Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(43)

As Wulfe watched, Natalie’s face began to contort in pain. Wulfe realized what was happening and knew she wasn’t going to be able to finish this conversation. Reaching her, he slid the phone from loose, slender fingers, disconnected the call, and shoved her phone in his back pocket as he pulled her into his arms.

“My cheek,” she gasped.

“I know.” His hand covered half of her face as he tucked her close against him. Her sweet scent filled his lungs, her hair brushing his chin, her lush curves an exquisite temptation as they pressed against his body. One part of his mind erupted in thoughts of touching those curves, of exploring every inch of her sweet flesh. But her body was still rigid with pain. The only touch that mattered didn’t seem to be working.

His pulse began to hammer. “It’s still just your cheek?”

The tears were starting to leak from her eyes. “Yes. It feels . . . like it’s on fire. Wulfe.”

He pulled her closer, concentrating harder on easing her misery, feeling helpless. And furious. Come on, you son of a bitch pain. Leave her alone! Finally, finally, the rigidity began to ease from her body.

“There,” she gasped.

“Better?”

“Yes. Yes.” She sagged against him, the tension draining out of her.

He lifted his hand from her face and pulled her tighter against him. “You’re okay, now?”

She took another deep breath and released a long, shaky sigh. “It’s gone.” Stepping out of his embrace, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “That was no fun.”

No fun. He smiled at her understatement and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Let’s get home.”

She jerked. “Wulfe, I can’t leave my mom wondering what happened to me. I have to finish the call.”

Even as she said the words, her phone started to vibrate in Wulfe’s back pocket.

With a sigh, he handed it back to her.

“Hi, Mom. Sorry. I accidentally disconnected us, then had trouble finding a signal again. Cape May,” she said after a short break. Her gaze met his. “I’m going to soak up the sun, enjoy the scenery, and get some badly needed rest. No, I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”

As she met his gaze, a look of helplessness in her eyes, a familiar buzzing erupted in Wulfe’s ears. Red smoke rushed in to cloud his vision. Before he could say a single word to warn Natalie or his brothers, the darkness once more swept him up and away.

“Mom, why don’t you stay in Birmingham with Aunt Deb a little while longer? You might as well.”

Natalie saw the instant Wulfe’s eyes changed. One moment he was watching her with soft sympathy, the next, the cold indifference of an unpleasant stranger. Her pulse leaped as she remembered the last time.

“Mom, I have to go,” she said suddenly, struggling to keep her voice even. “Love you!” She hung up quickly. “Paenther!”

But even as she yelled, Wulfe scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs and send the phone flying from her fingertips.

“Wulfe!” Jag shouted.

“Melisande,” Paenther called, low. “Get them out of here. Backyard of Feral House. And warn Lyon!”

A moment later, Natalie’s vision flipped end over end, the landscape disappearing into darkness, then bright sunlight as she found herself staring at soft grass beneath her hands and knees. Half a dozen yards away, Wulfe knelt, retching in the grass. Seconds later, Paenther and Jag knelt on either side of him.

The back doors of Feral House burst open, Lyon racing out, followed closely by Kougar and Tighe.

“What happened?” Lyon demanded.

“He wasn’t himself,” Melisande stated. “He grabbed Natalie hard enough to hurt her and started running with her over his shoulder.”

As the Ferals surrounded the three retching Ferals, Lyon looked to Natalie. “Are you hurt?”

“No. He just knocked the breath out of me.”

Lyon nodded, his attention back on Wulfe as the shifter leaped to his feet, his eyes still those of a stranger as he looked around, spied her, and started toward her with long, determined strides.

Lyon and Tighe stepped into his path, blocking his way. Wulfe snarled, his eyes changing to animal eyes, fangs sprouting from his gums.

“Wulfe, dammit,” Tighe growled. “We’re not immortal!”

If Wulfe attacked them with his claws and fangs, he could injure them badly. He might even kill them, which would destroy him in turn.

Natalie pushed to her feet and ran toward the confrontation. “Wulfe, no!”

Even as his muscles bunched as if to spring, his gaze snapped to her, and he stilled, the coldness slowly disappearing from those animal eyes, swept aside by confusion, dismay, and dawning horror.

“You didn’t hurt anyone,” she assured him, watching with relief as his fangs disappeared, as his face returned to normal.

Lyon stared at him. “What the hell happened?”

Wulfe swung away, his shoulders hunching with shame. “I lost it. That was the second time.”

And both times . . .

With a bolt of understanding, Natalie strode through the circle of Ferals, moving in front of Wulfe, forcing him to face her, even as he continued to stare at the ground. “Both times, my cheek hurt. Both times, you took the pain. Then, moments later, you turned into Wolfman.” She frowned, thinking. “The first time I experienced the pain, I didn’t tell you. And none of this happened.”