Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(68)

His heart swelled until he thought it would burst from his chest.

With his hands tight on her sweet ass, he kept them fused below while their mouths joined above. Goddess, he didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to stay like this, just like this, forever. Or at the very least, for days and days and days.

As one hand gripped her soft, perfect rear, his other slid up and down her slender back, love barreling through him, hard and fast. A golden thread began to weave around his heart, a thread that flowed outward to hers. The beginning of a mating bond.

Deep inside, his wolf howled, Wulfe’s own need echoed in the lonely sound. Mine. She was his, dammit. Theirs. His and the wolf spirit’s. And they weren’t letting her go.

Unless he couldn’t convince her to stay. The prospect tightened his hold, making his soul cry out. But he would never force her to remain with him against her will. Never. That would be tantamount to holding her captive.

The moment they figured out how to disentangle her from this mess, he’d give her the choice, and if she wanted to return to her world, he’d take her memories, as he had before, and send her back. What she wanted, what would make her happy, was all that mattered.

But the thought of losing her again nearly had him drawing fangs and claws. Burying his face in her hair, he held her tight against his heart, and loved her.

Wulfe was dressed, Natalie combing out her wet hair after the shower that had become far more play than washing, when he heard the rap on his door. He opened it to find Vhyper.

“Ariana thinks she’s found the ritual you told her to look for. Lyon wants everyone in the ritual room, pronto.”

“Praise the goddess. I’ll be right there.” Wulfe closed the door as Natalie poked her head out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her naked body. In her eyes he saw the same flare of vulnerable hope that he felt. “If the knowledge I stole from Satanan is true, this is the ritual that should reverse the damage done to us by Inir’s dark charm.”

“Thank goodness,” Natalie said fervently.

Wulfe strode to her, cupped her damp head with his hand, and kissed her soundly. “Rest while I go reclaim my immortality. Then I’ll make love to you again.”

A too-wise smile lifted her mouth, but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The moment you’re all immortal again, you’ll be going after Inir. Just don’t go without saying good-bye.”

He couldn’t deny her words. “I won’t. I promise.” Sliding his fingers through wet hair, he caressed her head. “Do you want me to ask Melisande to keep you company?”

“No. I could use a little time alone.”

He respected that, but he worried, too. “I’ll make sure there’s someone nearby who’ll hear you if you need help. If the pain comes back, yell, sweetheart. Don’t hold it in. Please?”

“Okay.”

He pulled her against him and kissed her again, drinking her in, certain he would never get enough. Certainly not in the few decades they might have together. Or the few days.

Finally, with a kiss to her nose, he left her, locking the door behind him.

After securing the promise of one of Ariana’s Ilinas to hang out in his room where she could hear Natalie if she called, Wulfe followed Vhyper down to the basement, then strode into the cavelike ritual room, a room now lit by half a dozen ritual fires. Circling the edges of the room, the flames cast darting shadows on the ceiling and walls, giving the space an ancient, mystical feel.

Most of the other Ferals were already there, gathered in the middle, stripping off their shirts. Wulfe found his own expectant mood mirrored on the faces of his brothers. Hell, even the smoke from the fires smelled of hope. Inside, his wolf howled, the sound imploring, beseeching, as if the animal spirit begged the goddess for triumph. Or mercy.

Wulfe stripped off his own shirt, turning toward the door as Fox, Jag, and Olivia strolled in, the last to arrive.

“Take your places around the circle,” Ariana commanded. The Queen of the Ilinas was in charge. She met Wulfe’s gaze. “I found the words of the ritual you told me about in my memory banks. I’ll feed them to Kougar through our telepathic link, and he’ll repeat them. Blood is involved, of course.”

“Make the cuts shallow and small,” Lyon warned. “And don’t cut your sword hands.”

If this worked, they’d quickly heal any wound, but Lyon was a cautious leader when it came to the well-being of his troops, and Wulfe appreciated that.

Excitement pulsed in the air, heavily tempered by the failures that had come before. Wulfe knew this ritual would work. How, he wasn’t certain, but deep within his Daemon blood, he knew this was the one. Still, he wouldn’t breathe easily until his friends were back in their animals, their immortality fully restored.

As they took their places around the circle, Kougar lit the last fire, this one in the middle. The light from the flame glittered on their golden armbands, sending their faces into hard relief, revealing granite expressions and rigid jaws as if every male believed this ritual would succeed through the power of his will alone. They were warriors trained to take on any foe with blades and claws, but they’d been fighting an enemy armed with magic, a weapon that had nearly defeated them. They hungered for real battle. If this worked, they’d get it. Finally, they’d be able to descend upon Inir’s fortress and destroy their enemies.