Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(54)

“I need to understand what’s going on, Wulfe. All of it.”

Slowly, he released her arm. “I know.” Pressing his lips together, he walked to the window. Peering out over the drive, he began to relay everything said in the war room. Several times, he swallowed back one truth or another, then forced himself to spit them out, sparing her nothing. Sparing himself nothing. He’d made her a tool of evil. The least he could do was be completely honest with her.

As he spoke, as his voice rang low in the silent room, he heard the faint squeak of mattress springs and knew she’d sat on the bed. Keenly aware of her behind him, he told her how Strome believed he’d made her a channel key when he took her wound with his heart open. His feelings were his problem, not hers, and she didn’t need that burden, too. But she wanted the truth, and he gave it to her.

When he’d finished, he continued to stare out the window for several more minutes, the regret and shame thick as mud in his stomach. Finally, he forced himself to turn around, to face her.

Natalie watched him with troubled eyes, her brows drawn, tiny frown lines marring the flesh between them. Part of him itched to stride from the room and lock the door behind him. Part of him longed to pull her into his arms. If he thought she’d find any comfort there, he might have. But he’d done this to her.

For long minutes, she said nothing, just watched him with that troubled frown.

“You have more questions,” he murmured. “Ask them, Natalie. I’ll tell you anything.” He owed her that much.

“How did I get the wound that made me a channel key?” she said at last. “If you won’t give me back my memories, at least tell me what happened.”

He sighed heavily. “Do I have to?”

To his relief, she smiled, if all too briefly. “Yes, my wolf, you have to.”

My wolf. He liked those words. The animal spirit inside of him gave a low bark of agreement. They both liked them.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

The soft welcome that suffused her features as she patted the bed beside her eased his heart as nothing else could have.

As he sat on the edge of her bed, his hands between his knees, he turned to her. “What’s the last thing you remember before . . . everything happened?”

She looked away, her gaze unfocused. “Two high school friends of mine and I wanted to spend the day playing tourist and catching up. We decided to drive out to Harpers Ferry. One invited her younger brother and his girlfriend to join us, so I asked Xavier to come along, too. The last thing I remember—and I’ve told the police this a dozen times—was walking through one of the old cemeteries. A woman walked up to us with coupons for free ice cream in town. I vaguely recollect her placing that coupon in my palm, but nothing more.”

“She must have been a Mage. The moment she touched your hand, she enthralled you and led you away.”

Natalie turned to him, shadows in her eyes. “Why, exactly? Were we supposed to be the Daemons’ food?”

He turned away, the memories of that day far too clear. Memories she didn’t need to share.

“Don’t, Wulfe. Don’t hold anything back. I need to know.”

With a pained sigh, he told her. “They needed bait. The wraith Daemons are drawn to pain and suffering.”

“How did they make us suffer?”

“Natalie . . .”

“How, Wulfe? You don’t have to share every gory detail, but I need to know something.”

He looked down at his hands. “The Mage . . .” Goddess, he didn’t want to share this with her.

“Wulfe . . .”

“They injured your two girlfriends. Cut them . . . badly. The Daemons never touched them, Natalie. Your friends fell into the spirit trap when the Earth opened and died because of that. But it’s unlikely they could have survived what the Mage did to them.”

He hazarded a glance and met her pained gaze.

“What about the rest of us?” she asked quietly, her voice still strong as steel despite its softness. She would spare herself nothing. The least he could do was find the courage to give her as much of the truth as she demanded.

“Humans don’t see the wraith Daemons until one has made them bleed. You were clawed in the cheek, Christy across her chest. The other male . . .” He shook his head. “He died of his wounds, and I’m not describing them to you. Yours and Christy’s injuries were both shallow, and I was able to stop the bleeding on the battlefield.”

“And Xavier?”

“Was never touched. I’m not sure how, but the wraith Daemons must have known he’d never be able to see them.”

Natalie lifted her hand to her unblemished cheek, to the spot where she kept feeling the pain. “The Daemon cut me here.”

“Yes.” Deep inside, his wolf growled, as angry as the man that she’d been hurt by such a creature.

“You say you stopped the bleeding on the battlefield. Mine and Christy’s both.” Confusion clouded her eyes.

“I did. I didn’t take your wound until later.”

“How did you take it? Why?”

He looked away. “I don’t know why. You were too pretty for such an ugly gash. And it hurt you. I didn’t like seeing you suffer.”

“Wulfe?” When he turned back to her, she watched him with stubborn eyes. “Tell me how you made it disappear.”