In unison, Victoria and Sawyer craned their necks, straining to see—
Logan's gaping jaws closed, snatching the raven-witch from flight. The sound crunched like a hundred chicken bones snapping. Empty space remained where the bird had flown except for a fistful of stray feathers that drifted on the current.
The black wolf dropped out of the sky—body arched in the middle and legs spread, rather like a cat. He landed on all fours. With a lithe twist, he turned toward them. A row of primary feathers from the raven's wing bristled from the side of his mouth, the gruesome remains of the witch.
"Ugh." Victoria's stomach turned over, and she probably would've puked except there was nothing left. Persistent nausea had its claws in her, and it didn't seem like she'd feel better any time soon.
"At least he didn't swallow." Grimacing, Sawyer returned his firearm to its shoulder holster. He turned to her, covered in grunge from head to toe, but amazingly, miraculously whole in spite of having been mauled to death by a bear.
"Um, yeah," she said in what officially qualified as the most inarticulate response of her life. She deliberately kept her face slanted away from the hunter. She couldn't stand to look at him.
Head high, Logan pranced up to Victoria. His ears formed erect peaks atop his head and his tail lashed side to side with lupine pride. He halted before her and opened his mouth. The lifeless bird body landed on top of her bare foot with a wet splat. The feathers were soaked with blood and wolf slobber.
"Ew, gross." Victoria's mouth contorted in disgust. She kicked the corpse away and shook her foot a couple more times for good measure, attempting to shed the thick, sticky liquid.
A mournful moan escaped Logan. His ears flattened and his tail drooped. Those beautiful amber eyes beseeched her. Heavens help her—guilt assailed her. He'd gone from being so damn proud of himself to looking deflated. Poor guy. She heaved a heavy sigh and edged around the mutilated raven to pat the black wolf on the head. "It's a lovely gift. Thank you."
Logan perked up. His tail resumed energetic thumping. He thrust his muzzle into her hand, rubbing his wet, warm nose against her palm. A few feet away, Sawyer muttered a disgusted-sounding phrase beneath his breath. He moved off toward where she thought the manifestation of Odin watched and waited. Her gaze flickered in that direction, confirming—
Yep, the big scary birdman was still there. Sawyer conversed with his father in a low voice—his words lost within the rasping of the ravens. Apprehension ate at Victoria's insides. Oh, yeah, this was bad. Gods, especially him, didn't just drop by. No, Odin's presence was a bad omen.
She turned away, choosing to ignore Sawyer; the only option open to her. Everything felt surrealistic, as though she were trapped in a nightmare. Absolute exhaustion worsened her warped perception of reality. If she confronted Sawyer, rage and hatred would overwhelm her. Fervor was a luxury she couldn't afford. She had to conserve her strength and the best way to do so was to pretend nothing was wrong.
Tunnel vision narrowed her perception of the world which kept rotating faster than it should. She hurt from head to toe; every single part of her ached. Weakness threatened to knock her knees out from under her. Seeking support, Victoria stuck her hand out and found smooth, cool metal. A glance revealed it to be the ruined cabin's refrigerator which lay on its side. Bowing her head, she leaned against it and reached for her connection with the land. A wave of energy flowed at her summons. The recharge didn't put her back at one hundred percent, probably not even to fifty percent, but it helped. The dull roaring in her ears faded.
"Are you okay?" Logan's big hand dropped onto her shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm fine." She blinked and her regard zoomed in on a solid six-pack of abs and a pronounced ribcage. Too lean—he needed to eat more.
"You don't look okay, Vic. You're pale. Is the baby all right?"
"I'm—" She looked down at herself, taking stock. Her clothing was torn and covered in dirt and drying blood, but otherwise intact. She had a few cuts and bruises but nothing she couldn't heal. When Freya's assault had ceased, her awareness of her child's distress also faded. No, aside from the fact that she was emotionally and spiritually broken, she was just peachy.
"Maybe you should sit down."
"Logan?" She tilted her head and stared into his face.
"Yeah?"
"Go find some pants. You must have a change of clothes in the car."
The corners of his mouth bowed unhappily. "Yeah. I'll do that. Back in a sec."
Logan walked off, relieving her temporarily of the burden of his concern. She acknowledged she was a bitch for resenting Logan's well-meaning consideration. Fuck. She was lucky to have him, especially since she couldn't count on Sawyer or his father for the pack's protection. It occurred to her she'd better get her attitude on straight or she risked losing Logan too.
"You okay?" Sawyer asked, edging nearer.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Victoria backed off like he had the plague. At her withdrawal, a fleeting glimmer of hurt and confusion crossed his handsome face. She broke out in a cold sweat for fear he'd press her.
Determined to create distance, she stabbed her finger toward the towering figure of the vigilant god. "Why is your father still here?"
He frowned. "Dunno—he's being oblique."
"How so?"
"I asked and he said—"
"Hey! I need help! Over here!" a woman called out.
Victoria turned toward the direction of the female voice. Cali Kinkaid stood amidst the wreckage of another ruined cabin. She was upright but swaying on her feet and had a nasty gash over her eye. She held her forearm cradled against her stomach.
"Cali! Hold on, I'm coming!" Sawyer charged straight toward his fellow hunter.
Hesitating, Victoria held back. She was torn; disinclined to help the hunters at all, given the recent revelation. However, her resentment didn't hold up long against her conscience. Regardless of Sawyer's iniquities, Cali had always been decent toward the Storm Pack, as had DNR. Taking out her anger on them wouldn't be fair.
Unsteady on her feet, Victoria picked her way through the rubble. Sawyer reached Cali, got a supporting arm around her, and guided her toward Victoria. Their paths intersected in front of what appeared to be the sole standing cabin which was inexplicably intact.
"Her arm is broken and she's sustained a pretty good blow to the head. She might have a concussion," Sawyer said to Victoria. "Can you help her?"
"Maybe. I'm drained pretty bad right now. Have her sit down." Victoria focused on the female hunter so she didn't have to look at Sawyer.
"It's nothing. Hell, I've gotten hurt worse playing lacrosse. Damn it, DNR—" Cali jostled Sawyer, attempting to shake off his help, but she only succeeded in wrenching her arm. She winced and groaned, and her brief struggle ceased.
"Knock that shit off, Kinkaid. That's an order." Sawyer lowered Cali to the ground and positioned her with her back against a tree trunk.
"Go check on DNR. Fuck. Damn it. I'm sure the stupid kid is dead, but there might still be a chance—" Choking on a sob, Cali drew her knees against her chest and rested her injured arm across her thighs. Her posture was tense but not enough to stop her entire body from shaking.
"I'll do that." Sawyer bounded off without waiting for acknowledgement.
Feebleness wasn't a quality Victoria associated with the female hunter who had an attitude ten times bigger than her body. It drove home the startling realization that Cali was only a few inches taller than Victoria. Equating frailty with helplessness would've been pure foolishness.
"May I see?" Victoria knelt before the hunter and extended her hands. She stopped shy of touching the other woman—asking tacit permission.
Victoria's conscience kicked her, and she could only think about how she'd turned away from the pair of hunters instead of going to their aid. DNR might still be alive if she'd chosen them. The bitter irony was that her presence at Sawyer's side made not one iota of difference to the final outcome.
"No, I
don't think so." Cali regarded Victoria with hardened suspicion. "Not yet."
Victoria nodded. "Okay. Your call. Want to tell me what happened while you're deciding?"
"We got attacked by two of those drifters we were staking out. Winds up they were werewolves. They must've caught wind 'cause they got the drop on us." Perspiration dotted the other woman's brow. Sweat dripped into the gash on her forehead, mingled with the blood, and then ran into her eye. It had to sting. She squinted and hissed, rubbing at it with the back of her good hand.
"They weren't from my pack," Victoria said in an even voice. "They weren't even real wolf shifters. Their shape changing abilities were stolen."
"Yeah." Cali's agreement sounded more like an acknowledgement. She paused, considering, and then said, "Ugliest fucking wolves I've ever seen. Their fur was mangy. They smelled rank."
Still, she held herself apart from Victoria.
"Were they hard to kill?" Victoria asked, because she had to wonder whether all the members of Den Valgte were as tough as the grizzly. Killing Magdalena had taken her, Sawyer, and Logan—even then it'd been close.
"Oh hell yes." Cali huffed but the sound morphed into a groan. "Me 'n DNR—we filled 'em full of lead. He went down and I reloaded with silver ammo. It didn't make a bit of difference—didn't even slow them down."
"How'd you survive?"
"A big black wolf came out of nowhere. Second I saw him, I thought—for sure we were dead. But the black one lit into the one attacking DNR and ripped him a new one. The fight distracted the wolf after me. Gave me a chance to get away."
"That would be Logan. He's a member of my pack." Victoria composed a quick silent prayer of thanks but then stumbled over a mental block. Tears burned her eyes, and she slid sideways into despondence. She didn't know who to pray to anymore.
"Logan. He's that jackass from this morning?" Cali demanded with obvious skepticism.
Victoria mustered a weak smile. With the way her insides were swimming, she was pretty sure her mouth formed a comical wave. "Yeah. That jackass from this morning. I know it's hard to believe but he's a good guy. He just sucks at introductions."
Face blank, Kinkaid stared. Then, wheezing laughter broke over her. She groaned and struggled, tears on her cheeks. "Sucks at introductions—fuck, that's rich." She waved her good hand. "Okay, yeah. Help me, please."
She raised her open hand, held it level with Cali's forehead. From her training as an RN, Victoria gave the head injury priority even though the broken arm hurt more. A traumatic brain injury could cause death. With a frown, she concentrated on weaving the wild magic of Desolation Wilderness into a restorative spell. It was hard and required immense effort. More difficult than it'd ever been for her, except maybe years ago when she'd first begun studying to become a healer. She hoped it was due to her exhaustion, but feared her severed connection with Freya was to blame.
A faint glow emanated from her palm. Radiant beams bathed Cali's forehead. Slow but sure, the wound closed. When Victoria extended her perception, she detected swelling inside of the other woman's skull which was putting pressure on her brain. "Sawyer was right about you having a concussion."
"Don't tell him. He's already insufferable." Kinkaid grimaced and shifted.
"I won't. Promise."
"Can you fix it?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure about your arm. I'm tapped out already."
"Whatever you can do is fine. I appreciate it." Cali clipped her words, conveying the distinct impression of someone at odds with expressing gratitude.
Victoria mustered a thin smile. She lacked the wherewithal for conversation and magic so she fell silent and concentrated on healing the hunter's head wound. Life went on in the periphery of her awareness. Logan returned, wearing a white t-shirt that proclaimed him "Hot & Tasty" and black leather pants. Somehow, she missed Sawyer's approach. Whether he came before Logan or after, she didn't know. What mattered was the two men were standing around—not trying to kill each other.
"Your head is as good as new."
"Thanks. That's cool," Cali said.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to visit the ER for that break." Victoria ended the healing spell and allowed her arm to fall.
"Sawyer can take me." The female hunter struggled to her feet.
"Always happy to serve as your chauffer, Kinkaid." Sawyer took Cali's good elbow, lending her support until she steadied, and then he released her.
Victoria stood as well and surveyed her surroundings. She hoped to find Odin's ominous presence gone now that she'd healed Cali. With any luck, he would be appeased and finally leave. But no—
The towering figure of Odin kept his vigil. The whirlwind of living ravens rose above him until it merged with the enormous kindness overhead. The flock blacked out the moon and the stars and yet it was hauntingly, unnaturally quiet.
A bad omen for sure.
Chapter Twenty
Broken Bend, California on U.S. Route 50
A hundred feet away, brightness flashed as Bifröst opened a magical portal. The shimmering pathway connected Asgard with Midgard, the world of humanity, and also with the underworld where it opened at the base of Yggdrasil. The rainbow bridge burned with all the colors of fire.
"What the fuck? What is that?" Cali's voice rang with awe.
Victoria opened her mouth to reply but Logan beat her to the punch. He said, "That's Bifröst." And he mispronounced it "by-frost".
"Bivrost," Victoria corrected him sharply. Normally, she'd have let it pass but Odin's presence had her wound tight. She hated the persistent feeling of being out of control. Her suppressed resentment toward Sawyer percolated on a back burner in her mind to the point she was scared to even speak to him. She daren't say something to him in front of witnesses, especially Logan who was already spoiling for fight.
"Beef-roast," Logan enunciated, incorrectly and beyond a shadow of a doubt, on purpose.
"Oh hey, Valkyries!" Sawyer sounded just like a kid at the zoo seeing lions and tigers for the first time ever.
Victoria didn't even want to acknowledge Sawyer to the extent of even looking, but she had no choice. The situation demanded her attention. The bridge disgorged the figures of six warrior women—all athletic, and carrying weapons that dated to ancient times when spears or swords and shields had been preferred. Firearms weren't forbidden or even unheard of in Asgard's armies, but they were rare.
"Really—Valkyries?" Logan bounced on the balls of his feet. "Cool. I've never seen a real Valkyrie before—oomph."
"I'm a Valkyrie." Victoria removed her elbow from Logan's side.
"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Logan's wheezed snicker hinted the opposite.
"Shhh..." Victoria stole another pensive glance at the taciturn god. Abruptly, his reasons for lingering were made painfully clear to her. Oh yeah, the shit had just hit the fan.
Ráðgríðr, the High Valkyrie in charge of all others, headed the procession. The ebony-haired woman stood taller than any other woman in her command, and topped most men. During her apprenticeship, Victoria had heard much speculation about the woman's usual stature. Rumors placed her heritage as a giantess or half-breed. Given her heavy bone structure, giant blood made more sense than elven. She lacked the comely appearance that was the norm among the Fae. Her features were severe and intimidating. A sharp, beaked nose and pointed chin combined with her curved neck to grant her a looming vulture-like presence.
Victoria counted and acknowledged in turn each of the five women who accompanied Ráðgríðr. Hervör Alvitr and her sister, Hlaðguðr Svanhvít, composed the High Valkyrie's personal guard. Beautiful Rota whose name meant sleet and storm; she was infamous for her hot temper. Thrud, who was the daughter of Thor and his wife, Sif, was envied by many for her deific heritage. Hildr, the youngest and prettiest, but also the least experienced, had curly flame-red hair.
The procession went straight to Odin first, offering their respect and reverence. Their regards went unacknowledged. The watchful god remained stoi
c, and Victoria found herself wondering if she was mistaken in her assumption that he was even paying attention at all.
Impatience got the better of Logan. "Okay, so they're Valkyries—so are you. Big whoop-de-do. What's that mean?"
"Valkyries choose the souls of the slain—who goes to Valhalla—" She stumbled and frowned in confusion. "You've been to Valhalla. Why is this news to you?"
"The redhead is hot." Logan averted his gaze, staring at Hildr.
"Are you always such a dick?" Cali asked of him.
He snickered. "No, but when I am, I'm a big dick..."
"Asshole." Cali punched him in the arm.
Logan covered the point of impact with his hand. He flashed a wolf's smile. "Shit, owie... You hit like a not-girl, Kinkaid."
While the pair continued to banter, Sawyer edged closer to Victoria. He nudged her shoulder with his elbow. "Any idea why they're here?"
"No clue, but I'm going to find out." Victoria jerked away from him, tucking her arm against her side. She swallowed around a lump in her throat. A leaden weight parked itself in her gut. Dread spread. She had not a clue why Ráðgríðr and her escort were present, but Odin's manifestation no longer struck her as quite so inexplicable. The All Father must have come to preside over whatever was about to happen.
Taking a deep breath, Victoria squared her shoulders. Determination drove her steps. She approached the entourage and addressed their leader. "Welcome, Lady Ráðgríðr."
Ráðgríðr tipped her chin in the barest nod. "Victoria. I'm pleased to see you're still here. We won't have to track you down."
Victoria stiffened as though overcome with rigor mortis. She noted Ráðgríðr’s failure to cite her title. When properly addressed, "Valkyrie" or "Lady" should precede her name. With any other, she would've suspected the omission to be no more than an oversight. But not Ráðgríðr, oh no, not the haughty High Valkyrie.
"Track me down?" Victoria passed perplexed to pissed off in one-second flat. Her jaws clenched so hard she feared her teeth would break. She blunted her tone so it was devoid of all courtesy. "Why you here, Ráðgríðr?"
Wolf's Cross: Book 4 (Loki's Wolves) Page 26