Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(44)

“Where were you taking her?” Paenther asked. “In Cape May, he snatched her up and started running,” He explained for the others’ benefit.

“I don’t know.” Wulfe shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I don’t know.”

“Inir has found a way to get his claws into him,” Kougar murmured. “I wonder if we’re next.”

The look that passed between the shifters was one of raw disbelief. And horror.

“We are so screwed,” Jag muttered.

Lyon watched his wolf shifter consideringly. “I don’t think Inir’s controlling us. I think this is just another factor of your Daemon blood. And, somehow, Natalie’s involved. The next time her cheek hurts, call for backup immediately. And don’t touch her.” His amber gaze swung to Natalie. “The moment you feel the pain, or the moment you notice Wulfe changing, yell. And don’t stop until we come.”

“All right.”

The Chief of the Ferals turned toward the house, and the others followed.

Wulfe hesitated, watching the sky instead of the ground. Finally, he turned to her, misery in his eyes. “I hurt you.” His voice throbbed.

“You were rough with me, but you didn’t intentionally hurt me. I’m fine.”

“Bruises?”

“Maybe. Nothing broken. Are you okay?”

For moments, he said nothing, his gaze returning to the treetops and the sky. “I don’t know what’s happening.” He scowled and started forward, then paused and held out his hand for her. “Let’s go inside.”

Taking his hand, she followed him through the back door, through the dining room, and into the hallway.

Wulfe glanced at her. “I need to work out. The fury is gone, but I still feel this need to fight. I’m going to work it out in the gym. Do you mind spending a little time in your room? I can get you some books.”

“Books would be good.” Honestly, she needed a little time alone, if only to process everything that had happened over the course of the past day and a half. And to get her emotions back under control after talking to her mom.

Wulfe led her down yet another hallway to a beautiful room lined, ceiling to floor, with bookshelves. A huge fireplace took up most of one wall, comfy-looking reading chairs scattered about.

“Books,” he said with a flourish.

“Wow.” As she perused the shelves, she found every manner of book imaginable, most quite old, most nonfiction, though one entire section was lined with twentieth- and twenty-first-century best-selling novels. As she perused the titles, she thought of the hours her mom had read to her when she was little. Natalie had never tired of the stories.

At the thought, tears burned her eyes. That brief conversation had thrown her more than she’d like to admit. Despite Wulfe’s assurances otherwise, she was terrified that, like Xavier, she might end up stuck here. She might never see her mother again.

“You’re afraid of me,” Wulfe said, his voice low and stricken.

Natalie’s gaze snapped to his even as she had to blink back the moisture. “No. I was thinking about my mom.”

“You miss her.”

“Yes, of course. And she’s having such a hard time with Xavier gone.” Her gaze sharpened on his, a plea, a demand. “I can’t go missing again, too, Wulfe. She’s already lost both of my brothers, if in different ways. She can’t lose all of us. It would destroy her.”

He nodded, his eyes deep wells of determination. “I’ll get you home, Natalie. I’ll make it happen.” But within that declaration she detected a thread of uncertainty. As much as he might want to, he couldn’t promise her anything, and they both knew it.

And truth be told, she was torn, and becoming more so by the hour. Going home meant leaving Xavier behind once more. Never seeing him again. Or Wulfe.

He reached for her, his eyes as tender as she’d ever seen them as he traced her jaw with the pad of his thumb. As she stared into those dark, fathomless eyes, adoration spread through her chest, sharper and more piercing than ever before. She could hardly breathe and didn’t care. She didn’t need oxygen, didn’t need anything but his touch. Though she’d only just met him, she felt as if she’d known him always.

How could she walk away from him, knowing she’d probably never see him again?

Her heart thudded, liquid warmth sliding through her veins, weakening her, strengthening her, awakening every cell in her body.

Wulfe lifted her hair, letting it slip through his fingers, then leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Pick out a few books.”

As he turned away, she stared at his back, at his broad shoulders, the pressure in her chest so great she feared it would never be contained.

Heaven help her, she’d fallen in love with a shape-shifter.

Chapter Twelve

As Wulfe waited for Natalie to choose a few books from the Ferals’ extensive library, he watched her, his chest heavy as lead. She wanted to go home, back to her world, to her mother. He got that. He understood, and he would do absolutely anything to make her happy, even if sending her home was the last thing he wanted for himself.

He just prayed he could keep her safe that long.

Finally, she turned to him, three books tucked against her chest—a Jane Austen novel and two others whose titles he couldn’t see.