Wolf Leader: A Shifter Romance (Arctic Brotherhood, Book 6)

by Jane Godman

  Together with the rest of the brotherhood, she threw herself at Fenrir. They piled on top of him, using their claws and teeth to bring him down. It took every ounce of their united efforts to hold him. His lethal fangs and talons slashed wildly at the smaller werewolves as, writhing and howling, he attempted to throw them off.

  With Vigo down, Samson moved in to sink his teeth into Fenrir’s throat. He couldn’t kill him—only silver could do that—but his aim was to incapacitate him. It was a dangerous move. Getting close to Fenrir’s snapping jaws meant one wrong move and he could be slaughtered in seconds.

  The giant werewolf roared, turning on Samson, those huge jaws snapping close to his head. Just as it seemed Fenrir was about to tear him to shreds, Vigo darted back into the fray. Joining Samson, he tore at Fenrir’s neck, ripping away chunks of flesh and spraying blood in an arc.

  Malevolence spilled in a green-gold beam from Fenrir’s eyes as he sank slowly to the ground with a sound midway between a snarl and a whine. He was panting heavily as, wounded now, he lay pinned beneath the weight of the Arctic werewolves. Vigo, blood dripping from his fangs, raised his head and looked at Gunnar.

  As Gunnar stepped forward bearing the silver sword he had brought with him from Jotunheim, the atmosphere changed from adrenaline-charged fight to solemn ritual. The awful silver stench made Amber feel nauseous and she could see it affecting her companions the same way. Fenrir, anticipating what was about to happen, struggled weakly.

  There were tears in Gunnar’s eyes as he lifted the sword. “I would have given anything to avoid this day.”

  Raising the sword high above his head, he brought it down in a single, swift stroke. The sound of the blade slicing through flesh and bone was mercifully over quickly. Gunnar’s whole body quivered violently as he viewed Fenrir’s remains.

  Vigo shifted back and signaled for the others to do the same. Amber turned her face away from Fenrir’s decapitated body, gulping down a deep lungful of fresh sea air. Close by, Kristof sank to his knees, pressing his hands to his temples.

  “We have to burn his remains.” Vigo’s voice was brisk, as he attempted to restore normality to the scene.

  Amber turned to see him pulling on his jeans. His back was lacerated as though he had been whipped.

  “He cannot rise.” The beautiful woman who looked like an Arctic werewolf, but who also appeared part fae, moved forward to regard Fenrir’s body. Her expression was sad.

  “Even so, we must build a funeral pyre,” Gunnar told her. “Decapitation is not enough to lay his tortured soul to rest. A werewolf’s body must not be left intact, even when the head has been severed. Burning is the only way to destroy all of the wolf.”

  As the other members of the brotherhood dressed and set about gathering wood to build a fire, Amber’s attention was drawn to Kristof. For the first time, she saw some real emotion in her fellow new recruit. His face was a mask of horror as he watched what was going on. After a minute or two, he staggered away, slumping into a sitting position against the fortress wall with his knees drawn up against his chest and his head bent. When Amber went to him, she was shocked at how violently he was shaking.

  “Are you okay?” Amber dropped to her knees beside him.

  “How can you ask me that?” He gave a shaky laugh. “You were there. You saw it.”

  “We knew what was going to happen.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t expect to feel like this. Just give me a minute.”

  She did as he asked, turning back briefly to look at him just before she reached the others. When she did, she saw Kristof was curled in a fetal position on the ground, his whole body trembling with sobs.

  Chapter Eleven

  Although they all had their own homes, Lowell’s house, which was situated just outside Fairbanks, had become the unofficial headquarters of the brotherhood. Having arrived at dawn, they had dropped their luggage in the vast hall and congregated around the kitchen table. Odessa, Lowell’s beautiful wife, who was used to her home being invaded by Arctic werewolves, calmly served raw steak and began to cook eggs to go with it.

  “This house is incredible,” Amber whispered, as she slid into the chair next to Vigo.

  He supposed he’d gotten used to being here and tried to see it through her eyes. The Georgian-style mansion was an imposing structure with two wings extending out to either side and a grand porch with high marble colonnades flanking the vast double doors. Beyond the house itself, the colorful formal gardens led to woods with the sparkling curve of a river wending its way in the distance. It was an idyllic location, resembling an elegant hotel from the outside. Lowell, who came from human money and werewolf nobility, had inherited this place in his youth, but it was Odessa who had turned it from a cold shell into a warm and welcoming family home.

  “Before he met Odessa, Lowell used to live here alone.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like that. It must have been lonely.” Amber watched Lowell’s wife as she cooked, supervised her children and chatted to her friends. “Odessa is not an Arctic.”

  Vigo smiled. “That’s a tactful way of pointing out that she’s a Siberian werewolf, one of our sworn enemies. Her father was Santin, the Siberian leader.” Amber’s eyes widened. “Yes, you could say Lowell and Odessa had an interesting story. An Arctic and a Siberian? It was a romance that was never meant to happen. Yet they’re happy together and their children are the start of a new breed of werewolf. One that will ensure the hatred between the two species will be laid to rest for all time.” He smiled. “And Lowell’s house ceased to be lonely once they were married.”

  “Do all of the brotherhood members live close by?”

  “Most of us live in Fairbanks. Sebastian travels around a lot, but he came back to this area when he and Cindy moved in together. Madden, of course, moved to Svalbard about a year ago, when he left the police,” Vigo said. “Did you meet him and his wife, Maria, while you were in Longyearbyen?”

  “I saw them in the town once or twice. I knew, of course, that they were Arctic werewolves because of their coloring, but I . . .” She paused. “Well, I was keen to avoid any contact with them.”

  She had commented on how isolated Lowell must have been when he lived alone in this house. But, against all the instincts of a wolf, loneliness had been a feature of her own life. Vigo’s protective instincts surged. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, to drive that hurt look from her eyes and replace it with the smile that danced there every now and then. Nothing in his life had come close to the sensations Amber aroused in him. Despite everything that had happened since he met her, he only had to glance her way and every other thought flew out of his head.

  Vigo wished he could write his feelings off as physical. Although there was no question about what Amber did to his body, the connection between them was hardwired into his soul. It was so intense, it scared him. The inclination to take care of her was almost as strong as the desire to drag her upstairs to the bedroom Lowell reserved for him whenever he came to stay. He was forced to subdue both compulsions as the others joined them.

  “I’m not sorry to see the end of this mission.” Samson flopped into a chair, his muscular bulk putting its wooden frame under severe strain.

  “Is it really the end?” Odessa asked. “You don’t look like a group of people who are celebrating a victory.”

  She was right. They hadn’t been able to get away from Ulu fast enough, but the scent of burning fur and flesh lingered. Vigo had a horrible feeling that no matter how long he stood under the shower later, he wouldn’t be able to wash it away. It was imprinted on his mind.

  The ashes from the funeral pyre had blown high and wide on the sea breeze and Teresa had lifted her face to the gray sky, her expression mournful as she watched them. When the fire had finally died, she had studied the blackened patch of ground with tears in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry for the damage.” Vigo had stood next to her.

  “The grass will grow back, but somethin
g else happened here today.” She had shaken her head. “An exchange none of us foresaw.”

  “Do you mean the way his evil blood was spilled on this soil? Our plan was for Ulu to counteract it with its own magic. Did it work?”

  She had sighed, gazing at the burned grass for a long time. “That must be what I feel.” Teresa had become lighthearted, although he sensed it had taken an effort. Linking her arm through his, she had walked back toward the others. “Now, I need you to tell that daughter of mine to come back soon . . .”

  An exchange none of us foresaw. Fenrir was dead, but the feeling persisted that it wasn’t over. Is that his legacy? We have been fighting him for so long, we’ll never be able to accept it’s finally over?

  Looking around the table, Vigo saw his own feelings reflected back at him. There was relief, disbelief, the same touch of sadness there always when a life was lost, and utter exhaustion. Except for Kristof. His emotions were raw and threatening spill over. The guy had been worrying Vigo ever since Fenrir had been subdued. Now, he was staring into space, apparently unaware of anything and anyone around him. If he didn’t snap out of it soon, Vigo would have to do something more than just offer him a shoulder to lean on.

  They finished eating and were about to head off to their various rooms to shower and catch up on some much needed sleep when a pounding on the door made Lowell frown.

  “It’s early and the children are still in bed.” He turned to Odessa. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll find out who it is.”

  When she returned a few minutes later, she was accompanied by two men in dark suits. “I’m sorry.” Odessa spoke directly to Vigo. “They insisted on speaking to you.”

  Vigo got to his feet. He already knew this wasn’t going to be good.

  “Vigo Durand?” Vigo nodded. “I’m Detective Alburn, Anchorage Police Department. This is my colleague, Detective Stein. We were given as an alternative to you home address by your employer. We need to speak to you in connection with the murder of Lilah Petersen.”

  Momentarily, the world appeared to tilt off course. Vigo’s head was reeling. He hadn’t heard from Lilah for six years, then he had been sent those photographs. Now these police officers had turned up from her hometown to tell him she was dead. He summoned up an image of her. Red hair, blue eyes, curves that would bring a man to his knees, and a laugh that would tempt a saint into mischief. He couldn’t believe all that vitality had been snuffed out. Just like he couldn’t believe the timing of the photographs and her murder was a coincidence.

  “You don’t have to do this without a lawyer.” Madden caught hold of Vigo’s arm as he got to his feet.

  “Are you arresting me?” Vigo directed the question to Alburn, since he seemed to be in charge.

  “No. This is an informal conversation.”

  “Then, since I have nothing to hide, I don’t see the need for a lawyer,” Vigo said.

  “If this is informal, I can be present when you talk to him. Right?” Madden’s gaze challenged the detectives.

  “If Mr. Durand wishes.”

  Vigo considered the situation. The ensuing conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant. It would involve talking about things he’d rather keep hidden. Aspects of his past he thought he’d put behind him. If it helped catch Lilah’s killer, he’d willingly put his whole life under a microscope. Did he want Madden there while he did it? Those photographs were incriminating. No matter what dirty secrets his past contained, he wanted someone with him who knew the system.

  “Yes, I want him with me.” Vigo looked over his shoulder at Lowell. “Can we use your study?”

  “Of course.” Lowell, along with the rest of the team, appeared shocked and concerned.

  Vigo’s gaze rested on Amber’s upturned face. Anxiety shone in her golden eyes. I don’t deserve to have her worry about me. He wished he could take a moment to explain things to her. Why the hell hadn’t he talked to her before now? Why was she going to find out his secrets in a way that made it looked like they’d been forced out of him? He had never earned the right to call her his, but he had just lost her forever. It was just about the worst feeling in the world and he didn’t have time to stop and examine it. Giving Amber a smile he hoped was reassuring, he led the detectives out of the room.

  There was hardly any space in Lowell’s study that wasn’t occupied by books. Clearing piles of reading material from four chairs, Vigo managed to find somewhere for each of them to sit around Lowell’s cluttered desk.

  “How did she die?” He was still struggling to come to terms with it.

  “She was strangled.”

  An image of his own hands around Lilah’s throat came into Vigo’s head. Those pictures depicted what Lilah had asked him to do. Choke me. It had been role-playing. The hidden camera had made it look like the worst kind of assault.

  “When?”

  “A week ago.” Alburn was watching his reactions carefully. Bastard thinks I have something to hide.

  A week ago, Vigo had been starting his journey to Svalbard. It felt like another lifetime. “What do you need to ask me?”

  “When was the last time you saw Ms. Petersen?” Alburn asked the question while Stein took out a notebook.

  “Six years ago. We dated for about six months when my job took me to Anchorage on a twelve-month placement. I haven’t seen her since then.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Alburn’s voice was neutral, his eyes probing.

  What the hell kind of question was that? “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Just that a man matching your description was seen leaving Ms. Petersen’s apartment on the night she died.” Alburn and Stein exchanged a glance as though deciding how much to tell him. “An hour before she was found dead by her roommate, to be exact.”

  Madden leaned forward. “When you say matching his description, what do you mean exactly?”

  “The man in question is described as having the same height, build, and coloring as Mr. Durand.”

  “Were there any security cameras in her building? Do you have any images of this man?” Madden asked.

  “No.” Alburn gave Madden a look of dislike. “But we do have other images we’d like you to take a look at Mr. Durand.”

  Vigo knew what was coming. If Lilah was the person who had sent him the email containing the images then of course she would have copies. Even if she hadn’t sent them, it was likely whoever had would have shared them with her as well. And surely Lilah must have known about the camera at the time.

  Alburn withdrew and envelope from his inside pocket. Finding space on Lowell’s desk wasn’t easy, but he withdrew each of the color prints from the envelope one after the other. He gave Vigo and Madden a few seconds to look at each before placing the next one on top of it.

  Somehow, the hard copies appeared worse than the ones on Vigo’s laptop screen. He didn’t know how that was possible, but every detail was enhanced. He was aware of Madden watching his face, seeking a reaction. Was it his imagination, or was his friend slipping into cop mode?

  “These pictures were taken while we were dating. We were acting out a fantasy of Lilah’s.” His voice sounded stiff. False. “I didn’t know there was a camera. I didn’t even know these had been taken until a few days ago when they were sent to me in an email.”

  Alburn flipped back through the pictures, and Vigo knew which one he was looking for. When he came to the picture of Vigo with his hands around Lilah’s throat, he withdrew it and placed it on the top of the pile.

  “This is how she died. She was raped and strangled. See the placement of your thumbs here?” Alburn tapped the photograph, “An exact match with the bruises on her body.”

  “I didn’t kill her.” That was better. The stiffness had gone from his voice and he was able to look the detectives in the eye.

  “You’re saying this is a coincidence?” Alburn raised an incredulous eyebrow.

  “No. I’m saying someone who
saw this picture—probably the same person who sent it to me seven days ago—killed Lilah.”

  “And this guy just happened to look like you?” Alburn was starting to get nasty.

  “That’s enough.” Madden got to his feet, signaling for Vigo to do the same. “You have no evidence to link Vigo to this murder. No DNA, no eye-witness accounts, nothing to place him at the scene. Unless you have anything more to ask him, and you are prepared to keep it civil, this informal conversation just ended.”

  “I think we’re done. For now.” Alburn and Stein rose. “Except for one last thing. What were you doing last Saturday, the seventeenth, between ten p.m. and midnight?”

  Oh hell. “I was in Anchorage.” Alburn’s eyes flashed with a triumph so bright it would have lit up the darkest room. “I was on an early morning flight to Helsinki, so I’d booked into a hotel near the airport. I was in my room. Asleep.”

  “I see.” Those two words were loaded with meaning. “Can anyone verify that?”

  “No.” The grip around his heart started to tighten. “I was alone.”

  * * *

  Amber showered and changed into clean clothes.

  She had grimaced as Odessa handed over a complete set of new garments. “At some point I have to start wearing my own underwear again.”

  “I know this is no consolation, but these are all new. You aren’t the first female werewolf to come here and need a change of clothing. I doubt you’ll be the last.” Odessa’s curiously light blue eyes had searched her face. “Don’t worry. Vigo is a good man. Whatever this is, it will be quickly resolved.”

  Vigo is a good man. Amber knew that was true. Every part of her felt it. He was her mate. Neither of them wanted this quirk of fate that had brought them together, but it was undeniable. She had only just met him, but she knew him as well as she knew herself. He was being questioned about the murder of a human woman. Vigo was a werewolf. He was capable of unthinkable savagery. So was Amber. But their decision to live in the human world meant they accepted mortal rules. Back in the mists of time, werewolves had been feral. Living in packs, they had been unable to distinguish humans from other prey. That was where the fear factor came in. Unless a werewolf killed its human victim, the person who received a bite would also become a werewolf at the next full moon.