by Jane Godman
“That’s quite a story.” Jenny shook her head. “No wonder Santin isn’t going to sit around the negotiating table.”
“He won’t face us in a fair fight,” Samson growled. “Because he knows he can’t win.”
“While he has immunity to silver, he has nothing to fear,” Wilder reminded him. “We have to get around that if we are to defeat him.”
Silence reigned while they contemplated the problem of how to overcome Santin’s remarkable freedom from the debilitating weakness that afflicted all other lycanthropes. Jenny rose to her feet. The long journey had taken its toll on her mentally, but her body was tingling from a combination of the approaching midnight sun, the ice and snow, and Wilder’s nearness. Leaving the group and enjoying the crunch of the snow beneath her bare feet and the freezing temperatures on her bare arms and legs, she made her way across to her cabin.
Minutes after she stepped inside, the door opened again and Wilder entered. Jenny rubbed her cheek along his jaw and neck in greeting before lifting her face up to his. As soon as his tongue slipped into her mouth, she was wet and writhing with longing. His hands slid under her vest top, finding her already hard nipples.
“If you make me howl, the others will hear me.” She ground the words out against his lips. “They’ll know about us.”
“You think they haven’t figured it out already? That it’s not obvious every time I look at you?” He caught hold of her hands as she reached for the waistband of his shorts. The clock on the wall showed it was ten minutes to midnight. Not that they needed a clock. Their bodies were telling them everything they needed to know. “I came to warn you. No matter how tempting it is to shift and run through the snow, don’t leave this compound alone, Jenny. Santin is out there, and if he gets you alone, he’ll be ruthless.”
She cast a longing look at the sky. The sun was a huge golden disc calling to her. She gave a soft, keening howl in response. “What if I can’t resist?”
Wilder still had hold of her hands. “You must.”
She rubbed her face against his again. “I have an idea.”
* * *
This was not a new sun. It did not magically appear at midnight. This was the same sun that first rose on the eastern kingdoms, the one that shone on the snowy peaks of the Himalayas, and lit the cities of Europe before warming the Americas. It was the same sun that set in the west. It was this sun that faced midnight in the Arctic without relinquishing its grip to the night. Here, the sun moved low toward the horizon, but, disobeying the great god Odin’s instructions, it refused to continue its journey across the sky.
The magic of the midnight sun was in its light. The sky became a striation of orange, pink, blue, and purple, each layer vying with the one before for beauty and theater. Light colored the white landscape like an artist’s paintbrush. Clouds, lakes, and snow-covered mountains were highlighted to perfection, in a way no film director could replicate. What was dark and cold during the polar day glowed with warmth under the special effects of the midnight sun.
A night like this was too beautiful for sleeping. The two Arctic wolves ran together, side by side, so fast their paws were a blur. Fresh snow powdered beneath their feet, flying up to dust their white pelts with glitter. An arctic breeze blew ice-cold into their faces as they ran and they exulted in its bitter, frozen touch. Their effortless lope devoured the miles until the lights of the compound were a distant memory. Invigorated by the boost of energy that only endless day could provide, they traversed a mountain ridge, ran parallel to a glacier’s majesty, and finally slowed their pace at the edge of a sprinkling of birches. The white woodland offered the promise of prey, but food was not uppermost in their minds.
The female approached the beautiful alpha male and rubbed her muzzle against his before placing her head across his back. He moved away slightly, and, picking up on his mood, she fell in step at his side, her shoulder just touching his. As they walked together, the tension between them increased until the light touch of their shoulders was not enough. Gradually, the flirtatious advances increased until, hip to hip, they pushed hard against each other, curling their tails across each other’s bodies. The male rested his head on her back. His teeth were sharp as he caught hold of the flesh between her shoulder blades, drawing her to him. Sensing the confusion in him, the female broke away, free of his grip, and began to run.
He followed her, barely breathing hard as he kept up with her long strides. She led him back the way they had come. Before long, the lights of the compound came into view and she ran toward her cabin. There was no one around, but Jenny shifted back, diving through her door before anyone could see her nakedness. Wilder was a split second behind her.
Despite the small size of the room, they didn’t make it to the bed. Wilder caught her around the waist, lowering her to the floor, and Jenny scrambled to turn beneath him, offering herself the way her wolf had done. His hands gripped her hips, his muscular thighs pressing against the backs of her legs, lifting her to her knees as his heavy cock brushed against her entrance. He murmured something against her ear that she didn’t quite catch before he impaled her on his throbbing length.
“Oh, fuck.” Jenny’s head bowed to the floor as she stretched to fit his searing girth.
“Turn your head.” Although she barely heard the growled instruction through the haze of sensation, Jenny obeyed.
Leaning over her body, Wilder captured her lips in a side kiss. Unbelievably, the movement allowed him to slide even farther inside her. It also robbed her of any remaining breath.
His teeth nipped at her face and neck hungrily. Rocking his hips fast and hard, he slammed wildly in and out of her, his chest heaving in time with each thrust. Jenny’s whole body jolted with each glorious impact.
Nothing in the world except this.
Her thought or his? It doesn’t matter. It was true. The world was reduced to this wonderful friction. This scorching heat. Wilder fucking her and Jenny pushing back against him, demanding more.
Wilder’s groan of surrender was pressed into her neck as he shuddered to an abrupt halt. “Too soon.”
At the same time, Jenny’s body contracted, shock waves of pleasure radiating out from her core. Her legs buckled and she would have sprawled onto the floor beneath him if Wilder hadn’t held her up.
Panting, he eased his weight off her. “Sorry.” He pressed his lips to her temple.
“What for?” She lay on her side on the floor, turning to face him.
He gave a shaky laugh. “Too fast.”
“We can go slow next time. What did you say?”
“When?” He frowned as though in an effort to remember.
“You said something, but I couldn’t concentrate because it was right about the same time that you were putting that big, beautiful cock of yours into me.”
He laughed. “Jenny, you say the nicest things. I asked why you ran from me. Up there, by the forest, your wolf ran from mine. Why was that?”
She leaned up on one elbow and looked down at him. “Because you weren’t ready for forever.”
Chapter Seven
You weren’t ready for forever.
The words had been branded into Wilder’s brain ever since Jenny uttered them. It was the truth, so why was he hurting? He supposed it made him feel bad that he must be so transparent Jenny could read him that easily. Yet she must have seen the same thing in him when she’d laid down the ground rules. Sex in human form was fine. Sex as wolves meant commitment. Last night, up there on that mountain ridge, with the midnight sun shining down on them, his Arctic had been gripped by a moment of weakness. Thank God, Jenny had recognized it for what it was before their wolves had gone too far.
Did Jenny want forever? In many ways, she was as scarred by her past as Wilder was by his. Scarred, but not scared. That was the difference between them. Jenny’s golden eyes looked to the future with a bright fearlessness that he couldn’t manage. She wasn’t constantly seeking a place to hide. So he guessed she’d take foreve
r with the right man. I’m not that man. Even if Jenny thought he was, Wilder knew he couldn’t give this shining, beautiful girl everything she deserved. Sooner or later, his demons would find him out and he would let her down. I have enough problems taking care of me, I can’t take on someone else as well.
He watched Jenny now as she laughed with Madden while he helped her with her skis. Madden was a charmer, the ladies’ man of the group, but Wilder knew he wouldn’t try to cross a line with Jenny. The other five men understood the relationship between the two of them. I’m glad they do, because I sure as hell don’t. Every time Wilder thought he had it sorted out in his head—Just sex, no strings attached. How lucky am I?—he caught a look from Jenny’s glorious amber eyes and something in his chest tightened to a point where it hurt to breathe.
No, he didn’t want forever. Didn’t dare crave anything so ambitious. He just didn’t want to not want forever. And he didn’t like the idea that Jenny could see right through him and know that. Just about as fucked up as one man could get. But you already knew that. Telling himself all this angst was because Jenny had given him a brief glimpse of something other than the drab existence he’d carved out for himself, Wilder turned his attention to the preparations. The peaks and troughs of—You can’t say it, even to yourself—normal life were not for him. His spirit was too damaged for anything other than isolation and mediocrity. No one, least of all someone as vibrant and loving as Jenny, could be expected to understand, let alone share, the torture that was Wilder’s psyche.
The hunt for the Siberians was about to get underway. Although time, in traditional terms, meant nothing here, twenty-four hours had passed since their arrival. They had each snatched some sleep, but rejuvenation had come from a more personal, mystical source. Bewitched by the midnight sun, each of them had run for miles, paws churning the snow, breath pluming in the icy air. For the first time in centuries, this wilderness had echoed with the howls of Arctic wolves.
Company.
The single word made each of them stiffen. Inner hackles rose. Seven pairs of golden eyes turned in the direction of the three figures. Two of the men hung back, while one skied toward them. Although he was slow, the man handled his skis well, gliding to a halt a few yards away, throwing up fresh powder in his wake.
Lifting his goggles, he eyed them with amusement. “Still here? I expected Santin’s head by now.”
“Gunnar.” Wilder felt his throat constrict with emotion. The last time he’d seen this man had been in Jenny’s den when Gunnar had been lying on the floor with a Siberian werewolf tearing open his stomach. Wilder had dragged the howling wolf off his friend, but he had been forced to leave Gunnar to go to Jenny.
The older man moved closer, gripping his arm. Gunnar’s eyes told Wilder he understood why he had left him. That validation of what he had done was like someone lifting a huge stone weight from around Wilder’s neck. He felt his shoulders lift and straighten.
“It takes a lot more than a few Siberians to stop me.”
Despite the brave words, Gunnar’s eyes told a different story. There was a dark shadow of pain in their depths, suggesting he was not fully healed from the mauling he had taken back at Jenny’s house. His expression challenged Wilder to contradict him. Arctics healed fast—could heal even faster, Wilder now knew from personal experience, in some circumstances—but Gunnar must have pushed himself hard to get here.
He realized, with a slight feeling of shock, that Gunnar was deferring to him. Requesting Wilder’s permission to be here. My God, he really has put me in charge.
“Good to have you here.” Wilder meant every word. In the fight against Santin, even an injured Gunnar with his experience and insights would be invaluable.
Gunnar’s defensive stance relaxed. The other members of the team, as if in response to some unspoken signal, surged forward to greet him. Wilder observed their approach with a touch of sadness. The other males showed him respect, but didn’t abase themselves before him. Gunnar was no longer their leader and, unconsciously, they were acknowledging it. Only Jenny, rising on the tips of her toes, bumped her nose to his before rubbing her cheek along Gunnar’s jawline. Alpha female to older male. Not subservient, merely respectful.
“I was worried about you.”
He smiled down at her. “How do you like being part of the brotherhood? Do we need to change our name now that we have ourselves a female member?”
She grinned. “Maybe the balance will change in the future. Who knows, we could one day become the Sisterhood of the Midnight Sun.” A groan from Samson greeted her attempt at humor.
Wilder drew Gunnar to one side, quickly filling him in on his plans to hunt down Santin rather than going straight to Jotunheim. “He has been here, so there’s a chance he’s still close. Samson is the best tracker there is. If he can’t find Santin, no one can. My biggest concern is that, when we do find him, we face the same problem we had four hundred years ago.”
“Santin is immune to silver and we are not.” Gunnar’s face was grim. “Yet you took him out last time.”
“He has had four hundred years to brood on that.” And so have I.
“There is only one thing I can think of that might do the job instead of silver. Even then it’s a long shot.” Gunnar pulled off the backpack he was wearing and tugged off his gloves. Reaching into the bag, he produced a rectangular metal box resembling a glasses case. Flipping open the catch on the side, he revealed a syringe. “Mercury. Otherwise known as quicksilver. An injection of this would be lethal to a human, of course, and there has always been a debate about whether our ‘silver weakness’ is also a quicksilver weakness. The time has come to find out. This has also been mixed with pure wolfsbane. For God’s sake, just don’t slip up and inject yourself by mistake.”
Snapping the case closed, Wilder took it from him. “Your faith in me is touching.”
Gunnar nodded to the two men who had accompanied him. “I brought guides with me. They are Arctic werewolves who have helped the brotherhood in the past. They’ll carry messages back to the town if necessary.”
“With the transmitter out and no phone signal, they might be useful.”
Gunnar looked over at the other members of the brotherhood. “How are things?”
“It’s amazing how little has changed in four hundred years. Samson is still pretending to be a dick. Lowell is trying to save the world, one blade of grass at a time. Madden needs to be surgically removed from his mirror. Sebastian is a maverick and our new recruit Vigo has too much to prove, so he’s a little too intense.”
“And Jenny?”
Wilder looked at Jenny. She was listening intently to something Lowell was saying. They had a lot in common, both of them passionate about the Arctic environment. The wind tugged a strand of silver-blond hair across her mouth and she brushed it impatiently aside. Wilder wanted to cross the distance between them and crush her lips beneath his. No change there. How did Jenny fit into the team? He had a feeling she might just be the glue that would hold all the diverse male personalities together.
“I think she’ll be okay.”
“How about you?” Damn Gunnar. The man was relentless once he got going. “You look different.” Was it Wilder’s imagination or did the older man’s eyes flicker back to Jenny before returning to his face? “You look like you’ve been brought back to life.”
Wilder felt his own eyes narrow. “You matchmaking old bastard.”
Gunnar’s laughter followed him as Wilder stomped away to get his skis.
* * *
Samson took the lead. Leaving his teasing persona behind, the big man was all business as he led the team on a skiing expedition of epic proportions. And unlike humans braving the same conditions, they didn’t have to worry about polar bear attacks. Although they saw several of the large white bears in the distance, the animals sensed the Arctic werewolves and steered clear of a confrontation.
“Pity,” Samson commented. “We could have taken one back to the compound and
given it to Gunnar to skin.”
Gunnar had not accompanied them. “I would only slow you down,” he’d said. Jenny thought his expression, as he’d said those words, was the saddest thing she had ever seen. Even sadder than Wilder’s eyes on those occasions when—if he thought she wasn’t looking—he allowed his eyes to linger on her face.
They climbed high peaks, skied into gentle valleys and down steep ravines, skirted glaciers and lakes, and plodded along plateaus. Jenny’s thigh and calf muscles began to protest, and she longed to kick off the restrictive skis and heavy boots and run through the snowy wasteland.
“Are we sure Samson knows where he’s taking us?” Jenny asked Sebastian, who was just ahead of her.
They had been cross-country skiing for a few hours and Samson had halted them now for the fifth time, turning his head as though following a new scent. They were standing on a peak and, raising his ski pole, Samson pointed toward a nearby ridge. It was topped with a forest of white-veiled polar birch trees. Trees were an unusual sight here.