Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(34)

Wulfe looked at him with surprise. “So they didn’t run.”

“No. They’re helping in their own way.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Castin said something in a language Wulfe didn’t recognize, a fervent string of words that sounded like a prayer of thanksgiving. Rikkert just grunted. The newest Feral said nothing, as usual.

Wulfe led the way back upstairs, feeling more hopeful for the males in the prison than he had on the way down. Being marked to be a Feral Warrior, to finally, after a lifetime, be able to shift as you were born to do, should be the greatest of honors. Wulfe himself had found absolution and salvation in his own marking.

“Daemon?” The word brushed across Wulfe’s mind, startling him.

“What is it, boyo?” Fox asked behind him.

“Nothing.” Fuck. He waited for it to happen again, but he heard nothing more. What in the hell was happening?

The only thing he knew absolutely, positively for certain . . . it was far from nothing.

Natalie stood at the window, gazing at the vehicles that lined the Ferals’ circular drive—a bright yellow Hummer, a white Land Rover, and a low-slung sports car that she thought might be a Lamborghini, among them—as she waited for Wulfe to collect her for the spirit raising. Beyond the drive, the woods rose on all sides, and not far beyond them, she knew, lay the Potomac River and the horizontal falls for which Great Falls had been named.

She wondered if she’d ever be allowed to leave the house, to see them again. Xavier’s days of freedom were over, and the knowledge made her ache. No matter how happy he seemed to be, he was trapped here, unable to leave for fear of being recognized. He might never leave this house again.

But he was alive. Dear God, her brother was alive. Despite her concerns, her heart soared. She’d awakened to a bright, sunny day, to the sight of a gorgeous male with the sweetest smile, and in the house where Xavier now lived. It was a glorious day, and she would rejoice in every single moment.

The rap she’d been waiting for finally sounded on her door.

“Come in,” she called, turning away from the window. She was halfway across the room when the door swung open.

Wulfe’s gaze skimmed her body, taking in her jeans, her green T-shirt with the pretty detailing, and her sandals, setting off little flares of warmth along the way. Slowly, he looked up, meeting her gaze, a smile in his eyes that burrowed deep down inside her. Other men had looked at her over the years, but never before had she felt as if they really saw her. And Wulfe did.

“Ready?” he asked, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Ready.” Natalie returned his smile as she joined him. The warmth of his body wrapped around her, his masculine scent filling her nostrils. As they started down the hall, side by side, electricity arced through the air between them, making Natalie catch her breath. Glancing at Wulfe, she found him watching her with eyes that leaped with an answering awareness.

Natalie swallowed.

Wulfe frowned and took her arm, gently pulling her around to face him. Slowly, he lifted his hand, his knuckles caressing her cheek, making her pulse race and her body melt with longing.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he said, his voice low, rough, aching. With fingers shaking ever so slightly, he stroked her neck. “I can’t make love to you.”

“Can’t?” she asked breathlessly. “Or don’t want to?”

“Can’t.” He leaned in, his nose brushing the curve of her neck, his soft, fragrant hair caressing her cheek, sending her pulse into overdrive. He made a sound deep in his throat, half-human, half-wolf, a low rumble of pleasure. It took every bit of control she possessed not to weave her fingers into his hair and lift his face for her kiss.

He pulled away suddenly with a look of chagrin. “They’re waiting for us,” he said gruffly, and started back down the hall.

Natalie caught up to him, more confused than before, yet elated. Wulfe wanted her. Something was holding him back, but he wanted her. And that was all she needed to know.

Her step was light as they reached the stairs and started down. “After this ritual, do you think we can scare up a cup of coffee?”

“We’ll grab it on the way out.”

As they reached the foyer, they had to merge with the steady stream of people passing by.

“Quite a crowd today,” she murmured.

One of the women heard her and smiled. “The Guards have been invited to watch the Ferals shift. We wouldn’t miss it.”

Wulfe and Natalie joined the stream, following the others down the hall and into the dining room. Through the back windows, Natalie caught a glimpse of a brick patio and heavily treed yard quickly filling with people.

“Do I have time to say hello to Xavier?” she asked.

“Sure. They won’t start without me. And Lyon hasn’t brought Kara down, yet.”

Wulfe led her to the swinging door she’d watched Xavier come through last night, and into a first-class kitchen with granite countertops and gleaming appliances. Xavier was busy kneading dough. The joy that pulsed inside of her as her gaze took in his beloved, contented face was so great it was a moment before she noticed the extraordinary creature standing behind him, stirring a pot on the stove. The woman appeared to be part human, part bird, with . . . my God . . . pink feathers instead of skin.

The bird-woman turned and stared at Natalie. In unblinking bird-shaped eyes, Natalie saw a terrible self-consciousness, an almost palpable fear of rejection. Empathy curled around her heart. This was clearly Pink.