Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2)

by Melissa Snark

  The vortex aura of a draug rushed toward him. A dim spark burned at the center of the vampire's dead pattern, the trapped soul that resided in his heart.

  In an act of desperation, Jake grabbed for more energy, siphoning from his men. Not just the hundred present but the far-flung thousands scattered throughout the world. A volcano erupted within him. Magma rising. His skin burned. His body pulsated with unchecked power, threatening to annihilate his mortal vessel. The sting in his good eye cleared and allowed him to see.

  Rage filled him.

  He stood on his ruined leg and towered over the battlefield. His dagger transformed into a spear. He braced the end against the ground to angle the weapon. The head struck dead center, impaling the draug through the heart. The revenant's momentum drove it further onto the shaft. The body turned to ash, scattering on the hot wind.

  Grasping the spear, Jake slid heavily to the ground. The weapon fell from his clutches, clattering before it vanished.

  Skinner's voice buzzed in his ear. "The MANPATS is operational."

  "Are the wolves clear?"

  "From the looks of it, but you're too close."

  "Fire it," Jake commanded.

  "Yes, sir."

  Gathering his strength, Jake crawled to the dying she-wolf. With heroic effort, he gathered her warm body into his arms and settled her across his lap. Covered from head to toe in blood, he stained her plush fur everywhere he touched

  "I'm sorry." Stroking her head, he leaned in, whispering into her rounded ear. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

  The muscles at the base of her ear tugged, and she whimpered. Her tongue lapped his arm with a single swipe. A gentle voice touched his soul. I forgive you.

  Shuddering, he placed his palm against her side in time to feel the last breath leave her body. Her heart stopped. He choked on denial. His heart wrenched in his breast. "No! I don't—"

  Murder innocents. Not ever.

  "Heads up. The MANPATS is in the air," Skinner's voice announced across the com just as a rocket passed overhead, trailing fire.

  The missile entered the mine and the detonation released an earth-shattering boom. A plume of fire shot from the shaft and the explosion filled the sky. Jake ducked his head and leaned over the she-wolf to protect her with his body. Burning debris and chunks of rock pummeled the battlefield. A thick cloud of smoke and dust blanketed the area.

  The remaining draugur rushed downhill and escaped into the desert.

  Jake sat with the wolf's body across his lap and watched while her pack chased down and destroyed the fleeing undead. He thought it funny how Finn and the rest of the White Mountains Pack appeared unaware of their pack mate's death. Or maybe she wasn't important enough for them to care. Their indifference filled Jake with righteous indignation. Then, he spotted the body of a fallen wolf twenty yards away. Another corpse, and then another. They'd lost a lot more than one member.

  The realization gutted his anger.

  Ravens descended out of the sky, their coarse craaing heralding the arrival of the unkindness. Lighting amidst the carnage, the shiny-eyed birds picked through the bodies.

  The wolves and the birds worked their way across the steeply slanted battlefield. A raven strayed too close to one of Finn's people, and a claw arced through the air. The bird squawked once, and the body flew. The hot wind whisked away black feathers. Thereafter, the ravens kept their distance.

  During the battle, Jake's crew had retreated to the base of the mesa. It would be a good ten minutes, minimum, before they reached him. Through his magic, he sensed the absence of fourteen of his own men. An aching wound filled his soul. He mourned for them. Holes in the unity all hunters shared. Fourteen dead. More suffering.

  It could have been so much worse.

  His sight remained altered, his portal to the mystical world open. In fading shadow, an averted future lay before him. His entire unit annihilated. They all would have died if not for the wolves.

  Always, he wondered, Why can some futures be altered but not the one that mattered most?

  His gaze dropped to the dead she-wolf on his lap. He held her close and cradled her body and soul against his chest. He considered the absolute insignificance of her demise. In the grand scheme of things, her life and death, her very existence, meant nothing.

  They were all doomed in the end.

  The futility of everything staggered him. He should close the second sight before apathy overwhelmed him. Yet, he gazed out upon the whole of the universe, unable to look away.

  He desperately missed his wife, Sarah, the mother of his four sons. She had kept him balanced, held the apathy at bay, and served as his connection to humanity. Without her, he was lost in this mortal nightmare.

  A white-hot halo approached him and broke his fugue.

  Jake blinked and looked up. In his mind, the foresight portal slammed shut.

  Beautiful young women wearing cloaks of cream, hunter green, and burgundy walked amongst the fallen. Valkyries. His men had died honorably, serving him and his cause. Valhalla awaited those worthy dead. Ultimately, all companions in life would be reunited in the great halls.

  A shield maiden with golden-blonde hair bent over the body of a fallen werewolf, gathering his soul for transport to Valhalla. She straightened and approached the she-wolf he'd tried to save and accidentally slaughtered.

  Sarah had always insisted that every life mattered. If someone cared enough to give a damn. His arms tightened around the wolf's body. His fault. His terrible mistake. The stubborn determination to do right by her set him on his course.

  "No. You will not have her." Baring his teeth, he tilted his head back and peered out of his good eye, looking up at the blonde warrior woman.

  The Valkyrie paused, gazing at him with curiosity. Her brow knit. "You can see me," she said. "How is that possible?"

  "I can see you, Skeggöld."

  "How do you know my name?" Even as she asked, she studied his face. His ruined eye. His fierce stare. Her mouth opened, dawning realization on her face. "I must bring the wolf's soul to Valhalla. It is my duty."

  "Not this one," Jake rasped. "Not this time. Heal her."

  He clung to consciousness with stubborn tenacity like a man denying Death to steal one last breath. Even so, dusk closed about him, shadows closing on his waking mind.

  Confusion crossed her face, alongside fear.

  "Why not you?" she blurted out, daring to challenge him. "You do it."

  Jake allowed his mask to drop, revealing his true face. "I cannot. Not that I owe you explanations. Now do as I command, Valkyrie."

  Skeggöld gasped and lowered her gaze. In a show of obedience and submission, she sank to her knees before him. Her trembling arms extended, and she touched her fingertips to the she-wolf's side. A brilliant flash emanated from her hand, so bright he shielded his face and looked away.

  "I have done as you commanded." The Valkyrie straightened and vanished, perhaps fleeing before he issued some other command that would put her in conflict with her sworn duties.

  Jake allowed the wolf to slide from his lap. He lifted her to the ground and set her gently upon her side. Then he scooted away, wincing when the effort jarred his injured knee. Blood roared in his ears. His consciousness spiraled downward.

  With a startled huff, the she-wolf rolled to her feet. She pranced, clearly confused, and turned in a circle, chasing her own tail.

  A bark of laughter rocked Jake. No longer holding tight to wakefulness, he let go. Darkness crashed over him in a great wave. He succumbed to oblivion.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Fólkvangr, Freya's hall in Sessrúmnir

  Without a word of explanation, Freya's mysterious visitor disappeared down the corridor that led to her private bath. He strode upon graceful steps, as stealthy as a cat.

  Intrigued, she sat up, and the silken cover slipped aside to reveal the unrivaled splendor of her beauty. She wore only the magical Brísingamen, an elegant filigree necklace of gold and gems, which render
ed her irresistible to all who gazed upon it. She stood and glanced at her sleeping lover, admiring his powerful shoulders, strong arms, and dark head. Drained from hours of lovemaking, he remained blissfully oblivious to the world. A smile fluttered upon her lips, and she decided not to disturb him. She, Freya, a goddess of war as well as love, was more than capable of coming to her own defense.

  She stepped past the curtains and found her visitor lounging against the sculpted fountain that fed the steaming bathing pools. He bent with one hand trailing across the surface of the water. As her footfalls echoed across the marble floors, he looked up. He carried no weapons and presented no immediate threat.

  He smirked. "I see you've already thrown a thigh over your new general. Have you taught him to heel yet, Freya?"

  A gasp escaped her lips. The audacity! The thrill of outrage aroused her. She scowled, and her spine stiffened as she stood straighter. She considered rebuking him for his insolence, but something in his furtive attitude struck her as intimately familiar. She held her tongue, considering him.

  That naughty gleam, that infuriating smugness. Could it be?

  No.

  His snicker removed all doubt.

  Her mouth dropped. "Loki?"

  Midgard

  "Hey, I hate to wake you, Sleeping Beauty, but the Arizona governor is on the phone. He's pissed 'cause we didn't include the National Guard in our 'unsanctioned military exercise'."

  Skinner's sarcastic voice impinged on Jake's slumber, but it was the pointed kick to his foot that jolted him awake. The Hunter King opened both eyes, blinking to confirm his vision was fully healed, and sat up. He glanced left and then right, registering the injured men to either side. They were inside the personnel transport that served as their mobile field hospital. The medical crew buzzed about like frantic bees, treating and tending their patients.

  "Did you tell him to fuck off?" Grunting, Jake climbed to his feet and tested his knee. He found the joint to be sound. At least an hour had passed since the battle. Stretching his awareness, he performed a headcount and then sighed in relief upon discovering he hadn't lost anyone else.

  "Of course I did." Skinner's mouth twisted in contempt, an expression he reserved for the animated dead and politicians. "He's deploying a unit. They'll be here in ten."

  Fuck. Just what he needed—the government. Bursting with frustration, Jake strode to the back of the transport and dropped to the ground. He glanced around, assessing his surroundings. The sun had long since set, and the waxing moon was a pregnant disc over the mountains. His own men were present, tending to their duties, but none of the White Mountains Pack remained.

  He scowled. "Did the MANPATS close the portal?"

  "Sealed up tighter than a drum," Skinner said. "But we've still got no clue what opened it in the first place."

  "Figuring that out is at the top of my to-do list." Jake rubbed a finger over his upper lip. "What happened to the wolves?"

  Skinner flashed a grin. "They lit out of here like someone had set their tails on fire once they found out the government was on its way."

  "Damn, I wanted to speak with Finn." Jake dragged a hand through his hair, thinking about that she-wolf and what she had seen. Worse, what she might say. How much had she grasped about what had happened?

  Skinner stepped closer, thrusting a cell phone at him. "Oh, and Sawyer's holding on the other line. He's got Victoria Storm cornered again."

  A sudden, lancing headache threatened to split Jake's head wide open. Striving for patience, he sucked air between his teeth, closed his eyes, and counted to three. He cursed vampires, werewolves, politicians, civilians, and his second son, in that order.

  Opening them again, he accepted the phone. Family first, always.

  "What's my hotheaded boy gone and gotten himself into now?" Jake asked Skinner, wanting as much information as he could obtain in advance. When dealing with Sawyer, he needed every advantage.

  His friend scowled. "He's going after her alone."

  "Well, ain't that just dandy," Jake muttered. Desiring privacy, he marched toward his SUV, parked further up the road.

  "What should I tell the gov?" Skinner shouted after him.

  "Don't tell him anything. Let him cool his heels."

  Once situated comfortably inside the cab, Jake turned on the radio to provide background noise. He hit the unmute button and put the device to his ear. "Sawyer?"

  His boy's voice emerged amid a burst of static. "Dad."

  Jake lost his temper. "Sawyer, what the hell are you up to? You promised me that you'd stay away from Victoria."

  Sawyer snapped out an angry retort. "I didn't promise. I just said I'd think about it. Well, I thought about it."

  "And decided to do the exact, dumbass opposite," Jake snarled.

  "Yeah, pretty much."

  "Son, if you're committed to killing that bitch, then take a crew of experienced hunters." Over the phone, Jake Barrett's voice was as hard as steel. "I'm not comfortable with you going after her alone."

  You'll get your stupid ass killed, or worse.

  The last part hung in the air unsaid, but Sawyer's mind filled in the blanks. He stifled a sigh. His father never failed to make him feel inadequate, always the disappointment. His birth order as second son may have contributed to his rebellious tendencies, but none of his brothers ever clashed with his father to the same extent.

  "Dad, I'm not going after Victoria again," Sawyer said, striving to sound reasonable, biting his tongue against any inflammatory statements that he'd regret as soon as he spoke them.

  "Victoria?"

  Sawyer huffed. "Miss Storm sounds a little pretentious, considering we've been on a kill-or-be-killed basis for the last six months."

  "Don't get smart with me, Sawyer."

  "Sorry, sir." He apologized out of ingrained respect for his father's authority, but it pinched his pride. Always, Sawyer's independent spirit warred with his desire to attain his dad's approval. More often than not, communication went poorly between them. They argued. They fought. They banged heads. Their relationship was never easy or peaceful.

  Sawyer shifted his grip on the cell phone and wedged it between his chin and collarbone. A stabbing pain throbbed between his shoulder blades, radiating throughout his entire back from too many nights spent living on the road. When he slept, it was in his car or on cheap beds in sleazy motels. He used his free hand to massage the ache at the base of his neck.

  Appearance-wise, all of the Barrett men shared the same tall, broad-shouldered build. His father and three brothers had dark brown hair and chocolate eyes, but Sawyer took after his mother. He wore his dirty-blond hair to his shoulders in pointed defiance of his father's insistence upon a military cut. His clothing hung looser than usual, and he suspected he'd lost weight over the last few months.

  At just after eight in the evening, most of the businesses in the commercial complex were closed. Only the grocery retailer that served as the anchor store remained open and well lit. The smaller stores had their lights turned off, so darkness covered the recessed sidewalks connecting the L-shaped plaza.

  He held his shotgun with the shortened stock cradled in the crook of his arm, the sawed-off barrel resting against his chest. His black leather trench coat allowed him to conceal the modified weapon in public. For the moment, the cold concrete pillar at his back provided cover. However, his telephone conversation introduced an element of risk in giving away his location. Some creatures, beasts of myth and magic, possessed superior hearing.

  Across the parking lot, the glass door of the dance studio opened and women spilled out—fashionably thin mothers toting designer purses with daughters clad in pink leotards and fluffy tutus. He tracked the stream of humanity but failed to find the white-blonde head he sought.

  Despite the cool April evening, a warm flush touched his skin. The long shadow of guilt hung over him. Lately, he didn't have much to be proud of, and lurking outside dance studios filled with little girls didn't make him feel any b
etter about himself.

  Jake cleared his throat. "Do you have feelings for her?"

  "What? No!" Sawyer's voice hit a startled spike. "Damn it, Dad, it's not like that."

  "What exactly is it then?" Jake asked. "I understand you believe you saw your brother's spirit—"

  "Not believe. Know. I saw Daniel. He spoke to me." Sawyer jerked away, turning his back on the parking lot as he ran an agitated hand through his long hair.

  The memory of his brother's visit remained as fresh and as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Danny had looked straight at him and said, "There's been enough killing."

  Sawyer's throat closed. He swallowed convulsively in an attempt to clear it. His brother's plea had eviscerated his rage, leaving him mired in guilt and grief. Robbed of his drive for revenge, he was lost.

  "I believe you, Sawyer. But I want you to stop and think. The last time you confronted..." Jake hesitated.

  "Victoria."

  Jake snorted. "Victoria. She almost killed you. You're alone—"

  His father's lecturing hit a sore spot, and Sawyer's temper snapped. "I've got a plan."

  "Care to share it so we're on the same page?"

  Sawyer hesitated, deliberating on his choice of words. The faint sound of a static-filled AM sports talk show crackled in the background. Even though the old man's SUV had satellite radio, he insisted upon an old-school approach to entertainment.

  "I want the two of you to agree to a face to face meeting." His neck ached, so he transferred the phone to his hand again.

  "Is Victoria pushing for a meeting?" Jake asked.

  "No, I expect I'll have to convince her. At this point, she probably doesn't want anything to do with us."

  "I don't know what you hope to accomplish with this, Sawyer. The Storm Pack has left Arizona, and I'm not interested in pursuing this further. Not after what happened in Albuquerque. But you keep pushing..." Jake's tone remained reasonable. Too reasonable.

  Sawyer's grip on the phone tightened, and his teeth ground together. He hated being humored. "I can't let this go."