Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(21)

She was in over her head, that was all too clear.

And she might have just alienated the only one standing by her side.

Chapter Six

She’d kissed him.

Wulfe led Natalie through Feral House to Lyon’s office, feeling knocked on his ass.

She’d kissed him.

Just his cheek, of course. But she’d touched his scars. With her lips. A thing Beatrice would have never done.

Goddess, this woman was turning him inside out. Watching her with her brother had ripped his heart out. Hearing her sobs, even if they’d been of joy and not sorrow, had utterly slain him.

Then she’d kissed him.

His hand itched to reach for hers again. His arm tensed with the need to curl around her shoulders and pull her close, but he wouldn’t do that. Not when she was steady on her feet again and no longer needed him. She might have kissed him, but he knew a peck of gratitude when he felt it. If he tried to draw her close for no reason other than that he couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than holding her close, she’d probably stiffen, then pull away. Nicely, of course. He didn’t think Natalie knew how to do anything except nicely. But they’d both be left feeling intensely uncomfortable, and he didn’t want that.

As they strode through the foyer, side by side, Natalie’s soft scent wafted to his sensitive nose and he drank it in, feeling it slide through him, warming him, settling into his blood, his chest, calming him. Her scent reminded him of wild roses beneath a summer sun—at once lovely, warm, and tenacious. Being near her was like walking into an errant shaft of sunlight on a cold, overcast day. Or like stepping into cool shade in the middle of a summer scorcher. It made him sigh, deep inside. It made him feel good all the way to his soul. His wolf agreed, giving a low bark of satisfaction.

As they neared Lyon’s office, Natalie gasped, her hand flying to her cheek.

“What’s the matter?” Wulfe asked.

She shook her head, then slowly relaxed again. “It’s nothing.”

He peered at her doubtfully, but she seemed to be okay, so he turned forward and opened the door to Lyon’s office. He motioned for her to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of Lyon’s desk, and she did, moving with that innate grace of hers to settle onto the chair, her back straight, her hands in her lap, her expression calm and alert, as always, despite the fact that he knew she was still shaking.

His instincts told him to stand behind her, to protect her back, even though he knew Lyon would never make a move against her without discussing it with Wulfe first. Lyon didn’t work that way. The Chief of the Ferals was ruthless only when he had no choice, and, in all things, utterly fair. But before Wulfe could take his place behind Natalie, the healer, Esmeria, headed him off, gliding forward to meet him with a sound of sympathetic dismay. Wulfe stood still, just inside the door, as the Therian healer pressed her hand to the wound on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and slowly stole the pain.

As he submitted to Esmeria’s ministrations, Wulfe’s gaze moved to Lyon where he sat behind the large desk that dominated the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the walls except for the space occupied by the hearth, where Paenther stood. Tighe propped one hip on the corner of Lyon’s desk and waited.

Lyon rose and held out his hand to Natalie. “I’m Lyon, Natalie. Chief of the Ferals. We met weeks ago though you don’t remember.”

Natalie shook his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you . . . again.”

Paenther stepped forward, his black hair swinging forward to partly obscure the feral marks across his eye. “I’m Paenther, the black panther shifter and Lyon’s second-in-command.”

She nodded, shook his hand, and settled back onto her chair, her posture slightly less tense than before. Humans generally responded well to shows of respect and friendliness, and Wulfe appreciated Lyon and Paenther taking the time to show her both.

Lyon’s gaze turned to Wulfe. “What happened?”

Esmeria moved behind him, and Wulfe stepped forward, allowing her access to the wounds on his back. “Ten Mage sentinels kicked in Natalie’s front door. Inir had ordered them to bring us . . . both of us . . . to him alive.”

“Why?” Paenther asked with a frown.

“How did Inir know you were there?” Lyon asked at the same time.

“I don’t know. On Inir’s mountain last week, Satanan sensed me. I’m wondering if he always knows where I am, now.”

Lyon frowned. “So they waited until you were far from Feral House before trying to take you. Why Natalie?”

“No idea.”

“Did you kill them?”

“The ten who breached the house. Unfortunately, the front door was kicked in and there was no fixing it before we left. We need to send a cleanup crew before the humans find it.”

“I know where the house is,” Tighe said. “I’ll go.”

Lyon nodded. As Tighe rose to leave, Lyon turned to Wulfe. “More sentinels came after you later.”

“They followed us into the woods, more than two dozen of them. Either the first group jumped the gun and attacked us without waiting for their backup, or the Mage are stationed close enough to Frederick that Inir was able to send reinforcements quickly. Within about an hour.”

“They knew you’d go back there.” Lyon sighed. “Until we know why they want you both, Natalie stays here.”