As the animals battled around him, Wulfe scrambled to four feet and shifted back to a man. Breaching Daemon energy might require taking Daemon form. And, much to his surprise, Daemon form was not all monstrous.
“The Destroyer attempts to reclaim my soul!” yelled one of those fighting the wraiths.
“Shifter, hurry!” the tattooed Daemon called. “If Satanan regains control of us, you’re dead.”
And Wulfe had no doubt that was true, not when he could already feel Satanan pulling at his own soul. The smoke and shadows once more began to curl around the edges of his mind.
Wulfe thrust himself into that swirling mass of orange and red, fighting the darkness that sought to ensnare him. Suddenly, the warding parted, and he was in. Standing before him with eyes that glowed bright red in a hard, if distinctly human-looking face, was the High Daemon, Satanan, the most powerful, most evil being ever to walk the Earth.
Wulfe’s pulse pounded as he stared at his nemesis, at the dark hair blowing in every direction, caught in that wind of power, and at the broad shoulders covered in a silver robe. From the waist up, Satanan now appeared fully corporeal.
A smile broke across that hard mouth, a smile of such evil, such malevolence that Wulfe’s skin crawled.
“You are mine, shifter.”
Wulfe didn’t bother to answer. Instead he lunged for the blade that lay on the rock between them, the swirling red-and-orange energy flying from its etched and enchanted steel. But before his fingers could close around it, Satanan’s hand shot up, palm out, and Wulfe was slammed back against the warding. Pain tore through his back, then raced through his flesh as if he’d been electrocuted. He struggled to right himself, to pull free of that blazing current, but he couldn’t move.
Inside his head, the shadows multiplied, as if fed by his pain, ready to steal his mind even as Satanan prepared to steal his soul.
Wulfe roared with frustration. He would not let this son of a bitch win! Struggling to concentrate when his mind was consumed with pain, he gathered the primal energies that continued to rush through his body, then threw the power as Satanan had. But the High Daemon only laughed, threw back his head, and inhaled it. With horror, Wulfe felt his soul, his very life force trying to follow.
Goddess, goddess, goddess. He couldn’t fail. Natalie was counting on him, as were his brothers and, hell, the whole damned world.
“Wulfe?” Lyon called.
He was going to have to pull the energies harder. Which would hurt Natalie. It might even kill her.
His mind screamed in denial. His wolf howled in misery, then growled low, reminding him without words that above all . . . above all . . . Satanan could not be allowed to win. As he faced the greatest evil the world had ever known, Natalie’s words came back to him. You were born for this. 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!
As if Natalie felt his hesitation, at that very moment, a pulse of energy flowed into his heart through that wisp of a mating bond. A soft, loving energy filled with the infinite strength of Natalie’s will. Her body might be weakening, but her determination to help him succeed remained as strong as ever.
Together, they would win the day. Or die trying.
The fear that he would lose her flared in his mind, but he shoved it back. Letting the world fall to Daemons would not save her. Their only way through this maelstrom was together.
Taking a deep breath, Wulfe pulled on the power, on the primal energies. They came, as they had before. And then suddenly they were rushing into him a dozen times faster and harder than before. What the fuck? Natalie. She was helping him, pulling them with him.
No! Instantly, he shut down the flow. It was too much. They were going to kill her.
Again, he felt that pulse of pure love, one with a decided edge of demand. Hell.
Satanan’s hips had formed, now, and his thighs. Only his lower legs and feet remained trapped by the swirling mass of color. They were out of time.
With a prayer to the goddess, he took a deep breath and called once more on the primal energies, embracing the rush this time because he had to and because, woven within that swirling, terrible power, he felt Natalie’s calm certainty, her courage, her love.
Calling on the power inside of him, Wulfe finally broke free of Satanan’s invisible hold. But when he pushed forward to try again to retrieve the blade, Satanan’s power slammed into him like a two-hundred-mile-per-hour headwind, and he couldn’t move. Lifting his hand, he tried calling the blade to him, but that didn’t work any better. Dammit. He couldn’t push forward, let alone attack.
All the while those primal energies swirled inside him, smoke and shadows, gleeful of the darkness, of Satanan’s evil. One wrong step, and he was going to become lost in that dark power, whether his own or Satanan’s.
A faint pulse of soft, loving energy brushed his heart, making his gut clench with anguish. Natalie’s brightness, her strength and light were almost out. Pulling the energies was killing her, yet he couldn’t stop. He had to win.
Satanan began to laugh. His legs had formed, his feet were becoming visible as the red-and-orange swirl slowly died. The pull on Wulfe’s soul grew stronger by ten. He could feel it being sucked out of his body!
Desperation tore through him, his muscles straining against the unnatural power. He was a Feral, dammit!
A Feral. Only part Daemon.
In a flash of insight, he finally understood. It had taken his Daemon form to breach the warding, but only in his non-Daemon animal form was he protected from Satanan’s growing control. Only in his wolf would he prevail.
As the animal inside him gave a howl of approval, Wulfe shifted with ease and joy into his furred form and lunged for the Daemon Blade. As he’d hoped, his wolf’s body slid through the power blast as his man’s . . . his Daemon’s . . . could not.
Snatching up the blade in his teeth, Wulfe tossed the magical steel into the air, then shifted back, and caught it with one hand. Without pause, he whirled and stabbed the Daemon Blade deep within Satanan’s chest.
The High Daemon roared with fury, the scream echoing across the mountain and far into the sky. And a second later, Satanan disappeared, sucked back into the blade.
Shadows began to fly at Wulfe from all directions, following Satanan, vanishing, one after another, by the score.
With a roar of triumph, Wulfe lifted the blade aloft, the wind whipping at his face and hair, energy crackling over his skin. Victory sang in his blood. And more.
Power.
The primal energies rushed through him in a torrent, no longer siphoned by Satanan. Dark, rich, and seductive, they filled him, strengthened him.
The shadows rushed in, clouding his vision and his mind as the power consumed him.
Natalie lay on the rain-soaked ground, beneath the trees, her knees pulled against her chest, her teeth grinding against the horrific pain. Wave after wave of fire rushed up through her feet, through her body, a constant, steady stream of molten energy.
On one side of her, Kara stroked her face. On the other, Melisande pressed her hand to her arm, stealing as much of the pain as she could. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Wulfe’s love caressed her mind, lending her strength, helping her heart continue to beat.
“He’s won!” Ariana cried, taking form a few feet away. She’d been moving between them and the Ferals, giving the women a play-by-play as she stood ready to call in her mist warriors if the Daemons turned against the Ferals. “Wulfe stabbed Satanan, and the wraith Daemons are following him into the blade!”
“But not the other Daemons?” Melisande asked.
“No. I guess we’ll find out what that means soon enough.” She knelt beside them. “How’s Natalie?”
“I can’t keep hold of her much longer. Wulfe has to shut down the channel, or he’s going to kill her.”
But it was too late. As she lay there in misery, the soft flow of Wulfe’s love suddenly shut off. And a moment later, a piercing cold rushed into her in its place.
“He’s . . . lost,” Natalie gasped. “To the darkness.”
Kara made a sound of despair, but Melisande only growled. “He’s not lost, yet. Get back, Kara. Natalie and I are going for a little ride.”
A moment later, Natalie’s world flipped end over end, then righted itself suddenly as she came to lie on her back upon cool, wet stone, her stomach turning. The rain beat softly against her face and hair, telling her she was still alive. For now.
“Natalie’s dying, Wulfe,” Melisande announced. “The woman you love, is dying.”
With a start, Natalie forced her eyes open, turning instinctively toward the male who held her heart and her life in his hands. Electricity arced all around him as if he stood in the middle of his own private lightning storm. His eyes stared at her without recognition, once more glowing red. Around him, the Ferals circled, ready to attack him, to kill him if they had to.
Strome had warned that the darkness always won. She’d pulled him back once. But heaven help her, it was all she could do to keep breathing through the pain. Where was she going to find the strength to save him one more time?
Chapter Twenty-four
Extraordinary, magnificent, glorious power raced through Wulfe’s veins. They would bow before him, the insects. They would worship at his feet!
If only he could silence the one inside, the wolf, and his snarling, his fury, his howling.
The shifters—he’d known them once—surrounded him, their weapons drawn.
“Wulfe, buddy, don’t let the darkness win,” one of them said.
“Come on, Wolfman. We need you, dude.”
“Wulfe, release the darkness. That’s an order!”
“Natalie is going to die, Wulfe,” yet another said quietly, his voice throbbing with emotion. “Don’t let her die, Wulfe. If she does, you’re both gone.”
But the male they spoke to was already gone. Couldn’t they see that?
“Wulfe.” The female on the rock at his feet spoke, her voice a mere whisper. He recognized her, his channel key. Once she died, he’d gain no additional power, which was a pity. But he could barely hold all he’d claimed already, so it was no matter. All would kneel before him!
Something pulsed in his head, a small golden glow that flared, then disappeared, again and again, each pulse igniting the darkness of his mind, dissolving a few of the shadows, but it was no matter. The pulses grew weaker, fainter. Dying.
Natalie’s dying.
The words broke through the shadows, stabbing him through the gut. The wolf trapped inside him howled with fury and desperation.
He gathered the shadows close, pushing back the words and their inexplicable pain, concentrating only on the power. But the words pushed again, attacked again, over and over and over.
Natalie’s dying. Natalie’s dying. Natalie’s dying.
The pain grew. Emotion began to break through the wall of shadows, at first a mere trickle, slowly becoming a small stream, then a flood.
No. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care.
He was panting as he fought it back, fought against the love that battered at the walls he’d thought impenetrable. Though he struggled to destroy all emotion and shore up the walls, the light slipped through his defenses, burrowing deep, filling him with warmth and love and fear. Scattering the darkness to the winds.
Wulfe came back to himself in a dizzying rush, his gaze dropping to the woman lying dead at his feet.
“Natalie!” He fell to his knees beside her, his heart splintering as he gathered her cold hand in his warm one. And felt life. Not dead. Thank you, goddess. His own heart began to beat again even as he knew she must be at death’s door. Scooping her unconscious body against his chest, he turned to the throngs who stood all around him, watching.
“How do I save her?” he yelled.
A deep male voice he didn’t recognize answered him. “Release the primal energies, shifter. Send them back through her, back where they came from, and close the door.”
“How?” But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He found it written on the Daemon sliver of his soul.
Closing his eyes, he began to say the words—words he’d never known yet had always known. Words that repudiated the darkness, banishing it back into the bowels of Hell.
The darkness inside him resisted, trying to seduce, to beguile, but Wulfe had no need for power beyond what he’d always had. He needed Natalie. Only that. Only her. Though the darkness fought valiantly, it was no match for the determination of a man in love and, slowly, it lost its hold on him and slipped away. He felt it flee back through Natalie, back to where it had come from. Out of his head, his blood, his bones, draining, evaporating, until it was no more.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Wulfe blinked, feeling odd and yet wonderfully himself again. From his mouth, slipped another string of unknown words, words he knew would close the channel once and for all. Lifting Natalie closer, tucking her head against his chest, he bent and kissed her lips.
“Come back to me. Please come back to me.”
Her aura was gone, now. Amazingly, so too was the wound on her cheek.
She stirred in his arms and his heart began to beat again. Slowly, her lashes lifted. As she saw him, a small, calm, gray-eyes smile lifted her lovely mouth.
“You did it.”
A shudder went through him, and he pulled her tight against him. “We did it together,” he whispered against her hair. Inside, his wolf let out a howl of pure happiness.
Lifting his head, Wulfe faced his brothers. Behind them stood several dozen Daemons of the human-looking variety, each armed with a sword or knife, though none appeared to be actively threatening. In fact, unless he was mistaken, the expressions on most of their faces were a mix of gratitude and disbelief, of relief and wonder.