by Jane Godman
Wilder gave it some thought. “Can’t say I do.”
* * *
Jenny stared at the point where she had seen that strip of wood. She had tried stretching up with her fingertips, but it was out of her reach. She still couldn’t see anything in the darkness, but her Arctic werewolf might be able to. And her Arctic werewolf might be able to spring up to that height.
She stripped off her clothes, placing them close to where she pictured the door to be. If I get out and end up naked in the middle of a busy street, I’ll have some explaining to do. She figured it was the least of her worries right now. Her inner wolf was not going to appreciate this stifling, enclosed space. Good. That means she’ll have more incentive to get us out of here.
Once she shifted, Jenny’s wolf prowled the small room, flattening her ears. She went to the door and sniffed along its base, her hackles rising. A growl rose in her throat as she scented the werewolf called Fenrir. Head held low and in line with her spine, she turned back into the room, seeking a means of escape. Her sharp eyes made out the outline of the piece of wood, invisible to a human in the darkness, and she gave a soft grunt of satisfaction.
Rising up onto her hind legs, the werewolf pushed the plank of wood with her snout. It shifted slightly. She pushed harder and felt it move again. Hooking her front claws into the slight ledge she had made around the edge of the wood, she lifted her back paws off the ground. Scrabbling on the wall, she levered herself higher so that she could use the full strength of her shoulders to push on the wood. It made a splintering sound. She could see light now in the gap she had made in the surface of the wood. Working in this way over and over, the wolf persisted until the wood broke and she was able to push her head through the hole she had made. She was at ground level opening onto a rubbish-strewn yard. Ignoring the burning ache in her shoulders, she gave one final lunge and pushed her head and shoulders out through the wood.
What she hadn’t realized, until it was too late, was that the wood covered a pane of broken glass. As she pushed the rest of her body through, a jagged piece caught on her inner left thigh and tore deep into the flesh. The wolf howled in agony. Sprawling onto the concrete of the yard, she lay on her side, panting. The world swam out of focus. She could feel hot, wet blood gushing from the injury. After a while, she slowly raised herself into a sitting position and looked around. It was light, but she had no idea what that meant. Had she spent a night in that basement? She had no way of knowing. Through the dark spots before her eyes, she saw that the yard was flanked by high brick walls and, although windows from adjoining buildings looked down onto it, the whole row appeared to be derelict. With more important things to worry about than whether she was being watched, the wolf bent her head and began to lick her wound.
When she had stemmed the bleeding, Jenny shifted back. Once she had found something to cover her nakedness, she needed to get back to Wilder. She rose to her feet and almost blacked out at the pain from her leg. If she went back into the house she might find something to use as a bandage. Hobbling, she went to the door of the building and turned the handle. She wasn’t surprised when it didn’t open. Undaunted, she viewed the lower windows. Her very recent experience with broken glass made her wary, but one of the windows was already so badly broken that it gaped like an open mouth. Picking up a brick, Jenny tapped out the remaining glass before sliding clumsily inside. The action struck her as ironic. How many people, having escaped from captivity, chose to go back inside?
It gave her no satisfaction to learn that she had been right about her prison. This had once been a grocer’s shop. Some of the old tins were still stacked on shelves here in the back. It must have been something about the scent that had clued her in. Trying to ignore the trail of blood she was leaving, she made her way down the basement steps. Her heart gave a little skip when, at the far side of the basement, she saw a door with a key in the lock. Not just any door. The door. Taking no chances, she unlocked it, but removed the key. No way was she going to risk getting locked in again!
Scooping up her clothes, she scurried out of there as fast as her damaged leg would allow. She was filthy, bleeding, scared as hell, and with no idea where she was or what time it was in relation to when she’d been abducted. Van Marsh had said he had a rally to prepare for. Not to attend. Not yet. That implied she still had some time. Maybe she could find something in this abandoned old building to clean herself up and at least look halfway respectable when she walked out the front door. If her leg would hold up so she could actually walk anywhere.
Bravest and strongest. Dear God. I have to be able to walk. I need to be strong enough to fight.
Tucking her clothes under her arm, she went hand over hand on the banister to haul herself up the stairs. It felt like she was attempting to climb Everest after having already run a marathon. When she reached the top of the first flight, she was sweating and trembling all over. She bent her head and dry-heaved. Her empty stomach protested painfully. Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to walk, Jenny left her clothes and crawled to the first door.
It was an old-fashioned bathroom with peeling wallpaper and cracked linoleum. She pulled herself up onto the edge of the bath, and, with a struggle, turned on the cold tap. A loud clanking sound, as though the pipes were trying to detach themselves from the walls, filled the room. Rust-colored water trickled in a thin stream into the tub and Jenny moaned. After so many hours with nothing to drink, it was a choice that wasn’t a choice. Drink water that was contaminated with who knew what, or stay thirsty? She cupped her hands and filled them with the brownish liquid, forcing herself to sip it slowly instead of giving in to temptation and gulping it.
Feeling slightly better, she splashed her face and washed her hands, getting as much grime out from under her nails as she could. A glance at her leg was a mistake. It was worse than she had pictured. The deep, jagged gash had lifted a flap of flesh extending from the top to the middle of her inner thigh. It was still bleeding sluggishly and the pale flesh around the cut was puffed up and mottled as though infection was already setting in.
Find something to clean and cover it so I can get dressed. Keeping Wilder’s face in her mind, Jenny forced herself back onto her feet. I can do this for him. For Wilder, I can do anything. The water seemed to have restored some of her strength and she managed to limp, dragging her left leg out to one side, into the next room. It was completely bare. Gritting her teeth, she moved on. In the third room, she found a closet containing old linen. She couldn’t have been happier if she’d discovered a pot of gold. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she gathered up several worn pillowcases and carried them back to the bathroom.
She soaked one of the pillowcases under the tap and used it to wash herself all over. Then, steeling herself, she used another to clean the dirt from the yard out of the wound on her leg. This left her so weak, she had to rest for a few minutes before she could continue. Finally, she ripped a third pillowcase into long strips. Folding a fourth case into a pad, she placed it along the length of the cut on her leg and used the strips as bandages to tie it in place around her thigh.
Okay, now to get dressed. Getting into her underwear and jeans was difficult enough, but bending her knee to get her sneaker on was the hardest part. Once that was done, she started to feel more hopeful. Maybe I can actually do this. One step at a time. When she had the rest of her clothes on, she gazed at the stairs. Okay, I got up here. I must be able to get back down. Cling to the banister again, or go down on her butt like toddler? She opted to go on her feet. It took a long time, but the sense of achievement when she reached the bottom was incredible.
I’m coming, Wilder. I won’t let you down.
Chapter Thirteen
The day of the rally dawned bright and cloud-free and crowds began flocking to the park almost as soon as the sun came up. Wilder stood at Jenny’s hotel room window, watching them. He had spent the night alone in this room, not sleeping. He’d sat in a chair, his eyes flicking between the screen of h
er cell phone and the door. Call or walk in here. She did neither.
The other members of the brotherhood had returned from their search of the city late the previous night, tired and dispirited.
“Nothing.” Samson had thrown himself into a chair, his handsome face marred by a furious frown. “Not so much as a whiff of the bastard.”
“That decides it.” Gunnar glanced across at Wilder for confirmation.
Wilder nodded. “We take him at the rally.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
If I don’t find her, will it matter when the world ends? Or even if it ends?
Wilder berated himself for the selfish thought as he watched families making their way into the park. Parents holding their children’s hands. Older couples, smiling at each other as though they were in for some kind of a treat. It might not matter to me, but it sure as hell matters to them. Straightening his spine, he made his way into the bathroom and, pulling off his clothes, stepped under the shower.
It shocked him to realize the power of his need for Jenny. It was a raw ache in every part of him, stripping him of any defense or pretense. I love her and it’s taken not having her to make me understand how much. A tight sensation gripped his throat, almost choking him. If only he’d recognized what he felt for her sooner. Maybe he’d have still been with Gunnar when they arrived here in New York, making plans for how to deal with Van Marsh. But Samson’s comment gnawed at him. The big man had sensed that Jenny was troubled and confused. Because of me. Because she didn’t know what I was feeling. That’s why she went off on her own. She needed to think. After that night when our Arctic werewolves made love, I should have told her then how much I love her. Told her I wanted forever. She’d be with me now if I’d done that. If Wilder found her again, he was going to hold on to her and never let her go. If? He ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t let himself think that way. When I find her again.
Once he was dressed, he made his way down to the hotel restaurant. Only another Arctic werewolf could understand why Samson was eating the rarest of steaks at this hour of the morning, but Wilder’s stomach surprised him by giving an appreciative rumble. He tried and failed to remember the last time he’d eaten, and called the waitress over. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
She looked disapproving. “He had four eggs as well.”
Samson grinned at him as he shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. “I’ll just have three.” Wilder gave her a smile that was intended to reassure.
By the frown in her eyes, he wasn’t sure it worked. “Coffee?”
He shook his head. “Just water.” His inner wolf had never allowed him to get the hang of that whole caffeine thing.
“I cannot wait to get a grip on that bastard’s balls,” Samson growled.
“You might want to think about how that sounds,” Wilder commented.
“Fuck off.” Samson’s grin faded, his face becoming serious. “You think Jenny’s okay?”
“She’s been abducted by Van Marsh. What do you think?”
The arrival of the rest of the team meant Samson was spared the embarrassment of answering. Their orders put a serious strain on the nerves of the waitress and they waited until she had gone before discussing anything to do with the forthcoming rally.
“I don’t relish the idea of standing around for hours waiting for that little shit to turn up and do his stuff.” Lowell’s voice was long-suffering.
“He won’t be so little if he shifts,” Wilder reminded him. “And we need to get as close to the stage as we can. People have been arriving for hours.”
Madden laughed. “Maybe we’ll be converted and become Van Marsh groupies.” One look at Wilder’s face caused the laughter to fade. Madden shrugged apologetically. “Maybe not.”
When they had finished eating, Wilder gave a nod in the direction of the door. The tension ratcheted up a notch and they rose, moved out of the restaurant, and onto the street. Although it was sunny, there was a slight fall chill in the air. Not enough to please an Arctic, but sharp enough so that the people milling around them wore jackets. They fell in step with the crowd moving toward the Great Lawn. Gunnar nodded in the direction of the police officers, his courteous gesture having the effect of pointing them out to Wilder. The police seemed to be placed at regular intervals more to give directions and help to the crowd than for security.
There were already hundreds, if not thousands, of people on the Great Lawn.
“We are going to have to push little kids out of the way to get to the front,” Wilder groaned.
“Have you ever been to a theme park with Samson?” Vigo asked. Wilder shook his head. “Leave him to it. Shoving past little kids is what he does best.”
Sure enough, before long, they were up against the barrier looking up. Wilder judged they were about ten feet away from the edge of the stage. “We have to jump this barrier, shift, and then get on the stage. We need to all go at once. Grab him, hustle him off the stage. Get him out of here before anyone has time to figure out what’s happening. When I give the signal, Gunnar, you go to the van and start the engine. You need to hit the gas as soon as we’ve got Van Marsh in the back.”
“And Jenny?” Sebastian asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.
“Before we put the sword between his jaws, we get him to tell us where she is.”
Samson opened his mouth, obviously intent upon asking the obvious question. What if he doesn’t tell us? Gunnar gripped his arm, drawing him away from Wilder. He has to tell us. Wilder gripped the barrier so hard his knuckles turned white. I’ll make him tell us.
Over the next hour and a half, the crowd swelled. Loudspeakers at either side of the stage played relentlessly upbeat music and opportunistic vendors wandered around selling balloons, candy, and drinks, sidling away when they noticed a police officer. Huge screens on either side of the stage showed images of the lawn filling with people. Eventually, just as Wilder thought the tension might actually cause his head to explode, the hands of his watch crawled around to the time the rally was due to start.
“He’s usually pretty punctual,” Lowell said. “Known for the courtesy he shows his followers.”
Punctuality. Courtesy. Destruction of the world. Nice to know Van Marsh had his priorities in order.
The loudspeakers fell silent and an expectant hush came over the crowd. It took Wilder a moment or two to realize that Van Marsh was actually on the stage. This was him? The great god of destruction? This slender, elegant man? The possibility flashed through his mind that they’d got it horribly wrong. His eyes met Gunnar’s and saw the same thought mirrored there. Then Van Marsh’s eyes flickered over the group of Arctic werewolves, easy to spot among the gathering because of their unusual coloring. Even across the distance between them, Wilder saw an unholy smile touch his eyes.
That bastard knows where Jenny is.
It took every ounce of strength he had to stay where he was instead of bounding onto the stage and placing his hands around Van Marsh’s throat. The uncanny hush continued as Van Marsh stepped up to the microphone.
“My friends, it is an honor to be here.” A huge cheer greeted the quiet words. “Before we begin, I would like to welcome some special acquaintances of mine and invite them to join me on the stage.” He bent his head and extended his arms wide in the direction of the brotherhood.
“Clever bastard.” Wilder looked at his companions.
“What the fuck is he playing at?” Samson growled under his breath.
“Don’t you see? If we’re up there on the stage with him, we have to shift in full view of thousands”—Wilder glanced around—“probably hundreds of thousands, of people.”
Van Marsh spoke into the microphone again. “Don’t be shy, my Arctic friends.” He smiled directly at Wilder.
“You stay here. Watch for my signal,” Wilder muttered to Gunnar.
“Sure about this?” Gunnar frowned.
“He’s not giving us any choice.” People were craning t
heir necks, regarding them with curiosity. There were some impatient comments. Wilder jerked his head toward the stage. “Let’s do this.”
A tentative round of applause rippled through the vast gathering as the six men made their way onto the stage.
We’re just going to stand here like tailor shop dummies while Van Marsh does his thing?
Whatever it takes.
As they drew level with him, Van Marsh covered the microphone with his hand. “Always seven and only seven, isn’t that your creed? Don’t you need the one called Gunnar?” His smile deepened. “Or the girl?”
Keeping his anger under control with an immense effort, Wilder spoke over the sound of Samson’s growl. “Get on with this. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get you back where you belong.”
The smile faded then and he caught a glimpse of what they were dealing with. There was nothing human in the venomous, green-gold depths of Van Marsh’s eyes. “I am never going back.”
Wilder leaned closer. “Nothing me and my friends enjoy more than that sort of challenge. Now, do your stuff, there’s a good god of destruction, these nice people have come a long way to hear your crap.”
Van Marsh laughed, but there was a note of hesitation in it. Then, with a shrug, he turned back to the crowd. The brotherhood ranged themselves behind him. Like some sort of reluctant backup group. Wilder shook his head in disbelief as he looked out across the sea of people. How the hell are we going to pull this off? It doesn’t matter how. It has to be done.
Van Marsh started speaking, his voice low and hypnotic. The words were irrelevant. He might as well have been talking a foreign language. It really was as if he were casting a spell on the watching crowd. An invisible wave seemed to emanate out from Van Marsh toward those nearest to him and from there it rippled through the whole gathering. Wilder glanced at the screens and saw images of people being affected by the most powerful of emotions. Yet, seconds after he had spoken, Wilder would not have been able to recall a single word Van Marsh said.