Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(88)

Power.

The primal energies rushed through him in a torrent, no longer siphoned by Satanan. Dark, rich, and seductive, they filled him, strengthened him.

The shadows rushed in, clouding his vision and his mind as the power consumed him.

Natalie lay on the rain-soaked ground, beneath the trees, her knees pulled against her chest, her teeth grinding against the horrific pain. Wave after wave of fire rushed up through her feet, through her body, a constant, steady stream of molten energy.

On one side of her, Kara stroked her face. On the other, Melisande pressed her hand to her arm, stealing as much of the pain as she could. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

Wulfe’s love caressed her mind, lending her strength, helping her heart continue to beat.

“He’s won!” Ariana cried, taking form a few feet away. She’d been moving between them and the Ferals, giving the women a play-by-play as she stood ready to call in her mist warriors if the Daemons turned against the Ferals. “Wulfe stabbed Satanan, and the wraith Daemons are following him into the blade!”

“But not the other Daemons?” Melisande asked.

“No. I guess we’ll find out what that means soon enough.” She knelt beside them. “How’s Natalie?”

“I can’t keep hold of her much longer. Wulfe has to shut down the channel, or he’s going to kill her.”

But it was too late. As she lay there in misery, the soft flow of Wulfe’s love suddenly shut off. And a moment later, a piercing cold rushed into her in its place.

“He’s . . . lost,” Natalie gasped. “To the darkness.”

Kara made a sound of despair, but Melisande only growled. “He’s not lost, yet. Get back, Kara. Natalie and I are going for a little ride.”

A moment later, Natalie’s world flipped end over end, then righted itself suddenly as she came to lie on her back upon cool, wet stone, her stomach turning. The rain beat softly against her face and hair, telling her she was still alive. For now.

“Natalie’s dying, Wulfe,” Melisande announced. “The woman you love, is dying.”

With a start, Natalie forced her eyes open, turning instinctively toward the male who held her heart and her life in his hands. Electricity arced all around him as if he stood in the middle of his own private lightning storm. His eyes stared at her without recognition, once more glowing red. Around him, the Ferals circled, ready to attack him, to kill him if they had to.

Strome had warned that the darkness always won. She’d pulled him back once. But heaven help her, it was all she could do to keep breathing through the pain. Where was she going to find the strength to save him one more time?

Chapter Twenty-four

Extraordinary, magnificent, glorious power raced through Wulfe’s veins. They would bow before him, the insects. They would worship at his feet!

If only he could silence the one inside, the wolf, and his snarling, his fury, his howling.

The shifters—he’d known them once—surrounded him, their weapons drawn.

“Wulfe, buddy, don’t let the darkness win,” one of them said.

“Come on, Wolfman. We need you, dude.”

“Wulfe, release the darkness. That’s an order!”

“Natalie is going to die, Wulfe,” yet another said quietly, his voice throbbing with emotion. “Don’t let her die, Wulfe. If she does, you’re both gone.”

But the male they spoke to was already gone. Couldn’t they see that?

“Wulfe.” The female on the rock at his feet spoke, her voice a mere whisper. He recognized her, his channel key. Once she died, he’d gain no additional power, which was a pity. But he could barely hold all he’d claimed already, so it was no matter. All would kneel before him!

Something pulsed in his head, a small golden glow that flared, then disappeared, again and again, each pulse igniting the darkness of his mind, dissolving a few of the shadows, but it was no matter. The pulses grew weaker, fainter. Dying.

Natalie’s dying.

The words broke through the shadows, stabbing him through the gut. The wolf trapped inside him howled with fury and desperation.

He gathered the shadows close, pushing back the words and their inexplicable pain, concentrating only on the power. But the words pushed again, attacked again, over and over and over.

Natalie’s dying. Natalie’s dying. Natalie’s dying.

The pain grew. Emotion began to break through the wall of shadows, at first a mere trickle, slowly becoming a small stream, then a flood.

No. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care.

He was panting as he fought it back, fought against the love that battered at the walls he’d thought impenetrable. Though he struggled to destroy all emotion and shore up the walls, the light slipped through his defenses, burrowing deep, filling him with warmth and love and fear. Scattering the darkness to the winds.

Wulfe came back to himself in a dizzying rush, his gaze dropping to the woman lying dead at his feet.

“Natalie!” He fell to his knees beside her, his heart splintering as he gathered her cold hand in his warm one. And felt life. Not dead. Thank you, goddess. His own heart began to beat again even as he knew she must be at death’s door. Scooping her unconscious body against his chest, he turned to the throngs who stood all around him, watching.

“How do I save her?” he yelled.