Wulfe Untamed (4 page)

And there was no doubt she was in crisis. Especially after this morning.

Leaning back against the kitchen counter, she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, fighting back the thoughts that constantly flayed her—the days she had no memory of, the police investigation that continued to go nowhere. And the pounding, grinding grief. The police believed Xavier was dead, and she refused to accept that, but where was he?

She blinked back the tears that burned her eyes and turned to the sink to wash her mixing bowls. Her gaze caught on the package of Oreos, drawing a bemused smile and a disbelieving shake of her head. What had made the teen come to her door selling store-bought cookies? He’d almost certainly been up to something though she hadn’t sensed anything malicious. She’d detected a faint accent in his voice, so perhaps he’d been an immigrant or exchange student looking for a little extra cash and going about it in an odd way. Or he might have been a drama student having a little lighthearted fun with her. She probably wouldn’t have actually bought the cookies, but she’d always been very, very good at reading eyes, and in his she’d seen a wealth of kindness.

She loved looking at people’s eyes. Perhaps because she was an optometrist. Or maybe that was part of the reason she’d become an optometrist in the first place. She’d never been entirely sure. But from the day her youngest brother had been born blind, she’d been fascinated with eyes.

Oh, Xavier, how I miss you.

The ache beneath her breastbone pulsed so harshly it nearly doubled her over, the grief overwhelming her in that instant.
Breathe. Just breathe.

Slowly, she pushed past it and began to clean up the kitchen. By the time she was done, the smell of freshly baking cookies filled the air but did little to tempt her. After what had happened this morning, her appetite was well and truly gone. She’d done the right thing, she knew that. But never in her life had she felt so alone.

If only her mom were in town. Picking up the phone, she made the call she’d been putting off all day.

“Natalie,” her mother said, her voice breathless with both hope and dread as it always was these days. “Any news?”

“Not about Xavier.” If only she had some good news to share. “Rick and I called off our engagement this morning.”

“Oh . . . honey.”

Natalie could hear the scrape of a kitchen chair against tile and imagined her parent sinking onto it, gripping the table unsteadily against this latest blow. The unmistakable sound of sobs filled her ear, and she closed her eyes, wishing she’d been able to deliver this blow in person instead of over the phone. But her mom was in Birmingham, visiting her sister, and planned to stay there another week. Someone was bound to break the news to her long before that if Natalie didn’t tell her first.

“Nat?” Aunt Deb’s voice rang in her ear suddenly. “Did they find him?”

“No. I broke up with Rick.”

“Oh, thank God. The way your mom collapsed I was certain they’d found Xavier’s remains.”

Natalie cringed at Deb’s frank talk. And then her mom was back on the phone.

“
Why
, honey? Why now? You need him.”

“I don’t know.” How could she explain that the relationship had become strained? That as patient and understanding as Rick tried to be, she found little comfort in his presence. He reminded her too much of her life before. And perhaps the real clincher was that she sensed he was working too hard to be patient. He was a good guy, there was no doubt about it. But he missed the old Natalie. He wanted her back. And that woman was gone for good.

He’d stayed over last night, and they hadn’t even made love. She hadn’t been in the mood. She was never in the mood anymore. Rick hadn’t complained, not about that. He rarely complained about anything, but she’d seen the frustration in his eyes. Finally, as he’d dressed to leave, she’d suggested they call off the wedding. Rick had nodded, sadly, as if he’d been thinking the same.

“I need time, Rick,” she’d said as she handed him back her engagement ring. “I just need some time alone.”

He’d looked at the ring sadly. “If I were the right man for you, Nat, it would be me you needed.”

She hadn’t been able to argue.

She gave her mom the shortened version, which set off another round of sobs. “We’ll talk later, Mom,” she said quietly. “The oven timer’s about to go off. Give Aunt Deb my love.”

In a way, she envied her mother for getting away. A change of scenery would do her good, too. But she had her practice and a full schedule of patients to see this coming week, and for now that would have to be enough.
One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving.
There was little else she could do except pray that someday the ache would ease enough that she’d be able to breathe again.

As she pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven, she heard the low bark of a big dog at her back door. Her mind flashed immediately to her canine buddy and she found a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth at the thought that he’d come to see her again.

Laying the cookie sheet on the stove, she pulled off her oven mitt and hurried to the sliding door to look out. Sure enough, he was sitting in the rain, looking up at her with a hopefulness she could practically feel through the glass. Poor guy. He was soaking wet.

She hesitated to let him in—surely he belonged to someone in the neighborhood. But why would anyone who loved him let him out to roam in weather like this? He shouldn’t be off a leash at all, especially not looking like a monster-sized wolf.

“Hold on, boy,” she called through the door, then ran back to her laundry room, where she kept a stack of old towels. Grabbing two fraying bath towels, she laid one on the carpet, then opened the door just enough to let the massive animal in, braced for the invariable dash and shake.

To her surprise, he didn’t bound inside, nor did he shake at all. Instead, he walked forward calmly onto the towel, and stopped, watching her expectantly.

“You’re amazing.” She closed the door behind him, then opened the second towel and rubbed him down. “Someone’s trained you well.”

The dog looked up, meeting her gaze with a look in his eyes that she could swear was amusement. “You’re way too smart for your own good, aren’t you, boy?” She knelt in front of him, rubbing down his head and neck, watching the pleasure fill those beautiful eyes. Oddly, he didn’t even try to lick her face, which most dogs did given the opportunity. “You’re quite the gentleman.” She dried his legs and his belly, then finished with a quick rub of his tail.

“There you go. I’m afraid I don’t have any dog food, but I have leftovers from dinner. How about chicken and green beans? That shouldn’t be too terrible for you. I’ve also got cookies. Do you have a sweet tooth, boy?”

To her surprise, he shook his head . . . or appeared to. She laughed. “You’re really something.”

She pulled a wide, shallow plastic food storage container out of the cupboard, then cut up the leftover chicken and green beans and heated them in the microwave just enough to take off the chill. After pouring the mixture into the plastic container, she set it on the floor in the corner.

The big animal looked up at her with an unmistakable gleam of thanks in his eyes, then turned to the food and wolfed it down while she filled another container with water.

She picked up the cake recipe she’d thought to make tonight, but no longer felt driven to continue her baking and set it down again. The animal’s presence had calmed her, pulling her back from that edge of desperation that always drove her to bake.

Maybe, instead, she’d try to get some work done. While the dog ate, Natalie grabbed her laptop off the counter and settled on the floral-patterned sofa in her small family room. As she pulled up the file of the first patient she saw on Friday, and the results of the vision tests she’d run on the girl, the tension began to ease out of her shoulders. For the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe freely again. This was what she’d been born to do. It was no wonder, considering she had two younger brothers whose lives had been handicapped by their eyes’ inability to function optimally, if at all. Her youngest brother, Xavier, had been born blind, but it was James, only two years her junior, who’d actually had the hardest time thanks to a pair of undiagnosed vision problems that had made it next to impossible for him to learn to read.

By the time James was seen by a developmental optometrist, a specialist who could actually help him, he’d been a freshman in high school, and it had been too late. When she thought back on it, she wanted to shake their family eye doctor who’d seen him every couple of years throughout his childhood, who’d assured her mom that there was nothing wrong with James’s eyes, that James could read if he wanted to. And while, technically, he was right—there wasn’t anything wrong with his
eyes
—his brain could never make sense of what he saw because he wasn’t able to track smoothly across the page or keep from seeing everything slightly double.

Finally, one of his teachers talked her mom into taking him to a vision specialist, but by then James was convinced he was a dull-witted loser and refused the recommended therapy that could have corrected both problems. Though they didn’t know it at the time, he’d already found drugs and alcohol. A year later, he dropped out of school and took off. The last time they’d heard from him, he was living in Florida and had been in and out of rehab repeatedly.

While she’d love to find a way to open, quite literally, the eyes of the eye-care establishment as a whole to the benefits of vision therapy, she’d settle for helping the kids she could. No child should be made to feel stupid because of an undiagnosed vision problem.

James had been lost to them for years and now Xavier was gone, too. The ache in her heart was sometimes so sharp, she thought it might rupture that critical organ. She couldn’t imagine how much harder this all was on her mom.

The dog trotted through the kitchen, his nails clicking on the linoleum, then padded silently across the carpeted family room to join her.

Natalie smiled. “All through?”

He sat at her feet, then leaned forward to rest his chin on the cushion, pressing against her thigh, as if thanking her. Her heart swelled with adoration. As he looked up at her with soft, liquid eyes, she knew she was in trouble.

“Where’s your family, boy?” She ran her hand over his head, stroke after stroke, as those liquid eyes watched her. “If you don’t have one, you can live here.”

The words were out before she really thought them through, though it wasn’t like he could possibly have understood her. She didn’t have time for a dog. Still, the thought of his waiting for her at night made something stir inside of her, an excitement and longing for companionship that she hadn’t felt in weeks.

“Since you can’t tell me your name, I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a new one. What do you think of King?”

He gave her a disgusted snort and she laughed. “Okay, not King. How about Bruiser?”

He looked away as if he couldn’t bear it, making her grin.

“Not Bruiser, then. I’m half tempted to call you Wolf, but the neighbors might think you really are one, and I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

But at the sound of the name, he lifted his head expectantly and barked once, low.

“You like Wolf?”

He barked again, his eyes all but laughing at her.

“Okay, Wolf it is. Did someone already give you that name? It certainly fits.” She stroked his big head again. Would he be happy here while she was at work all day? Did she really want responsibility for an animal? This animal?

Staring into those kind, intelligent eyes, she knew there was nothing she wanted more.

Her hand sunk into the fur beneath his ear as she stroked his neck. “I’d be honored if you chose to live with me, Wolf, but I understand that you may already have a family. Regardless, you’re welcome to visit me anytime.”

As Natalie returned to her work, Wolf curled up on the carpet at her feet, a warm, welcome presence. She’d worked for nearly an hour when Wolf suddenly leaped to his feet, baring his teeth, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat.

“What is it, boy? What do you hear?”

The animal met her gaze as if he understood every word she uttered. In those dark eyes, she could swear she read indecision, as if he felt torn between investigating and protecting her. What a wonderful dog.

She placed her laptop on the sofa beside her and rose. “Come on. We’ll investigate together.”

But he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Wolf, move.”

He glanced up at her, his eyes stubborn and determined, and damn if he didn’t shake his head again. Which was impossible. He was a dog.

But when she tried to push him out of her way, he refused to budge.

“Wolf . . .”

She heard a bang at the front door, as if someone had thrown something against it.
Or kicked it.
A moment later, her front door splintered and crashed back against the wall. Shock reverberated through her body, her heart leaping with terror because she knew . . .
she knew . . .
that whatever malevolent force had killed her friends and stolen her brother, had come for her again.

Chapter Four

W
ulfe growled low in his wolf’s throat as the first of the Mage sentinels came charging into Natalie’s family room, sword drawn, triumph on his face, and violence in his eyes.

Wulfe’s mind roared with fury that they violated Natalie’s house, that they threatened her safety, even as he thanked the instincts that had driven him to check on her this morning. What if he’d waited until tomorrow morning, then arrived to find her missing? Or
dead.

The thought barreled through him, lending furious power to his hind legs as he leaped at the first of the bastards, crushing the Mage’s skull between his powerful jaws. The last thing he wanted was for Natalie to witness any more violence, but . . . no . . . the
last
thing he wanted was for her to become a victim of it herself. If that meant forcing her to watch him take out her attackers, so be it. He could always clear her memory of the sight later. He hoped.

A second Mage intruder rushed into the room, and a third, and a fourth, all dressed in the tunics of Inir’s sentinels. Why were they here? Was it because of her glow?

Wulfe leaped for another of the Mage, killing him, too, as a blade tore through his shoulder from behind. Not good, not when he wasn’t healing much better than a mortal these days. Fire licked through his muscles, the pain radiating down his limb.
Son of a bitch.

“No, don’t hurt him!”

As Wulfe turned to tear off the hand of the Mage who’d stabbed him, he saw Natalie grab the wooden lamp off the end table, rip off the shade, and swing it upside down as if she planned to use it as a weapon. Admiration and terror rushed through him in equal measure because she was going to get herself killed.

Not if he took care of these bastards first.

He lunged for the next of the Mage, going for his throat. As the pair crashed to the floor, half a dozen more ran into the room, swords drawn, eyes blank. Soulless.

“Don’t kill them,” one commanded. “Inir wants them alive.”

Them?
There was no doubt that Inir . . . or Satanan . . . had felt Wulfe’s presence, and his Daemon essence, before. On the mountain, he’d heard Satanan say,
I sense one of mine. Blood calls to blood.

Hell, the Mage might have followed him here. He might have inadvertently led them right to Natalie.

He leaped for another Mage, taking him down, then scrambled out of the reach of grasping hands to attack another and another, taking three more blades to the shoulders and side.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Natalie swing her lamp at one of the two Mage who’d cornered her, cracking it against his shoulder. But before she could pull her makeshift weapon back for another swing, the second of her stalkers seized it, wrenched it from her grasp, and grabbed her.

Instantly, she stilled, and Wulfe knew she’d been enthralled. She wouldn’t remember anything more of this fight. But they weren’t taking her. Over his dead body would they take her.

In a spray of sparkling lights, he shifted to human form, swiped one of the dead Mage’s swords off the bloody carpet, then ripped the blade out of another of his attacker’s hands. Swinging two blades at once, he took on the remaining Mage. The Ferals avoided killing Mage whenever possible since Mother Nature took their deaths so personally, but he didn’t have a choice this time. It was either kill them or escape, but with Natalie enthralled, he’d have to remain human in order to sling her over his shoulder and run. Unfortunately, the draden would almost certainly find him before he could reach his truck and safety, and he’d be forced to shift back to wolf or die, simply delaying the inevitable fight to the death with the Mage. Better to do it here, now. Mother Nature was just going to have to be pissed.

One by one, his attackers died beneath his blades. Outside, the wind began to howl like a freight train bearing down on the house. By the time only two Mage remained, his opponents circling him, his vision was beginning to waver, his arms starting to feel like anvils thanks to the stab wounds that still bled freely. If he didn’t kill these last two quickly, it would be too late. For both him and Natalie.

As they leaped at him, carving slices into his side and thigh, Wulfe called on the last of his considerable reserves and took them on with desperate efficiency, hacking, stabbing, until only one remained.

Wulfe faced the last of the sentinels sent to attack them, the leader of the band. Fury tore through him, fury that these soulless monsters had followed him here.
Here.
That they’d desecrated the home of one of the brightest spirits Wulfe had ever encountered and threatened her life. Inside, his animal gave a furious growl.

Fangs sprouted from his mouth, claws erupted from his fingertips, and he went feral, that place halfway between man and beast. As the sentinel lunged at him with his sword, Wulfe cut off the bastard’s remaining hand. The last thing Wulfe needed was to become enthralled, too.

Digging his claws into the sentinel’s neck, he slammed him against the nearest wall. “What does Inir want with us?”

Real fear shone in those soulless eyes. “I don’t know. Our orders were to capture you both and bring you in.”

Wulfe believed him. With one clawed hand, he ripped out the Mage’s heart, then dropped it to the floor, along with his body. A harsh wave of dizziness rolled across his vision, and he sank back against the wall, sweat rolling down his temples, blood down his chest.

A gust of wind blew through the house, whipping the curtains and scattering papers every which way. Hail pounded against the siding and windows. He needed to get Natalie out of here before Inir sent more men, which he’d undoubtedly do when this batch failed to return.

His head felt helium-light, his shoulder as heavy as burning iron as he pushed away from the wall to search for a phone. If he could get ahold of Feral House, his brothers would send Ilinas to pick them up. He’d be home, with Natalie, within seconds.

He spied a cell phone on the kitchen counter, but when he turned it on, he found it password protected. Hell. And he saw no sign of a kitchen phone.

The lights flickered and died, casting him into a darkness broken only by the lightning that slashed across the sky every few seconds. He turned back to find Natalie standing as if frozen, right where the Mage had left her. Enthralled. His heart cramped at all she’d seen, at all she’d endured . . . again. She’d snap out of the enthrallment in an hour or two, maybe less. Until then, they were trapped here. And he desperately needed to lie down and give his body a chance to start the healing process.

He was afraid he might pass out, and the last thing he wanted was Natalie waking to this scene of carnage. As a warrior, he’d become far too used to such sights, but although Natalie had seen worse—she’d watched her own friends die—she didn’t remember. The least he could do was get rid of the bodies, or at least move them out of her sight until they disintegrated in a few days. The basement would have to do.

After three tries, Wulfe found the right door, then bent to scoop up the closest body and nearly sank to his knees as pain screamed through his shoulder and side, and weakness tore at his muscles. His vision swam.

Straightening slowly, he slammed his palm against the wall, willing his vision to clear. When it did, he made his way to Natalie, lifting her carefully. The bodies would have to wait. Clenching his jaw, he made his way slowly up the stairs, Natalie tucked against his chest.

He was nearly to the second floor when a razor-sharp bite tore into his injured shoulder wrenching a bloodcurdling yell from his throat.
Draden.
He’d known the little fiends, no bigger than an average man’s fist, would find him sooner or later, drawn to his Therian life force. If he didn’t shift soon, they’d steal it all, killing him. But he couldn’t carry Natalie in his wolf.

Pushing himself past the point of endurance, he climbed the last couple of steps, sweat rolling down his temples. Another draden found him, then another, and another, all tearing at his flesh until his sight blurred, until it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.

As he stumbled into the nearest room, a flash of lightning lit the bed and he pushed himself toward it, managing to lower Natalie onto the soft mattress and not . . . quite . . . follow her down. The moment she was out of his arms, he shifted back into his wolf, listening with satisfaction as the draden squawked their anger at the loss of their meal and flew away.

His vision tilted. If he were still immortal, the weakness would be a temporary thing. But he wasn’t, and there was no telling what would happen.

Goddess, he had to survive this. He had to. Natalie needed him.

Lurching toward the bedroom door, he managed to butt it closed with his wolf’s flank, then sink down in front of it, blocking her escape. Hopefully, he’d awaken if she tried to move him.

Hopefully, he’d awaken again period.

A
loud crack of thunder startled Natalie awake. Lightning flashed across the room and she caught sight of the pictures on the wall.

“What am I doing in the guest room?” she muttered groggily. Confusion clouded her mind as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached for the lamp, but though her fingers turned the knob, nothing happened. The electricity was out. And the closest flashlight was in the master bedroom.

Utterly confused, she pushed to her feet just as another flash illuminated the room and the large dog lying in front of the closed door, his fur caked with . . .
blood.

It all came back in a rush—the men breaking into her house. The dog, Wolf, attacking them . . .
killing them
. . . as he protected her. She swayed, her forehead heating at the memory of the violence, her stomach lurching. Had he killed them all? Heaven help her, she hoped he had, because they’d stabbed him, over and over, in return.

Stumbling forward, she sank to her knees on the carpet beside the beautiful animal and reached for him.
Please don’t let him be dead.
Her palm pressed against the warm fur of his shoulder and felt the steady rise and fall she’d hoped for.
Thank God.

Downstairs, something crashed, stopping her heart.
The intruders are still here.
Her pulse began to thud hard enough to shake her entire body as she waited for the sound of boots on the stairs, a sound she might not hear over the howling wind and the rain slashing against the windows.

Lightning again illuminated the dog’s blood-soaked fur. Thunder cracked, startling her out of her momentary paralysis. She had to do something to stop the bleeding, or Wolf was going to die right here, right now. If the intruders broke through the door, so be it. They must know she was up here. Which made no sense.

Pushing to her feet, she moved quietly to the dresser where she kept the stack of old T-shirts she wore to exercise in. They’d have to do. Grabbing a handful, she sank down beside the animal and whispered softly.

“It’s me, boy. This might hurt, but I’ve got to staunch your wounds.”

Her fingers pressed gingerly, burrowing through Wolf’s fur, as she sought the site of the stab she’d seen him take to the shoulder. Warm blood coated her fingers and she knew she’d found it. As gently as possible, she pressed one of the shirts against the wound, then started searching for any others.

“Poor guy,” she whispered. “You chose the wrong night to come see me, but you probably saved my life.” She needed to get him to a vet. The beautiful animal made no sound, gave no indication of consciousness. He might be alive, but for how much longer?

Something skittered across the floor downstairs, stopping her heart for another moment. Why hadn’t they followed her upstairs? For that matter, how in the heck had she fallen asleep on the guest bed in the middle of an attack on her house? None of it made a bit of sense. The last thing she remembered was hitting one of the nasties with the lamp and the other one grabbing her. Had he hit her, then? She didn’t hurt anywhere. Somehow, she must have stumbled up here and passed out.

As she probed the dog’s side, she felt more warm blood and knew she’d discovered another wound. If only she could see them. If only she had a flashlight. Or . . . a camp lantern.
Yes.
Her camping supplies were stored in the closet in this room. Rising, she dug the lantern out of the bottom of the closet and turned it on only a little, bathing the injured animal in a soft glow.

He had blood
everywhere.
Her gut cramped. How was she supposed to know how much of the blood was his and how much belonged to the men? They’d been dressed so strangely, like some kind of foreign army, in matching blue tunics. And
swords.

She pressed T-shirts against the two wounds she’d found so far, knowing she had to find the others, yet wondering what she was going to do with them if she did. She only had two hands. And no telephone or suturing supplies.

“Hang on, Wolf. Just hang on for me. Sooner or later, they’ll leave, and I’ll be able to get you to a vet. What are they
doing
down there?” She heard something roll across the hardwood foyer.
Roll.
Suddenly she remembered the way they’d broken down her front door and relief left her on a hard exhale.

“It’s not them, it’s the wind. Of course, of course.” Leaping to her feet, she stroked Wolf’s head. “This is going to hurt, boy, but I have to move you if I’m going to get you help.”

She scooted around to his back end and, as gently as she could, lifted his hips and lowered them again a few inches out from the door. Moving to his head, she did the same, back and forth, a few inches at a time until she nearly had him far enough from the door to open it. Once more should be enough.

Sweat beading on her brow, she took a deep breath, squatted at his tail, and lifted his hips one more time.

Suddenly, her hands were empty, the dog just . . .
gone . . .
exploding in a spray of colored lights.

Natalie fell back, landing on her backside, then stared, jaw dropping, as a man appeared out of thin air . . . a huge, naked man lying on the floor right where the dog had been.