Finally, Melisande appeared, a swaying Natalie in her arms. “They were hit by two cars, one on either side. They must have been waiting for them on the cross streets as they traveled down Georgetown Pike.”

Wulfe grabbed Natalie, pulling her tight against him. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Just . . . dizzy.”

“Ilina travel will do that.” He cupped the back of her head, pressing her face to his bare shoulder as he held her, as he drank in the feel of her body, whole and warm, against his.

Her arms slid around him, and his heart sighed with pleasure and rightness and relief. They stood like that until Tighe, Jag, and Paenther walked in the front door about ten minutes later. None of them appeared the worse for wear. Reluctantly, Wulfe released Natalie as she pulled away and went to sit on the stairs a few feet from him.

“The fuckers sandwiched us,” Jag growled.

“They trapped us good,” Tighe confirmed. “The car in front of me spun sideways, blocking me just as I came even with the intersection. The moment I stopped, the two vehicles flew at us from either side, slamming on their breaks at the last minute, pinning the doors closed.”

“So you weren’t injured,” Lyon confirmed.

“No. They barely tapped the Rover. And the moment Melisande disappeared with Natalie, they backed up and drove away.”

Wulfe glanced at Natalie. “Satanan can sense us.”

“All of us?” Tighe asked. “Or just you and Natalie.”

“I’m not sure. The latter, I think. He knew I was at her house. He knew she’d left just now. And that I hadn’t.”

“How?” Lyon demanded. “You, I understand. You have Daemon blood. But how is he sensing Natalie? Does she have some kind of tracker on her?”

“You have Daemon blood?” Natalie asked, her voice low and shocked.

“Just a little.” But apparently too damned much. He turned back to Lyon. “My instincts say it has something to do with her aura. Whatever it is, he wants us. Both of us.” Wulfe growled low. “And he’s not going to succeed.”

“Neither of you is to leave this house, again,” Lyon said. “Paenther, increase surveillance. I want to know where those Mage are, and I want someone watching them every moment. They’re too damn close if they were able to set up a trap within minutes of your getting into the vehicle.” He turned back to Tighe. “Any witnesses?”

“Hard to say, but I didn’t see anyone snapping pictures. It happened fast, Roar. A minute, tops.” Tighe glanced at Natalie. “And you still haven’t made those calls.”

“I can mist her out of the area,” Melisande said. “We’ll be in and out of there before the Mage can follow.” Without Ilina allies, the Mage still had to travel the old-fashioned way—cars and planes.

Wulfe met Lyon’s gaze, a hardness in his eyes he’d rarely turned on his chief. “Natalie goes nowhere without me.”

Lyon just stared at him, the need to argue clear in his expression. Wulfe understood all the logical reasoning against their both leaving together, but it didn’t matter. Inside, his wolf growled in agreement.

Lyon’s jaw clenched, then he turned to Melisande. “Take them somewhere that’s far enough that the Mage won’t be able to reach them in time, but close enough that Natalie might have logically driven there herself.”

“Cape May is nice this time of year,” Natalie said, rising to her feet.

“New Jersey?” Lyon nodded and turned to Wulfe. “All right. Take backup. And get her in and out of there fast.”

Something brushed across Wulfe’s mind, a voice, a whisper. “Daemon?”

Wulfe blinked, dropping his gaze before anyone saw his dismay. As his head began to pound, he realized the voice . . . this voice . . . didn’t have the same feel as Satanan’s and Inir’s. He felt no . . . malevolence. Just a demand of sorts, to answer. To reply.

Why couldn’t the fucking Daemons leave him the fuck alone?

“Wulfe?” Lyon asked sharply.

Shaking his head, he forced his attention back on the situation at hand. “Cape May, it is,” he said. “I’ll grab some clothes and be right down.” As he climbed the stairs, his stomach clenched. His Daemon blood was awakening, and goddess only knew what that meant. Nothing good. Of a certainty, nothing good.

“Again.”

Zeeland put his troops through their paces in the gym below Feral House, watching the hand-to-hand combat with satisfaction. There was a tension in the room that hadn’t been there this morning, a new gravity in the eyes of every Therian Guard who’d witnessed the ritual in the backyard a short while ago.

They’d watched three of the Feral Warriors, the guardians of the race, fail to shift. And for the first time, most finally understood the desperate situation they could soon be facing. He could see the knowledge in the tightness of their jaws and the fierceness of their focus as they trained.

Many had viewed this assignment as a rare opportunity to visit Feral House and meet the Feral Warriors. Now, they finally understood that Inir was close to winning. And if the Ferals fell, the Therian Guard would be on the front line of a brand-new Daemon war.

It was enough to make the blood run cold.

“Zee.”

Zeeland turned to find Olivia standing in the doorway. He’d worked with the petite redhead on and off for decades and knew her to be one of the finest warriors in the Guard.

“Lyon wants a word.”

Zeeland nodded and turned back to his troops. “Ryland’s in charge.” He followed Olivia up the steep cellar stairs and through the foyer. When they reached Lyon’s door, the Chief of the Ferals motioned them to enter.

“Close the door, Zeeland,” he said. “Both of you have a seat.” Lyon folded his hands on his desk, his eyes grave, his expression pinched as he met Zeeland’s gaze. “If the worst happens, and the current Ferals cease to be, Feral House and her occupants will be in your hands.”

Zeeland started, his gut cramping at the thought.

“Olivia will be your second,” Lyon continued. “If she’s able to fulfill that role.”

If she was able. Understanding washed over him slowly. Olivia was a strong, capable leader, and had been for centuries, but she was now mated to one of the Ferals. And if Jag died, there was no telling what the severed mating bond might do to her. She might not be capable of leading at all.

“There are many things our replacements will need to know.” Though Lyon’s words were calm and contained, a thread of desolation lent them a flatness that weighed on Zeeland. “Hawke is writing it all down and will go over everything with the two of you plus two or three others of your choosing—Therians you trust above all others, Zeeland. You must learn everything—our rituals, our ways, all the secrets we’ve amassed over five millennia. With us gone, you’ll be the only ones who can pass it on.”

The terrible responsibility settled heavily on Zeeland’s shoulders. Misery clawed at his guts. The Ferals—a couple of whom were close personal friends—might soon cease to exist, leaving their wives to suffer their loss for an eternity. All of them had been only recently mated, from what he understood. A month ago, not only had Fox, one of Zeeland’s oldest friends, not yet met Melisande, he had yet to be marked a Feral. By everything that was right, the male should be on top of the world. Yet just as his life had taken this pair of rare and wonderful turns, the Mage and their evil threatened to rip it all away.

The thought of leaving his beloved Julianne alone, damaged and unprotected, was beyond bearing, and he knew the Ferals must be feeling that same excruciating dread.

“We’ll do what must be done, Lyon. Nothing will be lost.”

“Protect our mates and Tighe’s child, Zeeland, as if they were your own. See to it that they’re safe, above all else. If we fail, we’ll be leaving you a hell beyond imagining. I don’t intend to fail,” he added fiercely. “But neither can I bury my head in the sand and risk leaving our replacements defenseless. You, hopefully with Olivia’s help, will train them, guide them. I know I can count on you.”

“Absolutely.”

Lyon stood, dismissing him. But as Zeeland rose to leave, Lyon extended his hand, too far. Zeeland took the gesture—the Feral greeting—for what it was, a show of respect and a heartfelt thank you.

The two men slapped forearms, exchanged nods, and parted. All his life, Zeeland had dreamed of someday being marked a Feral Warrior. But as he left Lyon’s office, Olivia close behind, he thanked the goddess that dream had never come true.

Wulfe stood in the shade behind a B&B near the beach in Cape May, New Jersey. The four Ilinas who’d brought them had turned back to mist and kept silent watch. Paenther and Jag had each moved to opposite sides of the yard.

Natalie stood a few feet in front of Wulfe, talking to her office manager in the crisp, professional manner of the medical professional she was. He liked watching her like this, imagining her in her white lab coat peering into the eyes of her human patients. Maybe she didn’t wear a white lab coat. He’d have to ask her. Though he knew what an optometrist did, he’d never been to see one himself. Therian eyes never required glasses. Except sunglasses, of course.

“I’ll be out all week,” she said, then glanced at Wulfe. “Yes, I’ll definitely be back in the office next Tuesday.” Uncertainty twisted her pretty mouth despite the certainty in her tone. “Thanks, Cheryl. Cell service is spotty here, so if you need me, leave a message. I’ll get back to you when I can.” She hung up, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Wulfe could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Now my mom,” she muttered, clearly not looking forward to the prospect. “Mom, it’s me. I’m taking a little much-needed vacation. No, I’m fine, I promise. I just needed . . .”

As Wulfe watched, Natalie’s face began to contort in pain. Wulfe realized what was happening and knew she wasn’t going to be able to finish this conversation. Reaching her, he slid the phone from loose, slender fingers, disconnected the call, and shoved her phone in his back pocket as he pulled her into his arms.

“My cheek,” she gasped.

“I know.” His hand covered half of her face as he tucked her close against him. Her sweet scent filled his lungs, her hair brushing his chin, her lush curves an exquisite temptation as they pressed against his body. One part of his mind erupted in thoughts of touching those curves, of exploring every inch of her sweet flesh. But her body was still rigid with pain. The only touch that mattered didn’t seem to be working.

His pulse began to hammer. “It’s still just your cheek?”

The tears were starting to leak from her eyes. “Yes. It feels . . . like it’s on fire. Wulfe.”

He pulled her closer, concentrating harder on easing her misery, feeling helpless. And furious. Come on, you son of a bitch pain. Leave her alone! Finally, finally, the rigidity began to ease from her body.

“There,” she gasped.

“Better?”

“Yes. Yes.” She sagged against him, the tension draining out of her.

He lifted his hand from her face and pulled her tighter against him. “You’re okay, now?”

She took another deep breath and released a long, shaky sigh. “It’s gone.” Stepping out of his embrace, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “That was no fun.”

No fun. He smiled at her understatement and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Let’s get home.”

She jerked. “Wulfe, I can’t leave my mom wondering what happened to me. I have to finish the call.”

Even as she said the words, her phone started to vibrate in Wulfe’s back pocket.

With a sigh, he handed it back to her.

“Hi, Mom. Sorry. I accidentally disconnected us, then had trouble finding a signal again. Cape May,” she said after a short break. Her gaze met his. “I’m going to soak up the sun, enjoy the scenery, and get some badly needed rest. No, I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”

As she met his gaze, a look of helplessness in her eyes, a familiar buzzing erupted in Wulfe’s ears. Red smoke rushed in to cloud his vision. Before he could say a single word to warn Natalie or his brothers, the darkness once more swept him up and away.

“Mom, why don’t you stay in Birmingham with Aunt Deb a little while longer? You might as well.”

Natalie saw the instant Wulfe’s eyes changed. One moment he was watching her with soft sympathy, the next, the cold indifference of an unpleasant stranger. Her pulse leaped as she remembered the last time.

“Mom, I have to go,” she said suddenly, struggling to keep her voice even. “Love you!” She hung up quickly. “Paenther!”

But even as she yelled, Wulfe scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs and send the phone flying from her fingertips.

“Wulfe!” Jag shouted.

“Melisande,” Paenther called, low. “Get them out of here. Backyard of Feral House. And warn Lyon!”

A moment later, Natalie’s vision flipped end over end, the landscape disappearing into darkness, then bright sunlight as she found herself staring at soft grass beneath her hands and knees. Half a dozen yards away, Wulfe knelt, retching in the grass. Seconds later, Paenther and Jag knelt on either side of him.

The back doors of Feral House burst open, Lyon racing out, followed closely by Kougar and Tighe.

“What happened?” Lyon demanded.

“He wasn’t himself,” Melisande stated. “He grabbed Natalie hard enough to hurt her and started running with her over his shoulder.”