by Jane Godman
“I’ve never known him to get it wrong,” Sebastian assured her. “He comes from a long line of legendary trackers.”
“There.” Samson called Wilder forward. “In those trees.”
“Siberians can’t withstand the same temperatures as us. Not for long, anyway. So I’m guessing they’ve taken shelter in the trees. We don’t know how many of them there are, or how well fortified their camp is.” Wilder consulted his watch. “It’s another hour until midnight. We either risk taking them now in our human form, or wait until we can shift.”
“Are you putting this to a vote?” Samson’s voice indicated his disapproval of such a democratic leadership style.
“No. We cross to that ridge. Ditch the skis and our outer clothing and get up close to them.” Wilder grinned. “Then we show those Siberian bastards who owns this place.”
Samson’s expression shifted, his teeth showing in a wide grin. “Arctics rule?”
“Never in doubt.”
With renewed energy and purpose, they skied down the side of the slope, out of sight of the other ridge. At the base of the rocky outcrop, Wilder and Samson had another discussion and decided this was the point where they should lose the boots and skis. Leaving these items in a rocky hollow, the team commenced a barefoot climb up the side of the ridge. In spite of the Arctic breeze blowing powdery snow in their faces, it was an easy ascent. Jenny, glad to finally be free of her boots, relished the feel of the rocks beneath her bare feet and hands and delighted in the icy temperatures on her flesh. Midnight was closing in and she could feel the familiar excitement building. The Arctic was working its magic. Her inner wolf was straining to be free.
Wilder, already at the top of the ridge, reached down a hand to help her over the edge, and his touch instantly ignited a white-hot fireball that shot straight to her core. Jenny nearly groaned aloud. Not here. Not now. She might as well tell her heart not to beat. Her reaction to Wilder was primal and uncontrollable. The only consolation was, from the pulse throbbing wildly at the base of his throat, she could see that he felt it, too. He needed to focus. They both did. Once she was safely on her feet, she withdrew her hand.
“How far?” Wilder turned to Samson.
Turning his head, nose in the air, Samson pointed into the trees. “Maybe half a mile. They’ve lit a fire and they have dogs with them.”
“Dogs will warn them of our approach.”
“So we take the dogs out first,” Vigo suggested.
“No.” Wilder shook his head. “I won’t harm another species in this fight. Not if we can avoid it.”
“Jenny is good with dogs,” Madden pointed out.
“If I go first, I can keep the dogs calm while the rest of you attack,” Jenny suggested.
“Not a chance in hell.” Wilder’s voice was a protective growl.
“It makes sense, Wilder.” Madden ignored the warning rumble that started in the center of his leader’s chest. “If they’ve lit a fire, they are in human form, so they aren’t relying on their own wolf instincts. Without the dogs to warn them, we have the element of surprise.”
“I suppose the rest of you also think this is a good idea?” Wilder’s snarl was now directed at all of his companions. Nods from the rest of the team did nothing to enhance his expression.
“Why not?” Jenny stepped forward to face him, close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye. If he refused to let her do it, she would back down. He was the leader, but she wanted to hear him say it out loud. Was he protecting her because she was more to him than another member of the team? Giving her special treatment because he cared about her? Say the words, Wilder.
He gazed down at her and she felt the unspoken declaration in the space between them. Three little words, sucking the air out of her lungs, making the gold of Wilder’s eyes shine like the midnight sun. Say them.
Wilder nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Wrong three words?
A corner of her mouth lifted and she felt relief flood through him as she smiled in response to his unspoken question. Jenny wanted to be a full-fledged member of the team. That couldn’t happen if Wilder insisted on protecting her. Sending her in first was a clear message to her, as well as the rest of the team. Jenny had equal status. Wilder had chosen the right three words.
* * *
Leaving their outer clothes behind them, they made their way into the forest. Wilder’s lips quirked in amusement as he thought about the trail they’d left behind them. It was a good thing this region was so totally devoid of human life. What anyone stumbling across their discarded equipment and clothing would think, he couldn’t imagine. Arctic nudists? Tourists with a death wish? Stop trying to distract yourself from what you must do next.
They could hear the dogs now, doing what dogs did and barking at the forest sounds, and the orange glow from a distant fire was just visible through the dense canopy of white barked trees. The acrid smell of smoke and the scent of cooked meat were out of place in the crisp clean freshness of the untouched Arctic wilderness. Although a cold hand of dread clenched around his heart at the thought of sending Jenny on alone, Wilder knew he had to let her do this. The brotherhood didn’t have an initiation ceremony, but this was as close as it got. She needed to prove she was as good as the rest of them. And Wilder had to stand back and let her do it.
Clad in shorts and a thin vest, Jenny looked unbearably fragile compared to the group of men around her. Even though the forest was dense here, the golden light of the sun penetrated the trees, highlighting her hair so that it shone like a silver halo around her head. Her skin, the uniquely porcelain-pale flesh that was the giveaway of the female Arctic werewolf, had the sheen of pearls and her eyes gleamed yellow-gold with a combination of wariness and excitement.
“We will come when the dogs fall silent.” Wilder wanted to draw her into his arms, but he knew physical contact would be a bad move. For both of them. “If they don’t go quiet after a minute or two, we’ll follow you anyway. If you need us, call and we’ll be there.”
“I’m ready.” Although her jaw was tight with tension, she was poised, ready to go.
Wilder nodded and Jenny took off, running lightly between the trees. He watched until he could no longer see her. Until his eyes hurt with trying. Samson had judged that the rest of the team couldn’t get any closer than this without triggering a response from the dogs. The problem with perpetual daylight was the lack of hiding places. The trees would be Jenny’s only cover as she approached whatever camp the Siberians had. What sort of lookouts did they have posted? What if they captured her? Could the brotherhood get to her in time? Wilder’s mind insisted on playing a series of images of Jenny in Santin’s hands. If that bastard touched her . . .
“Listen.” Samson, his supercharged senses always one step ahead of the others, held up a hand. There was a slight increase in the noise from the dogs, then nothing more. They listened intently. Wilder realized he had stopped breathing and reminded himself to start again. Silence reigned over the forest.
“You little beauty,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”
Moving swiftly, they followed the route Jenny had taken. Their timing was close to perfect. It was just after midnight and, although they couldn’t see the sun, they could feel it, sitting in position on the horizon, refusing to surrender its place to the night. As they drew closer, Wilder could make out a clearing. Santin’s men had pitched tents around the fire. The dogs were chained in a compound to one side and he caught a brief glimpse of Jenny, crouched low as the pack of huskies clustered around her. The Siberians, still in human form, were seated around the fire, eating and drinking. Their mood was subdued. Santin might crave this territory, but it was not the natural habitat of the Siberians. Their own homeland was harsh, but not as extreme as the Arctic. They needed the familiar rhythm of day and night and didn’t thrive in these temperatures.
Dropping his hand, Wilder gave the signal. Take these bastards.
The Arctic
s shifted into wolf form and burst into the camp in one fluid movement of white fur, bared teeth, and lethal claws. The Siberians, caught unawares, scattered. Just as he had seen Gunnar do so often in the past, Wilder maintained an awareness of what was going on. It had never happened to him before. It must have to do with the responsibilities of the leader. His body was all Arctic werewolf, but his consciousness hovered somewhere between man and beast. It was a strange sensation, one he wasn’t sure he liked.
He counted twelve Siberians, but there could be more in the tents. Three or four had time to shift before they were caught in the teeth or claws of the Arctic werewolves. The others were already captured when they shifted. Throwing off one of the smaller, darker wolves as it leaped onto his back, Wilder sank his teeth into the Siberian’s throat. No trace of hesitation. Somewhere deep inside him there was a note of mingled satisfaction and relief that he had been able to act so quickly, despite his fears. The coppery taste of the other wolf’s blood was the signal for his victory howl. I can still do this.
His strange, new hyperconsciousness enabled him to observe Jenny even as he prowled through the Siberian encampment. Bounding over the fence of the husky compound in a single leap, she shifted as she jumped. She was the most graceful werewolf Wilder had ever seen. Lean and lithe, she had a sinewy strength beneath her slender build. She didn’t hesitate to join in the action as she joined the Arctics.
Where the fuck is Santin?
Wilder scoured the camp, overturning tents, ripping the canvas apart with his claws as he sought out the Siberian leader. He would know Santin’s scent anywhere, yet he couldn’t get a trace on him. One thing was for sure . . . Santin wasn’t here now. He had probably never been in this camp. Dropping into a crouch with his teeth bared, Wilder turned back to view the scene. It was carnage. Siberians were natural aggressors, and this group, although unprepared, was putting up a hell of a fight. But they were no match for his Arctic brotherhood. Not in their icy homeland and not with the midnight sun warming their Arctic blood. Wilder watched his team with pride.
Samson, always a target because of his size, was brought crashing to the ground by two Siberians. With a howl of fury, the big Arctic rose onto all fours, attempting to shake them off. A swift white streak came to Samson’s aid as Jenny hurled herself on one of the Siberians, sinking her teeth into its neck and prying it loose from its hold on Samson. Samson hooked his claws into his other attacker and seconds later the wolf lay twitching on the bloodied snow of the forest floor.
Keep one of them alive.
Obedient to the command of her leader, Jenny loosened her grip on the Siberian she had by the neck, dropping it at Wilder’s feet. Although injured, the wolf attempted to stagger away into the trees. Wilder prevented this by placing one huge paw on its back. He was no longer needed for the fight. His pack had this covered.
Dead and dying Siberians were scattered across the crimson-streaked snow. The dogs were going crazy in their compound, scenting blood and hearing the sounds of battle. The white pelts of the Arctics bore red patches of victory. Their jaws and teeth dripped like werewolves in a horror movie poster. It had been a perfect mission. Apart from the fact that they hadn’t found Santin.
No one said being in charge was easy.
Chapter Eight
Jenny found a blanket in the wreckage of the tents and covered herself with it. Not as protection against the cold. She just wasn’t prepared to wander around naked the way the men were doing. She couldn’t help noticing that they were all fine physical specimens with nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it was very difficult to know where to focus her eyes with all that blatant masculinity on display.
“You okay?” Wilder came close and spoke the words quietly so that only she could hear.
“I’m fine.” And she was. If only this blanket didn’t stink of cheap tobacco and sweat. That was the problem with having such a finely tuned sense of smell. Once you homed in on something, it was hard to ignore it. “What are you going to do with him?” She pointed to the only surviving Siberian.
Wilder’s lips thinned into an uncompromising line. “He’s going to tell us what game Santin is playing.”
The wolf whined and flattened its ears, abasing itself on the ground in front of him. Getting as low as it could to show Wilder it no longer presented him with any threat.
“What if he doesn’t shift back into human form?” It would be a fairly effective way of not answering Wilder’s questions.
“He will.” She’d never seen that grim expression on Wilder’s face. She wasn’t sure she liked it.
Using his foot, Wilder rolled the wolf over onto its back. It lay still, like a large dog, regarding the man standing over it with wary eyes. Jenny knew from her own experiences of shifting that something of the human remained within, and Wilder spoke directly to this. Crouching beside the wolf, he reached one hand down and cupped the animal between its hind legs, using his other hand to grip its throat.
“You have thirty seconds to shift back, my friend, or I’ll rip off your balls and make you eat them.”
Jenny swallowed hard. This really was a different side to Wilder. She didn’t know about the wolf, but she sure as hell believed him.
“I’d shift fast if I were you.” Leaning over Wilder’s shoulder, Sebastian spoke calmly to the wolf. “I’ve seen him do it. Choking on your own balls. Not the way any guy wants to die.”
The words were unnecessary. The werewolf had shifted back into human form before Sebastian had finished speaking.
“Wise choice.” Wilder rose to his feet. “Now, talk. Where is Santin?”
The man licked his lips and sat up slowly. Looking up at the six naked blond giants encircling him, he clearly knew escape was out of the question. “I do not know this name.”
Wilder sighed. “Look around you.” He indicated the bodies of the other Siberians. “You are the only one left. You think Santin is going to come back just to save you? It’s an easy enough question. We probably already know the answer. Now, where the fuck is he?”
The Siberian bowed his head, the puncture wounds Jenny’s teeth had inflicted between his shoulder blades stark against the pale skin. “Jotunheim.”
Because she was watching him so closely, Jenny thought she was probably the only one to observe the slight tremor that ran through Wilder at the word. He recovered quickly. “This is a long way from Jotunheim. Why are you here and not with your leader?”
“We were on our way to your compound. Our task was to set fire to it.”
Wilder clenched and unclenched his fists. Breathing hard, he turned away. Jenny sensed he was waging an internal battle to keep himself from tearing the Siberian apart limb from limb. He was doing his best to fight the impulse because the real target of his rage was Santin.
“What shall we do with him?” Vigo asked.
“Let him go.” Still with his back to them, Wilder ground the words out.
“I’ll freeze to death . . .” The naked Siberian shivered pitifully as Vigo gestured for him to go.
“You chose the Arctic, my friend. Now you must get used to its embrace. And I would advise you to run before your whining infuriates our leader further.” Vigo’s words acted like a charm and the man darted off through the trees.
“So this was a diversion,” Samson growled. “This scent, this trail they had us following. Meanwhile, Santin has been at Jotunheim the whole time.”
Wilder turned back to face them. “We knew we would be going back to Jotunheim.”
“All roads lead to Jotunheim?” Lowell’s attempt at humor didn’t elicit a response.
Jenny drew a deep breath. “I need someone to explain to me about Jotunheim. I thought it was a made-up place, like Narnia or Oz. Until I met you guys, I never dreamed it actually existed.”
She expected Lowell to be the one to give the information, since storytelling seemed to be his strength, but it was Wilder who spoke. “Most wolves believe Jotunheim is a mystical place, existing only in Norse
mythology and online gaming. But it is real. Jotunheim is an enchanted forest, home to one of the nine clans of the iron wood. Within it is the great palace of Angrboda, High Priestess of the Iron Wood and Mother of All Wolves. It was in the palace of Jotunheim that our confrontation with Santin took place four hundred years ago.”
“And that’s where Santin will be now? The home of the great goddess?” Jenny could feel her eyes growing rounder. It was a lot to take in. Not only did she have to accept that Jotunheim was real, she also had to suspend belief and acknowledge the existence of the goddess Angrboda herself. As a living, breathing entity.
“There’s more. Jotunheim is also the place where Angrboda and Loki’s son, the mightiest werewolf of them all, Fenrir, is chained. He is imprisoned there so that he cannot escape and unleash his mayhem upon the human race.”
“And we’re going to go there?” Jenny’s incredulity seemed to have formed itself into a cold hard knot that was wedged somewhere between her chest and her stomach. “When Gunnar invited me along, he didn’t mention any of this.”
Samson nodded. “That was how he got me to join up. Made it sound like a spa break.” He slid an arm around her shoulders, almost lifting her off the ground as he pulled her close. “I haven’t thanked you for the help back there.”
“I’m not sure you needed it.” Jenny wasn’t sure if the redness in her cheeks was breathlessness or embarrassment at the hug from a huge, naked man.
“You did a good job.” Samson’s grin was reflected on the faces of the other members of the group. “Welcome to the brotherhood.”
* * *
“Are you always this stubborn?” Even as he asked the question, Wilder remembered that the obstinate tilt to her chin was one of the first things he had noticed about her.
“If we leave them here, they’ll die.” Jenny faced him with her hands on her hips. They had retrieved their outer clothing in preparation for the return journey and, although she had hurriedly donned her ski suit, her hands and feet were still bare.