Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(81)

Beneath the shadows, Wulfe’s heart still beat whole, bright, and golden. She could feel it. It wasn’t lost. Not yet. But the darkness attacked that core of his goodness, of his honor, and if she didn’t find some way to stop it, and soon, it would steal him away for good.

Fire shot down her limbs as she tried to stand, and she gasped, sinking back to her knees.

“Natalie?” Hawke asked, warily.

“Don’t move.” Lifting her hand to her eyes to block the worst of the rain, she looked up. “Wulfe, I love you. You love me, too.”

He didn’t respond, and she sensed the shadows darkening inside him. They were already winning. Desperation rushed up inside of her. The golden light flared suddenly, the edges of the shadows curling away as if her need to save him had driven them back. Maybe it had. Maybe, within the strange connection they’d developed, her thoughts and will really were that powerful. The thought filled her with a fierce determination.

Wulfe swung toward her suddenly, his face a mask of fury. With a growl, he grabbed her by the neck, his rain-slicked fingers nearly encircling it, lifting her to her feet. The pressure against her windpipe choked. He’s going to kill me. Her heart raced, her mind began to scream, and she struggled, clawing at his hand, his wrist. But he was far, far too strong.

“Natalie!” one of the Ferals called.

“Wulfe, stand down,” Lyon shouted.

For one bright moment, she thought rescue was on the way. But all hope was dashed a moment later when Wulfe raised his free hand and the Ferals flew back as if they’d simultaneously hit warding.

The Ferals couldn’t help her.

Hope died. The next moments, perhaps her last, were utterly out of her control. But it was that knowledge, that kernel of truth that stole fear’s power over her, easing her panic long enough for rational thought to intrude. The man she loved would never be able to live with taking her life, if he ever returned.

The need to protect him burst within her, hot and bright. That golden glow flared, sizzling the shadows, burning the edges away. The fingers that gripped her neck loosened just enough for her to breathe—but not to escape—as if she’d somehow brushed the mind or heart of the honorable male inside. But not enough. Not yet.

With every ounce of concentration she possessed, she stared into the red eyes of the stranger and loved the man within. As she did, she watched the shadows retreat from her assault, then push back, then retreat again.

Around them, the Ferals recovered, rising to their feet. Kougar and Hawke circled behind Wulfe, and she knew they were looking for a way to take him. But her focus remained steady.

For just a moment, she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a glimmer of horror, but it lasted only seconds, then was gone. Dammit.

But even as the darkness rushed back into his eyes, he released her, snatching his hand away as if she’d burned him. And maybe she had. Or maybe touching him gave her far more power over the shadows.

Wulfe spun, suddenly, facing the brothers he no longer recognized. “You think you can harm me?” With a flick of his wrists, he sent Hawke and Kougar flying back a second time, then turned back to her as if somewhere inside he recognized her as the true danger. Fangs erupted in his mouth, claws from his fingertips. A feral snarl rose from his throat, terrifying her at her most primitive level. But she was going to pull him back from this if it was the last thing she did.

Sweat ran down the back of her neck, melding with the cold raindrops. The primal energies ran through her, a steady, painful stream, but no longer incapacitating. Only one thing mattered—winning this battle for Wulfe’s soul.

Slowly, she took a step toward him.

“Natalie, get back,” Lyon warned.

She kept her gaze pinned on Wulfe. “You’ve never forgiven yourself for failing Liesel, Wulfe, even though what happened to her was never your fault. I know you won’t hurt me. You won’t fail me. Fight the darkness. Come back to me.”

“Natalie, he could kill you with those claws.”

“He won’t.”

She took another painful step toward Wulfe, then another, praying she was right.

Power swirled inside Wulfe, smoke and fire, consuming his gaze, his mind, his soul—the power to take on every one of the insects that surrounded him.

Why didn’t the female cower before him?

He swatted at her, his claws coming close to her face, yet not touching her. Something inside of him growled at him not to touch her.

Rain poured down upon him, soaking his clothes. Lightning split the skies.

The female grabbed his wrist, and he pulled away, but she held on tight and nearly fell against his chest. Her scent assailed him, sweet and intolerable. Gray eyes. The thought rose from the smoke as her touch burned his wrist, but that snarling thing inside him ordered him to let her do what she wanted. A word burst out of the haze.

Natalie.

His head began to pound, his heart to thud. Dangerous. Light shone through the darkness, a golden glow threatening to burn away the shadows. A glow that was hers.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

“Loving you.” There was such agony in her eyes.

“Don’t.” Instinct told him to pull away before it was too late, and he did, jerking his hand from her hold, catching her palm with one of his claws as he jerked free of her. A faint ribbon of blood bloomed on her flesh, and something deep inside him howled.