Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(13)

Instantly, she stilled, and Wulfe knew she’d been enthralled. She wouldn’t remember anything more of this fight. But they weren’t taking her. Over his dead body would they take her.

In a spray of sparkling lights, he shifted to human form, swiped one of the dead Mage’s swords off the bloody carpet, then ripped the blade out of another of his attacker’s hands. Swinging two blades at once, he took on the remaining Mage. The Ferals avoided killing Mage whenever possible since Mother Nature took their deaths so personally, but he didn’t have a choice this time. It was either kill them or escape, but with Natalie enthralled, he’d have to remain human in order to sling her over his shoulder and run. Unfortunately, the draden would almost certainly find him before he could reach his truck and safety, and he’d be forced to shift back to wolf or die, simply delaying the inevitable fight to the death with the Mage. Better to do it here, now. Mother Nature was just going to have to be pissed.

One by one, his attackers died beneath his blades. Outside, the wind began to howl like a freight train bearing down on the house. By the time only two Mage remained, his opponents circling him, his vision was beginning to waver, his arms starting to feel like anvils thanks to the stab wounds that still bled freely. If he didn’t kill these last two quickly, it would be too late. For both him and Natalie.

As they leaped at him, carving slices into his side and thigh, Wulfe called on the last of his considerable reserves and took them on with desperate efficiency, hacking, stabbing, until only one remained.

Wulfe faced the last of the sentinels sent to attack them, the leader of the band. Fury tore through him, fury that these soulless monsters had followed him here. Here. That they’d desecrated the home of one of the brightest spirits Wulfe had ever encountered and threatened her life. Inside, his animal gave a furious growl.

Fangs sprouted from his mouth, claws erupted from his fingertips, and he went feral, that place halfway between man and beast. As the sentinel lunged at him with his sword, Wulfe cut off the bastard’s remaining hand. The last thing Wulfe needed was to become enthralled, too.

Digging his claws into the sentinel’s neck, he slammed him against the nearest wall. “What does Inir want with us?”

Real fear shone in those soulless eyes. “I don’t know. Our orders were to capture you both and bring you in.”

Wulfe believed him. With one clawed hand, he ripped out the Mage’s heart, then dropped it to the floor, along with his body. A harsh wave of dizziness rolled across his vision, and he sank back against the wall, sweat rolling down his temples, blood down his chest.

A gust of wind blew through the house, whipping the curtains and scattering papers every which way. Hail pounded against the siding and windows. He needed to get Natalie out of here before Inir sent more men, which he’d undoubtedly do when this batch failed to return.

His head felt helium-light, his shoulder as heavy as burning iron as he pushed away from the wall to search for a phone. If he could get ahold of Feral House, his brothers would send Ilinas to pick them up. He’d be home, with Natalie, within seconds.

He spied a cell phone on the kitchen counter, but when he turned it on, he found it password protected. Hell. And he saw no sign of a kitchen phone.

The lights flickered and died, casting him into a darkness broken only by the lightning that slashed across the sky every few seconds. He turned back to find Natalie standing as if frozen, right where the Mage had left her. Enthralled. His heart cramped at all she’d seen, at all she’d endured . . . again. She’d snap out of the enthrallment in an hour or two, maybe less. Until then, they were trapped here. And he desperately needed to lie down and give his body a chance to start the healing process.

He was afraid he might pass out, and the last thing he wanted was Natalie waking to this scene of carnage. As a warrior, he’d become far too used to such sights, but although Natalie had seen worse—she’d watched her own friends die—she didn’t remember. The least he could do was get rid of the bodies, or at least move them out of her sight until they disintegrated in a few days. The basement would have to do.

After three tries, Wulfe found the right door, then bent to scoop up the closest body and nearly sank to his knees as pain screamed through his shoulder and side, and weakness tore at his muscles. His vision swam.

Straightening slowly, he slammed his palm against the wall, willing his vision to clear. When it did, he made his way to Natalie, lifting her carefully. The bodies would have to wait. Clenching his jaw, he made his way slowly up the stairs, Natalie tucked against his chest.

He was nearly to the second floor when a razor-sharp bite tore into his injured shoulder wrenching a bloodcurdling yell from his throat. Draden. He’d known the little fiends, no bigger than an average man’s fist, would find him sooner or later, drawn to his Therian life force. If he didn’t shift soon, they’d steal it all, killing him. But he couldn’t carry Natalie in his wolf.

Pushing himself past the point of endurance, he climbed the last couple of steps, sweat rolling down his temples. Another draden found him, then another, and another, all tearing at his flesh until his sight blurred, until it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.

As he stumbled into the nearest room, a flash of lightning lit the bed and he pushed himself toward it, managing to lower Natalie onto the soft mattress and not . . . quite . . . follow her down. The moment she was out of his arms, he shifted back into his wolf, listening with satisfaction as the draden squawked their anger at the loss of their meal and flew away.