Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(39)

“Give me something to do, Pink,” Wulfe growled.

Pink looked like she wanted to argue . . . until she glanced at Wulfe’s face and saw the barely controlled despair. Instead, she handed him a carving knife. “The ham in the refrigerator needs to be sliced, Wulfe. Thank you.”

As Xavier regaled Natalie with what he’d learned of the different Feral animals, Wulfe pulled the ham from the fridge, placed it on a cutting board, and began to cut the slices with quick precision. The man knew how to use a knife. But the tension in his shoulders told her he was imagining carving up something else. Or someone. Like the Mage behind all their troubles.

Xavier flipped the pancakes. “You should see Grizz. He’s a giant even in human form, but he shifts into a bad-ass grizzly bear.” A moment later, he scooped the pancakes onto a plate, added a fork and knife, and handed it to her. “The butter and syrup are right here,” he said, motioning to the counter in front of her.

As Natalie sliced herself a pat of butter, Xavier leaned closer, his expression softening. “What do you think of Pink?” he whispered. “She is so amazing, Nat. You have to get to know her.” Her brother’s face was alight with infatuation. Maybe something deeper. Without a doubt, he was falling for that girl.

“She seems very sweet. I’m glad you’re friends.”

“Me, too.” His voice rose to normal volume, and he began to regale her with stories of Feral House as she ate her pancakes and watched Wulfe butcher the ham.

The way the thick muscles of Wulfe’s arm contracted with each slice of his knife, making his wolf’s-head armband bob and gleam in the overhead light, was truly a sight to behold. As he worked, he glanced up, and their gazes met. His knife stilled and in his eyes, she saw such a mix of worry, anger, and misery that it made her chest ache. With his gaze, he clung to her, need and warmth beckoning her forward like a night ocean she could too easily drown in.

The breath trembled in her chest, and she forced herself to break the eye contact. Taking the last bite of pancake, she turned away, looking for the dishwasher and realizing that there were three of them lined up beneath the rich granite countertop.

“Do you guys have a system for which dishwasher to put the dishes in?” she asked her brother.

Xavier smiled. “Have you ever seen anything like it? Every kitchen needs multiple dishwashers.”

“It was Jag’s idea.” Pink’s soft, high-pitched voice was filled with affection. “When the Ferals undertook my kitchen renovation a few years ago, Jag demanded they fill the room with dishwashers so that I would never again have to wash anything by hand. I told them it wasn’t necessary, but Jag was adamant. In the end, they managed to fit three.”

Natalie smiled. “That’s brilliant.”

Xavier nodded. “Right? We’re loading the middle one now.”

Natalie placed her plate and utensils into the appropriate dishwasher and turned back to her brother. “The pancakes were delicious.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Better than Mom’s, though if you tell her I said that . . .” She winced. “Xave . . .”

Her brother looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. For once, he didn’t say anything, but his sorrow was clear and open on his face. “I miss her.”

“I know. The words just came out.”

“It’s okay. It’s right to talk about Mom when we’re together. I just wish . . .”

Natalie turned toward him, hugging him. “I love you, Xavier Cash. Everything’s going to work out the way it needs to.” She met Wulfe’s gaze as she said the last. “We’ve got to believe that.”

Xavier hugged her back. “I’m really glad you’re here, Nat.”

“Me, too.” Nothing was right about her current situation, and yet, as she held her brother in her arms and met Wulfe’s gaze over his shoulder, there was no place, at this moment, that she’d rather be.

Wulfe hung the hand towel he’d used to dry his hands on a decorative hook, watching her. “Ready to make those phone calls?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Natalie gave her brother a peck on the cheek. “I’ll come see you later.” As she passed Pink, she reached out and gripped a soft, feathered forearm, giving a light squeeze and a smile of thanks, then followed Wulfe through the swinging door.

“Is Pink a Feral?” Natalie asked quietly as she and Wulfe crossed the dining room. Several people were sitting at the huge table, though none Natalie thought were Ferals. She didn’t recognize them, and Wulfe didn’t greet them. Instead, he led her into the hallway, answering her question as they walked.

“Pink was supposed to have been a Feral, yes. A few of the passive ancient animal lines survived through the centuries, though all eventually died out. The flamingo was the last, one of the oddest, I’ll admit. But that particular Feral was never a warrior. The animal spirit always marked women and gave them the ability to connect with the Earth’s energies as mystics, healers, seers, etc. The flamingo Feral was a big asset. But the animal spirit can only mark a Therian with the DNA of that animal—someone whose ancestry includes shifters of that line. And we believe the flamingo line had all but died out when Pink was marked. She was newly conceived, just an embryo. The problem was, the embryo split into twins and the animal spirit was destroyed. Both girls were born half-animal, half-human. Pink’s sister was killed in hopes of reuniting the animal spirit, but it was too late.”