Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(46)

Lyon turned toward the nearest hallway. “Dark spirit or something more?”

Kougar strode into the foyer and joined him. “From my experience, dark spirit craves violence, not answers. I’d like to hear more. Wulfe may know more.”

Lyon glanced up to where Wulfe stood watching, but Wulfe shook his head. He didn’t have a clue.

“Strome has sensed that you’re shape-shifters and wants your guarantee not to hurt me,” the woman stated. “He’s sensed the strengthening of a powerful force within the Daemons and seeks to warn those who might be able to stop it. About a month ago, he felt the awakening of an honorable Daemon consciousness. It’s taken us all this time to track him down. And we tracked him here.”

“You came by earlier today.”

“Yes.” She smiled ruefully. “Strome realized he was leading me into a den . . . a house . . . of shape-shifters and ordered me to leave at once. It’s taken me hours to convince him I’m willing to accept the risk, given all that’s at stake. We’d both appreciate it if you’d listen to what Strome has to say and not shoot the messenger, as it were.”

She looked up suddenly, her gaze finding Wulfe’s. “It’s you.” She smiled, stepping into the foyer suddenly, without hesitation, her gaze glued to Wulfe’s. “It’s you he’s been trying to contact, you he needs to talk to.”

Wulfe’s pulse began to pound. This was his worst nightmare come true. Not only was Satanan getting his claws into him, but now Daemons were starting to come out of the woodwork looking for him. Or slivers of Daemon souls, at any rate. A thought snagged him.

“You . . . is he the one who’s been whispering Daemon in my head?”

“Yes. He was hoping you’d answer and tell him where you were.”

“Call the Shaman,” Lyon ordered. He clamped his hand around the woman’s upper arm. “You won’t be harmed, but neither am I taking any chances. You’ll wait in the prisons until the Shaman can determine what you really are.”

“I think it’s a little late, pal,” Vivian muttered.

Lyon stilled, his face turning hard as granite.

Vivian looked up at him suddenly. “I wasn’t talking to you. Strome told me to leave at once, and I told him it was a little late. Am I wrong?”

“You are not.”

“I didn’t think so. I still answer him out loud most of the time though he seems to be able to read my thoughts well enough. Keep that in mind, please. It might be a difficult habit for me to break.”

As Lyon steered the woman out of the foyer, toward the door to the basement, Wulfe turned to Natalie. “I’m following them. Do you want to come with me or go up to your room?” This might be his worst nightmare, but he wanted to know what in the hell that Daemon knew.

Natalie set the books on the floor. “With you.”

Wulfe took her hand, pleased. He needed her close right now, her calm strength.

Together, they descended the stairs to the foyer, then the longer stairs to the basement, following the others through the gym and into the prisons.

“Is this where I stayed when I was here before?” Natalie asked quietly.

“Yes. Don’t go near the cells,” Wulfe warned her. “I don’t think any of the men will hurt you, but I can’t be certain.” He clasped her hand tighter.

Lyon opened one of the empty cells for Vivian and the woman walked in without complaint, then turned as he locked the door on her.

“How did you know about Wulfe?” Lyon demanded, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Strome sensed him, as I said.” Her confidence didn’t appear to have slipped an ounce despite her imprisonment in the shape-shifters’ dungeon. “He has so many questions, questions I’ve been unable to answer since humans didn’t know that Daemons . . . or shape-shifters, for that matter . . . ever existed.”

She moved to the door of the cage, gripping one of the bars in a casual manner, her gaze finding Wulfe’s. “What happened to the Daemons?”

He felt her intense gaze like an unwanted spotlight, but she didn’t pause long enough for him to answer.

“When Strome first glommed onto me, he sensed no other Daemons at all,” she continued. “That was almost two years ago. I’ve been researching like crazy, trying to find any reference to the people or events of his time, but I’ve found nothing. Then a few months ago, he sensed something, a hint of an old enemy, the Destroyer, he calls him. Satanan. Very faint, like a soul not fully formed.”

“We’re aware of Satanan,” Wulfe snapped.

She nodded. “Then, suddenly, three Abominations flew free into the world but disappeared within days. About the same time, a bright new Daemon light awakened. Yours. Your awakening wasn’t like a birth, exactly. More like a bloodline triggered—one of the old, honorable lines—and he knew he had to find you, to learn what had happened and to warn you.”

Wulfe’s jaw hardened. Though he wanted to hear what she had to say, his muscles tensed with the need to turn and leave. Why did she have to stare at him alone? It was bad enough that he was some kind of Daemon freak. Did she have to flash it like a neon sign over his head?

“Please.” Vivian grasped the bars with both hands, her gaze imploring him. “Strome is desperate to know everything you can tell him. The last thing he remembers was Satanan claiming the souls of his people. Daemon souls. Strome fought as long and hard as he could, so hard that a piece of his soul sheared off and became lost, the piece that I inadvertently recovered and that now shares space inside of me.”