Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)

Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8) Page 23

“Could you possibly have healed internal wounds?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter because I never even tried. I’d sought only to preserve her beauty.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I was vain, Natalie. I was full of my own beauty and strength and self-importance. And the goddess punished me for it, turning me into a monster none could stand the sight of.”

He pulled away from her, unable to bear her sorrowful gaze. “I didn’t learn. There you were, so beautiful, even with that wound, but I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t let you suffer. So I took your injury and made you a pawn of evil.”

He felt her hand on his back again, as if she hadn’t heard a word he said. He shuddered beneath her touch, hating it. Needing it.

“Wulfe, turn around.” Natalie’s words were so quiet, so gentle, he had to close his eyes against the aching tenderness of them. Slowly, he did as she asked, forcing himself to meet her gaze. In those gray depths, he found the same quiet gentleness he’d felt in her touch and heard in her voice.

She reached up as if to press her hands against his cheeks again, but he grabbed her wrists and stopped her.

“You didn’t hear anything I said.”

A sad smile breached her mouth. “I heard everything you said and much you didn’t say. I heard the story of a young man who knowingly destroyed his own handsome face in order to try to help a young woman he had only a passing interest in.”

“I let her die.”

“You didn’t know she was dying. You had no idea she’d been raped.”

“I should have. Her clothes were torn, her arms were scratched and bruised. I should have.”

“Maybe subconsciously you suspected, but such a fate for a virgin, one you cared about, was more than you could wrap your mind around, so you healed the wounds you could see. You tried, Wulfe. You sacrificed everything to try to save her.”

She pulled her hands out of his softening grip and reached for his cheeks again, and this time he didn’t stop her. “You view your scars as punishment for what you failed to prevent, marks proclaiming your guilt. I see them as marks of compassion, a reflection of the selfless nature of your soul.”

“It was my fault she died.”

“It was the fault of the men who attacked her. The only mistake you made was in missing an appointment, an assignation. If you’d believed she might come to harm in those woods, you wouldn’t have let her meet you there. You’d have escorted her out there.”

It was true. “The humans never came that far into our woods. Ever, until that day.” And they never did again. He’d tracked them down, every one.

“Exactly. The very fact that you’ve taken that guilt and owned it for so long proves what a good, unselfish man you really are.”

He shook his head even as her fingers traced the ruined shape of his mouth.

“You are the kindest, most gentle, most extraordinary man I’ve ever known.”

Wulfe stared at her. She didn’t understand. How could she be watching him with such softness in her eyes after what he’d told her? His hands found her waist, whether to push her away, or hold on to her, he wasn’t sure. But the next thing he knew, he was pulling her closer, needing her closer.

Natalie smiled and continued to stroke his face, her fingers tracing his crooked nose. “You’re a part Daemon, shape-shifting immortal. How do you even exist? Yet I’m so glad you do.”

“You’d be safer if I didn’t.”

“Not true. If not for you and your friends, I’d be dead. Daemon bait.” Soft fingers traced his eyebrows, making his heart clench, making his arms ache to lock her against him and never let her go. But he forced himself to do nothing, to simply hold on to her waist as she explored his ruined face.

“You’re beautiful, Wulfe.”

“You’re blind.” He sucked in a breath, afraid he’d offended her. But the sweet smile she gifted him with melted him instead.

“There’s so much more to you than your scars. I wish you could see that. I wish you could see what I see, the gentleness, the fierceness in defense of the vulnerable, and the honor, and valor, and goodness. Your skin may be scarred, but it doesn’t dim your beauty, not even a little.”

So mesmerized was he by her words and her soft touches that he barely registered what she was doing until the fingers she’d burrowed into his hair suddenly gripped his head and pulled him toward her.

Natalie kissed him, full on the mouth.

Wulfe shuddered at the sweetness of her warm lips brushing his, closing his eyes against the torrent of emotion that flowed into him through that small joining, lighting him up inside. He gathered her closer, kissing her back, gentle, tender kisses on her lips, her soft cheeks, her eyes, her forehead. Tenderness welled up hot and full until he felt as if his chest would crack open from the pressure of it.

Beneath his hands, she began to tremble. He heard the soft catch of her breath and felt the tension coiling in her body. The musk of her desire wove around him, filling his mind until his own hands began to shake. She wanted him. Her rising passion transmitted itself to him through the fingers still burrowing in his hair. But his body refused to respond, and it saddened him beyond measure.

Slowly, he pulled back, meeting her gaze, slain by the heat in gray eyes turned silver. He stroked her cheek, then caressed her silken hair. “I can’t give you more, Natalie. I wish I could.”

A shudder escaped her on a hard, pent-up breath. Disappointment pinched her eyes, and she dropped her gaze. “You’re not into me in that way. That’s too bad, but I understand.”

Gripping her chin, he forced her to look at him. “Then you understand nothing. Mentally, I yearn to strip you naked, toss you onto that bed, and follow you down.”

“Wulfe.” Her eyes went molten with desire, and he kicked himself for a moron.

“But my body and mind are no longer connected in that way. I was mated . . . married . . . to our previous Radiant, Beatrice, for over 140 years. She died nine months ago in a Mage attack. It damaged me, Natalie, in many, many ways. I no longer . . . rise . . . with desire, not for any woman. Food has lost its taste, colors their brilliance. My senses and my libido are shot, and I don’t think they’re ever coming back.”

“It’s more than . . . you know . . . ?”

“Impotence?” He snorted. “Yeah. I can get it up manually. And I can get off . . . pardon my crudeness. But I can’t feel. I can’t want.” He stroked her hair, loving the springy feel. “If I could, I would want you. Only you.”

The disappointment in her eyes slipped away, turning them incandescent. “Do you enjoy touching me? Holding me?”

He nodded slowly, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I love touching you.”

The smile she gave him was nothing short of brilliant, stealing his breath. Had the goddess ever created a woman more beautiful?

“Good,” she said. “Even if you can’t give me more, I’d very much like for you to touch me, or hold me. Do you like to cuddle?”

He grinned. “I’m a wolf.” His heart rose, feeling lighter than it had in a long, long time, as if a terrible weight had been lifted. And maybe it had.

She laughed. “I want whatever you can give me.”

“I could bring you pleasure.” The thought tantalized.

Her lashes swept down, her breath turned ragged. When she looked at him again, her eyes were smoking. But she shook her head. “Maybe later. For now, just hold me, Wulfe.”

His animal whined with pleasure.

“There’s nothing I’d enjoy more.” He lifted her into his arms in a move that felt as natural as breathing, then deposited her on the bed, and joined her. As he pulled her into his arms, his world righted itself, the terrible tension escaping his limbs as he cradled her against him, her precious head on his chest. He stroked her silken hair, filled with an incredible sweetness, marveling at the miracle of her acceptance, and vowed that if he managed to do nothing else right, he would keep her safe.

But deep down, he feared that he’d already failed.

Chapter Fifteen

Natalie reveled in the feel of Wulfe’s strong arms around her as they lay together, fully clothed, on his bed. His body was like granite, his arms as thick as tree trunks, yet he held her so gently, as if she were made of the most fragile glass. He smelled of dark forests and sunlit meadows, and his warm, masculine scent intoxicated her. His jaw rested against her head, her cheek against his shoulder, and nothing had ever felt so intimate, so right.

She’d lain like this with Rick from time to time, but she’d never felt as if they shared the same air, as if their hearts beat in time. And she did with Wulfe.

Her arm curled tighter around his waist as love, pure and bright, rushed up inside of her, stinging her eyes. Nothing would likely ever come of it. Certainly nothing physical. But she longed to pull off his shirt and rub her cheek against his bare chest. She longed to feel his nakedness pressed against hers. The thought shattered her breath. But he didn’t feel the same, he couldn’t feel the same after the damage he’d suffered.

If she could just be something to him, make a difference to him in some way. Sliding her hand across his chest, she looked up at him. “Wulfe, I know what Strome said, that pulling the primal energies through me could be dangerous. But if you ever need to, if it’s the only way you’re going to beat Satanan, don’t hesitate.”

Rolling onto his side, he levered himself onto one elbow and stared down at her with vehement eyes. “I will never use you in that way, Natalie. Never.” He stroked her cheek, his fingers as gentle as rain despite the intensity of his look.

“If the time ever comes . . .”

“No.”

“I’m willing to make sacrifices, too.”

He covered her lips with his finger, his eyes luminous. “I know. But I will never be okay with anything that harms you.”

He tensed suddenly, going still as a frozen pond.

“Wulfe?”

“Shhh,” he said quietly, his gaze rising to the ceiling even as he stroked her hair.

Impatiently, she waited for him to explain, loving the sweet feel of his hand on her head. Finally, his body relaxed on a deep breath and an exhale. His head dipped, resting lightly against her temple and she stroked his hair in return, thrilled to finally be able to do so.

“I heard Inir and Satanan again,” he murmured.

“Anything important?”

He lifted his head and stroked her cheek. “Yes and no.”

His fingers traced her nose, her eyebrows, her ear, his touch so gentle, so sweet. Her heart contracted even as her pulse kicked up, her breathing turning shallow. If only touching her affected him in the same way.

“Satanan’s mad that the Mage keep failing. I’m kind of amused. Inir started out the one in charge, with Satanan nothing more than an advisor, but Inir’s starting to get pushed aside.” He grunted. “That should probably scare the crap out of me.”

“Do you need to tell Lyon?” She stroked his cheek, her finger tracing one scar in particular, the one she knew to be hers.

He watched her, his body tensing slightly as she traced that scar. “I’ll tell him when I go downstairs. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Good. I don’t want you to leave.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, his nostrils flaring, and he buried his nose against her neck. “You smell like heaven.” Slowly he lifted his head, longing filling his eyes. “I want to touch you.”

Her breath trembled out, heat racing straight to her core. “Anywhere. However . . . wherever . . . you want.”

She felt him shudder, watched his eyes fill with soft wonder as his warm hand burrowed beneath the hem of her shirt to palm her abdomen.

Her breath caught. Mesmerized, she watched his face lower, felt his lips on her jaw, then her neck. She turned her head, giving him full access, gasping with pleasure as his tongue stroked her pulse point.

As heat suffused her body, she buried her fingers in his hair, trailing them down his neck to his broad shoulders. “Does it bother you that I’m so affected by you when you can’t . . . reciprocate?”

His lips brushed her jaw. “I’m in awe that you’re affected by my touch.” The truth rang in his words and throbbed in the tenderness of his lips as he rained kisses on her cheek, her temple, her brow. “I love the way you smell, the way you taste.” His hand slid up and over one breast. His breath hitched. “The way you feel.”

As his strong fingers caressed her breast through her bra with infinite tenderness, he rose to look down into her face, his eyes shining with a soft need that lacked a carnal sharpness. “I want to see you.”

Arching her back, she reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Pulling her shirt off over her head, she tossed both onto the far side of the bed, then lay back. With a shiver of excitement, she watched as Wulfe reached for her, the most reverent expression on his face.

His big hands stroked her with featherlight touches as he gazed at her breasts as if they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. His thumb traced one tight nipple, making her gasp. With a flick of his gaze to hers, he lowered his face, tracing that same bud with his tongue. Sensation shot straight through her, making her gasp and arch into his touch. Her hands slid into his hair and she cradled him close as his lips explored her, tasted her, sucked her flesh into his warm mouth.

By the time he lifted his face and met her gaze again, her body was flushed with need, her breath a wreck. In his eyes, she saw joy tempered by uncertainty.