Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(40)

“That’s terrible.”

“It is. For her and for the Ferals since with the animal spirit dead, so too was the gift. Pink possesses none of the mystical strength she should have.”

Natalie’s mouth compressed in sympathy. “She has to remain hidden from human eyes.”

“Yeah. She stays with us. Even though the animal spirit within her is dead, she needs radiance just like we do. Besides, we’re the only ones she’s safe with. She works her tail off, trust me. She earns her keep many times over.”

“Has she been with you long?”

“Centuries.”

Centuries. She looked at him. “Are you all centuries old?”

He met her gaze, a glimmer of wry humor in his eyes, and nodded.

Together, they passed through the foyer, then followed the hall to Lyon’s office. They found him seated at his desk, Paenther and Tighe seated on the chairs facing him. Curled up in the chair by the window was Kara.

“Hi, Natalie,” Kara said with a weary smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The mood in the room was heavy and grim. And Natalie felt suddenly selfish for bothering them with something so trivial.

“Natalie’s ready to make those phone calls,” Wulfe told them.

She shook her head as she looked at him. “They can wait. You have much bigger problems.”

Lyon glanced at Tighe. “Natalie wants to make a couple of calls to let people know she’ll be out of town for a few days,” he told the tiger shifter. “If she’s careful, I suspect it’s a good idea, but I want her away from here when she makes them. Leesburg area, maybe.”

“I’m taking her, Roar,” Wulfe said.

Lyon shook his head. “I don’t want to take a chance on the Mage tracking you two again.”

“Roar . . .” Wulfe argued.

But Lyon’s expression brooked no argument.

“I’ll take you, Natalie,” Tighe said. “This place has become like a morgue. I could use a drive.”

“Me, too,” Paenther said, looking to Lyon for agreement. When Lyon nodded, he turned to Natalie. “Are you ready now?”

“I’ll need my cell phone.”

Lyon pushed back his chair, opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out her phone. “Keep your eyes open, all of you.”

Paenther took the phone and rose. “Let’s go.”

As they started out of the office, Tighe clasped Wulfe’s shoulder. “We’ll take good care of her.”

Wulfe nodded. “I know.” But he clearly wasn’t happy.

As they reached the foyer, Jag strode in from a different hallway.

“Road trip,” Tighe told him. “We’ll be gone an hour or two, tops. Natalie wants to make a couple of phone calls and needs an escort. Want to come?”

“Hell, yes.”

Natalie felt Wulfe’s hand on her shoulder. He turned her to face him fully, his frustration clear, but mixed with such worry, such protectiveness, that she longed to step into his arms.

“I’ll be fine, Wulfe,” she said quietly. He was the one she was worried about. And his friends. If the Ferals didn’t catch a break soon, one by one, they were going to start dying. She saw that knowledge in Wulfe’s eyes, that fury, that grief. And she felt it herself.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he said.

And she prayed that was true.

Chapter Eleven

Wulfe followed his brothers and Natalie down the front walk to Tighe’s Land Rover, then saw Natalie settled safely in the backseat. He didn’t like her leaving without him, not at all. But as he prepared to close her car door, their gazes met, and something raw and electric arced between them, a fullness, a warmth, that pressed against his chest, squeezing his heart.

Was he imagining that he saw the wonder he felt mirrored in her eyes?

“Nothing’s going to happen to her, Dog,” Jag said from the front seat. “But we can’t return her to you until you let us leave.”

Wulfe closed the door and stepped back as Tighe drove off with Wulfe’s heart tucked in the backseat of his vehicle. He stood there, the sun beating down on the back of his neck, as he watched the Land Rover traverse the circular drive, turn onto the residential road, and disappear. And he stood there for minute after minute more, half-tempted to remain where he was until she returned.

Finally, with a sigh, he started back to the house. As he stepped onto the brick stoop, familiar voices began to speak in his head.

The female leaves the fold.

Yes.

Wulfe’s heart plummeted, his pulse racing.

But not my Daemon.

It is no matter. If we take her, he will come. Then both will be yours, my lord. As you wish.

Wulfe leaped toward the door and into the house, then shifted, giving no thought to the clothes he’d never see again.

Tighe. Paenther! Dammit, they were already too far to hear him telepathically. Roar! Inir knows she left. Shifting back to human he grabbed a pair of gym shorts out of the basket in the foyer, yanked them on, then reached for the bowl of car keys, grabbing the first one his fingers came in contact with. “They’re going to try to take her!”

“Stay here,” Lyon commanded as he came tearing down the hall from his office. “I need an Ilina!”

A second later, Melisande misted into the foyer. “You called?”