Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(50)

Wulfe froze. He was starting to perspire. He hated this. Hated it.

“It’s very possible,” Strome said evenly. “And quite dangerous. If such a small portion of his consciousness is already gaining this kind of connection with you, you’ll stand little chance of escaping Satanan if he becomes free of that blade. You’ll quickly fall under his complete control.” The Daemon’s gaze traveled from Feral to Feral. “This is something you must be prepared for. Once Satanan has him, there will be no getting him back. I lost many a friend that way. Good men. Honorable men.”

“Satanan’s not getting him,” Tighe growled.

Wulfe stared at the woman, meeting the gaze of the Daemon. All his life, he’d believed Daemons to be evil incarnate. For the past month, he’d been horrified that such evil might be living in his blood, lurking inside him, waiting to come out. But if what Strome said was true, that might not be the case at all. It was a revelation, if confusing as hell. Unless this was all a ruse, an act by the woman, an ingenious way to infiltrate their ranks and gain their trust. But for what purpose?

No, he didn’t think so. His instincts told him Vivian Mars and the Daemon, Strome, were legit. Either way, he and Natalie were in a shitload of trouble.

The Shaman held out his hand to Vivian. “Let me touch you, please.” When Vivian slid her hand between the bars, he took it and closed his eyes. Finally, after several minutes, he opened them again. “I sense no darkness within this woman. On the contrary, I see only brightness and light, and a deep, abiding love.” He cocked his head as he looked at Vivian with surprise. “You’ve fallen in love with the Daemon who infected you.”

Vivian’s eyes snapped with feminine pique. “He didn’t infect me. He found me. We’re a team. And, yes, I care for him.” Her expression softened. “He’s my best friend.”

The Shaman nodded. “Unless I’m mistaken, he cares for you equally.”

“You are not mistaken,” Vivian’s voice snapped in Strome’s distinctive way.

The Shaman turned to Lyon. “I’m no expert on Daemons, but I sense no darkness.”

Lyon nodded. “Strome claims Natalie’s become a channel key.”

Youthful-looking brows shot up. “Who made her one?”

“I did,” Wulfe snapped, wishing his brothers would take their claws to him for it. Rip him to shreds. “I did it when I took her wound.”

As the Shaman turned to Natalie, Wulfe tensed even as he knew the ancient would never hurt her. The Shaman took her hand, once more closed his eyes, then shook his head. “No darkness, no shadows. I sense nothing amiss.”

“And yet the Daemon claims Satanan is gaining strength through her,” Lyon said. “Through her and Wulfe both.”

The Shaman’s eyes opened, and he dropped Natalie’s hand. “It’s possible. I know little about Daemons though I’ve heard it said they’re connected to one another far more than most races.” He looked at Wulfe. “Can you sense Satanan’s hold on you . . . on either of you?”

Wulfe shook his head.

The Shaman turned back to Vivian/Strome. “Can you explain?”

Strome’s hard gleam flared in the archaeologist’s eyes as Vivian turned to Lyon. “I can, but I won’t. Your Shaman has declared Vivian without darkness, therefore you will release her. I’ll share what I know when she is free of this dungeon.”

Lyon’s jaw tensed. “I’ll give you an answer shortly.” As he turned to leave, Kougar, Tighe, Fox, and the Shaman followed.

Wulfe motioned Natalie to precede him, then brought up the rear.

The small band weaved their way through the Guards in the gym, but when they reached the hallway that would lead to the stairs, Lyon turned into the ritual room instead, flipping the switch to light the electric sconces. The others started to follow, but the Shaman hesitated.

“If you’ve no further need of me, Lyon, Ariana and I have work to do.”

“Of course. Thank you, Shaman.”

Wulfe led Natalie into the room behind the others and closed the door. Wulfe had always liked this room, with its high, arched ceiling and dark walls that mimicked the feel of the ancient caves in which the Ferals had long ago performed their most primitive rites. While Natalie stood against the wall on one side of the door, Wulfe moved to the other.

She glanced at him, a wealth of shadows and questions in her eyes. Questions he wasn’t sure he knew how to answer.

“Do we trust Vivian Mars?” the Chief of the Ferals asked, turning Wulfe’s attention back to the problem at hand.

“That tale was too bizarre to be anything but true,” Tighe muttered. “My instinct tells me Strome sought to protect Vivian, not himself.”

“If we kill her, he dies,” Lyon countered.

“I think Tighe has the way of it,” Fox said. “The Daemon’s demands felt like a male protecting his woman.”

“He’s in love with her,” Natalie said with certainty, surprising Wulfe, and pleasing him that she had no compunction about speaking up around his brothers. “I’m very good at reading eyes,” she continued. “In Vivian’s, I see intense curiosity, but also a total lack of cunning. When Strome takes over, I see fierce honesty. And honor. And the love the Shaman sensed. I absolutely believe Strome, or at least this piece of his consciousness, is in love with Vivian Mars.”