Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(42)

“Again.”

Zeeland put his troops through their paces in the gym below Feral House, watching the hand-to-hand combat with satisfaction. There was a tension in the room that hadn’t been there this morning, a new gravity in the eyes of every Therian Guard who’d witnessed the ritual in the backyard a short while ago.

They’d watched three of the Feral Warriors, the guardians of the race, fail to shift. And for the first time, most finally understood the desperate situation they could soon be facing. He could see the knowledge in the tightness of their jaws and the fierceness of their focus as they trained.

Many had viewed this assignment as a rare opportunity to visit Feral House and meet the Feral Warriors. Now, they finally understood that Inir was close to winning. And if the Ferals fell, the Therian Guard would be on the front line of a brand-new Daemon war.

It was enough to make the blood run cold.

“Zee.”

Zeeland turned to find Olivia standing in the doorway. He’d worked with the petite redhead on and off for decades and knew her to be one of the finest warriors in the Guard.

“Lyon wants a word.”

Zeeland nodded and turned back to his troops. “Ryland’s in charge.” He followed Olivia up the steep cellar stairs and through the foyer. When they reached Lyon’s door, the Chief of the Ferals motioned them to enter.

“Close the door, Zeeland,” he said. “Both of you have a seat.” Lyon folded his hands on his desk, his eyes grave, his expression pinched as he met Zeeland’s gaze. “If the worst happens, and the current Ferals cease to be, Feral House and her occupants will be in your hands.”

Zeeland started, his gut cramping at the thought.

“Olivia will be your second,” Lyon continued. “If she’s able to fulfill that role.”

If she was able. Understanding washed over him slowly. Olivia was a strong, capable leader, and had been for centuries, but she was now mated to one of the Ferals. And if Jag died, there was no telling what the severed mating bond might do to her. She might not be capable of leading at all.

“There are many things our replacements will need to know.” Though Lyon’s words were calm and contained, a thread of desolation lent them a flatness that weighed on Zeeland. “Hawke is writing it all down and will go over everything with the two of you plus two or three others of your choosing—Therians you trust above all others, Zeeland. You must learn everything—our rituals, our ways, all the secrets we’ve amassed over five millennia. With us gone, you’ll be the only ones who can pass it on.”

The terrible responsibility settled heavily on Zeeland’s shoulders. Misery clawed at his guts. The Ferals—a couple of whom were close personal friends—might soon cease to exist, leaving their wives to suffer their loss for an eternity. All of them had been only recently mated, from what he understood. A month ago, not only had Fox, one of Zeeland’s oldest friends, not yet met Melisande, he had yet to be marked a Feral. By everything that was right, the male should be on top of the world. Yet just as his life had taken this pair of rare and wonderful turns, the Mage and their evil threatened to rip it all away.

The thought of leaving his beloved Julianne alone, damaged and unprotected, was beyond bearing, and he knew the Ferals must be feeling that same excruciating dread.

“We’ll do what must be done, Lyon. Nothing will be lost.”

“Protect our mates and Tighe’s child, Zeeland, as if they were your own. See to it that they’re safe, above all else. If we fail, we’ll be leaving you a hell beyond imagining. I don’t intend to fail,” he added fiercely. “But neither can I bury my head in the sand and risk leaving our replacements defenseless. You, hopefully with Olivia’s help, will train them, guide them. I know I can count on you.”

“Absolutely.”

Lyon stood, dismissing him. But as Zeeland rose to leave, Lyon extended his hand, too far. Zeeland took the gesture—the Feral greeting—for what it was, a show of respect and a heartfelt thank you.

The two men slapped forearms, exchanged nods, and parted. All his life, Zeeland had dreamed of someday being marked a Feral Warrior. But as he left Lyon’s office, Olivia close behind, he thanked the goddess that dream had never come true.

Wulfe stood in the shade behind a B&B near the beach in Cape May, New Jersey. The four Ilinas who’d brought them had turned back to mist and kept silent watch. Paenther and Jag had each moved to opposite sides of the yard.

Natalie stood a few feet in front of Wulfe, talking to her office manager in the crisp, professional manner of the medical professional she was. He liked watching her like this, imagining her in her white lab coat peering into the eyes of her human patients. Maybe she didn’t wear a white lab coat. He’d have to ask her. Though he knew what an optometrist did, he’d never been to see one himself. Therian eyes never required glasses. Except sunglasses, of course.

“I’ll be out all week,” she said, then glanced at Wulfe. “Yes, I’ll definitely be back in the office next Tuesday.” Uncertainty twisted her pretty mouth despite the certainty in her tone. “Thanks, Cheryl. Cell service is spotty here, so if you need me, leave a message. I’ll get back to you when I can.” She hung up, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Wulfe could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Now my mom,” she muttered, clearly not looking forward to the prospect. “Mom, it’s me. I’m taking a little much-needed vacation. No, I’m fine, I promise. I just needed . . .”