Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(19)

“I was your Ilina transport. Wulfe’s fine, by the way. Humans handle Ilina travel much better than the immortal races, for some reason. I’m Melisande, the wife of one of the Ferals.”

Wulfe turned and saw her, his face a mask of concern as he started toward her. “I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing her shaking hand, his large fingers wrapping tight around hers. “I didn’t have time to fully warn you.”

Natalie nodded, swallowed. But her mind kept blanking from overload, screaming, This isn’t happening!

She clung to Wulfe’s hand, squeezing hard as his warm fingers settled more firmly around hers.

Slowly, her gaze eased around him, to take in her surroundings. On one side, at least a dozen people, both men and women, sat at tables scattered across the patio, watching her curiously. All appeared dressed similarly, in casual training pants and tanks. They looked like some kind of military fighting unit. Looking the other way, she saw several more of the fighters standing in the grass, watching her, swords at their sides.

The sound of a door had her turning back just as three muscular men strode from the house. The one in front, a male with a distinct air of authority, looked from Wulfe to her, and back again, scowling. The other two were a contrast—one with long black hair and the features of a Native American, a trio of scars slashing across one eye. The other as fair as his companion was dark, his blond hair cut short.

Wulfe turned to face them, his hand still tight around hers.

One by one, the three greeted Wulfe, clasping his arm at the elbow, slapping forearms.

“What happened?” the leader demanded, his amber eyes once more flicking unhappily toward her.

Wulfe glanced pointedly at the throng on the patio. “Can we talk inside?”

The leader nodded. “My office.” As he and the Native American turned back toward the house, the remaining man tossed Wulfe a pair of workout shorts then turned to her.

“I’m Tighe,” he told her, dimples appearing briefly in his cheeks. His eyes, warm and kind, ratcheted down her racing pulse a couple of notches.

As Wulfe released her hand to pull on the shorts, she nodded. “Hi, Tighe.”

“I’m sorry you got caught up in all this.”

“Me, too.”

Wulfe nodded toward the house and started forward, waiting for her to fall into step beside him, but he didn’t reach for her hand again.

Tighe brought up the rear. “You look like hell, Wulfe.”

“The bleeding’s stopped.”

“Thank the goddess for small favors,” Tighe murmured, as they crossed the patio. “Natalie appears unharmed.”

“One of the Mage enthralled her. I’ll tell you the rest when we get inside.”

Natalie glanced toward Wulfe. “Enthralled?”

His expression turned grim. “The Mage can . . . and did . . . capture your mind with a touch. Once I’d dispatched them, I carried you upstairs and laid you on the first bed I could find before I passed out.”

Dispatched them. A vision of blood and body parts flashed through her head, and she drew in a trembling breath and shoved the memory aside, focusing on the rest of his revelation. He was the one who’d put her in the guest room. Waking up there finally made sense. As much sense as anything tonight.

Wulfe led her into the house, into a huge room with the biggest, most ornate dining table she’d ever seen. A pair of crystal chandeliers hung above the table, casting light on walls covered in blue-and-gold wallpaper.

Somewhere nearby, a peel of high-pitched laughter was answered by a laugh she recognized instantly.

“Xavier.” Her body tensed, her heart jolting, as her gaze flew to Wulfe. “Is he here?”

A funny look crossed the big man’s face, a hint of a smile. “X!”

“Coming!” Xavier called back.

Natalie swayed, and Wulfe pulled her against his side, his arm around her shoulders. Her heart began to pound, tears burning her eyes. As the far door swung open, and her youngest brother pushed through, a cane in his hand, a smile on his beloved face, joy burst inside of her, powering her feet.

“Xavier,” she breathed, pulling away from Wulfe to rush toward him.

“Nat?” Xavier’s smile erupted into a full-out grin and he stopped, opening his arms for her.

Tears running down her cheeks, Natalie closed the distance between them and hugged her brother, who stood only a couple of inches taller than she, euphoric at the feel of his arms around her, at the sound of his heart beating against her own. Alive.

The events of the past hours ripped away the last shred of her control, and she began to sob as she held him, as she shook and rejoiced and thanked the heavens over and over and over again for giving him back to her.

Xavier patted her back. “Nat, are you okay? You smell like blood. What happened?”

“I’m fine. I’m just so . . . glad to see you.”

Finally, she pulled herself together and let go of him, stepping back enough to examine his face. Someone pressed a couple of tissues into her hand, and she used them to mop up her tears and blow her nose.

“What happened, Sis? What are you doing here?”

She felt a large hand settle on her shoulder and knew, without looking, that it belonged to Wulfe. The feel of him beside her helped settle her.

“The Mage found her again, X, but I was there. I took care of them, and they didn’t hurt her. She got a little bloody trying to staunch my wounds. She’s going to stay here for a while.”