him as anything other than a friendly wolf.

No, after that last visit, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t go near her again. And he’d meant it.

Deep inside, his wolf howled, a pained, mournful sound. And his heart ached.

Nearly an hour and a half later, they still hadn’t found the creek again. Nothing looked familiar and hadn’t for most of the trip. Yet the two shifters insisted they were following Castin’s scent.

Melisande ground her teeth in frustration. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them, it was just that she didn’t trust this mountain. Not at all. None of them did.

Over the last hour and a half, Fox had quit trying to flirt with either her or Phylicia, his mood deteriorating just as hers was, if in a different way. He walked ahead now, at Olivia’s side. Melisande’s gaze caught on his back, lingering over the snug, perfect fit of his army green tee, which so beautifully defined the shape of him—his broad shoulders, trim waist, and the thick, muscular arms. As much as she told herself to ignore him, her Ilina’s eye for fine male flesh had reawakened, and there was no turning a blind eye to so magnificent a specimen.