Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(85)

Lyon nodded. “Quickly.”

As one, the Ferals raced back to where the great sabertooth stood guard over the moaning, legless Mage. But as Zaber and Wulfe shifted back to men, and the Ferals gathered around, Inir suddenly began to laugh.

“You are fools to think you can stop me. I will rise!”

“Satanan,” Tighe muttered. “He didn’t protect his boy.”

“He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his boy,” Wulfe replied. “He doesn’t need him anymore.” But while his gaze was riveted on the sight of this terrible enemy finally prone at their feet, Wulfe’s mind was consumed by worry for Natalie. The primal energies were too much for her. They were weakening her. Killing her. Please goddess, don’t let her die.

Kougar strode to Inir and, without hesitation, cut off one of his hands. As Inir screamed, Kougar cut off the other, holding both of them wrist-side up, cradling the blood. Turning toward the others, he began to chant as he had in the ritual room, repeating the words they’d used before, words that Ariana and the Shaman believed would reverse the dark charm’s damaging magic.

“The ritual fires?” Tighe asked. The fires ringing the other Ferals were long out.

Kougar shook his head, a quick, silent, “not going to bother.”

As the Ferals ripped off their shirts, they all took up the chant. Kougar began to swipe Inir’s blood across each of their hearts, one by one. Their voices grew louder, the magic beating at the air, pounding in Wulfe’s blood. A soaked-to-the-skin, yet proud and once-more-healthy Kara strode into the middle of the circle, waiting for the signal.

On the alternate goddess stone, where the evil Ferals’ ritual continued, an eerie red-orange light suddenly blasted from the Daemon Blade, an unearthly scream tearing through the night like the voices of a thousand damned souls suddenly freed.

Inir began to laugh like a madman. “You’re too late. It’s done! The blade has been opened. Satanan rises!”

Chapter Twenty-three

The Ferals’ worst nightmare had come true.

In the midst of a hurricane-like storm, the Earth screaming in outrage, shapes began to fly out of the Daemon Blade through that swirling red-and-orange energy—dozens of them, hundreds.

“Holy goat f**k, Batman,” Jag muttered.

The Daemons were free.

Their chant had died abruptly, Kougar and Lyon, as one, murmuring the words to throw up a powerful feral circle that should, goddess willing, keep the Daemons out. At least until they could retrieve their immortality.

Wulfe’s gaze flew to Fox. “Warn Melisande. Tell her to get Natalie out of here.” Only the Ferals mated to Ilinas had the ability to speak to their mates telepathically when they weren’t in their animals.

“She knows,” Fox assured him.

But Wulfe knew, deep inside, the women hadn’t left. Natalie wouldn’t leave him as long as he needed her. The knowledge both warmed and terrified him.

“Finish the ritual,” Lyon ordered.

Kougar took up the chant again as he swiped Wulfe’s chest with Inir’s blood, then Fox’s, then Zaber’s.

Wulfe’s pulse pounded in disbelief as wraith Daemons flew past by the dozens, their black, ropelike hair rippling back from horrific faces contorted like wax figures’ left too long in the sun. Sharp fangs dripped from their mouths, claws from their fingertips, their black, cloaklike bodies rippling in the wind.

Five thousand years the Ferals had fought to keep this from happening. Five thousand years.

The need to reach Natalie, to protect her, thudded in his mind, in his chest. Wulfe took up the chant with the others because the sooner this was over, the sooner he could save her.

In front of him, Kara went radiant, brilliantly so. Magic tore through him, cleansing, renewing, regenerating. He could feel his wounds healing, his breath filling his lungs with life and light. Radiance and Feral energy rushed through his body, strengthening him in the way he was meant to be strong. Feral. Immortal.

Deep inside, he felt the last of the wall erected by Inir’s poison—a wall intended to destroy his connection with his animal—some crashing down, then obliterated into nothing. His wolf howled with triumph as they were fully joined once more.

All around him, the Ferals shifted into their animals with relieved growls and whines and sighs. But no sound of victory. Except one.

Lyon swung his heavily maned lion’s head toward Inir with a deep, rumbling growl. This is for harming my mate. With a feral roar loud enough to wake the heavens, he bit off Inir’s head.

Wulfe shifted into his wolf and immediately called to Natalie, for once hoping she wouldn’t answer, that she was too far away.

But she answered immediately. “I’m here.”

Dammit. The Daemons are free! Melisande, take her to the Crystal Realm. Quickly.

But it was Natalie who answered him. We see them, Wulfe. Awe and fear wove through her too-soft voice. But I’m not going anywhere.

Natalie . . .

No, Wulfe.

Goddess. Now that the Daemons are free, Satanan has no more need to pull the primal energies. There’s no danger.

We don’t know that. I’m not leaving.

Deep inside, he knew her caution wasn’t misplaced. The darkness could try to claim him even without Satanan’s interference. But he needed her safe!

“Look at the blade!” Hawke shouted.