Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)

Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8) Page 31

Quickly, the Ferals gathered into a circle around the rock, Lyon depositing Kara in the middle, cupping her face.

“Take your time, little one.”

“I can do this, Lyon. I will do it.”

But, goddess, the woman looked like death warmed over. She swayed, dipping her head as if holding it up was too much effort.

“Roar?” Paenther asked.

“Pulling the radiance earlier took a lot out of her,” Lyon admitted, stroking his mate’s head. “But this is what she needs.”

“I’ll pull it,” Kara said so softly, Zeeland barely heard her.

Finally, Lyon stepped back and took his place. “The warding will keep Zeeland from escaping if he’s been marked by one of the still-infected animal spirits and the darkness takes him. If he turns into the eagle or sabertooth, both of which should be clear of the poison, now, we’re good. If not, the Ilinas will whisk the rest of us out of here so that he doesn’t injure anyone while Ariana cures him.”

The thought that he might, like Ewan, be turned to evil, even temporarily, raked at his mind. But the Ferals had been taken by surprise by the first batch of new Ferals, unaware they’d been infected. They would not be caught unaware again.

Golden armbands gleamed in the bright setting sun as Kougar began to chant in some kind of ancient language, and the others joined him. How they expected him to learn all this well enough to pass it on, he didn’t know. The thought that he still might have to be the keeper of the Feral legacy smothered his euphoria, dampening his joy. But he would do what must be done, no matter the cost or the difficulty, as he always had.

Kougar lifted the ritual knife and cut his palm, then curled his fingers into a fist around the blood and handed the knife to Lyon who did the same. Each warrior followed, one after another. Finally, Paenther handed the knife to Zeeland and motioned with his head for him to follow suit. When he had, Kougar shoved his fist into the air and the others followed.

“Little Radiant,” Lyon said softly, his tone tight with worry.

From where she sat on the stone, Kara attempted to lift her arms to the sky, her face pale, her eyes dulled from the poison that had attacked her too many times as she brought evil Ferals into their animals without knowing it. But her arms dropped again, as if too heavy for her.

“Kara.” Lyon’s voice throbbed with misery. He knelt at her side, stroking her hair.

“I can do this,” their Radiant said, her voice determined if far too soft.

Lyon kissed the top of her head and once more took his place in the circle.

“Shite!” Fox exclaimed suddenly. “I just lost my animal.”

“Fuck,” Jag muttered. The hopeful air disintegrated into a tight, heavy cloud of tension. The last of the Feral lights had gone out. Zeeland’s own had yet to come on. Inir’s evil Ferals were beginning the ritual to free the Daemons from the Daemon Blade.

The race was on.

“It’ll be close,” Paenther murmured.

Or not close at all, if Kara couldn’t pull the radiance.

This time, Kara pressed her palms to the stone beneath her, closing her eyes, and tilting her head back, her face tight with lines of concentration. The seconds ticked by, then a minute. Two. Zeeland’s pulse pounded as he prayed for her to find the strength she needed. Come on, Kara. Come on, sweetheart.

Silence blanketed the goddess stone as every man and woman held his or her breath, waiting. Praying. If this didn’t work . . .

Suddenly, Kara went radiant, light erupting within her, a dim glow at first that quickly grew brighter and brighter until it shone through her skin as if she’d swallowed a small piece of the sun. Zeeland’s mind sang with relief and excitement, his gaze finding Julianne’s as she stood beside Ariana, his heart warming.

“Stay where you are, Zeeland,” Lyon ordered. “If you touch her without an armband, the radiance will kill you.”

As the rest of the Ferals stepped forward, closing around Kara, clasping her arms or ankles, or pressing a palm to the top of her head, Zeeland remained still, and watched. Kougar was the first to release Kara and walk toward him. He pressed his bloodied fist on top of Zeeland’s. The others joined them, Lyon pressing his fist atop Kougar’s, Paenther’s atop Lyon’s, Wulfe’s atop Paenther’s. One by one they added their blood until all pressed close around him.

Kougar began to chant, switching to English as the others joined in. “Spirits rise and join. Empower the beasts beneath this moon. Goddess, reveal your warrior!”

Thunder rumbled across the clear sunset sky, a roar of powerful magic. The rock beneath Zeeland’s feet trembled, as if in anticipation. Or dread. Zeeland’s pulse thudded in his ears. Power raced through his body, a joy and pleasure and rightness of extraordinary proportions. And suddenly his vision shifted until he was staring at the belts of the males and female encircling him. His senses exploded—sights, sounds, scents. He heard the heartbeats of every person around him, smelled them individually.

A cheer went up.

“The sabertooth!” Jag cried. “So it was you the animal meant to mark, not that bastard Maxim.”

Incredible. A saber-toothed tiger, an animal not seen in nature in ten thousand years.

“Shift back, Zeeland,” Kougar said. “Choose to be a man once more, and it will be so.”

Zeeland did as he was told and in a burst of colorful lights and intense pleasure, he shifted back into a man. And he still had his pants on!

The others gathered around him, clapping him on the back and slapping forearms with him.

“Henceforth,” Kougar intoned. “You will be known as Zaber.”

“Kara,” Paenther breathed and all turned to find Lyon grinning as he lifted Kara high, their Radiant’s face aglow with health, at last.

The moment Lyon set Kara on her feet again, she strode to Zeeland and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him close.

“Thank you, Zee. You just saved my life.”

“It’s my honor, Radiant. You may have just saved the world.”

The reminder was like ice water, dousing the jubilation. As one they turned to Wulfe. But even before Wulfe uttered a word, the paleness of his skin told them all they needed to know.

Tighe scowled. “We didn’t get Zeeland brought into his animal in time.”

“No.” A mix of fury and pain glowed in Wulfe’s eyes. “For a few minutes the only Ferals who registered were Inir’s evil ones. It was enough. They’ve begun the ritual to free the Daemons.”

Chapter Twenty-one

“How long do we have before they free the Daemons?” Lyon demanded, pushing himself off the ground in the backyard of Feral House where the Ilinas had deposited them after bringing Zeeland . . . now Zaber . . . into his animal.

Wulfe rose beside him, his mind numb, still ringing with Inir’s triumphant shout. In that strange place inside him that Wulfe was beginning to think of as his Daemon soul, he could swear he felt that blade coming alive, little by little. He could feel it preparing to open.

“It’s impossible to know,” Kougar replied, watching them with the dispassion that had once been such a part of his nature and was now only a façade. “But I don’t think the Daemon Blade will open quickly. It was never meant to open at all.” He reached for his mate. “Ariana and I will mist to West Virginia, first. If Inir expanded his anti-Ilina warding, we need to know.”

“And if Ariana bursts into flames?” Lyon asked. They’d lost an Ilina to the warding the last time they’d tried to reach Inir, desperate to rescue Kara.

Ariana kissed her mate. “I’m going alone. I’ll test for the warding as I approach the mountain.”

As Kougar opened his mouth as if to protest, she disappeared.

Behind him, the back door opened and Wulfe turned to find Natalie rushing toward him, the sunlight in her hair. His heart tumbled. He opened his arms, and she ran straight into them.

“You’re going,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Get your weapons!” Lyon called to the group, then turned to Olivia. “Is the Guard ready?”

“Ready and waiting, Lyon.” Olivia threw her arms around a bright-eyed Kara as the other wives gathered around them. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Wulfe kissed Natalie’s forehead. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He raced into the house, where several other Ferals were already retrieving their shirts, boots, and weapons. A minute later, dressed and armed, he strode back out through the dining room and into the sun just as Ariana returned.

“The spot we landed last time is still safe,” Ariana announced as Kougar hauled her against him, burying his face in her hair.

Wulfe returned to Natalie, pulling her close. “Wish me luck.”

Instead, she kissed his cheek. “Be careful.” Turning to him fully, she reached for him, cupping his face with her hands, meeting his gaze with a look of such unbounded love that it made his breath catch. He reached for her hips, pulling her close, drinking in her warmth, her sweetness, her strength.

“Wulfe.” His name sighed from her lips. “You are the finest man I’ve ever known. I know you can do this.”

He stared into those calm gray eyes. “Goddess, how I love you.” He kissed her, softly at first, tenderly, with wonder and care. Then more fiercely as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back as if staking her claim. As if sealing their fate.

“Wulfe!” Paenther called. “We’re going.”

With difficulty, Wulfe pulled away, but continued to touch her, stroking her cheek, sliding his head down her soft, silken hair. “Stay in the house. There are Ilinas here to watch over all of you and to mist you away if there’s any danger.”

She nodded, but they both knew the greatest danger to her was nothing the Ilinas could keep her safe from. It was Satanan.

“Wulfe, get us to that fortress!” Lyon called.

The Allegheny Mountains rose all around them, thick with spruce and hardwoods beneath a rose-colored sunset sky. Wulfe turned toward the direction he knew Inir’s fortress to lie, the direction he felt in his Daemon blood would lead him to Satanan, and started to run. Goddess, he could feel the son of a bitch.

Behind him, his Feral brothers and sister, and the more than 150 Therian Guards, mobilized. The pounding of their feet vibrated across the mountainside, resonating deep in his blood. They were an impressive force though they’d have been far more so if the Ferals were still able to shift. At least they had one shifter among them, now. Zeeland.

Wulfe picked up speed, the knowledge that the evil Ferals were even now opening the Daemon Blade screaming like a siren in his head. For five thousand years, they and their Feral predecessors had kept Satanan from breaking free. Now they were minutes away from failure. Their only chance of success meant battling fully shifting, fully immortal evil Ferals. Goddess knew, it wouldn’t be a picnic, but at this point, he didn’t give a damn. He was so tired of sitting on his ass, so ready to fight!

“We’ve only got about an hour until the draden come out,” Hawke commented, as they ran. No longer able to shift, they’d be sitting ducks.

Vhyper grunted. “If we haven’t stopped the ritual in an hour, it’s not going to matter. We’re going to be dead either way.”

“We’ve got company,” Paenther warned. “Mage. More than a dozen of them.”

“We’ll take care of them,” Olivia called.

As half the Guard peeled off, Wulfe pressed forward, Lyon on one side of him, Paenther on the other, the rest of the Ferals close behind.

The seconds ticked away with his heartbeats, and he felt every fucking one. They had miles to go. Miles. And in addition to the Mage welcoming committee, they still had warding to get through and possibly something far worse. The last time they’d tried to breach this mountain, they’d found themselves eyeballs deep in a mind fuck of a labyrinth. If not for Fox, they might still be lost in there.

As the sound of battle rose behind them, Wulfe’s muscles tensed with the need to join in. Around him, he felt the restlessness of his brothers and knew he wasn’t the only one. It wasn’t in a Feral’s nature to run away from a fight, but the bigger battle lay ahead. And there was no time to waste.

The clouds rolled in suddenly, dark and full. The wind began to whip.

“Dead Mage,” Jag murmured, his voice tight and hard. It must be killing the male to remain with his Feral brothers when Olivia, his mate, was leading the charge in that battle.

Thunder rumbled across the sky. Mother Nature got pissy when her Mage, who’d once been as close to nature spirits as any being alive, were killed. The rain began to fall, hitting Wulfe’s shoulders, sliding through his hair.

Moments later, as he crested the rise, Wulfe saw what he’d been looking for—the curtain of shimmering color, blues and purples and reds, rippling and flaring across the entire landscape. In front of it sat a small, crystalline lake, its surface boiling with raindrops.

He raised his hand and slowed. “The warding.”

“I still can’t see it,” Hawke murmured.

“Good thing we have Daemon Eyes on our side,” Jag said.

“Wait here while I test it,” Wulfe commanded, surprised at how comfortable the mantle of leadership felt on his shoulders. He’d been good at this once, in the old days. Until the goddess took umbrage and struck it all away. Would she do so again? The thought had his gut clenching.

The warding flowed, swaying back and forth like a sheet on a clothesline on a breezy day. “It looks thicker than before,” he told the others, his voice partly drowned out by a hard crack of thunder. “Far more substantial.” Energy sparked and spit as if the warding had been supercharged and was still plugged into some giant electrical outlet.