Wulfe Untamed

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.



She crab-walked back, the bed catching her in the shoulder blades. This isn’t happening.



The man groaned and began to stir. Natalie tensed, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she pushed herself to her feet, then sank onto the bed when her legs refused to hold her.



Slowly, the man sat up and leaned back against the door, his muscular body marred by half a dozen stab wounds, one on the shoulder . . . right where the dog’s had been.



This isn’t happening. Dogs don’t turn into men. They don’t!



But even as the argument roared in her head, her gaze took in the sight in front of her. The man was built, his waist narrow, his abs ripped, his biceps as thick as tree trunks, one adorned with a thick golden armband with what appeared to be the head of a wolf. His shoulders were easily half the width of her sofa. Her gaze continued up, reaching his face, and her heart clenched. Scars crisscrossed the flesh every which way, tugging down one of his lips, cutting across one eye. His body might be prime, but his face was made for nightmares. Within that ruined face, eyelids lifted revealing dark eyes that turned to her, contracting on a sheen of pain, radiating a dismay so raw it almost made her ache.



“I’m not going to hurt you, Natalie.” His voice was low and urgent as he struggled to his feet, grimacing. Towering over her—he had to be a full seven feet tall—he watched her with eyes filled with the same intelligence, the same gentleness she’d seen in Wolf’s. “I would never hurt you.”



She was shaking, her pulse racing, her stomach cramping from shock. But not from fear. Because as she stared into those dark eyes, she saw only truth and honor and kindness. And, odd as it was, she recognized the essence of the dog in the man.



“I would never hurt you,” he said again, his voice throbbing with sincerity and desperation that she believe him.



“I know,” she told him.



And she did.



I know.



Wulfe stared at Natalie, trying to catch his breath through the pain of the wounds that refused to heal, as realization hit him like a sledgehammer. Somehow, he’d shifted back into human form and stood in front of Natalie in all of his scarred, naked glory.



Goddess, when had he shifted? It couldn’t have been long because the draden had yet to find him again. And they would.



She stared at him, white as a sheet, clearly in shock.



I know. He’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her, and she’d replied, I know.



“How much do you remember?” He must have failed to take her memories of before or, at the very least, her memories of the small friendship that had bloomed between them in the Feral prison.



Sitting there, her hands clasped in her lap, she met his gaze with the calm strength he’d come to associate with her despite the fact she was visibly shaking. “I don’t remember much—the men breaking into my house, Wolf attacking them, getting stabbed.” She blanched. “You.” The word was uttered on an exhale, the last of her color draining away as she doubled over until her head rested on her knees. “This isn’t happening.”



He frowned, wanting to go to her, yet afraid he’d scare her more if he tried.



“Are you okay?” If only he could see her face. Reaching for his wounded shoulder, he encountered stickiness . . . and pain. The one in his side was the worst, but the Mage swords didn’t appear to have punctured anything vital, or he’d be fighting for his life by now. How did humans stand this . . . this . . . not healing?



“I feel a little faint.” Natalie slowly lifted her head, then straightened. Her color was back, if only a little, her usual calm cracked, but not shattered. Even in the dark, she shone with a glow that had nothing to do with the unnatural aura. So lovely.



Her brows drew together. “What are you?”



“A shape-shifter. Man to wolf.” He reached for the door, feeling exposed, feeling like a monster. “We need to get out of here, Natalie. Those men were Mage, evil, and their leader is going to send more of them as soon as he realizes the first group failed. They may already be on their way.”



“You’re injured.”



“I’ll heal.” He hoped.



“I don’t have clothes to fit you.” She rose unsteadily. “It’s pouring out there. I could give you a blanket.”



Something warm and thick moved through his chest. She was worried about his getting wet. “I’m going to have to return to my wolf form in a minute. I can’t remain in human form long at night, not . . .” Not unless he was in his truck or at Feral House or somewhere else that had been warded against the draden. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I know this is a lot to take in all at once.” He was a lot to take in, the way he looked, the way he’d killed, right in front of her. “You shouldn’t have seen any of this.”



She swallowed, nodding, shadows of the violence she’d witnessed darkening her eyes.



“I’m not going to hurt you. But we need to go.”



Straightening her shoulders, she shook her head. “I’m not going with you. I can’t. There are . . . dead bodies . . .” Her voice cracked, slicing open his heart. “I’m going to the police.”



His jaw tightened at all the reasons that wasn’t going to happen. The last thing they needed was for her to tell the human cops a crazy tale of a shape-shifting wolf, then bring them back to her house to round up all the dead bodies—bodies that would disintegrate suddenly, in a couple of days. Bodies that were not human.



His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he debated how to secure her cooperation. “Come home with me, Natalie. I can give you something the police can’t.”