"Victoria's making the best compromise she can between protecting the pack and trying to save this boy, Sylvie," Paul said.
"We have our own children to look after," Sylvie said with a pointed glance toward Morena and Jasper. "We have another month or so before Sophia births her cubs. She and her pups will need a den to hole up in for the first month. It will be another two months before they are able to travel."
"Sylvie, I haven't forgotten," Victoria said softly. "I will find a safe place for the pups. I promise."
"I vote with Victory." Rand Scott spoke in a laconic Southern drawl. Absently, the burly redhead reached down to scratch the top of Sophia's head.
Sophia, the pregnant gray wolf, was the pack's only non-shifter member. She lost her mate in the same massacre that had resulted in most of the Storm pack being slaughtered at the hands of hunters.
Victoria scowled. "This isn't supposed to be a democracy."
"It's a Victorocracy!" Morena piped up from her perch on the bed of the pickup. The girl sat beside Jasper with her legs dangling over the side of the lowered tailgate.
Jasper dug his elbow into her side. "That's stupid!"
Morena punched him in the arm. "Is not!"
"Is so!" Jasper said, taking a playful swing at the girl. Laughing, the pair tumbled across the truck bed, wrestling for dominance.
Sixteen-year-old Morena was a year older than Jasper. The two shared the lowest possible status within the pack: Omega—the least dominant wolves. Due to their youth, they had not yet established a respectable rank even with regard to each other, which led to a perpetual state of rivalry between the two.
Watching the teens, Victoria rolled her eyes and smothered a smile. She did her best to appear disapproving but her amusement spread through the pack bond, touching the others. Soon, every adult wore a grin or smile, and only the squabbling teens appeared oblivious.
As wolves, they shared an enduring and mystical connection—empathic and spiritual. It was the foundation of their magic, the glue that held them together. Range limited the pack bond, decreasing its effectiveness over great distances, except when emotional or physical trauma unified them.
"Look, I understand the situation is dire." Victoria met the gazes of each and every individual in turn, but addressed them as a whole. "The hunters have us outnumbered and outgunned. If the pack is to survive, then we have to avoid any more confrontations even though it goes against our nature. We are descended from the great wolf-god Fenris. We are warriors and it is not in our nature to run from a fight."
"We are Vikings." Victoria glanced toward Rand, her fierce second in command, who was built like a grizzly bear—over seven feet tall and in excess of three hundred pounds—with fiery red hair, bristling mustache and beard. He had lost the lower portion of his leg below the knee years before in a motorcycle accident.
"Aye, that we are." Sounding more pirate than Norseman, Rand flashed a fierce smile that showed off all of his teeth.
"We are also Blackfoot," Sylvie said with a small gesture inclusive of both she and her husband.
As elders, the mated pair commanded respect. Sylvie acted as the pack's historian and bard, schooled in the ancient languages and myths of both Norse and Native American cultures. Her husband was a battle-scarred warrior who had lost a hand and a leg in battles past. Victoria relied on their wisdom to make sound decisions.
Paul rumbled deep in his throat. "First and foremost, we're wolves. Sylvie, my love, we are an honorable people. This spirit has sought our help to save her son. We are not cowards who have only selfish concerns. If we abandon a helpless child then we are no better than the beasts the hunters call us."
Sylvie stared into her mate's eyes. Her face flushed, and then a reluctant smile curved her lips. "You are right, my love. We must save the child."
The weight on Victoria's shoulders lifted and she breathed easier. Of course, she could make it a command and the others would have obeyed, but handing down orders did not suit her. She preferred to have her pack's cooperation and consent.
"Good, we're agreed," Victoria said. "I'll go after the child."
"Can I come along?" Jasper squirmed with excitement, unable to sit still.
Morena elbowed him in the side. "No fair, I want to go!"
Jasper slapped her arm away. "I called it first!"
Victoria frowned. "No, it's too dangerous. Both of you are staying here."
Rand rumbled with deep laughter. "I'll go with you."
"That works." Victoria agreed with an eager gleam in her blue eyes. If she had to have a wingman, she preferred Rand. Even with a prosthetic leg, the brawny redhead fought better than either of the teen werewolves.
Chapter Three
"Two-twenty-two. This is it." Rand stopped, eyeing the trio of tarnished brass twos, which hung off-center above a mail slot.
"Yeah, this is it." Victoria knocked on the red door.
They stood on the second story walkway overlooking a courtyard. All of the apartments faced outward and the complex showed considerable signs of disrepair—peeling paint, a pockmarked parking lot, graffiti on the surrounding walls. The tenement building stood less than a quarter mile from where she had encountered the murdered woman's spirit.
A local newspaper provided only basic information about June Fraiser's murder and six-year-old Michael's abduction, but it had been enough to verify the ghost's story. She obtained a home address from the phone book. Everything fit.
"Forty-eight hours is a long time for a little boy to be alone with a killer," Rand said, giving voice to her darkest fears. When no one answered Victoria's knock, he rapped on the door again with his fist.
"Yes, it is." The thought of a terrified child in the hands of the monster who had bashed in that poor woman's head made Victoria's blood run cold.
"Looks like no one is home." Rand reached out and twisted the door knob. "It's locked. Should we force the door?"
Victoria bit her lower lip as she considered the barrier. She had been raised in the suburbs as part of a middle class family. Her worst criminal offense was speeding. She had no idea how to pick a lock and had certainly never trespassed on a murder scene before. Of course, she and Rand were both strong enough to bust the door open, but neither of them felt comfortable doing so.
She bent to lift the welcome mat. "Maybe there's a key hidden."
"We should be so lucky," Rand said with a snort.
"I've got nothing." Victoria lowered the mat back into position. She balanced on the tips of her toes and tried to reach the top of the doorframe, but it proved just out of her reach.
Rand snickered. "Don't strain yourself, little buddy."
"Watch it, Rand." A quick stab of annoyance caused Victoria's blue eyes to flash. She bared her teeth in a warning snarl. She had never lived down the fact that she had reached her full height—less than five feet—at the age of twelve, and never grown another inch taller.
"Damn, Victory, no need to be so fucking sensitive about your height. No one minds you being an itty-bitty— Ouch, fuck!" Wearing a shit-eating grin, Rand positioned a protective arm over his ribcage and ran his free hand along the top of the doorframe.
"One more word and I'll ram that pegleg up your ass."
"Hey, now. No need for violence." Rand's expression morphed to one of discovery. "Ah-ha!"
Victoria's brow shot up. "Really?"
Rand held up a brass key. "Oh yes. Really."
"Smart ass." Victoria smothered a grin. She enjoyed Rand's company. Although he had forty-six years to her twenty-four, she felt closer to him than she did to Morena and Jasper. Life had aged her beyond her years.
Rand inserted the key into the lock and hesitated. "Not sure it's right, entering a police crime scene. I hope we don't mess nothin' up."
"Don't worry, it's not an active forensic investigation scene or there would be an officer posted. After the police are done, they leave it to the property owners to clean up."
Rand shot her a perplexed glance
. "How do you know that?"
Victoria shrugged. Her voice went flat. "I dated a cop for a year."
He winced. "Oh yeah, sorry."
"It's okay." She lied. If Rand knew of her lie, he kept his mouth shut for a change, and she was grateful.
Daniel had only been dead a couple weeks and she missed him dearly. Her heart ached as if it had been cut from her breast. The deaths of her parents and so many others compounded her pain until she had shut down emotionally. The pack needed her to remain strong, so she chose numbness over grief, and focused on survival. For the good of the pack.
Rand shoved the door open. Immediately, the revolting scent of decay emanated from within, assailing their sensitive nostrils. Victoria gagged, fighting nausea. Turning his face to the side, Rand entered the apartment first. He hit the light switch beside the door, and a dim table lamp came on. The illumination sent dozens of cockroaches skittering along the floor and walls.
Victoria's expression twisted into a grimace of distaste. She followed Rand inside and closed the door behind them. A glance about revealed the small apartment had a galley style kitchen, one bedroom off the living area, and one bathroom.
The dried out husk of a Christmas tree stood sandwiched between an old television and a blood-stained couch. There was no mantle, so two felt stockings dangled from the kitchen counter. One still had a dollar store tag attached.
"June must have died here." Victoria bent to touch a couch cushion, skimming the gummy surface, and her fingers came away dry. She spotted a curious bloodstain on the carpet and stooped to inspect it. The basic shape suggested a cloven hoof. A trail of similar marks led toward the bedroom.
"Are these footprints?" she asked.
Rand's brow pinched. "Sure as hell looks like it."
Victoria's lips compressed and she lowered her face to floor level. She inhaled deeply and a pungent scent filled her nostrils. She frowned. "I smell goat. I think."
Rand pressed his face to the ground and closed his eyes, huffing deep breathes while he learned the smell. Then he looked up and frowned. "I'd say bighorn sheep."
She grinned. "You would be familiar with the scent of sheep, Rand."
"Hey!" Rand's head reared back and he took a lazy-pawed swipe at her, which she easily dodged. Laughter rolled from the big redhead.
She stood and followed the trail toward the bedroom. "What sort of goat-scented monster murders mothers and steals children?"
"Beats the hell out of me," Rand said, scratching his beard. "Satyr, maybe?"
"This isn't Greece." Victoria leaned into the apartment's only bathroom. She switched on the light and gave the room a cursory inspection—a sink, a toilet and a bathtub/shower. She turned off the light.
"How should I know?" Rand rolled his massive shoulders. "I've fought vampires and the occasional demon. Saw a kachina spirit once outside of Flagstaff, but it wasn't harming anyone, so we let it be."
Victoria entered the bedroom and turned on the lights. The small room contained a single double bed and a five drawer dresser. A toddler bed and a toy chest stood against one of the walls. Lego blocks and Matchbox cars littered the floor. The space hardly seemed big enough for one person to occupy, let alone two.
"I thought you said the boy is six," Rand said, scowling at the toddler bed.
"That's what the spirit and the newspaper said. I guess it's what she could afford," Victoria said. She felt sorry for the dead woman and missing child—now more than ever. The boy had lost everything. She only hoped and prayed to Freya that they managed to save him.
"Where the hell is the boy's father in all of this?" Rand walked past the beds to examine the room's only window on the opposite wall, which had been broken inward. The vinyl mini blinds were a mangled mess and glass littered the carpet. "This is where it entered. I only smell the one creature."
"The article said she was a single mother. No mention of a father." Victoria bent and picked up a small red fire truck off the spotted carpeting. She inspected the toy and then tucked it into the front pocket of her jeans.
The threadbare comforter on the bed contained a lumpy polyester fill. She committed the boy's scent to memory and then wadded the blanket into a ball. "Catch," she said, tossing it toward Rand.
"So, there's no one left to miss the poor kid?" Rand caught the blanket out of the air and held the blue fabric to his nose. After a few seconds, he returned the blanket to the bed.
"No, probably not." She shook her head sadly. She knew if they failed to save the boy, she would feel responsible for his death. Just as I already do for so many others...
Rand stilled and his gaze settled on her. "Cut yourself some slack, kid. Everything isn't your fault," he said in a gruff tone.
Victoria flushed. His reassurance only served to undermine her self-confidence. She considered herself a failure as Alpha. She lacked the necessary experience and wisdom to serve as a good pack leader. The role had been thrust upon her years before she was ready.
"Rand." Uncertainty threaded her voice, vibrating with the strength of her curiosity. She had a question she wanted—no, needed—to ask but did not know how to phrase it.
"Just spit it out," Rand said.
She sighed. Fine. "Why haven't you challenged me for Alpha yet? We both know in a fight, you'd win. You're older, more experienced, better suited to leadership."
Rand laid a hand on her shoulder. Victoria tilted her head back to gaze into his face, expecting her question to finally provoke the ritual challenge.
He scowled. "I was loyal to your father and mother. My Alphas," he said. "And so I'm loyal to you, Victoria Storm. If your father had wanted me to be leader, then he'd have put me in charge."
"Alpha isn't a hereditary title, Rand. It has to be earned."
"Let me guess—you don't feel that you've earned it?"
She shook her head.
He exhaled, making his nostrils flare. "There has been a Storm leading this pack for five hundred years. You're a good leader, just a little bit inexperienced. You need to stop being so hard on yourself."
Victoria opened her mouth, although she had no idea what she intended to say, but her cell phone rang. With a sigh, she extracted the cheap prepaid mobile from her pocket and checked the number—Sylvie.
"Hello?" Victoria said into the receiver.
"Victoria," Sylvie said in a voice filled with panic. "It's Jasper. He's gone."
An awful sense of foreboding filled Victoria but she strove to remain cool. "Sylvie, calm down," she said. "Jasper was upset when we told him he couldn't come with us. He's probably just sneaking around after Rand and me."
Beside her, Rand snorted. "That boy needs to have his backside tanned."
Victoria waved a silencing hand at Rand. "Don't worry, okay? I'll send Rand after him."
"Okay," Sylvie said. "Tell Rand to hurry. I'm scared."
"I'll do that." Victoria closed the phone and looked to the redhead.
Rand rolled his eyes. "Well, fuck," he said. "I guess I'd better get after that little shit."
"Rand, don't be too hard on him, okay? He's just a kid."
"It's time for him to grow up and start being a man." Rand accompanied her outside and they closed the door of the apartment behind them. "Do you have a plan for finding Michael?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna do what comes naturally," she said. "Follow my nose."
Chapter Four
The scent trail took a circuitous journey through back alleys and sewer tunnels, and led to a strip mall a few blocks south of Central Avenue where Victoria had seen June Frasier's ghost. The proximity was unsurprising. Ghosts tended to haunt the scene of their death or an area with powerful emotional significance.
The parking lot was deserted, all of the businesses already closed, employees gone home. The trail led directly to the front door of a restaurant. Victoria stopped beneath the unlit sign, and tilted her head back to read the name—Karp Sum Chinese. The front window had a pair of crossed chopsticks positioned over a fortune cookie etch
ed into the glass, and an "Out of Business" sign hung in the front door.
She tested the door and found it locked. For a second, she contemplated ripping the door from its hinges, but there was a child's life at stake, so she chose stealth over brute force. After a moment's consideration, Victoria circled the building and entered the alleyway designated for loading and unloading deliveries. An eight-foot brick wall lined with steel Dumpsters ran the length of the business complex, and the area stank of garbage.
As she entered the backstreet, a rumbling growl emerged from between two trash bins. Victoria swung toward the sound, and her posture flowed naturally to a predatory stance, prepared and close to the ground. By scent alone, she identified the source of the sound: another canine. A big dog emerged from the shadows, menacing her with a constant rumble, bared teeth, stiff legs and bristling ruff. He had the appearance of a Rottweiler, black with tan markings, although not a purebred animal. He wore no collar.
Ears flattened against his skull, he barked at her. She stared into his eyes, employing her wolf to sooth his fear. Gradually, his alarm decreased to anxiety and then ceased altogether. His ears rose to high points and his tail wagged.
She relaxed and extended her hand. Speaking in a soothing tone, she said, "It's okay, boy. I'm not going to hurt you."
The dog sniffed suspiciously at her and a tremor traveled the length of his body from head to tail when he identified her scent as that of a far more dangerous predator. Immediately, he adopted a submissive posture and crept forward to lick her hand.
She ran her hands over the dog's sides, feeling the indentation of his ribs beneath his mangy coat. He whimpered and his stubby tail wagged. "You're hungry, aren't you?" she said. "I'm so sorry I don't have anything for you. It's been a while since I've eaten, too."
She petted his head and considered the rear entrance to the restaurant. The door stood slightly ajar and a thin sliver of light shone through the crack.
The Child Thief (Loki's Wolves) Page 2