Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(75)

Lyon’s gaze snapped toward the basement door. “Grizz and Lepard?”

“I’ll check,” Melisande said, and disappeared. Four seconds later, she was back. “They both lost theirs within the past hour.”

“So Inir was right,” Fox muttered. “We’re down to two.”

Jag’s hands fisted. “Let’s go kill that bastard.”

“Wait!” Olivia said beside him. “The Therian Guard should go after Inir. You’re still mortal. Let us try to capture him and bring him to you.”

“Not a chance, Red.” Jag hauled her close. “This is our fight.”

Olivia turned on her mate, her expression warrior-hard. “Kara saw hundreds of immortal sentinels. Too many for you to take on in this condition, Jag, and you know it. And that’s if you can find your way through the warding again.”

Fox joined the argument. “The Guard is unlikely to have any better luck breaching that warding, Olivia, and you know it.”

Ariana appeared suddenly in the midst of them, frustration in her Ilina eyes. “I finally know what went wrong with the ritual to restore your animals.” Silence dropped like a blanket over the foyer as all heads turned her way. “The ritual requires the blood of the one who made the charm. The Shaman has felt Inir’s magic in it from the start. We need Inir’s blood.”

“Bloody hell,” Fox muttered. “So there’s no fecking way out of this. We’re attacking that stronghold just as we are, as nonshifting mortals.”

Vhyper shrugged. “Better nonshifting than dead.”

“We attack Inir’s fortress immediately,” Lyon snapped. “The ten Ferals will head out first along with Zeeland and Olivia and however many Guards the Ilinas can take. The rest will follow as quickly as the Ilinas can get them there. Say good-bye to your mates, grab food, and arm yourselves well since you won’t be shifting.” He turned to Ariana. “Once you’ve delivered us close to the warding, the same place you did last time, return here with your Ilinas to protect our women. Mist them out of here if you need to.”

“We’re all going?” Tighe asked.

“Do you see an alternative?”

“No. We’re going to need every man. What about Grizz and Lepard? They delivered themselves back here, knowing we might kill them.”

“They stay in the prisons. Trusting them is a risk we can’t afford.”

Wulfe had to agree. As much as they could use Grizz’s and Lepard’s help, Grizz was a time bomb with a short fuse. If Inir found a way to turn him against them, he could kill two or three of them before they realized what was happening.

“Gather your weapons and meet back here immediately,” Lyon commanded. “The Ilinas will transport you as you arrive.” Lyon swept Kara into his arms and ran up the stairs.

Wulfe took Natalie’s hand and followed. The moment he ushered her into his bedroom, he gathered her close and kissed her with all the worry and frustration that battled inside him.

Finally, he pulled back, cupping her face. “You’ll stay with the other women.”

“If Satanan takes control of me again?”

He tipped his forehead to hers. “I pray that doesn’t happen.” Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “It’s far too dangerous to take you into battle.”

Her jaw hardened, a warrior’s strength shining in her eyes. “If you need me, send for me. Don’t hesitate, Wulfe.”

He stroked her creamy cheek, then pulled away to arm himself, strapping his knife-laden hunting belt around his waist and two swords across his back, one for each hand. Finally, he slid a pair of knives into his boots.

As he straightened, shouts and whoops blasted suddenly from the foyer two stories below.

“Goddess, please let this be good news for once,” Wulfe muttered. Grabbing Natalie’s hand, he ran.

Zeeland stood in the foyer, surrounded by the Therian Guards, Olivia, and Fox, the shouting in his ears and the hands slapping his back barely breaching the shock as he stared at the claw marks that had erupted on his forearm seconds ago, four parallel marks, each several inches in length, that looked like long-healed scars.

His heart pounded, goose bumps rising on his flesh as understanding slowly penetrated his stunned mind.

“Lyon!” Olivia shouted beside him. “Zeeland’s been marked!”

Marked. To be a Feral Warrior.

His jaw had dropped and still hung open as he met Fox’s grin. Fox held out his hand and slapped forearms with him in the Ferals’ traditional manner.

Julianne flew into his arms, and he held her tight against him as he buried his face in her hair.

A Feral Warrior. At last.

But was the animal who’d marked him one of the seventeen who’d been infected? It might be one of the two who’d been infected and died, an animal spirit that should be clear of Inir’s poison this time. There was no way to know.

Would the Ferals imprison him now, too?

Goddess.

He looked up to find Lyon at the top of the stairs, joined in quick succession by most of the other Ferals and many of their mates.

“Is it true?” Lyon demanded.

Zeeland held up his arm.

“Hot diggity damn!” Jag crowed.

“Praise the goddess,” Hawke said starting down the stairs, Falkyn beside him. “Roar, I’ve known this male since he was a child. I would stake my life and that of my mate on Zeeland’s being the best of the best. There’s not an ounce of darkness in him.”