Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(5)

“He’s still asleep, I imagine,” Kougar said, entering the foyer from a different hallway behind them. “He and Ariana were up until dawn.”

Kougar’s mate, Ariana, and the Shaman had been working tirelessly to figure out a way to counter the effects of the dark charm the evil Mage, Inir, had somehow snuck into Feral House, a curse that was rendering them mortal. They’d found the charm—a chunk of crystal of some sort—and destroyed it. But the damage had already been done.

“Any luck?” Tighe asked.

Kougar shook his head, not bothering to elaborate as he strode past them, following Paenther down the hallway to the dining room. No elaboration was necessary. How many ways were there to say, We’re f**ked?

As Wulfe moved to follow Kougar, Tighe stopped him with a hand to his arm, his gaze sharp. “What’s up, buddy? What’s really going on with Natalie?”

“Would you quit being so damned perceptive?” Wulfe growled.

Sympathy tightened Tighe’s expression, but he didn’t give way.

Wulfe sighed. “She has an aura, a bright blue, green, and gold one. I’ve never seen anything like it, on her or anyone else.”

“Have you ever seen auras?”

“No. Maybe it’s just another of my newly awakened, strange-ass Daemon talents.”

“But you’re worried something’s wrong with her.”

“Yeah.” Hell, it was twisting his gut in knots.

Tighe nodded with quiet understanding and clasped his shoulder again. “Maybe we can convince the Shaman to drive out there with us later and take a look at her.”

Wulfe stiffened. “I’d scare her half to death.”

“You don’t know that. She wasn’t scared of you the last time she saw you.”

“She’d just been attacked by a Daemon. And she doesn’t remember any of that, now. Or me.”

Tighe’s expression turned thoughtful. “It might be safest if the Shaman knocked on her door alone. He can pretend to be a kid selling popcorn or cookies or something. Kids are always coming by here selling popcorn or cookies.” The Shaman might be thousands of years old, but thanks to a Mage attack in his youth, he still looked fifteen.

“Okay. Thanks, Stripes.”

Together they headed to the dining room, stepping through the archway into the large, formal room. Around the mammoth dining table sat most of the other Ferals and their wives. Only Lyon was missing. And his mate, their Radiant, Kara.

Zeeland alone among the Guards sat at the dining table with the Ferals. One of the highest-ranking, he was a close personal friend of a couple of the Ferals. To Wulfe’s knowledge, no one had ever told the other Therian Guards that they weren’t welcome at the main table, but they seemed happy enough out on the patio where the morning sun filtered through the summer trees, or at one of several card tables that had been set up in the open space between the main table and the hallway.

As Wulfe and Tighe started across the dining room, Tighe’s mate, Delaney, strolled out of the swinging door to the kitchen, a tray of sweet rolls in her hand that she placed on one of the card tables. Seeing Tighe, she smiled and joined them.

Tighe hooked his arm around her shoulders. “How’s it going in there?”

Delaney’s smile turned rueful. “As well as can be expected with five women and one blind male in the kitchen. Pink’s not happy, but with so many mouths to feed, she needs the extra hands, and she knows it. Some of the Guards have offered to help with the cooking, but that was a complete nonstarter. Pink won’t even let them in the kitchen.” She shrugged. “We’re handling it.”

Tighe gave her a quick kiss. “Don’t overdo it.”

She grinned at him. “I may be pregnant, but I’m immortal, now, remember?”

Tighe grinned back at his wife. “And I thank the goddess every day for that.”

With a low laugh, Delaney headed back to the kitchen. As Wulfe and Tighe neared the main table, the other Ferals rose, greeting them as if it had been weeks and not hours since they’d seen one another. Humans rarely understood the need that the animals—most of the animals—had for touch. Hawke and Falkyn could take it or leave it, as could Vhyper. But the cats and canines were another matter.

Despite the warmth of the greeting and the sunshine pouring in through the back windows, the mood in the room felt heavy and thick with frustration. No one at the main table spoke as Wulfe grabbed a plate from the stack in the middle and began stabbing thick slabs of smoked ham off of one of the platters. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Xavier coming toward the table from the kitchen, a pitcher of juice in one hand, a blind man’s cane in the other. Wulfe’s gut tightened at the sight of Natalie’s brother.

“Three more steps head-on, X-man,” Jag said.

Xavier, the only bright spot in the room, grinned and took three more steps. Jag lifted the pitcher out of his hand. “Thanks, dude.”

“X . . .” Wulfe said, pushing himself from his seat and joining Xavier as the young man made his way back to the kitchen. “I stopped by to check on Natalie this morning.”

Xavier’s face fell, his expression hiding nothing. “Is she okay?”

“She looked good. Her fiancé was with her.” Not lies, not really. Natalie had looked lovely. And her relationship with her fiancé would probably be fine.