Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(78)

As Kougar opened his mouth as if to protest, she disappeared.

Behind him, the back door opened and Wulfe turned to find Natalie rushing toward him, the sunlight in her hair. His heart tumbled. He opened his arms, and she ran straight into them.

“You’re going,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Get your weapons!” Lyon called to the group, then turned to Olivia. “Is the Guard ready?”

“Ready and waiting, Lyon.” Olivia threw her arms around a bright-eyed Kara as the other wives gathered around them. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Wulfe kissed Natalie’s forehead. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He raced into the house, where several other Ferals were already retrieving their shirts, boots, and weapons. A minute later, dressed and armed, he strode back out through the dining room and into the sun just as Ariana returned.

“The spot we landed last time is still safe,” Ariana announced as Kougar hauled her against him, burying his face in her hair.

Wulfe returned to Natalie, pulling her close. “Wish me luck.”

Instead, she kissed his cheek. “Be careful.” Turning to him fully, she reached for him, cupping his face with her hands, meeting his gaze with a look of such unbounded love that it made his breath catch. He reached for her hips, pulling her close, drinking in her warmth, her sweetness, her strength.

“Wulfe.” His name sighed from her lips. “You are the finest man I’ve ever known. I know you can do this.”

He stared into those calm gray eyes. “Goddess, how I love you.” He kissed her, softly at first, tenderly, with wonder and care. Then more fiercely as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back as if staking her claim. As if sealing their fate.

“Wulfe!” Paenther called. “We’re going.”

With difficulty, Wulfe pulled away, but continued to touch her, stroking her cheek, sliding his head down her soft, silken hair. “Stay in the house. There are Ilinas here to watch over all of you and to mist you away if there’s any danger.”

She nodded, but they both knew the greatest danger to her was nothing the Ilinas could keep her safe from. It was Satanan.

“Wulfe, get us to that fortress!” Lyon called.

The Allegheny Mountains rose all around them, thick with spruce and hardwoods beneath a rose-colored sunset sky. Wulfe turned toward the direction he knew Inir’s fortress to lie, the direction he felt in his Daemon blood would lead him to Satanan, and started to run. Goddess, he could feel the son of a bitch.

Behind him, his Feral brothers and sister, and the more than 150 Therian Guards, mobilized. The pounding of their feet vibrated across the mountainside, resonating deep in his blood. They were an impressive force though they’d have been far more so if the Ferals were still able to shift. At least they had one shifter among them, now. Zeeland.

Wulfe picked up speed, the knowledge that the evil Ferals were even now opening the Daemon Blade screaming like a siren in his head. For five thousand years, they and their Feral predecessors had kept Satanan from breaking free. Now they were minutes away from failure. Their only chance of success meant battling fully shifting, fully immortal evil Ferals. Goddess knew, it wouldn’t be a picnic, but at this point, he didn’t give a damn. He was so tired of sitting on his ass, so ready to fight!

“We’ve only got about an hour until the draden come out,” Hawke commented, as they ran. No longer able to shift, they’d be sitting ducks.

Vhyper grunted. “If we haven’t stopped the ritual in an hour, it’s not going to matter. We’re going to be dead either way.”

“We’ve got company,” Paenther warned. “Mage. More than a dozen of them.”

“We’ll take care of them,” Olivia called.

As half the Guard peeled off, Wulfe pressed forward, Lyon on one side of him, Paenther on the other, the rest of the Ferals close behind.

The seconds ticked away with his heartbeats, and he felt every f**king one. They had miles to go. Miles. And in addition to the Mage welcoming committee, they still had warding to get through and possibly something far worse. The last time they’d tried to breach this mountain, they’d found themselves eyeballs deep in a mind f**k of a labyrinth. If not for Fox, they might still be lost in there.

As the sound of battle rose behind them, Wulfe’s muscles tensed with the need to join in. Around him, he felt the restlessness of his brothers and knew he wasn’t the only one. It wasn’t in a Feral’s nature to run away from a fight, but the bigger battle lay ahead. And there was no time to waste.

The clouds rolled in suddenly, dark and full. The wind began to whip.

“Dead Mage,” Jag murmured, his voice tight and hard. It must be killing the male to remain with his Feral brothers when Olivia, his mate, was leading the charge in that battle.

Thunder rumbled across the sky. Mother Nature got pissy when her Mage, who’d once been as close to nature spirits as any being alive, were killed. The rain began to fall, hitting Wulfe’s shoulders, sliding through his hair.

Moments later, as he crested the rise, Wulfe saw what he’d been looking for—the curtain of shimmering color, blues and purples and reds, rippling and flaring across the entire landscape. In front of it sat a small, crystalline lake, its surface boiling with raindrops.

He raised his hand and slowed. “The warding.”