by Jane Godman
“If that’s what happened, where did Fenrir’s spirit go?” Wilder looked bewildered. “Last time it left his body, it was inside Chastel. What happened to it this time? I’m assuming it’s not still hanging around on Ulu waiting for an unsuspecting body to pass by. So where is it?”
Vigo thought back to Fenrir’s death. He saw Gunnar with the sword raised high before he brought it down on Fenrir’s neck. Kristof stumbling to his knees as if in shock. Heard Teresa voice saying something had happened beyond Fenrir’s death. An exchange none of us foresaw.
They were jumping to conclusions. Making connections where none existed. Fenrir was dead. Even so . . .
“Kristof still isn’t answering anyone’s calls.” Vigo tapped the screen of his cell phone with an increasingly impatient fingertip. “That guy needs to assess his commitment to the brotherhood, or get the fuck out.”
“And where is Gunnar?” Wilder asked. “I haven’t seen him all afternoon. He may not be part of the brotherhood anymore, but his insights are always useful, especially when it comes to Fenrir.”
“Maybe he went to see Kristof to ask him about his commitment?” Odessa paused in the act of clearing the table of used coffee cups and empty water bottles. “He and Amber were talking earlier today about where Kristof lives.”
“What?” Vigo fired out the word so harshly that Odessa jumped. “Sorry. What were they saying exactly?”
“Amber asked Gunnar where Kristof lived—”
Vigo jumped up and kissed her on the forehead. He was halfway to the door before he turned back. “And where does he live?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Third floor of a new apartment block out by the old coal mine.”
* * *
Kristof regarded Gunnar warily as the older man walked into the apartment. “What do you want?”
“Just to talk to you.” Gunnar’s eyes flicked across to Amber. “Both of you.”
She didn’t know what had brought Gunnar here—possibly it was the same intuition that had prompted her to come and talk to Kristof—but Amber had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
“I’ve already told Amber I’m fine.” There was a suspicion of moodiness about Kristof’s words. The dark look had gone from the depths of his eyes and he slumped in his seat, arms folded across his chest.
Watching him, Amber wondered if he was suffering from shock. Even if he possibly had an undiagnosed mental health issue. The changes in his mood were so swift and dramatic it was almost as if he was two people. He was certainly experiencing some problems. She didn’t want to stick around and find out what they were.
“I think he needs help.” She got to her feet, speaking quietly to Gunnar.
“Possibly. But I’m not here for him.” It didn’t sound like Gunnar’s voice.
She couldn’t have heard that right. Gunnar cared about every member of the brotherhood. With a frown, Amber lifted her eyes to his face. And saw it all. Or enough to scare her half to death. Gunnar’s eyes blazed back at her with the green-gold light of a marsh fire.
“No.” In a complete reversal of her feelings a few moments ago, she moved closer to Kristof.
As she did, Gunnar lowered his head, then threw it back at a near impossible angle. A wild howl escaped him and Amber winced. The feral sound went mercilessly on and on, echoing around the room until she thought it would drive all traces of sanity from her mind. She watched helplessly as, squatting on his haunches, face gaunt and eyes smoldering, Gunnar fought the beast that was claiming his soul.
It was as if a mask were descending over his features, muting but not completely hiding them. Gunnar’s terrified expression alternated with Fenrir’s exultant grin. The effect was like intermittent sunlight and shadow dappling the ice floes of the Svalbard archipelago. Gunnar was fighting for control of his own body. And he was losing.
As she watched the awful battle taking place, Amber could see with horrible clarity what had happened. At the moment when Fenrir died, his spirit had left his own body and entered Gunnar’s. And now he had come for her. Not to kill her, but to claim her as his own. We will be together. That was what Fenrir had said.
I’d rather die.
She only had a second for the thought to fully form before Kristof was on his feet at her side. As they faced him together, there was no trace of Gunnar left. Fenrir’s smile was pure, glittering evil.
“I suggest you back away now.” Although the words were addressed to Kristof, that green-gold gaze stayed fixed on Amber’s face.
“And I suggest you shut the fuck up, you evil bastard.” Amber took it all back. Kristof was one of the good guys and if they both came through this she was going to hug him until he squealed for mercy.
The door opened and a group of six men walked in. Five of them were Arctic werewolves. Amber recognized the sixth immediately.
“Retief. You murdering bastard.”
Retief smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. “What are you complaining about? I made sure you weren’t there before I blew up the compound.”
Amber gasped. “You killed all the innocent people who worked there.”
He seemed surprised at her outrage. “I had to find a way to let you know I was on your tail.”
One of the Arctic werewolves stepped forward. “We have been looking for you for a long time, Amber.”
That voice. It was like coarse chunks of rock being thrown around in a sack, moving over each other and grinding together. It was unmistakable; taking her back to the evening he ordered the murders of her family and friends.
Her inner wolf surged against her human restraints. “You’ve found me now.” And you’ll regret it.
“The debt is paid.” The Arctic werewolf spoke to Gunnar.
“You think so?” Gunnar’s lips drew back in a snarl. “Our deal was simple, Levin. I gave you power in exchange for one simple task. Find my bride. Keep her safe until I was ready to claim her. You didn’t find her.” His expression hardened. “But Vigo Durand did.”
“Ahem.” Maybe drawing attention to herself was foolish, but Amber didn’t like the way they were talking about her as though she wasn’t there. These people had been responsible for driving her into hiding. They weren’t going to overlook her when she was in the same room. “Have you considered the possibility that I may have been the one to find Vigo?”
“I don’t think annoying them is the way to go.” Kristof muttered the words out of the corner of his mouth.
“You have what you wanted.” The werewolf called Levin was less interested in Amber and Kristof and more interested in getting his point across to Gunnar. “The hunt for the girl is over.”
“What use were you? I found her myself.” The menace in Gunnar’s voice was no longer subtle. It was like a rusty knife swung by a frenzied killer.
Levin took a step back. “We have spent years searching for her on your orders—”
“You have spent years failing.”
Although Levin had his pack with him, there was no doubt about who was in charge. The atmosphere sizzled with tension. Fenrir was back, and he didn’t care who knew it.
“So what happens now?” Levin asked. Clearly he had decided that arguing wasn’t in his best interests.
“I wish to be alone with my mate. Your job is to ensure that we are not interrupted.”
“First of all, I’m not your mate. You already know I’m with Vigo—” Amber fell back onto the sofa, her eyes watering as Gunnar struck her a backhanded blow. She could feel her bottom lip swelling as she wiped away blood with the back of her hand. Kristof made a move toward Gunnar, but she gestured him back. There was chivalry and then there was suicide.
“Speak of him again and I will make you carry his head in place of a bouquet.” Gunnar’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.
Ignoring the image, Amber continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And I don’t want to be alone with you.” She braced herself for another blow, hoping he would get close enough for her to aim her own kick or punch. It didn’t happe
n.
“You will soon learn that your wishes are of no importance.” He seized her by the arm, hauling her up from the sofa, letting her feel his power. No matter how hard she tried to resist him, he was able to propel her toward the door without any effort. “We’ve wasted enough time.”
Why the hell didn’t I just tell Vigo where I was going?
“What about him?” Levin jerked a thumb in Kristof’s direction.
“Dispose of him. And make it fast.”
* * *
Vigo didn’t trust himself behind the wheel, so Lowell and Wilder drove their respective cars. Even so, the frustration of waiting at junctions and not running slower traffic off the road took Vigo to the edge of his wits. By the time he glimpsed the tumbledown buildings that clustered close to the old mine shaft, he was starting to wonder if his heart could stand the strain.
“Why do you think Amber came here?” Lowell asked.
“I don’t know. Kristof was acting weird on Ulu and after we got back to your place. Maybe she knew Fenrir’s spirit had entered his body,” Vigo said.
“Would she do that? If Amber thought Kristof was Fenrir, would she face him alone?” Lowell’s voice was skeptical. “I wouldn’t, would you?”
No. Lowell was right. No one would willingly face Fenrir. So what had brought Amber here? Clearly something had drawn her to Kristof, but it couldn’t have been anything as dramatic as a belief that he was Fenrir.
“What about Gunnar?” Samson was in the backseat. “If he even suspected Kristof was Fenrir, surely he’d have told us? He wouldn’t have kept something like that to himself.”
Vigo looked up at the apartment block. What would they find inside? The howling, snarling god of destruction inhabiting Kristof’s body and holding Amber and Gunnar hostage? Other images tried to crowd in on him of things Fenrir could have done to them, but he forced them away. Or would the three of them be drinking coffee and discussing something trivial?
He shook his head. Amber was in danger. His protective instincts told him that. She was his mate. They had a bond that extended beyond the physical. And Fenrir was close. That was just Vigo’s internal radar at work. After five years of facing the bastard, he knew when to trust his intuition.
The only way they would know for sure what was going on would be to get inside Kristof’s apartment. To his surprise, when they reached the front of the building, the door was open.
“Not a good sign,” Madden commented.
“Can you smell it?” As they approached the elevator, Vigo tilted his head back, scenting the air.
Samson nodded. “Other werewolves. An alpha male and his betas. They are still here.” His lips drew back in a snarl. “And I can smell him. Fenrir. His scent is different. Muted because he’s in another body, but it’s unmistakable.”
“My God. That means we were right.” Vigo could hardly believe this was happening. “Is Fenrir still here?”
“I’m not sure.” They were in the elevator now, and the scents were muffled.
When they reached the third floor, the noise led them instantly to Kristof’s apartment. Snarls and growls were accompanied by whimpers of pain. As Vigo burst through the open door with his friends following close behind, he saw Kristof, in wolf form, lying on his side. He was almost unconscious and being systematically kicked by a man while five Arctic werewolves in human form looked on.
“You can earn your money, Retief. I am tired of chasing a woman who doesn’t want to be caught, only to be told the debt isn’t paid.”
Retief. That was the name of the man Amber believed was responsible for the explosions at the Norway Tech compound. And the man who had just spoken had vocal cords that sounded like sandpaper. At least Vigo knew instantly whom he was dealing with. It was also apparent that Kristof was not Fenrir.
Dropping his hand in a signal to the brotherhood, he shrugged off his outer clothes and shifted. With a shake of his wolf body, he shook aside the remnants of his underwear. His friends were only seconds behind him. Huge, proud, dominant, and very, very angry, they dropped to all fours and fixed their targets with a golden stare.
“What the—”
The man with the gravelly voice didn’t have time to shift before Vigo sank his fangs into his shoulder. Blood sprayed in an arc and bone made a satisfying crunch as Vigo lifted him off his feet and shook him from side to side. For a man with such a rusty-nail voice, when he screamed, he sounded like a little girl. The temptation to finish him was overwhelming, but Vigo retained enough of his human senses to know this one was the most important. With a snarl of annoyance, he hurled him into a corner of the room and turned his attention to the others.
The other four Arctic werewolves had clearly decided their best chance lay in shifting. Even without the loss of their leader, they were hopelessly outclassed. The brotherhood might be depleted in number without Kristof and Amber, but the five teammates who were there had fought together so many times their movements were almost choreographed. Snapping, slashing, trampling and tearing, they inflicted horrible wounds on the other werewolves, throwing their bodies around like toys before casting them aside. Within minutes, the wooden floor was slippery with blood and the four werewolves lay in a heap, their bodies broken and torn.
The man who had been kicking Kristof was moving stealthily toward the door when Vigo shifted back. “Not another step. Samson, bring him over here. Madden, get the werewolf leader. Lowell and Wilder, clean this place up. I need to check on Kristof.”
Vigo pulled on his jeans before kneeling beside Kristof. The Arctic werewolf’s breathing was shallow, but he opened his eyes when Vigo ran a hand over his body. “I think you’ve got a few broken ribs. Can you shift back?”
Kristof groaned as he shifted, clutching his side. “Amber . . .”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know, but Gunnar is with her.” Kristof’s body was a mass of bruises, his eyes already swollen half closed.
“Thank fuck for that.” Relief coursed through Vigo’s whole body. “Gunnar will look after her.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Kristof winced as he struggled to sit up. “Gunnar is him . . . Fenrir.”
Chapter Fifteen
Even though nature had begun to reclaim the scarred landscape of the old coalmine, birds didn’t sing and animals didn’t come to forage inside the crater. There was an acrid, dusty smell of disuse hanging low in the air that caught in the back of Amber’s throat and made her cough. Although grimy grass had grown over the area, the striations were still clear, the different levels of excavation showing through the rock.
At the opposite side of the crater there was a gaping mine shaft. It was in that direction that Gunnar was dragging her.
Amber had given up fighting and protesting, preferring to conserve her energy. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
They reached the main shaft, its opening greeting them like a wide, gaping mouth. The original timber beams were in place supporting the cavelike entrance. Each one carefully sawn off and hammered into place, their workmanship had stood the test of time.
I guess I know where we’re headed.
Underground. The thought had a horrible irony to it. Fenrir had spent his adult life in the dungeons below Jotunheim, only seeing daylight in the last five years when he had escaped. Of course he would want to be below ground. That was where he felt at home.
Me? I’m a wolf. I don’t do so well in a burrow. Maybe if I mention it, he’ll realize we’re not compatible after all.
The thought sent an unexpected choke of laughter bubbling up in her throat. So this was what hysteria felt like. Not what she needed. If she was going to get out of this, she needed a clear head and fists of steel. Some luck wouldn’t go amiss right about now, either.
Her gaze went into the inky depths of the mine shaft. I don’t want to die in there. Or worse . . .
Her thoughts went to Vigo, as she tried to project a long distance cry for help.
Come and get me. A
nd, by the way, I love you.
She would give anything to say that to his face. To swap fear and hiding and looking over her shoulder for a normal life. A life she could share with Vigo. The past few days had shown her how that could look. She’d seen Lowell and Odessa together, caught a glimpse of Wilder and Jenny. I want to be selfish. I want forever.
She wanted the little things that came with forever. The security of knowing she would wake up every day and the first thing she saw would be his face. That they could make plans for little things . . . tonight’s dinner, Saturday’s movie, next year’s vacation. The shelter of his arms on dark nights and lazy days. To know they’d rejoice in the happy times and comfort each other through the sad. To watch their children play, and joke about whether they had his smile or hers . . .
You will not take that away from us, Fenrir. I won’t let you.
Her captor pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket as he hauled her into the shaft. Would she be able to kill Gunnar? She didn’t want to try, to harm the man who meant so much to the brotherhood. A man who was a god. And, unlike Fenrir, a good one. Gunnar was Tyr, the god of justice. Amber had seen for herself how hard he tried to fight Fenrir. She thought the buildup to that battle alone had come close to killing him. Gunnar didn’t deserve to die just because Fenrir had used him this way.
But if it came to a choice between what Fenrir had planned for her—and she suspected his plans involved claiming her as his mate—then she couldn’t see any way to avoid killing Gunnar. The only problem with that plan was the vicious, destructive werewolf inhabiting Gunnar’s body would probably give him extra strength. Amber shrugged. For the past five years, she had faced the prospect that she would probably die fighting.
Once they had taken a few steps, the flashlight beam became a tiny beacon in the surrounding blackness. The tunnel smelled of darkness. Centuries of moldy earth, burrowing creatures, and dusty rock had stamped their mark on it. Underfoot, loose stones slithered and crunched, making the path ahead of them tricky. Amber liked cold, welcomed its embrace, but this hit her abruptly just a few short feet from the entrance, throwing her senses off balance.