Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(9)

Crud. Strike two. He’d really hoped it was him.

As he watched, the Shaman reached out his hand as if to shake hers. Natalie looked bemused, but she shook the proffered hand with a friendly smile. Probably, human children didn’t shake hands with their cookie customers. A moment later, she turned away but didn’t close the door, and the Shaman continued to stand there. When she returned, she handed the Shaman what appeared to be a few dollars and he, in turn, handed her the Oreos, shook her hand again, and turned away.

“Well?” Wulfe demanded as the ancient male climbed into the truck a minute later.

“I sense Daemon energy though what that means, I do not know. It may be a lingering effect of the energy all of you were exposed to on the battlefield in Harpers Ferry.”

“Then all three of the humans who survived that battle might have been affected. Xavier hasn’t shown any signs of it, yet,” Wulfe said.

Tighe grunted. “We’ll have to send someone to check on the screamer.” The teen, Christy, had done little but scream the entire time she’d been in their prison. “Can we leave Natalie in the human world looking like that?”

“I believe so,” the Shaman said. “Few humans can see auras. But someone should keep an eye on her.”

Wulfe eyed him sharply.

The Shaman held up his hand. “Just keep an eye on her.”

Tighe glanced over, met Wulfe’s gaze. “It might be safer to bring her back to Feral House.”

“No.” The word left his throat like a shot. Lyon would only command her locked up in their prisons again. While the Ferals never took human life without reason, Daemon energy might be deemed reason enough. He wouldn’t risk it. “She stays here.”

Tighe nodded, sympathy in his eyes as if he’d heard the thoughts rolling through Wulfe’s head.

Wulfe turned to the Shaman. “How do we cure her?”

“I have no idea.” The Shaman sighed. “I’m sorry, Wulfe. My expertise is Mage magic, not Daemon.”

Tighe reached over and clasped Wulfe’s shoulder. “You’ve had worse assignments than keeping an eye on a beautiful woman.”

In truth, there was nothing he’d enjoy more than watching over this woman even if he’d have to remain in his animal to do it. “I wonder if she’ll let a wolf in the house,” he mused. It might be worth a try. Tonight, he’d find out.

When they got back to Feral House, Tighe took him aside. “Be careful, buddy.”

Wulfe lifted a brow.

“She’s human.”

“So?”

“I’m just saying, you’re strung tight about this. I knew you had a soft spot for her, but I think it’s more than that. A lot more.”

Wulfe’s jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter. She belongs to another male, and even if she didn’t, my severed mating bond has screwed me up good.” Not to mention, he didn’t know what in the hell was going on with his Daemon blood. He shook his head. “I’d never pursue her.”

Deep inside, his wolf whined unhappily.

Tighe nodded. “It would be best if you kept your distance. Then maybe, when this is over, you can forget about her.”

That was just it, though. He couldn’t forget about her. Not for one damned minute.

Tighe shrugged. “I’m just saying, humans don’t live long, buddy.”

Wulfe snorted. “The way things are going, neither do we.”

But he understood Tighe’s concern, and he shared it. The last thing he wanted or needed was to have his heart ripped out of his chest in fifty or sixty years—a blink of an eye if he managed to get his immortality back. Because fifty or sixty years was all Natalie had. Maybe far, far less.

The rain started just as Wulfe pulled to a stop behind the deserted warehouse. It was early evening, approaching sunset, though the sun was hidden behind thick rain clouds. He turned off the ignition and climbed out, tossing his keys beneath the vehicle so the rain didn’t ruin the electronics. Stripping, he shoved his boots and clothes into the backseat, then locked the doors and shifted into his wolf.

A thrill of pleasure snaked its way through him as he reflected on the fact that Lyon had officially given him the job of keeping an eye on Natalie Cash. Unfortunately, there was really nothing else for him to do. Not unless word came of another newly marked Feral for them to hunt down and throw in the prison beneath Feral House. Or they got a lead on the two escaped new Ferals, Grizz and Lepard.

Wulfe trotted through the woods, the rain soaking his fur and his mood, because there was zero chance Natalie would come out to see him this time, and slim to no chance she’d let a soaking-wet wolf into her house. Otherwise, he didn’t mind the rain. The day had been warm, and the cool rain felt good against his hide.

They’d tracked down the screamer, Christy, without much trouble and confirmed that she had no odd glow. Nor did Xavier. Which meant that whatever was going on with Natalie was hers alone.

Inside, his wolf gave a howl of misery. Neither man nor animal spirit liked it, not one bit.

As he reached the edge of the woods, he eyed the house with the yellow siding that he knew to be hers. The kitchen light was on, but he couldn’t see any sign of Natalie. Wait. There she was. She crossed the kitchen, the overhead light turning her hair to gold. His stomach did a little flip, but as he sat on the wet ground, the rain splattering against his snout, his heart felt heavy in his chest.