“I can stand,” Natalie said quietly, and he set her on her feet, if reluctantly, keeping an arm tight around her.

His brothers surged forward, gathering around him, slapping him on the back. Lyon grasped his forearm. “A hell of a job, Wulfe. One hell of a job.”

Wulfe handed his chief the Daemon Blade.

“Wolfman,” Jag crowed. “You just saved the whole fucking world.”

“Perhaps,” Paenther said quietly, drawing their attention back to the dozens of Daemons watching them, reminding them that although Satanan might be defeated, much of his horde was still loose.

The tattooed Daemon stepped forward. “We are in your debt, shifter.”

Lyon faced him. “You’re Daemons.”

“Most of us, yes. But there were many races subjugated and ensnared by Satanan, and all those who survived were freed this day.”

“The world you left is no more.” Lyon’s voice resonated clearly across the gathering. “The humans now number in the billions, and they’ve acquired great power. They don’t know the immortal races exist and they must never know if we wish to survive. Find a way to live in this world without discovery and without harming the other races, including the humans. Or we’ll be hunting you down.”

The tattooed male nodded. “Satanan’s way was never ours. We wish only to return to the mountains and live in peace.”

Jag snorted. “Good luck with that.”

The Daemon’s jaw hardened. “Many of those who were freed today have already escaped, many whose souls were long ago destroyed by Satanan. They have neither heard your warning nor would likely pay it any heed if they had. We will hunt them and destroy those who cannot be saved.”

Lyon nodded. “If you need assistance—and you may until you learn the ways of this world—we’ll help you. I am Lyon, Chief of the Feral Warriors, the shifters.”

The Daemon male nodded. “I am Strome, the last true king of the Daemons.”

Wulfe jerked. Around him, several of the others made noises of surprise.

The male eyed them curiously. “You have heard of me.”

Fox gave a small smile. “You’re something of a legend where we’re from, boyo.” None of them, it seemed, were willing to endanger Vivian’s life, not when she’d risked so much to help them.

Lyon looked around. “You may remain here, in this fortress, for as long as you wish. The owner no longer needs it. But the humans inside will be set free. Leave the humans alone. All humans.”

Strome turned to Wulfe. “You, shifter, are part Daemon.”

Wulfe nodded, wondering if they’d always know he was one of them. “Apparently I have a Daemon ancestor.”

Strome nodded. “Ciroc.”

That was the name Vivian’s Strome had given him.

A fur-clad Daemon stepped forward, his beard full, his shoulders nearly as wide as Wulfe’s. “I am Ciroc.”

Wulfe stared, a chill dancing over his skin. This male was his . . . how many greats? . . . grandfather.

Ciroc smiled with a startling pride. “You honor me and all who have come before and after me, son of my son of my son. Relinquishing, nay shoving away that kind of power was a sight to behold, a display of strength and nobility few men possess. Of any race.”

Strome nodded. “You honor all who challenge evil. You would be most welcome should you wish to join my tribe, shifter of Ciroc’s blood.”

The distinctive sound track of the original Star Wars movie cut the stillness suddenly. All heads turned toward the door, where one of the Daemon males held a laptop like he feared it would explode in his hands. As he approached, all the Daemons stared, wide-eyed, many of them backing away.

“What is this?” Strome demanded.

“It’s harmless,” Lyon assured him. “Human technology. Playacting.”

The Daemon moved to where he could watch the battle on the screen, then shook his head, his eyes wide. “The world has indeed changed.”

Lyon grunted. “We don’t live in the Star Wars universe, but yes, it’s changed. More than you can imagine.”

Strome moved away from the laptop and extended his hand to Lyon. “I thank you, shifter. You and your people have freed me and mine. We are in your debt.”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Lyon met him halfway. “You have a lot of catching up to do. I suggest you coerce the remaining Mage into showing you how to use the televisions and computers, and learn how to live in the twenty-first century. I’ll send Wulfe back to see how you’re doing in a couple of days. Right now, we have other things to attend to.”

Lyon turned to Ariana.

“Home?” Ariana asked.

Lyon smiled, reaching for Kara as he turned to Wulfe with a lift of a tawny eyebrow.

Wulfe’s still-stunned gaze returned to Ciroc. He nodded, getting a nod and a smile in return, then glanced down to find Natalie watching him with color in her cheeks and an incandescent joy in her eyes.

The smile tugging at his mouth bloomed fully. “Home.”

Two hours later, the Ferals sat or stood around the massive dining table in Feral House with their mates. Their numbers had swelled, and would continue to, it seemed, until they were twenty-six once more. The moment they’d returned to Feral House, a carafe of Inir’s blood in hand, they’d performed a series of rituals to bring the new Ferals residing in their prisons into their animals. Castin, as they’d expected, had shifted into a cheetah. Rikkert, into a rhino. Kougar had declared their Feral names to be Cheet and Rhyne, respectively. The third male, now known as Dact, had shifted into a startling creature—a long-extinct pterodactyl with a twenty-foot wingspan. A one-man demolition team if he ever shifted in the house.

With each Renascence, Kara had felt stronger and better, making it clear that the souls inside these Ferals were honorable and good. Sabine had been right, and they had no more qualms about Lepard, whom she’d declared also good. Only Grizz’s soul remained in question, though only, it seemed, to the grizzly shifter himself. No one else doubted the honor of a male who’d risked his life to save his brothers.

The second ritual had cleared the new Ferals and Polaris of the dark magic that had infected all the animal spirits of the seventeen. The third had cleared Lepard and Grizz of the dark charm’s curse, restoring their immortality.

Now, seventeen Ferals sat or stood around the table.

Nine new Ferals had yet to come in—the ones who would be marked to replace the evil Ferals and the three who’d yet to appear. Kougar had finally revealed the ones missing to be the horse, the gorilla, and the arctic wolf.

Wulfe liked the idea of another wolf in the house.

In addition to the Ferals, all the wives had joined them. And Natalie.

She sat beside him, leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders. Her sweet scent filled his senses, her nearness, his heart. Goddess, he loved her. As if she felt that surge of emotion, she turned to meet his gaze, her eyes soft as a summer breeze, setting his pulse to flight at her loveliness. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy. Pulling the energies through her hadn’t injured her permanently from what he could tell. She’d recovered almost immediately. All he wanted to do now was sweep her up to his room and make love to her until neither of them cared about the future, about anything but lying in one another’s arms.

But now wasn’t the time. And he was dreading getting her alone as much as he was looking forward to it. Because the moment he did, they were going to have to have the talk. He intended to pop the question. And he was terrified she was going to kiss him and tell him that her life was in Frederick, not here.

How could he ask her to give up her work, her mom, her home? Everything?

But, goddess, he wanted her to stay with him.

“Victory to the Feral Warriors!” Tighe shouted, thrusting his fist into the air.

“Victory to the Feral Warriors!” the others shouted in reply, their fists rising as one. Only Grizz, standing apart, didn’t participate.

“Can we claim victory?” Hawke asked, ever practical. “With the Daemons now free?”

“The wraith Daemons are gone,” Lyon replied. “As is Satanan.”

“And Inir,” Paenther added. “Perhaps now, some of the Mage who’ve lost their souls will begin to reclaim them again.”

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on the Daemons and the others who escaped.” Kougar took a sip of his whiskey. “More than one has traditionally fed on humans though I’m the first to admit I know little about most of those races. They inhabited a different part of the world from the shifters in those ancient times, and they were already firmly under Satanan’s control by the time I was born. Perhaps, as Strome indicated, the evil we’ve always attributed to Daemons in general was only a reflection of Satanan’s control over them.”

“We can hope,” Lyon said somberly. “If they prove otherwise, we’ll have our work cut out for us.”

“What about the draden?” Fox asked, his arm around Melisande’s shoulders. “We always believed they were the remnants of the Daemons incarcerated in the blade, but there’s no doubt they’ve multiplied a thousandfold since ancient times. Do you think they’re gone now?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Grizz suddenly pushed away from the wall and strode to Melisande. “I need to find Sabine.”

Melisande nodded, then gave Fox a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.” A moment later, she and Grizz disappeared.

“Natalie,” Kara said with surprise. “Your wound. I just realized it’s gone again.”

Natalie reached for her cheek with a look of disappointment. “My badge of honor.”

Wulfe smiled and kissed her temple. “It disappeared along with your aura once I released the primal powers and closed the door on them. I can cut you a new one.”

She laughed, the sound the most beautiful beneath the heavens. “Thanks, but no.”

He grinned and kissed her soundly on the mouth this time.

“I wonder . . .” Kougar murmured.

Delaney made a funny sound and Wulfe lifted his head to find her watching him with wide eyes, her hand covering her mouth. Tighe gripped his mate’s shoulder, the look on his face half disbelief, half smile.

“What?” Wulfe demanded.

“Prick her finger,” Tighe said.

Wulfe scowled. “Why?”

Tighe’s smile escaped, his dimples flashing. “When Delaney was made the channel key, she became immortal. We thought it was pulling the clone’s half of my soul through her body that changed her, but now I’m wondering.”

Natalie’s eyes widened. “Immortal?”

“Speculation, only,” Wulfe murmured, but his heart began to pound. If Tighe was right, it wouldn’t necessarily change anything. Natalie wouldn’t have to stay with him, even then. She could go wherever she wanted, do whatever her heart desired. But if she did want to stay . . . they would have forever.

“How do we test it?” she asked, breathless, her eyes wide.

With an unsteady hand, Wulfe released her to pull a small switchblade from his pocket, then he held out his hand for her. “Just a prick,” he promised, but she placed her hand in his without hesitation.

Taking a deep breath, Wulfe gripped one slender finger and nicked the very end. A tiny pearl of blood appeared. He waited two seconds, then brushed it away, revealing skin uninjured. She’d already healed.

Joy lifted inside him.

Natalie’s wide-eyed gaze locked on his. “Do it again. A bigger cut this time.”

“It’ll hurt.”

Her calm gaze bore into his. “I need to know.”

So did he. This time he cut her palm, a shallow, half-inch slice. The blood welled again, and healed before their eyes.

“Immortal,” Tighe crowed.

The table fell silent. Because none of them, Wulfe included, knew if this was good news or bad.

Wulfe stood suddenly. “We need to talk.”

Natalie, stunned, nodded, and he grabbed her hand and led her up to his room.

Wulfe ushered Natalie into his bedroom. As he closed the door, she turned to him, her heart pounding, her mind in chaos. Immortal. She’d been turned immortal.

“What does this mean?” she asked, sounding as bewildered as she felt.

Wulfe stood as if frozen, watching her with liquid eyes. “It means you’re one of us, now. In a way. You have to hide what you are from the humans. From the mortals.”

“I can’t go home.” The thought tried to catch at her emotions, but found only small purchase, because the truth was, she didn’t want to go home. That wasn’t what she wanted at all.

“You can go wherever you want. We won’t be able to take your memories, now, and you will have to be careful of a lot of things, but I trust you, Natalie.”

She watched him, her pulse pounding. Emotions threatened to overwhelm her. “Wulfe . . . what if I don’t want to go home?”

A light sparked in his eyes, hope and joy, and she knew, in that moment, that he wanted her to stay. “But . . . your mom. Your kids with the vision problems.”

Her heart caught. How could she turn her back on them? The kids would find another doctor. But her mom would never survive the loss of all three of her children. Tears burned her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want you to go.” And suddenly she was in his arms, his hands in her hair as he gripped her head, as his gaze bore into hers. “Tell me what I can do to make you stay.”

“Find a way for my mom to remain part of Xavier’s and my lives.”