Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2)

by Melissa Snark

  "You're heading down a dangerous path, Son."

  Sawyer flushed, but refused to acknowledge his father's dig. "Are we going to go over our plans for tomorrow, tonight?"

  Intelligence glittered in the older man's eyes. "No. Victoria's wound tight. It's always smart to give a wolf or a pregnant woman a wide leeway. Either is as volatile as TNT when pushed."

  Sawyer grunted. "In this case, that's TNT cubed."

  "She seems nice." Lenna's soft voice came from behind them. "Most pregnant Alphas are serious bitches."

  Startled, Sawyer shot a quick look over his shoulder. Lenna flashed him a sassy smile. She trailed a couple paces behind him and his father. With her inconspicuous demeanor, he'd missed her proximity. Her submissive deportment made him uncomfortable. He didn't understand why she persisted in walking behind them. Was there some strange aspect of pack life beyond his grasp?

  "How do you know she's pregnant?" Sawyer blurted without thinking.

  Smiling sheepishly, Lenna ducked her head and tapped a finger to her nose. "The nose knows."

  "I suppose so." He chuckled, and his father echoed the sound. Ahead, Victoria showed no sign of slowing, so Sawyer sped his pace. Footsteps thudding on the concrete, they followed her along the pathway leading to the compound. As they neared the top, a chorus of howls rose from the mesa's hillside. Victoria stopped in her tracks, head turning toward the sound. Jake also halted, so Sawyer followed suit.

  Nervously, Lenna edged closer to Sawyer.

  Her fear aroused his protective instincts. His unaccountable reaction triggered a quiver of discordance in his mind. Technically, any grown werewolf, even a female, was physically stronger than a human. His instinctive response made no sense.

  Coyote song filled the night. Making an uneducated guess, Sawyer estimated the band to have at least a dozen members who were no more than a half mile distant. The cacophony continued for over a minute.

  "What's happening?" Sawyer asked, impatience threading his voice when his companions failed to volunteer an explanation.

  "Listen and learn, Sawyer." Jake addressed Victoria. "What are they talking about?"

  Victoria stood turned away from them so her face showed in profile. The corner of her mouth tugged into a smile. "Rabbits."

  An involuntary exclamation of skepticism escaped Sawyer. "You're both giving me shit. She doesn't speak coyote."

  "Do so." Victoria's teeth clicked together with a sharp snap. "My people have been taking mates from among Native Americans for centuries. I've got a bunch of second and third cousins on my father's side who are Navajo shifters. At least half are coyotes."

  "It's true," Lenna said softly. "They're discussing rabbits."

  "Huh." Sawyer still suspected the trio of pulling his leg, but he lacked the knowledge necessary to prove it. He shut his mouth before he said anything further to reveal his ignorance.

  Tilting her head back, Victoria exposed the slender column of her throat and released a full-bodied howl. The chorus ceased, and her wolf's song soared into the night. The power touching her voice sent shivers coursing along his spine.

  Without understanding why, Sawyer moved to a flanking position alongside the she-wolf. At Victoria's other side, Jake also adopted into a defensive stance. Lenna formed the last leg. Back to back, the four of them formed a fort.

  Victoria fell silent, and a jumble of yips and yowls rose from the coyotes. She listened with her head cocked. A golden glow emanated from her eyes.

  Adrenaline surging, Sawyer's pulse raced. In the brush, a branch snapped. His hand snapped to the butt of his shotgun, and he shouldered the firearm. He swung about, senses straining to penetrate the light-devouring blackness. The darkness was filled with things darker still. Half-formed shapes dissolved before his mind fully grasped their form, mysterious and terrifying to the imagination.

  For a time, dead silence reigned. Even the band of coyotes ceased howling. His companions stood statue still, bodies drawn to bowstring readiness. The suffocating smog of dread hung over their heads.

  Sawyer adjusted his hold on his shotgun. "What's happening?"

  Victoria explained in a soft voice. "The coyotes want to know if I'm here for the vampires."

  "He's here." Jake's lips barely moved, and the words came out almost indecipherable.

  Comprehension dawned in a blinding flash.

  "Shit." Sawyer's heart slammed against his breast. On his arm, his dagger tattoo throbbed.

  "My sentiments exactly," Jake drawled.

  Down the hillside, Sawyer spotted movement in the desert brush. First one, then another. Distant darting bipedal forms emerged from the shrubs, advancing with unnatural swiftness upon stilt-like legs. Their profiles stretched long and thin like pulled taffy. Their spindly limbs bloated and dipped with undulating curves.

  The entire hillside popped with undead.

  Jake shouldered his rifle and took aim down the hill. He fired a single shot. One of the charging figures fell and then surged back to its feet.

  Standing shoulder to shoulder with his father, Sawyer fired into the oncoming horde and scored a headshot. The vampire fell and didn't rise. The others didn't slow their approach. Not a single one swerved or ducked. He hastily reloaded.

  "There's too many to fight in the open. We need to get to cover," Sawyer said.

  Jake grunted in agreement. "You're right."

  Sawyer lurched into a run toward the compound, and his father fell into stride beside him. There would be an arsenal within. Not just knives and guns, but hand grenades and flamethrowers. When he realized the she-wolves had fallen behind, he dragged his feet and looked over his shoulder.

  Victoria's hands smacked against the middle of his back. Her shout filled his ears. "Go! We're right behind you."

  He ran.

  Ahead, a spindly creature dropped from the compound's roof and landed directly in his path. Dark gray skin dappled in oozing sores covered the vampire's face. His open mouth revealed serrated fangs and a barbed tongue.

  Nosferatu, a Romanian species.

  Unable to avoid the collision, Sawyer dropped his shoulder, rammed the revenant, and knocked him aside. A tug on his shotgun's sling brought the weapon into the hunter's hands. He wielded the firearm like a club and used the stock to catch the creature square on the jaw.

  The Nosferatu staggered, then lunged straight at Sawyer with his long arms extended. Ice-cold hands seized the sides of his head. The gaping mouth yawned in his face. Lips stretched grotesquely to expose double rows of canines. The fat, thorny tongue lashed toward his face.

  The song of the Wild Hunt raged through Sawyer's soul. Lightning blazed. Thunder rumbled. Frenzy grabbed ahold, obliterating rational thought. He forgot everything—pain, fear, companions.

  Vicious desire ruled him.

  Swinging the shotgun, he shoved the double-barrel straight into the monster's face. The thrusting tongue collided with steel. He pushed until he met resistance and pulled the trigger.

  The gun roared.

  The back of the Nosferatu's skull exploded. Bits of bone and brain splattered the concrete. The body dropped but didn't disintegrate.

  Sawyer yanked out his belt knife and dropped to one knee. He plunged the bayonet into the revenant's throat and sawed through the thick flesh. The putrid stench flooded his nostrils. He gagged and spat to be rid of the taint. While he worked the blade, coagulated blood squished from the cut. Finally, the steel edge hit the spinal column and wedged in dense bones. Focusing his strength, he bore down until the vertebrae severed with a sickening crunch.

  The Nosferatu turned to ash.

  Another thick-barrel vampire dropped from the roof and landed on her back, her beetle-thin limbs milling furiously. Alarmed, Sawyer plunged forward and swung in an overhanded thrust. The blade embedded in the vamp's forehead to the hilt.

  With a serpentine hiss, the revenant rolled, wrenching the knife from his hands. The hideous visage loomed over his face. From the corner of his eye, Sawyer spied a
swift blur. He ducked, but the fist caught his chin and knocked his teeth together. Head swimming, he staggered and almost went over.

  His hand closed on the pommel of his boot knife. Cool steel kissed his palm. He yanked the weapon free of its sheath and thrust, puncturing the undead's tough hide. He drove deep into the abdomen, straight to the heart until the revenant keened.

  Excited by the sound, Sawyer stabbed over and over. He sliced at the desiccated corpse until the last fleshy bits supporting the heart were severed. The Nosferatu's flesh turned to liquid, sloshing into a rancid pool.

  Heart thundering, Sawyer sprinted up the driveway and across the concrete courtyard before colliding with the solid metal door. He stabbed at the keypad, fumbling to enter the combo—his mother's birthday—and shoved his face against the retinal scanner. His eyes watered for the precious seconds the computer required to identify him.

  The locking mechanism clicked open. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. Complete darkness hung over the interior of the building due to the shuttered security windows.

  Recalling his companions, he looked around but wasn't able to find them amongst the sea of undead. A stiletto of guilt stabbed at his insides. His father could take care of himself, but he worried about the wolves. The best way to help them now was to continue with his mission and obtain the more effective weapons before he searched for them.

  With the blade of his boot knife, he propped open the door so the wolves would be able to enter without dealing with the security system. He went for weapons first, planning to go after them as soon as he was armed.

  As soon as he crossed the threshold, motion detectors turned on the lights. Illumination flooded the inside of the main armory, a large open room that contained bare concrete floors, sparse furnishings, and steel vaults. Enough weapons and guns to arm a platoon lined the walls. Sawyer dashed toward the nearest rack and grabbed for the closest armament, a battle axe with a short haft designed for throwing.

  Tucking the axe beneath his arm, he fed fresh cartridges into the shotgun. A clatter caught his attention, and he looked up.

  Four Nosferatu crowded the doorway. The harsh florescent light illuminated their dull gray flesh. They sprinted on spindle legs, their movements fluid and swift. One turned right, the other left. They scuttled along the sides of the room, flanking him. The other two charged straight at him.

  The hunt raged in his mind, hounds braying, the riders on the storm. He'd known his entire life he was meant to become one of them. Shouting at the top of his lungs, Sawyer heaved the axe. The blade embedded square in the middle of his target's forehead.

  The vampire fell.

  Hastily, Sawyer brought up his shotgun. The firearm nestled into his hands, the steel barrel and wooden stock intimately familiar, a part of him. He braced and fired from the hip at the closest oncoming enemy. The double blast hit the vamp dead center in the chest, knocking him back.

  The other two kept coming at Sawyer from either side.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Fólkvangr, Freya's hall in Sessrúmnir

  Ragnarök: the twilight of the gods.

  A shudder wracked the goddess to hear the dreaded prophecy fall from the lips of the Trickster, the Destroyer of the Nine Worlds. She knew the prediction by heart, but knowing didn't compare to confronting the reality of the end. As a goddess of war, Freya held no fear of battle, but she also didn't harbor a death wish. She desperately desired to live, and if survival meant throwing in her lot with Loki, then so be it. When it was over, she would bathe and scrub her skin raw.

  "You still have a secret that will allow you to endure the end and escape to the new world or you wouldn't be undertaking this campaign," she said severely. "You are a selfish creature. You must have a plan to ensure your own survival."

  Loki fell silent, and his expression transformed to a scowl. He looked down, heaved a sigh, and then looked up with a grim smile. "Of course I have an exit strategy, Freya. After all, as you've pointed out, Ragnarök is but the product of my capricious whims."

  Satisfied, she nodded. "Our deal endures. I will protect your wolf children who reside in my hall, and in return, you shall guarantee my survival and a place in the new world."

  Midgard

  The molten dagger descended in a flowing arc toward a vampire's nodding head and sliced through the neck grown brittle with the passage of decades. The spine shattered, and the grotesque body dissolved to dust. The seeds of soil rained to the ground.

  "I'm more than capable of bringing up the rear," Jake snapped over his shoulder to Victoria who protected his back.

  "I never said you weren't," Victoria shot back.

  "Then why are you still here?" He wanted her with Sawyer and Lenna, headed for the shelter and safety of the fortified compound. Not here on the mesa's precipice. Taking on armies was his job.

  "I don't leave pack mates behind."

  Jake craned his head to check on her. From his peripheral vision, he glimpsed the shimmer of a moonshine blade. Wind swift, feather light.

  Vanadium: The forbidden blade.

  Surprise kicked him in the teeth. Pivoting, he jerked instinctively away from her, creating a dangerous separation in their defense. Anger erupted, magma hot. His skin turned translucent, and runes arose from the magic secreted within the murky depths of his soul. His flesh metastasized to glittering obsidian. With a lonely moan, the wind kicked up, and dust rose in thick clouds.

  Prophecy predicted the dagger would someday cut Fenrir's bindings, freeing the slavering wolf to seek his revenge on the one who'd enslaved him. The weapon's appearance shouldn't have taken him by surprise, but it did. Victoria's mother had carried the dagger at the time of her death. He'd had no idea Katherine had passed it on to her daughter.

  A Nosferatu charged straight at Victoria. For a shameful second, Jake did nothing and contemplated worse. The grim thoughts demonstrated a weakness of character that reflected poorly upon his honor.

  Compared to the brutish vampire, Victoria had the lithe build of a dancer. Taking advantage of the size disparity, she ducked beneath her attacker's outstretched arms. In motion, Vanadium produced a sound like the buzz of a hummingbird's wings. An even stroke sliced clean through her opponent's knees. Another took his head.

  Two more Nosferatu rushed her, latched onto her arms, and dragged her to the ground. She lost her grip on the enchanted dagger. The weapon floated, rocked on air currents, and vanished before it touched down. Victoria underwent a swift partial transformation, growing fangs and claws, and resorted to brawling. She shredded skin and sent chunks of carcass flying.

  A hunk of rancid meat plopped on the point of his boot.

  Cursing, Jake led with a kick to a vampire's gut. He threw himself into the melee, kicking and stomping the corpses' gray limbs. He stayed his blade, but he despised the constraint. He didn't dare employ the tattoo dagger in close quarter combat, not with Victoria so near. He refused to risk a repeat of what had happened to Lenna.

  His already hot temper soared. Fuming, he ground his teeth and questioned why Victoria wasn't with Sawyer or protecting Lenna, the weakest of their number. He already had enough to deal with—the world in panic, masses of people perishing horrible deaths, and destruction all around them. The entire cosmos was about to be consumed in flames.

  Yet one stubborn werewolf was his vexation.

  "You need to go inside. Right now. You're a thorn in my side." He asserted his bulk between Victoria and a revenant. The vampire seized his arm, and he shouldered it aside. He pressed the dagger's point to the undead's throat so the burning steel melted flesh and bone and then severed the head with a sharp thrust.

  "Thanks, I try." Blue eyes glared at him as she flashed fang, a wolf's smile. A long gash from her elbow to her wrist wept blood.

  Despite his grumbling, she was a solid partner in battle. Swift. Precise. Had it only been the two of them, he'd have welcomed her companionship.

  As soon as one undead fell, another vampire imme
diately sprang from the wall of undead pressing toward them. The undead army appeared to be consolidating, and Jake sensed dark, powerful forces at work.

  Necromancy.

  His gut churned, and he reached down deep. The wind blew hard, creating a raging tempest that beat down on their heads. The sky darkened as if a great hand had strung byzantium lace before the moon. Thick layered clouds gathered, a stairway descending toward the plateau, rumbling with short bursts of thunder.

  Stillness fell over the battlefield. The vampires stopped, heads tilted to stare up into the storm. Victoria cocked her head to listen, gnawing her lower lip. In the distance, dogs wailed and the pounding of hundreds of hooves announced the arrival of the mounted troops.

  Riders on the storm.

  An ancient curse fell from Jake's lips. The Wild Hunt was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He'd over-extended and called on too much of his magic, invoked the runes too often in too short a time. There were consequences to the flagrant abuse of power, even for him.

  The heavens opened, and pellet-sized raindrops pummeled their heads. Frost clung to his eyebrows and beard. Rivulets seeped down his face and arms. Frozen water hit the molten metal of his dagger and sizzled, creating wisps of steam.

  While the vampires remained still, he seized the opportunity to scan the area. He spotted Sawyer close the compound, and his son looked to be holding his own. Heaving a sigh of relief, he searched for Lenna but failed to find her among the many Nosferatu.

  "What's happening?" Victoria cut a quick path to his side. Her small hand closed on his wrist, holding fast as if seeking reassurance.

  "The hunt. It's coming." He captured her gaze and her forearm. "Listen to me. Go to Sawyer. Both of you need to get inside. Seal the doors and stay there."

  She stared at him. Wonder and fear edged her face, and flowing rain slicked her blonde hair against her scalp. "What about you?"