“That can’t be good,” Vhyper muttered.

As Wulfe neared that shimmering curtain, the hair rose on his arms and his throat began to itch and crawl. The last time, he’d felt nothing. Maybe it was just a factor of his having lost his animal. And, shit, that could be a problem because last time, they’d only gotten through it in their animals. He’d hoped his Daemon blood would allow him to breach it this time, and hand his friends through, even if he couldn’t shift. If not, they were in deep shit.

They were probably in trouble either way. Neither Inir nor Satanan were fools. They knew the Ferals would be back to try to stop them. It only stood to reason they’d have beefed up the warding to keep them out this time.

There was only one way to find out.

Small pellets of hail joined the rain, stinging Wulfe’s bare arms as he pressed forward cautiously, stopping a foot in front of the warding to reach out his hand. Electricity bolted through his body, knocking him back with a powerful blow, setting every nerve ending on fire. With a roar of pain and fury, he landed on his rear in the wet grass.

“Wulfe!” Lyon yelled.

“Stay back!” Wulfe pushed himself to his feet with effort, the jolt still searing the blood in his veins. He wiped the rain from his eyes and stumbled back to the others. “It’s far stronger than before.”

But Lyon was used to giving orders not taking them, and strode forward to try the warding for himself. A moment later, he, too, was picking himself up off the ground.

As Lyon rose, they all stared at one another, an unspoken, What the fuck do we do now? hanging in the rain-soaked air.

Dammit, Wulfe thought, staring at that colorful barrier. He knew what had to be done. And he was the only one who could do it. He could almost see Inir’s eyes lighting with evil glee at the prospect. Inir would know, of course, that if Wulfe pulled the energies through his channel key, he’d almost certainly be able to crash through the warding. But he’d know, too . . . or Satanan would . . . that no Daemon had ever retained control after pulling that power. The two of them were counting on Wulfe’s losing it. Inir had already said it. The Daemon shifter will come to us, my lord. I promise you. And when he does, he will be yours.

He heard Natalie’s words again. You are the finest man I’ve ever known. Just as you’ll protect me, I’ll protect you. I won’t let the darkness take you.

Wulfe turned to Kougar, his gut cramping. “Have the Ilinas bring Natalie. I’m pulling the primal energies. It’s the only way to get through.”

His brothers exchanged wary looks, but Lyon nodded. “We’re out of options. Satanan cannot rise.”

“You can do this, Wulfe,” Paenther said. “There’s no better man.”

He wasn’t sure about that, but somehow, he had to pull this off. Every one of them was counting on him. Natalie most of all.

Wulfe began to run back the way they’d come, back to the drop-off site, knowing the Ilinas couldn’t risk getting too close to the warding. Minutes later, Natalie was in his arms, rain-soaked, warm, and loving.

“I believe in you, shifter.”

He stared into those calm, beloved eyes beneath lashes spiked with rain, and nodded. “I know. You’re going to keep me tethered.” But his heart was pounding with uncertainty and dread. He pulled Natalie tight against his chest, holding her against the buffeting wind as his gaze watched the storm play out on the now-churning lake.

Goddess, please protect this woman who is my heart, my life, against all dangers, including me. Help me stay strong against the darkness, so that I don’t hurt her. And please help us defeat Satanan and Inir. I ask this not out of pride, but because so many will suffer if we fail. I beg you to forgive my errors in the past. I beg you . . .

Without warning, the sun broke through the storm clouds, a single, thick sunbeam illuminating the nearby landscape. And in that sunbeam, a rainbow appeared, running from one end of the sky to the other, a perfect, glorious rainbow beneath still stormy skies. Beauty within the darkness. A miracle. Forgiveness. He felt it shower him, felt his heart cleansed and lifted, buoyed with joy over this omen, this blessing.

Thank you, Goddess.

He kissed Natalie’s hair, hugging her tight, and blinked back the moisture in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

With a nod, she pulled back and kissed him. “I’m ready. We can do this.”

He wasn’t convinced, but they were out of options.

He could not fail.

As the rain pounded, Natalie ran over the wet ground, Wulfe’s hand tight around hers.

“The warding is just up ahead,” he told her. “Only I can see it.”

All Natalie saw was grass, trees, mountains, and rain. Mostly rain. Wulfe finally came to a stop and pulled her close. Within his hold, she felt his tension and knew how much he dreaded this.

A chill shivered through her, her own muscles tensing. Despite all the times she’d urged him to do what he had to, now that he intended to call that power through her, she was scared. If the little bit of energy Satanan had pulled had hurt so badly, how much more would this? Most of all, she worried about Wulfe.

She would keep him tethered. She had to.

As his hand pressed against her rain-chilled cheek, pain sliced through his gentle eyes.

Natalie covered his hand. “I love you, and I’m not letting you go. Fair warning.”

He smiled faintly and said nothing, his jaw tight. “It’s not working,” he muttered.

“Do you have to chant?”

“Not for this, no. Strome said I had to reverse what I did the first time. I healed you by calling your wound to me.”

“Was it easy?”

“No. I can only heal a human’s wounds if I want to badly enough.”

“How badly did you want mine?”

“Fiercely.” He blinked against the rain.

“You have to want to give it back to me just as much.” She gripped his hand where it covered her cheek. “Wulfe, I want that wound back. I’ve always known I had some purpose, that I was chosen for this life because I was needed here. I believed, until now, that my purpose was to help people see better and to ensure the children can read. But I was wrong. I’m here because you need me. As your channel key. Perhaps as more. This is what I was born to do.”

“Natalie . . .”

“Just as I believe that you were born for this, too. You were born who you are, what you are, because at this critical moment in time, only a Daemon-wolf could possibly stand against a consciousness as powerful as Satanan’s. This is your destiny, Wulfe. Claim it. Let us both claim ours.”

His gaze bore into hers, searching, finding. His big body sighed, the tension easing out of his shoulders as his spine straightened, as his shoulders fell back. Acceptance entered his eyes though the worry remained.

With a tight nod, he shifted his hand on her cheek, holding the back of her head gently with his other. “You’re right.”

She smiled softly. “Of course I’m right. Now give me back my wound, shifter, so that we can stop those bad guys.”

His smile was fleeting as he closed his eyes. At first nothing happened. Then a throb erupted in her cheek beneath his hand, uncomfortable, but not truly painful, as his scar—the one that should have been hers—began to fade.

Wulfe pulled his hand away suddenly and peered at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Now call the power you were destined for.”

“We need a pentagram.”

“Here,” Hawke said. Kneeling, he quickly dug a pentagram in the wet ground with his knife.

Wulfe’s big hand closed carefully around hers, and he led her into the center. Turning her to face him, he cupped her face gently in his hands, his mouth compressing.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

In his eyes she saw dread, but also the acceptance of the responsibility that he’d been laden with thanks to his Daemon blood. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and covered her wound with his palm. Then he began whispering in a language that sounded like nothing Natalie had ever heard.

Deep inside her, something began to happen. She felt a tingling in her feet that rushed suddenly upward, through her legs, her body, her chest, her neck, then into her face, finally coalescing in the cheek beneath Wulfe’s hand. As the words flowed from his lips in a never-ending stream of visceral sound, he threw his head back as if in pain . . . or ecstasy.

The words flew from his mouth, faster and louder, no longer a whisper.

The tingling in Natalie’s body began to sting, then burn, but she clamped down on the groan that clawed at her throat.

Wulfe’s grip on her face tightened, the words shooting from his mouth, the power rushing up through her, hot and furious, until she feared she would scream. She couldn’t breathe, could barely stand. Too much. Too much.

Suddenly, Wulfe released her.

As Natalie fell to her knees, gasping for breath, Wulfe let out a bark of alien joy. A roar of power and strength, of invincibility and cruelty.

With dread, Natalie looked up into the eyes of a stranger, eyes glowing bright red. Eyes filled with evil.

Chapter Twenty-two

Natalie stared, her vision narrowed from the pain, her heart pounding as the man she’d fallen in love with stared down at her as if he’d never seen her before. She’s promised to keep him tethered, but she’d never had a chance to grab hold! And he was already gone.

No, he wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be.

Closing her eyes, she pushed past the physical discomfort to concentrate on the man she knew, the one who looked at her with such soft adoration, not this red-eyed stranger. She thought of him in his wolf, protecting her with his life. And his gentle, tender touch when he’d made love to her as a man.

Emotion rushed through her, raw and bright, and something moved inside of her, a thick, irregular beat. Not her heart. His. She could swear she felt Wulfe’s heart, covered in shadows.

Impossible. Then again, what was truly impossible in a world with shape-shifters and Daemons?

Beneath the shadows, Wulfe’s heart still beat whole, bright, and golden. She could feel it. It wasn’t lost. Not yet. But the darkness attacked that core of his goodness, of his honor, and if she didn’t find some way to stop it, and soon, it would steal him away for good.

Fire shot down her limbs as she tried to stand, and she gasped, sinking back to her knees.

“Natalie?” Hawke asked, warily.

“Don’t move.” Lifting her hand to her eyes to block the worst of the rain, she looked up. “Wulfe, I love you. You love me, too.”

He didn’t respond, and she sensed the shadows darkening inside him. They were already winning. Desperation rushed up inside of her. The golden light flared suddenly, the edges of the shadows curling away as if her need to save him had driven them back. Maybe it had. Maybe, within the strange connection they’d developed, her thoughts and will really were that powerful. The thought filled her with a fierce determination.

Wulfe swung toward her suddenly, his face a mask of fury. With a growl, he grabbed her by the neck, his rain-slicked fingers nearly encircling it, lifting her to her feet. The pressure against her windpipe choked. He’s going to kill me. Her heart raced, her mind began to scream, and she struggled, clawing at his hand, his wrist. But he was far, far too strong.

“Natalie!” one of the Ferals called.

“Wulfe, stand down,” Lyon shouted.

For one bright moment, she thought rescue was on the way. But all hope was dashed a moment later when Wulfe raised his free hand and the Ferals flew back as if they’d simultaneously hit warding.

The Ferals couldn’t help her.

Hope died. The next moments, perhaps her last, were utterly out of her control. But it was that knowledge, that kernel of truth that stole fear’s power over her, easing her panic long enough for rational thought to intrude. The man she loved would never be able to live with taking her life, if he ever returned.

The need to protect him burst within her, hot and bright. That golden glow flared, sizzling the shadows, burning the edges away. The fingers that gripped her neck loosened just enough for her to breathe—but not to escape—as if she’d somehow brushed the mind or heart of the honorable male inside. But not enough. Not yet.

With every ounce of concentration she possessed, she stared into the red eyes of the stranger and loved the man within. As she did, she watched the shadows retreat from her assault, then push back, then retreat again.

Around them, the Ferals recovered, rising to their feet. Kougar and Hawke circled behind Wulfe, and she knew they were looking for a way to take him. But her focus remained steady.

For just a moment, she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a glimmer of horror, but it lasted only seconds, then was gone. Dammit.

But even as the darkness rushed back into his eyes, he released her, snatching his hand away as if she’d burned him. And maybe she had. Or maybe touching him gave her far more power over the shadows.

Wulfe spun, suddenly, facing the brothers he no longer recognized. “You think you can harm me?” With a flick of his wrists, he sent Hawke and Kougar flying back a second time, then turned back to her as if somewhere inside he recognized her as the true danger. Fangs erupted in his mouth, claws from his fingertips. A feral snarl rose from his throat, terrifying her at her most primitive level. But she was going to pull him back from this if it was the last thing she did.

Sweat ran down the back of her neck, melding with the cold raindrops. The primal energies ran through her, a steady, painful stream, but no longer incapacitating. Only one thing mattered—winning this battle for Wulfe’s soul.

Slowly, she took a step toward him.