Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(28)

As Natalie watched the muscles ripple across Wulfe’s beautiful back, her hand itched to reach for him, to stroke his flesh, to know if he felt as hard and strong as he looked. His hair gleamed in the lamplight, a rich blend of browns of every shade, and she yearned to touch it, to feel its softness between her fingers.

Standing so close to him made her breath unsteady and turned her pulse erratic. She’d never felt like this with Rick, ever. She hadn’t even known she could feel this way—this jittery, rubbery warmth that had her imagining the feel of his flesh against hers.

As he plucked one of the screws out of her palm, he glanced at her face and stilled. His nostrils flared, his eyes dilating as his gaze at once softened and sharpened, as hunger leaped into his eyes.

“Wulfe . . .”

He shook his head and turned back to his work, leaving her completely confused. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the ceiling and willed her thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but on the too-appealing male in front of her, a male who, for whatever reason, didn’t want what she offered. But she couldn’t ignore him, not even for a moment.

As she watched him screw in the faceplate, her left cheek began to tingle oddly as it had as they’d approached Lyon’s office earlier. As before, it slowly began to sting. But where before, the sensation had died as quickly as it had begun, this time it worsened. She touched it, brushing at it in case there was something there, but she felt nothing.

All of a sudden, her cheek began to burn, and she gasped, dropping the lock pieces onto the floor.

Wulfe straightened as if he’d been struck, rising to his feet, grabbing hold of her arms. “What’s the matter?”

“My face.” She lifted her hand, afraid to touch it. “What’s on my face?”

“Nothing.” He grabbed her jaw with careful fingers, turning it as the fire ripped through nerve endings, sending tears cascading down her cheeks.

“It hurts.”

“Where?” When she showed him, he covered the spot with one hand, pressing his palm against the fire as he cupped the back of her head with his other. Almost at once, the pain began to fade. To her surprise, she felt his lips against her forehead, a quick, soft kiss that melted her heart. Moments later, the pain was gone.

Natalie sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

Slowly, he released her and stepped back. As her gaze cleared, she saw, clearly, the dismay in his eyes, the worry.

She frowned. “What just happened?” Lifting her own palm to her cheek, she felt nothing but smooth skin, as if it had all been her imagination. “Earlier, just before we went in to see Lyon, I felt the same sharp pain. It wasn’t nearly this bad, and disappeared almost as soon as it started, but it was in the exact same spot.”

He looked away before she could read the answers in his eyes. “It’s probably nothing.”

But the quickness with which he’d turned away made her suspect otherwise. It wasn’t nothing. And though she couldn’t be certain, she suspected he knew that very, very well.

Wulfe returned to his work, the drill’s whine tearing at his eardrums as he dug out the place beneath the strike plate where the dead bolt would burrow. But while his hands worked, his mind spun. Why had Natalie suffered pain in the exact spot the Daemon had clawed her? She didn’t remember the wound, not consciously. Was it some kind of subconscious recollection? He’d never heard of such a thing.

Another thought stopped him cold. What if this was the fault of his Daemon blood?

He turned off the drill and stared at the hole, unseeing. Goddess, what if he’d done this to her? What if, thanks to his Daemon blood, he’d accidentally hurt her by taking that wound?

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hurt a woman he’d only meant to help. The thought made him ill.

A buzzing erupted suddenly in Wulfe’s ears. As he frowned, red smoke began to curl around the edges of his vision. Rage barreled through him from out of nowhere. His confusion disappeared, drowned beneath the rush of red smoke that ignited a full-blown fury in his mind. The drill that had been in his hand suddenly shattered against the floor beside him and he felt his fangs dropping, his claws erupting. He leaped to his feet with a roar, searching for something . . . anything . . . to bear the brunt of this sudden, ferocious anger.

His gaze caught on the female who was backing away from him, terror in her eyes.

Natalie.

As quickly as it rose, the smoky haze dissipated from his vision, his mind clearing, leaving him stunned. Shocked.

Natalie’s eyes took up her entire face, her skin pale as new snow as she stared at him, at the monster he must appear.

His wolf howled with misery.

“I won’t hurt you.” The words came out deep and nearly unintelligible.

But, goddess. What just happened? He’d lost himself. Even furious, that shouldn’t happen.

His fangs and claws retracted as he stared at her. The need to reassure her swelled in his mind and chest, yet he was clueless how to do that because he didn’t know what the f**k just happened.

“I’d never hurt you, Natalie,” he said, his voice still gruff. “I need you to believe that.” But was he certain? He could have killed her with a single swipe of his claws, and he wasn’t at all sure he’d have known what he was doing until it was too late. The thought turned his blood cold.

If he were smart, he’d hand her over to someone else, right here, right now. Except the first thing anyone else would do was lock her up in the prisons, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her down there again.