"Can I heal you?" She reached for him with shaking hands. Her own strength hadn't recovered. She still had unhealed injuries, and was damn close to collapse.
"Nah, I'll be fine." He waved her off, ducking beyond reach.
"What happened to the bear? Did you kill it?" Victoria didn't have the strength to chase Logan, so she let it go. Let him live with the pain for a while. All things being equal, her money was on him to recover his full strength first.
"I think so, but I'm not sure." He jerked his head, indicating some distant point over his shoulder. "I eviscerated the bitch but she kept coming. Fucking unstoppable."
"It's still alive?" Victoria reared back in alarm.
"She stopped moving after I damn near ripped her head off but fuck—I've never seen anything like it before in my life."
"Where is it?"
"Over there." He pointed toward where one of the cabins had once been, but no more. A pile of wreckage stood in its place. The A-frame roof had collapsed inward. Two of the structural walls gone; the others propped upon underlying rubble. The stone chimney tipped at a steep angle from the building.
"Wow." Victoria widened her inspection of their surroundings. The hotel area looked like a disaster zone—fallen trees and debris everywhere. A telephone pole had fallen across the front lobby of the lodge. Every cabin within view showed some sign of damage.
Cali Kinkaid and DNR were nowhere to be seen. Neither were the wolves they'd been fighting. Victoria gave brief consideration to searching for them, but then discarded the notion. At the moment, she wasn't feeling predisposed toward helping the hunters at all. If they were in trouble—tough.
"This way." Logan marched off in the direction he'd indicated, leaving Victoria to trail him. He skirted Sawyer, going wide to avoid the god's watchful apparition.
Victoria hesitated and then took the other path that brought her close to Odin. Then, just to up the ante and make the choice truly foolish, she stopped before him. She tilted her head back, staring up into the visage of living ravens. Understatement to say the god had one hell of a poker face at the moment—his aspect was both implacable and terrifying. This wasn't Jake, who she'd come to love like her own father.
A hot gale blasted her shoulders as though the god had exhaled. A tremor shook her. She braced, employing pure gumption. "I kept my word to you," she said in a raw voice. The inside of her throat was dry and cut up as though she'd swallowed razors. "We agreed on a blood price and I swore not to seek revenge on the man who murdered Jasper..."
A raucous cacophony arose from the countless ravens and they were the god's voice. "Blood price has not yet been paid."
She hesitated, wanting to ask but not daring to make demands on the omnipotent All Father. Oh irony—the blood price they'd agreed to was the marriage of one of Jake's sons to an eligible she-wolf from the Storm Pack. During the peace negotiations with Jake, Victoria hadn't known the true identity of the teenager's killer. Obviously, the Hunter King had practiced purposeful deceit—he and his murderous son. She acknowledged their betrayal in the coldest, most clinical way because she hadn't had time to process the full implications yet. The two men she'd considered honorable and trustworthy—the allies she needed to defend her territory against outside invaders—had proven to be anything but.
Odin said nothing else, so Victoria continued on her way. She joined Logan at the wreckage of the ruined cabin. He stood in the middle of the mess, over an enormous furry heap that bore stronger resemblance to a pile of turd-brown shag carpeting than the grizzly they'd fought. It was rank with musk and decay.
"Where's the bear?" Victoria asked, trading a quizzical glance with Logan.
"This is it. Dunno what happened." He shook his head, equally baffled, and prodded the thing with his foot. The shapeless mass shifted, revealing dozens of holes in the hide. Belatedly, realization dawned and then revulsion struck her—it was a bear skin. Just like those wolf skins she'd found in the cabin...
The thing twitched and then jerked.
"Whoa!" Logan rocked back.
"Be careful!" Already on edge, Victoria jumped clean off her feet. Her leap carried her into Logan, so she used her momentum to knock him from harm's way.
Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, Victoria edged closer to obtain a better look. The abomination kept moving about. Blood matted fur thrust and tugged. Someone or something struggling to escape from within. The odor of wrongness—wicked bad mojo—was overwhelming. Nothing about it was natural. Nothing right. And yeah—there was a living thing under there moving around. It was visible through the slashes, although, Victoria couldn't make out any details.
Both Victoria and Logan bristled and circled, snarling at the thing, reacting as wolves even though they were fully human. In the moment, pack mentality overtook reason and any canine from a Chihuahua to a wolf would've possessed an innate understanding of their instinctive reaction.
The bear skin's head rotated and rose. Dull eyes made of dark glass. It shook in the grip of a severe convulsion and a terrible, gut-wrenching moan emanated from the thing under the skin.
Victoria quivered from her head to the tip of the tail she didn't currently have, and stole a glance at Logan. He was already midway through a full shift: ears pointed and high on his skull, jaws elongated into a muzzle, increased height and mass. Thick, glossy fur covered his body. His fangs—impressive enough to put the big, bad wolf to shame—and his claws the same. He was a healthy, living wolf shifter—a marked contrast to whatever the fuck this thing was.
"Enough is enough." She lunged and seized the edge of the grizzly hide. With all her strength, she yanked and cast it away. The bear skin flew aside, revealing—
A girl. Taller than Victoria, but then that was true of almost everyone. She had tangled brown hair—some strands plaited, the rest worn loose past her waist. She wore a headdress of sleek black feathers—raven or possibly crow. Her face was young and old beneath an intricate pattern of dark blue lines. She was nude except for the myriad tattoos that covered her entire body. Her figure was firm and full. Not a girl but a woman after all
The woman reeked of bad magic—an unmistakable scent marker that was branded permanently into Victoria's memory. Their enemy was seiðr, a Norse witch. According to Sylvie, who loved nothing more than to retell the ancient sagas, the wicked breed hailed from the mystical Iron Woods.
"Well, this is unexpected." Logan edged closer, extending his clawed hand as though to poke at the woman.
"Don't. She's a witch." Victoria snarled in warning. They still had no idea as to the woman's capabilities beyond her ability to change shapes by donning an animal skin. Alarmingly, they didn't know anything about the witch or her people at all. But Victoria intended to rectify that dearth of knowledge—no matter what the cost.
"Witches. I hate witches. Have I ever told you how much I despise witches?" Logan pulled back. His grumbling was two degrees shy of a hearty growl.
"No, but I might've guessed." Despite everything, Victoria smiled and then snarled. "Seiðr, face me."
"Do you know me, wolf?" The witch swayed on her feet. She staggered but managed to execute a half turn toward Victoria. A silver amulet glinted at the base of her throat. It cast a powerful magical aura so potent the enchantment punctured the veil between the spiritual and physical planes.
Victoria's gaze locked on the brightness. Acting on instinct, she lunged straight at the woman's throat, grabbed hold of the amulet, and yanked as hard as she could. The silver burned her palm and fingers—agony.
The seiðr's scream rent the night. She clawed at the Victoria's face, but Logan captured the witch's forearms and restrained her. Even so, his prisoner writhed and shrieked like a banshee, fighting to keep her amulet.
In Victoria's grasp, the rawhide cord grew taut but didn't break. The toxic metal corroded her flesh, and the stench of seared meat flooded the air. Gritting her teeth, she gathered her strength and hauled back with all her might.
The twine snapp
ed; the amulet was hers.
"Give it to me! Give me back the key!" The witch shrieked.
"Tough luck. It's mine now." Seething in pain, Victoria forced her fingers open and ducked her head, squinting to study her prize. The pure silver talisman rested in the cup of her hand, atop blood and blistered flesh. The basic shape was a cross but it wasn't Christian. It was Thor's hammer, Mjölnir, but a variant from the standard form. A wolf's head formed the bail where the piece had attached to the cord. It didn't look like a key but then she had no idea what the lock was supposed to look like—if the witch's raving could be trusted to make sense at all.
"What is it?" Logan asked once the witch's furious struggles subsided.
"It's called a wolf's cross."
"Looks Norse."
"It is."
"Is that what made the bear so damn hard to kill?"
"Might be."
"It doesn't look like a key."
"No, it doesn't."
"My, aren't you a fount of information."
"Sorry." She shrugged. "Wolf's crosses are uncommon but not unheard of." She purposefully left out a relevant detail she preferred not to share with Logan. The wolf's cross was a symbol sometimes worn by Odin's followers—sometimes but not always.
Dread in her gut, Victoria cast a sharp glance toward the silent god. Unflinchingly, enigmatic in his manifestation, Odin stared back at her.
She looked away.
"It's silver. You can't use it but I can," said Logan, who was immune to the metal's toxic effects. "Can I have it?"
"No. It's too dangerous." Victoria desired nothing more than to cast the enchanted amulet away, but doing so would've been too reckless. But her pain threshold had hit its limits so she shoved it into her back pocket. The cotton lining was thin but hopefully it'd insulate her skin from the silver until she managed to find something thicker.
"I hate it when you talk to me like I'm in preschool," Logan complained, maintaining his grip on the witch.
"Then learn to respect what you don't understand." Victoria fisted her hand. Blood seeped from her fist and dripped to the ground, but she was already healing. Unfortunately, silver injuries took much longer than other kinds.
Logan grumbled beneath his breath. If he hadn't been stuck holding the witch, he'd have talked with his hands. She could tell.
Victoria addressed the woman. "What's your name?'
The witch hesitated.
"Talk or I'll snap your skinny neck." Logan jostled the prisoner, who hissed.
"Magdalena." The seiðr's voice had unlikely sweetness, and an Old World accent that Victoria couldn't place.
"Magdalena." Victoria tried out the name, twisting her mouth around the foreign syllables. "Okay, Magdalena, do you know who I am?"
"You are a werewolf." Magdalena narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.
"I'm Victoria Storm, Alpha of the Storm Pack, and the fella behind you is Logan."
"Pleasure, ma'am." Behind the witch, Logan sneered.
"Your names mean nothing to me," Magdalena said coldly. "But I can see from the look on your face, you think they should."
"We helped kill your sister. Last February." Victoria reached overhead for Vanadium. Her hand closed on empty air—gone. Cold shock slammed her.
"I don't have a sister."
"No? Her name was Hrafnar." Logan lifted the witch off her feet and shook her.
"Ah, I knew of Hrafnar, but she was no sister of mine." Magdalena twisted to stare over her shoulder at the male wolf. "You, wolf, would make a powerful skin."
Logan roared full in the witch's face.
When Magdalena looked back, a sinister smile twisted her mouth. "Victoria Storm, you and I are sisters in spirit even though I must wear the skin of a wolf to become one."
"I am nothing like you!" Victoria lost her grip, surrendering to anger.
Magdalena frowned. "Ah, but we are. You're willfully blind if you can't see it."
Victoria pulled up short, and took stock of what she'd learned. While they stood there, Logan fidgeted and the witch twisted and turned as much as his grasp permitted. When the seiðr found the man made of ravens, an ecstatic fascination lit her face—eerie but also beatific.
"So you can become a wolf when you wear a wolf skin and a bear when you wear a bear skin," Victoria said, seeking confirmation. To her amazement, she sounded calm to her own ears. A miracle considering the anger bottled up within her.
"Yes," Magdalena said in a breathy voice. She gave her answers in a distracted fashion because her attention never strayed from the silent god.
"Any animal? What about a seal?" Logan craned his neck to follow the witch's gaze.
"Only animals that belong to Odin," Magdalena said.
Logan snapped back to Victoria—the lightbulb of epiphany over his head. Uh-oh. She stifled a groan because she could tell—
"Is that Odin?" Logan mouthed, pointing toward the birdman.
"Yes." Victoria mouthed in return. Dreading the worst, she braced.
"Crap on a cracker." His jaw hung and he stared.
Victoria waited but no Logan-esque explosion arose. Well, that had gone down better than expected. The witch remained in a fascinated thrall, so Victoria formulated a hasty plan to exploit that weakness.
"Magdalena, tell me why you invaded my territory and attacked my pack without provocation," Victoria infused her voice with magic to make the command compulsory. Normally, strong-minded people proved resistant to the persuasion, but the preoccupied witch didn't have her head in the game. Maybe the Alpha's trick would work.
"We came hunting wolves for their skins. We didn't expect to find Loki's children here," Magdalena said. "We didn't attack your pack. You attacked us when we returned from the hunt. We were all tired. The men with the guns ambushed us."
"What about the man you murdered in Desolation Wilderness? His name was Kevin Danbury. Did he ambush you too?" Victoria had to confirm the truth about the biologist's death one way or the other. She no longer worried about discovering the killers had been Sawyer and the other hunters.
"He interfered in our hunt. His death was unfortunate but justified."
Victoria bobbed her head. She found no satisfaction in the truth—only resignation and acknowledgement. Logan leveled an unhappy look her way, but he appeared to accept the witch's confession.
"Who the fuck are you?" Logan asked.
Annoyance penetrated the woman's reverie. She jerked, turning toward Logan. "My name is Magdalena. I've already told you that."
"He means," Victoria said thinly. "What do your people call themselves? Does your order have a name?"
"Ahh. Yes. Long ago, we were known as the berserkir—wearers of bear-shirts. And the úlfheðnar—wearers of wolf-hides..." She lifted her eyes and addressed the heavens. "Now we simply call ourselves Den Valgte—The Chosen."
"The Chosen..." Victoria repeated. The sour words curdled in her mouth.
"Well, aren't y'all special," Logan drawled.
"Odin's Chosen." Magdalena's smile remained blissfully oblivious to Logan's corrosive sarcasm. "We all serve Him as children do their father."
A hush fell. Victoria stared at the woman in absolute affront, afraid to speak for what she might say. Through their empathic connection, she sensed Logan's deep and abiding anger. To hear this horrid woman describe herself as a daughter of Odin was an outrage. She waited and kept waiting for the god to speak up in denial or condemnation.
Odin remained stoic.
Victoria opened her mouth to speak, though she had no idea what to say. From her heated perspective, violence presented itself as a perfectly acceptable option. To start, ripping the woman's head from her shoulders appealed... A white-hot, achingly familiar presence joined Victoria and Logan in the pack bond, and then they were three.
Distracted, Victoria faltered.
The witch beat her to the punch—the verbal one anyway. "It is why I said we are alike. You are dís ulfhuguð—a wolf-hearted woman. Like me, you are al
so a daughter of Odin—"
"You're no daughter of Odin." An avenging angel, Sawyer stepped into the awful silence. He offered the exact words Victoria had longed to hear—but from the wrong man. The hunter held his .45 aimed at Magdalena's head, but the weapon was pointed also at Logan, who happened to be standing directly behind the witch.
"Don't aim that fucking thing at me!" Logan shoved the witch toward Sawyer and released her. He dove for cover.
Magdalena staggered forward, and flung her arms wide. She shouted, indecipherable words, incanting a spell. Lightning danced about her splayed fingers. The sharp points of quills punctured her skin, growing from within, and cast a ruby spray. The witch shrank and sprouted ebony plumage all over her body. In a wink, she transformed into a raven.
Sawyer adjusted his aim to target the raven-witch. The gun spoke—fire and boom. Lightning arced across the heavens and thunder rolled. Screeching birds in countless number rode on the storm.
The shot missed.
Chapter Nineteen
Broken Bend, California on U.S. Route 50
The raven-witch rose into the air on beating wings.
"Son of a bitch." Arm extended, Sawyer tilted back his head to track the fleeing bird. The hunter had a steady arm and rock solid stance, but his target was small and swift. Another hundred feet and Magdalena would reach the flock and be lost—another distant dot amongst the thousands.
Movement caught the corner of Victoria's eye—a swift, black blur. A great black wolf, Logan leapt and soared in a high, wide arc. The wolf's trajectory carried him straight toward Magdalena—and brought him into the hunter's line of fire.
"Logan!" Acting on reflex, Victoria lunged toward Sawyer and latched onto his elbow, jerking his arm to the side. The handgun went off, firing a wide shot that missed by a mile. The gunshot boomed and set the entire unkindness to croaking out a storm of protest.
Wolf's Cross: Book 4 (Loki's Wolves) Page 25