But the feel of her in his arms again was heaven after a millennium of hell.

Wulfe heard voices as he slipped through the mirrored door of the workout room into the hidden stone passage and headed back to the prison block deep below Feral House. Not voices, he amended. One voice. Xavier's. If that kid was awake, he was talking. Which beat the hell out of Lip Ring's screaming. As it turned out, those screams of hers weren't reserved for him alone. Lyon had tried to take her terror three times, then given up, which might not bode well for their ability to take her memories when and if the energy Olivia had fed them finally wore off. The teen girl's mind seemed locked in a loop of terror. Not that he could really blame her, given what she'd seen.

As he strolled through the passage, he rolled up the too-short cuffs of his button-down, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't like he'd gotten dressed up. He hadn't tucked in the shirt and was still wearing jeans. He just . . . felt a little more civilized-looking in a collared shirt.

He'd taken guard duty down there on and off for the past couple of days; but never again had he managed to catch Natalie awake, though he kept hoping to. Both Lyon and Jag claimed she was doing fine. Wary and watchful, but calm, all things considered, even as she stuck as close to her brother as a momma bear to her cub.

Xavier went quiet, and Wulfe assumed Lyon had knocked him out again. But Xavier's next question, which carried to Wulfe clearly, proved otherwise.

"So, are you going to be able to let us go, or do we know too much?"

"And what do you think you know?" Lyon asked with deceptive softness.

"I know the earth opened up. I know there was some serious magic shit going down. I know there were large wild animals prowling around who suddenly turned into men."

Even before he reached the cellblock, Wulfe heard the low growl in Lyon's throat. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I heard you, Dude. When you don't have eyes, you see through sounds, and I saw the change. Besides, Nat told me she saw you shift." A pause. "You don't have to kill me, you know, even if you can't take my memories." Clearly, he'd heard too much. "I'm a decent cook. I can wash dishes. I can help out around here, man."

Wulfe didn't have to see Lyon's face to know he was groaning. Disposing of dangerous humans was so much harder when you couldn't help but like them. Especially when the only danger they posed was to the anonymity of the race.

"I'll think about it. Lie down, Xavier. You're going back to sleep."

"I'd rather stay awake."

"Nevertheless . . ."

By the time Wulfe walked into the cellblock, Lyon was locking the brother and sister's cage, Xavier once more unconscious.

Lyon eyed Wulfe's shirt with a lift of his brow. "Going somewhere?"

"Go to hell," Wulfe muttered. "The women?"

Lyon gave him an amused look but didn't razz him further. "That one," he said, nodding toward Lip Ring's cage, "woke in her normal bloodcurdling manner about half an hour ago. She'll be out the rest of the day. The other hasn't woken yet, but should soon. Call Kara when she does, and she'll bring a tray."

When Lyon had left, Wulfe shucked off his clothes, shifted into his wolf, and curled up on the floor to watch. And wait. An hour later, Natalie finally began to stir. Wulfe shifted back and pulled on his jeans. As he buttoned the shirt, he felt like a fool. He usually wore T-shirts since they stretched comfortably to fit his monster-truck size. He used to dress up a little for Beatrice from time to time, hoping to please her, though he never had. His now-dead mate had never been able to see past his scars.

But Natalie hadn't seemed put off by him. He scowled. She hadn't seemed terrified of him. She might still have been revolted. Revulsion could be masked.

Hell.

Natalie sat up groggily, her hand sliding to Xavier's pulse before she was even fully awake. She looked better. Much better now that she was no longer battling the terror and anguish as she had been that first time. In fact, she seemed almost calm.

That was the first word that came to mind when he thought of her. Calm. Lovely was the second, despite her unkempt appearance. Her hair fell to her shoulders in tangled golden waves framing a face of strength and depth and compassion. The only thing jarringly out of place was that wound across her cheekbone.

Cautiously, he stepped out of the shadows.

Natalie looked up, her wary gaze softening slowly. "Hi," she said, a hint of a smile lighting gray eyes.

A smile. He felt like laughing, but contained the urge, settling for a small smile of his own. "How are you feeling?"

"Since the last time I saw you? A thousand times better."

"Good."

She nodded, but her expression sobered. "We're still in the cages, though. How long has it been? Since the . . ."

"A week."

Unhappiness clouded her eyes. "My mom and my fiance are going to be frantic. Have we hit the news? Are they looking for us?"

"You're all the humans are talking about around here."

Dark blond brows drew together. "Humans. And you're not. But of course you're not." She looked down, then back up again. "Werewolves, or were-animals?"

"We prefer the term shape-shifters."

"What were those . . . flying creatures that attacked us?"

Daemons. "Nothing to worry about anymore. They're dead."

"And there aren't any more of them?"

"No." Not yet, not unless the Mage found a way to free more of them, but she didn't need to know that. "Are you hungry?"

That smile flitted across her face again, pleasing him more than it should. "Starved."

Wulfe pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Kara. "I have a starving guest down here. Lyon said you might have a tray with Natalie's name on it?"

"Coming right up." Kara's cheery voice carried to him through the phone. "Or down, I guess I should say. I'll be right there, Wulfe."

A few minutes later, Kara appeared with a tray laden with a full three-course meal--salad, ham, potatoes, and a sweet-smelling cherry cobbler that had been sending their stomachs into wild tumbles of hunger all morning. Kara left, and Natalie dug into the salad as if she was indeed about to expire from lack of food.

He wished he could let her out of her cage for a while when she was finished eating. She had to be sick and tired of being locked up. A walk through the woods came to mind, but it was the middle of the day, and he wasn't kidding when he'd told her they were all over the news. Human law enforcement had found the bodies of Natalie's three friends where the Ferals had left them, more than a mile from the actual site of their deaths. They'd left the Mage bodies on the field of battle, warding the area against human senses for the few days it took the earth to reclaim them. Immortal bodies might live centuries, but they decayed to dust quickly.

"Can you shift into anything you want?" Natalie asked when she'd clearly taken the edge off her hunger.

"No." He didn't elaborate.

Her pretty mouth twisted. "The less I know, the better, right? It's hard not asking questions when there's so much I want to know." Her eyes moved over his face as if studying his scarring. "You intrigue me," she said quietly.

He turned away, feeling like he'd just been shoved under a microscope. "Finish eating," he said gruffly.

When she had, he took her tray, then motioned for her to stand. She was tall for a woman, probably close to six feet, though he still towered over her by over a foot. She might be slender, but she was no stick-thin model. The woman had curves. His man's eye noticed, but his body paid little attention. His mate, Beatrice, the Ferals' previous Radiant, had been dead only a few months. And while their mating had never been what he'd hoped for, he'd loved her. And the severing of their mating bond had ruined him in ways he was still trying to figure out.

Even if he were whole and normal, it wouldn't matter. The woman standing in front of him wore another man's ring. Another's mark.

"Let's try this again."

Calm gray eyes met his. "To clear my memories?"

"Yes." He reached for her jaw, but she touched his hand.

"Wait. In case this works, I just wanted to say thank you. To you and your friends. I know you had as much reason to want those things dead as we did, but I overheard you talking out there. I know we saw things we shouldn't have and that our lives hung in the balance for a while. Thank you for saving us."

He nodded, meeting her gaze, yet oddly reluctant to continue. Once he captured her memories, he'd have to knock her out and take her back, and he'd finally just gotten a chance to talk to her again. Whatever her reason for not being put off by his looks, it was a novel experience he wasn't quite ready to end.

His gaze fell to that jagged cut on her cheek, his thumb lifting to trace it lightly.

Natalie flinched.

Wulfe jerked his thumb back. "It still hurts."

"Not too much."

Which was a blatant lie.

Her brows drew down. "How bad does it look?"

"Not as bad as mine."

A genuine laugh escaped her throat, utterly delighting him. She caught herself with a groan, though wry humor continued to light her eyes and tug at her mouth. "I'm sorry, but that wasn't quite the reassurance I was looking for."

He grinned at her, amazed at how easy she was to be with.

To his surprise, she lifted her hand, almost touching his face, before lowering it again. As she did, her smile died, her expression sobering. "I'm sorry for all you must have suffered."

He grunted. "It was a long time ago." And the suffering hadn't been his. Not until later. Much later.

Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he made a decision. "Hold still. This may be uncomfortable for a moment, but I won't hurt you." When her eyes gave him the go-ahead, he said, "Close your eyes."

She hesitated only a moment before doing as he asked. He opened his hand, covering her wound, and half her face, with his palm.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

Beneath his palm, her heart beat, throbbing beneath the surface of her skin. Once more, her scent wrapped around him like a warm summer breeze.

"I'm something of a healer." Sometimes. His own cheek began to burn and throb with surprising misery. How did humans stand the pain that took so long to go away? "How do you feel?"

"The pain's gone." Her voice held a note of wonder.

Lifting his hand, he peered at her cheekbone with keen satisfaction. The wound was gone completely now, her cheek unblemished.

She opened her eyes, blinking. "How did you . . . ?" Her gaze locked onto his cheek, to the throbbing, aching wound he knew to be there, now. Her hand flew to her own cheek, then rubbed, as if seeking . . . anything.

"What have you done?"

Wulfe shrugged. "What's one more?"

But he saw no gratitude in her eyes, only a keen dismay. "No, no, no." Her brows knit. She grabbed his face between her hands without fear, staring at him, at the cut that would mark him as all the others had. To his amazement, her fingers slid gently over his scarred cheeks. "You took it."

Her voice was breathless, stunned. She stared up at him, pain in her eyes. "Why?"

He frowned, confused by her reaction. The last thing he'd meant to do was upset her. But the truth was, he didn't have an answer. He wasn't sure why he'd done it. Maybe he just didn't like seeing her suffer when he could help. Or maybe he hadn't liked the sight of that ugly scar on her pretty face.

What difference did it make? Women were so damn hard to please.

He turned away, breaking her soft hold on him and ending the discussion. "Lie down." The words came out harsher than he'd meant them to.

But when he turned back to her, she was still standing where he'd left her, still staring at him. Although her brows were still drawn, her eyes no longer flashed with pain but something infinitely softer.

"Will you heal?"

"Of course."

"But it'll scar you."

"Like I said, what's one more?"

"Plenty." The softness in her eyes deepened, a fine film of moisture making them shine like diamonds. "That may have been the most unselfish thing anyone's ever done for me. And I don't even know your name."

"I'm called Wulfe."

Understanding lit her gaze, the memory of watching him shift, he was certain. "I suppose that makes sense. Thank you, Wulfe."

He nodded, his jaw tight. Then he slid his hand to her neck and pressed beneath her ear, feeling a need to close those eyes that saw too much. As she fell unconscious, he caught her, then laid her down carefully on one of the pallets someone had brought down for the prisoners.

Straightening, he stared down at her, clenching his jaw at her now-unblemished beauty.

With a burst of self-disgust, he turned away.

Chapter Nine

Ariana woke suddenly, her body tensing at the feel of warm flesh beneath her cheek until she caught the wonderful, familiar scent. Kougar's. Her head was on his shoulder, one of his arms gripped tight around her waist, his bare chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm, telling her he was fast asleep.

For an achingly sweet moment, her world felt as if it had righted itself. As if the nightmare of the past millennium was nothing more than a dream, and life was as it had always been meant to be. With her waking in Kougar's arms.

Ariana jerked. Sweet goddess, what was she doing in his arms? It was the last place she needed to be. He was supposed to be hating her, not holding her!