Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(14)

His vision tilted. If he were still immortal, the weakness would be a temporary thing. But he wasn’t, and there was no telling what would happen.

Goddess, he had to survive this. He had to. Natalie needed him.

Lurching toward the bedroom door, he managed to butt it closed with his wolf’s flank, then sink down in front of it, blocking her escape. Hopefully, he’d awaken if she tried to move him.

Hopefully, he’d awaken again period.

A loud crack of thunder startled Natalie awake. Lightning flashed across the room and she caught sight of the pictures on the wall.

“What am I doing in the guest room?” she muttered groggily. Confusion clouded her mind as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached for the lamp, but though her fingers turned the knob, nothing happened. The electricity was out. And the closest flashlight was in the master bedroom.

Utterly confused, she pushed to her feet just as another flash illuminated the room and the large dog lying in front of the closed door, his fur caked with . . . blood.

It all came back in a rush—the men breaking into her house. The dog, Wolf, attacking them . . . killing them . . . as he protected her. She swayed, her forehead heating at the memory of the violence, her stomach lurching. Had he killed them all? Heaven help her, she hoped he had, because they’d stabbed him, over and over, in return.

Stumbling forward, she sank to her knees on the carpet beside the beautiful animal and reached for him. Please don’t let him be dead. Her palm pressed against the warm fur of his shoulder and felt the steady rise and fall she’d hoped for. Thank God.

Downstairs, something crashed, stopping her heart. The intruders are still here. Her pulse began to thud hard enough to shake her entire body as she waited for the sound of boots on the stairs, a sound she might not hear over the howling wind and the rain slashing against the windows.

Lightning again illuminated the dog’s blood-soaked fur. Thunder cracked, startling her out of her momentary paralysis. She had to do something to stop the bleeding, or Wolf was going to die right here, right now. If the intruders broke through the door, so be it. They must know she was up here. Which made no sense.

Pushing to her feet, she moved quietly to the dresser where she kept the stack of old T-shirts she wore to exercise in. They’d have to do. Grabbing a handful, she sank down beside the animal and whispered softly.

“It’s me, boy. This might hurt, but I’ve got to staunch your wounds.”

Her fingers pressed gingerly, burrowing through Wolf’s fur, as she sought the site of the stab she’d seen him take to the shoulder. Warm blood coated her fingers and she knew she’d found it. As gently as possible, she pressed one of the shirts against the wound, then started searching for any others.

“Poor guy,” she whispered. “You chose the wrong night to come see me, but you probably saved my life.” She needed to get him to a vet. The beautiful animal made no sound, gave no indication of consciousness. He might be alive, but for how much longer?

Something skittered across the floor downstairs, stopping her heart for another moment. Why hadn’t they followed her upstairs? For that matter, how in the heck had she fallen asleep on the guest bed in the middle of an attack on her house? None of it made a bit of sense. The last thing she remembered was hitting one of the nasties with the lamp and the other one grabbing her. Had he hit her, then? She didn’t hurt anywhere. Somehow, she must have stumbled up here and passed out.

As she probed the dog’s side, she felt more warm blood and knew she’d discovered another wound. If only she could see them. If only she had a flashlight. Or . . . a camp lantern. Yes. Her camping supplies were stored in the closet in this room. Rising, she dug the lantern out of the bottom of the closet and turned it on only a little, bathing the injured animal in a soft glow.

He had blood everywhere. Her gut cramped. How was she supposed to know how much of the blood was his and how much belonged to the men? They’d been dressed so strangely, like some kind of foreign army, in matching blue tunics. And swords.

She pressed T-shirts against the two wounds she’d found so far, knowing she had to find the others, yet wondering what she was going to do with them if she did. She only had two hands. And no telephone or suturing supplies.

“Hang on, Wolf. Just hang on for me. Sooner or later, they’ll leave, and I’ll be able to get you to a vet. What are they doing down there?” She heard something roll across the hardwood foyer. Roll. Suddenly she remembered the way they’d broken down her front door and relief left her on a hard exhale.

“It’s not them, it’s the wind. Of course, of course.” Leaping to her feet, she stroked Wolf’s head. “This is going to hurt, boy, but I have to move you if I’m going to get you help.”

She scooted around to his back end and, as gently as she could, lifted his hips and lowered them again a few inches out from the door. Moving to his head, she did the same, back and forth, a few inches at a time until she nearly had him far enough from the door to open it. Once more should be enough.

Sweat beading on her brow, she took a deep breath, squatted at his tail, and lifted his hips one more time.

Suddenly, her hands were empty, the dog just . . . gone . . . exploding in a spray of colored lights.

Natalie fell back, landing on her backside, then stared, jaw dropping, as a man appeared out of thin air . . . a huge, naked man lying on the floor right where the dog had been.