Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(51)

“So do we trust them?” Lyon asked. “Do we let Vivian go or keep her locked in the prison?”

“If the Daemon is evil and/or in league with Satanan,” Kougar said thoughtfully, “letting him go might be a risk, but keeping him here could be more of one. Killing him would be, by far, the safest course.”

“But if he’s not in league with Satanan,” Tighe countered, “a Daemon could prove a powerful ally.”

Wulfe grunted. “I think he’s telling the truth. I think he hates Satanan’s guts.”

“I agree,” Tighe said. Kougar and Fox concurred.

Lyon nodded. “So we’ve decided to trust him. Do we keep him here or let him go?”

“Imprisoning one’s allies is a certain way to turn them against you,” Fox murmured.

Tighe nodded. “I have to agree. We let him go.”

Lyon opened the door. “Then we’ve reached a decision. We’ll reconvene in the war room in ten. Fox, call the other Ferals. I want them all there. Wulfe, see Natalie to her room. Tighe and Kougar, escort Vivian upstairs.”

As Wulfe led Natalie back to the foyer, he braced himself for her questions or accusations. Both practically danced in the air around her. But she said nothing, climbing beside him without meeting his gaze.

She had every right to be mad at him for what he’d done to her. Mad and scared. Goddess, he’d never meant to hurt her. That was the last thing he’d ever want to do.

When they finally reached her room, she walked inside then turned to him, her expression calm and enigmatic. “When you’re through with your meeting, you owe me some explanations.”

“I know.”

With that, she turned away. Wulfe hesitated, then slowly pulled the door closed and locked it from the outside, consumed by the fear that in making Natalie his channel key, he’d irreparably damaged her chances of getting out of there alive. If she paid the ultimate price for this mistake, he might as well die beside her because it would destroy his soul.

Natalie stood at the window, looking out over the circular drive. The sun shone on the cars and trucks, filtering through the woods beyond to dot the grass. But though she saw what lay outside, her mind was wholly turned inward. And she was scared.

She’d tried to get into one of the books she’d brought upstairs with her, Jane Austen’s Emma, but though she’d always loved the story, her thoughts wouldn’t settle long enough for her to make any sense of the words marching across the page. Finally, she’d given up and come to stand at the window.

How could any of this be happening? Shape-shifters and Daemons, odd glows and channel keys. How on Earth had she wound up smack-dab in the middle of it?

Wulfe blamed himself. She’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in the way he’d held her so wonderfully tight, then released her as if he couldn’t bear to touch her. And maybe he was to blame. But that hardly mattered now. All that mattered was making certain she didn’t somehow hurt the Ferals in their battle to stop Inir and Satanan.

Oh, Wulfe. What have you done?

Whatever it was, he’d never meant to cause harm. She’d known the wolf but a matter of weeks, and the man but a day, but she saw the honor and goodness inside him so clearly. It radiated from him, a golden soul, at once fierce and gentle, and oh so beautiful.

It was no wonder she’d fallen in love with him though what could possibly result from her feelings she couldn’t begin to guess. What if he came to love her in return? Would she willingly give up everything she’d worked so hard for to stay here with him? Could she really turn her back on her work and her mom, and go into hiding for the rest of her life? Was the love of any man worth that?

She honestly didn’t know. And now that she’d apparently been turned into a pawn of evil, she wasn’t sure it mattered. There was a good chance she wouldn’t have a life of any kind when this was over. So many things could go wrong. So many things had already gone wrong even if she didn’t yet understand the ramifications of any of them.

Turning away from the window, she crossed to the bed, where she’d left her book, and idly traced the title with her fingertip. She might not have a lot of choices, she mused, but she definitely had some. One always had choices, if only whether to fight or submit.

Long ago, she’d decided that her life’s goal was to make a difference in the lives of others. She’d always believed she’d do that through her work, by helping people, especially kids, see better. Then she and her friends had been captured by Mage and attacked by wraith Daemons, and everything changed. Everything.

She wasn’t the woman she was before. Instead, she’d become some kind of conduit to terrible power. A pawn, perhaps. But even a pawn could take down a king, under the right circumstances. With the right allies.

There were always choices. But to make the right decisions, one needed to understand the game. Up until now, Wulfe had been her protector. And, to a lesser extent, her jailer. But they were in this together now, far more than even he had realized. Things were going to change.

She had a feeling it was the only way they were going to survive.

Ten minutes later, all the Ferals were sitting or standing around the war room. Vivian, who’d been released from the prison and led upstairs, sat at the head of the table where all could see her and, if necessary, question her. Lyon quickly brought the others up to speed.