Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(15)

She crab-walked back, the bed catching her in the shoulder blades. This isn’t happening.

The man groaned and began to stir. Natalie tensed, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she pushed herself to her feet, then sank onto the bed when her legs refused to hold her.

Slowly, the man sat up and leaned back against the door, his muscular body marred by half a dozen stab wounds, one on the shoulder . . . right where the dog’s had been.

This isn’t happening. Dogs don’t turn into men. They don’t!

But even as the argument roared in her head, her gaze took in the sight in front of her. The man was built, his waist narrow, his abs ripped, his biceps as thick as tree trunks, one adorned with a thick golden armband with what appeared to be the head of a wolf. His shoulders were easily half the width of her sofa. Her gaze continued up, reaching his face, and her heart clenched. Scars crisscrossed the flesh every which way, tugging down one of his lips, cutting across one eye. His body might be prime, but his face was made for nightmares. Within that ruined face, eyelids lifted revealing dark eyes that turned to her, contracting on a sheen of pain, radiating a dismay so raw it almost made her ache.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Natalie.” His voice was low and urgent as he struggled to his feet, grimacing. Towering over her—he had to be a full seven feet tall—he watched her with eyes filled with the same intelligence, the same gentleness she’d seen in Wolf’s. “I would never hurt you.”

She was shaking, her pulse racing, her stomach cramping from shock. But not from fear. Because as she stared into those dark eyes, she saw only truth and honor and kindness. And, odd as it was, she recognized the essence of the dog in the man.

“I would never hurt you,” he said again, his voice throbbing with sincerity and desperation that she believe him.

“I know,” she told him.

And she did.

I know.

Wulfe stared at Natalie, trying to catch his breath through the pain of the wounds that refused to heal, as realization hit him like a sledgehammer. Somehow, he’d shifted back into human form and stood in front of Natalie in all of his scarred, naked glory.

Goddess, when had he shifted? It couldn’t have been long because the draden had yet to find him again. And they would.

She stared at him, white as a sheet, clearly in shock.

I know. He’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her, and she’d replied, I know.

“How much do you remember?” He must have failed to take her memories of before or, at the very least, her memories of the small friendship that had bloomed between them in the Feral prison.

Sitting there, her hands clasped in her lap, she met his gaze with the calm strength he’d come to associate with her despite the fact she was visibly shaking. “I don’t remember much—the men breaking into my house, Wolf attacking them, getting stabbed.” She blanched. “You.” The word was uttered on an exhale, the last of her color draining away as she doubled over until her head rested on her knees. “This isn’t happening.”

He frowned, wanting to go to her, yet afraid he’d scare her more if he tried.

“Are you okay?” If only he could see her face. Reaching for his wounded shoulder, he encountered stickiness . . . and pain. The one in his side was the worst, but the Mage swords didn’t appear to have punctured anything vital, or he’d be fighting for his life by now. How did humans stand this . . . this . . . not healing?

“I feel a little faint.” Natalie slowly lifted her head, then straightened. Her color was back, if only a little, her usual calm cracked, but not shattered. Even in the dark, she shone with a glow that had nothing to do with the unnatural aura. So lovely.

Her brows drew together. “What are you?”

“A shape-shifter. Man to wolf.” He reached for the door, feeling exposed, feeling like a monster. “We need to get out of here, Natalie. Those men were Mage, evil, and their leader is going to send more of them as soon as he realizes the first group failed. They may already be on their way.”

“You’re injured.”

“I’ll heal.” He hoped.

“I don’t have clothes to fit you.” She rose unsteadily. “It’s pouring out there. I could give you a blanket.”

Something warm and thick moved through his chest. She was worried about his getting wet. “I’m going to have to return to my wolf form in a minute. I can’t remain in human form long at night, not . . .” Not unless he was in his truck or at Feral House or somewhere else that had been warded against the draden. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I know this is a lot to take in all at once.” He was a lot to take in, the way he looked, the way he’d killed, right in front of her. “You shouldn’t have seen any of this.”

She swallowed, nodding, shadows of the violence she’d witnessed darkening her eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you. But we need to go.”

Straightening her shoulders, she shook her head. “I’m not going with you. I can’t. There are . . . dead bodies . . .” Her voice cracked, slicing open his heart. “I’m going to the police.”

His jaw tightened at all the reasons that wasn’t going to happen. The last thing they needed was for her to tell the human cops a crazy tale of a shape-shifting wolf, then bring them back to her house to round up all the dead bodies—bodies that would disintegrate suddenly, in a couple of days. Bodies that were not human.