“What about your fiancé?”

“We broke off our engagement this morning.” Right after Wulfe left, she realized.

“Do I need to beat the shit out of him?”

At the anger in his low words, Natalie looked over her shoulder to find him watching her with righteous fury. Affection welled up inside her, hot and fast.

“No. I was the one who broke it off, but he wasn’t surprised.”

Slowly, the anger drained from his face. “Why not?”

She started to answer, then hesitated, thinking it through. “I suppose we’d both begun to realize he wasn’t the man for me.”

Wulfe turned still as stone. “Is there another?”

She hesitated. “No.” But as she stared into those dark eyes, something soft fluttered inside of her. A wish. A longing. There could be. But she didn’t say the words out loud. He was a godlike immortal, and she was merely a human caught up in something she should never have known existed. If all went as hoped, soon she wouldn’t even remember him. Or that Xavier lived.

Her heart plummeted.

“I’ll talk to Lyon about those phone calls,” Wulfe assured her. As she started back down, he asked, “What will you tell them?”

She thought about that for a moment. “I’ll say that I need to get away for a little while. I don’t think anyone will judge me considering all that’s happened. And if they do, so what? It’s better for them to judge me than to search for me.”

When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Wulfe moved past her, leading the way down a wide hallway lit by mock-gas lanterns, giving the space an old-time, atmospheric feel. A feel that quickly dissipated as he opened one of the doors along the hallway and, flipping a switch, illuminated a huge workshop filled with every kind of power tool known to man.

Wulfe pulled open a drawer in a wall unit filled with them, digging out a handful of small items.

“Here,” he said, and dropped several pieces of dead-bolt hardware into her palm before grabbing a screwdriver and drill.

“Ready?” he asked, and headed back for the door.

As Natalie followed him out, she heard people on the stairs and watched three enter the hallway a moment later, two males and a female. The males were dressed just like Wulfe, naked except for a pair of workout shorts. The woman wore only a sports bra with her shorts. All three eyed her with friendly curiosity.

“Need help?” one of the men asked Wulfe. He was a nice-looking male with a long face and steepled brows. His hand curved across the shoulders of the woman, and she leaned into him as if the pair were two parts of a whole. The woman was cute, with dark, blue-tipped hair and a winning smile.

“Boyo,” the third in the group said, striding forward and greeting Wulfe in the same manner Lyon and Jag had. This male was startlingly handsome in a cover-model kind of way, his hair falling to his shoulders in golden waves, his features utterly perfect in his strong-boned face.

“Fox,” Wulfe said to the golden warrior, a smile lifting his mouth. He turned to the first male and greeted him in the same manner. “I’m good, Hawke. We’re going to put some locks on the door and windows of the bedchamber beside mine. Lyon’s orders, if Natalie’s to avoid the prisons this time.”

Hawke turned to her, his expression surprised, but kind. “Hello, Natalie.” He held out his hand, and she shook it. Glancing at Wulfe, he lifted one of those steepled brows. “She’s here.”

“Ten Mage sentinels broke into her house tonight.”

Fox whistled. “Ten against one and yet here you are, boyo. Wish I’d been there to see that.” His voice held an unmistakable Irish brogue.

“I wish you’d been there to help,” Wulfe replied. “Inir wanted her.”

A dark look passed between the men and the woman.

“Hi, Wulfe.” The woman thrust out her hand to Wulfe and he greeted her as he had the men, though without the same ease. She turned to Natalie, smiled, and extended her hand. “I’m Faith.” She gave her head a little shake. “Falkyn. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Finally? So we haven’t met before.”

“No, but your brother talks about you constantly. He’s very proud of you.”

Natalie smiled. “As I am of him.”

“He’s a good chap,” Fox said, smiling. “Welcome, Natalie.” And he shook her hand, too.

Lyon might not trust her, entirely, but the other shape-shifters were openly warm and friendly.

“Doing a little training?” Wulfe asked.

Hawke nodded, sending Falkyn a look of such deep adoration it made Natalie’s heart ache a little. Had Rick ever looked at her like that? If she were perfectly honest, no. Nor had she ever felt that deeply about him. They’d gotten along famously, enjoying many of the same pastimes. But he’d never been necessary to her, she knew that now.

“Falkyn’s skills are improving by leaps and bounds, but I want her to be the best fighter among us.”

Falkyn rolled her eyes with a grin and met Natalie’s curious gaze. “I’m the first female Feral Warrior in centuries, and I shift into a falcon. Not exactly Godzilla. He’s determined to make me invincible anyway.”

Hawke smiled. “I am.”

Falkyn gave Natalie a little wave and headed past them, deeper into the underground, the two males following.

“How many of you did I meet on my first visit here?” Natalie asked as she started up the stairs, Wulfe close behind. “I got the feeling Hawke, Fox, and Falkyn were all meeting me for the first time.”

“They were. None of them were here last time. The only ones you met were Lyon and his mate, Kara, and Paenther, Jag, and me.”

“Because you kept us in the prisons.”

“Yes. You were unconscious most of that time. We figured the less you saw and learned, the easier it would be to take your memories later.”

She stiffened at the implications of that. “How difficult will it be to take my memories this time?” He clearly wasn’t minimizing what she was seeing . . . or learning.

“Natalie,” he said quietly behind her.

She stopped and turned to him, only a single step between them.

He met her gaze, his eyes at once soft and fierce. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

They’d both heard Lyon. Wulfe knew as well as she did that her life hung in the balance.

“I’m not,” he repeated quietly, his gaze like steel, ordering her to believe him.

Warmth fluttered in her chest on wings of a rising affection for this honorable, enigmatic man. An unruly lock of hair hung across his forehead and her hand itched to reach for it, to brush it back, to touch him again as his words and actions touched her over and over. But he hadn’t welcomed her kiss to his cheek, and she feared he wouldn’t welcome her touch.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, revealing her growing affection with a smile instead.

An answering warmth flared in his eyes, his own endearing smile making a small, quick appearance, filling her with a sharp and unexpected joy. With the soft lamplight half illuminating, half shadowing his face, his scars faded to nothing, and the raw male beauty of the man all but took her breath away. His was a strong face, strong-boned, in perfect counterpoint to the body upon which it was attached. His warm, masculine scent wafted over her, pleasing her, drawing her, turning her body soft and warm with wanting. The heat that licked inside her startled her, setting her pulse to flight. And he saw it. She could see the awareness in his eyes. And the disappointment.

Cheeks heating, Natalie turned and resumed the climb, dismayed and embarrassed, because it was clear Wulfe didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t right that she felt anything for this man when she’d been engaged to another just this morning. But Wulfe called to places inside her that Rick never had, places in her heart, in her mind, that were beginning to awaken and unfurl. Places so deep, so new and untouched, that their awakening scared her on a primitive level. If she wasn’t careful, Wulfe, despite his promises to never hurt her, would. Without ever meaning to.

They reached the main floor, crossed the foyer, then, at Wulfe’s lead, started up one of the curved stairs, side by side. Neither said a word.

As they walked down the third-floor hallway, the high yip of an excited puppy echoed suddenly from the other end. Natalie watched, amused, as Wulfe squatted, holding out his big hands as a small black ball of fur came hurtling toward him, tongue out, tail wagging a hundred miles an hour.

As the little black schnauzer pup reached him, Wulfe scooped the tiny creature up and held her in front of his face, chuckling as the pint-sized canine licked his chin and wiggled with happiness. His laugh was a wonderful sound.

“Are you being good, Lady?” Wulfe asked, his voice soft as fleece.

“She’s a doll, aren’t you, Lady?” A woman strolled gracefully down the hall toward them with a kitten held in one arm, a white cockatiel on her shoulder. Beneath a short cap of dark hair, she smiled at Natalie. “Lady thinks Wulfe’s her pack mate. You should see her when Wulfe’s in his animal. They’re adorable together.”

Wulfe grunted and set the puppy on the ground. “Back to your mom, you scamp.”

“I’m Skye,” the woman said, reaching out to shake Natalie’s hand with the one she had free. Her eyes were fascinating, the irises ringed in a shiny band of copper. “I’m Paenther’s mate. You must be Natalie.”

“Word travels fast.”

“I just saw Xavier.”

Natalie grinned. “Xavier’s mouth travels faster.”

Skye laughed. “We love Xavier.”

Wulfe started down the hall, the puppy fast on his heels. Natalie and Skye followed, side by side. Natalie reached over and stroked the kitten, smiling at the other woman. “You have quite a menagerie.”

“Wulfe gave me Lady as a wedding present a couple of months ago. Jag gave me Tramp, the tabby, and Hawke gifted me with Princess, my cockatiel.”

“They must have known you like animals.”

Skye’s smile was soft. “I’m drawn to animals, and they to me, in a way far beyond human understanding. I don’t really understand it myself, I just know that it is.”

“Then it seems like you’re in the right house.”

“With shape-shifters, you mean?” Her expression turned wry. “You would think so, and yet, if you knew a little more about our world, you would think not. I’m Mage.”

Natalie jerked with surprise.

Skye’s mouth twisted ruefully. “I see you know what that means.”

“Ten of them broke into my house tonight.”

Skye blanched. “But you’re okay.”

“Wulfe was there. He . . . took care of them.”

Skye nodded. “Too many of my people have had their souls stolen. We’re not all like that.”

“I can see that. And I’m glad.”

“You’re human.”

“Yes.” Natalie cocked her head. “Can you see my glow, too?”

Skye nodded. “It’s faint—I don’t usually see auras—but it’s there. The colors are beautiful.”

“Thanks . . . I think. From what I gather, it’s Daemon-related, which is probably not good.”

Skye frowned, looked at Wulfe. “Is the Shaman going to take a look at her?”

“He already did,” Wulfe told her. “All he can say is that it appears to be Daemon energy. But he doesn’t know what that means.” Wulfe strode into one of the rooms, a large room with a massive poster bed sitting in the middle. Against one wall sat a dresser with a mirror. But other than a single nightstand, that was it. The walls were white, there was no rug on the hardwood floor, and only a single sheet covered the bed. Against one wall sat a pair of plain army green duffel bags.

A woman . . . presumably one of the Therian Guards, poked her head out the bathroom door. “I’m gathering up our toiletries. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Is Natalie going to stay here?” Skye asked, surprised.

Natalie responded without rancor, “Wulfe’s been ordered to put locks on the windows and door as a precaution. It’s odd to be considered dangerous among immortals who could end my life in an instant, but I get it.”

Skye’s eyes darkened with sympathy. “I’m glad you’re not angry about it.”

The woman strode from the bathroom, her hair short, her body toned and strong beneath her tank and fighting pants.

“Sorry for running you out,” Skye said.

The woman grabbed the duffels and turned to her with a smile. “Thank you, but a bed is a luxury we don’t need.” She nodded to Natalie and Wulfe as she left.

Skye set the kitten down to scamper over to the puppy. “You’re going to need fresh linens,” she said and began stripping the bed. As Natalie stepped forward to help, another woman strode into the room, her arms laden with sheets and towels, a small canvas bag slung over one arm, a gun strapped to her waist.

“I’ve got them,” the newcomer said.

Melisande walked in behind her. “Tighe wants to know if you want him to bring anything back for you, Natalie.”

“I’d love him to, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to find them. I had to drop my purse and a yellow suitcase in the woods behind my house when the Mage started chasing us.” She glanced at Wulfe. “I’d love to have my laptop, too, but I’m not sure that’s allowed.”

“Where is it?” Melisande asked.

“On the sofa in the family room, where the battle took place. The power cord is on the desk in the kitchen.”