The compass in her heart told her Arvik was moving, up and to the west, not anywhere close to the preening shaman.
She stifled the relief that threatened to buckle her legs. Arvik might still have embraced the Ahklut way. Not to mention, she was now playing chicken with a pack of starving timber wolves.
Another wordless command passed by her, this time from the shaman. A hazy image accompanied the command, of the narrow pass that led to the valley. Moments later, four of the healthy wolves took off at a run due south, toward the pass. None of the skinny wolves moved. Interesting mode of communication.
Her best friend sat, so she did, too.
Arvik was moving closer.
She tried to keep herself from turning to look that direction, but couldn’t.
Five wolves came from behind the largest of the valley’s boulders. One vigorous and energetic, four skinny and tired.
She didn’t recognize any of them.
Realization penetrated her shock. He was undercover, just like she was. Again.
The gods must be laughing themselves silly.
19
Arvik-as-wolf wasn’t usually bothered by complexities, but the unexpected presence of his mate sent him in twisting spirals of joy and worry. He’d sensed her the moment Nu’untivut had broken off clouding the ethereal plane with his pounding magical assaults on the Fort LeBlanc defenses. Arvik hadn’t expected Rayne to be there, but he should have. If half the magical world was about to be drawn into a war, where else would she be?
When the shaman and the oracle, Inyiqti, raced north, Arvik followed, pretending blind loyalty. Five warriors and about twenty other Ahklut abandoned the attacking force and followed the shaman. He didn’t know why the others did, but his goal was simple. Stop Nu’untivut.
An unearthly growling from rising rocks to the northeast sent them all veering straight north. Ahklut didn’t scare easily, but no one wanted to tangle with whatever made that noise. North looked promising as far as defensible high ground. Oddly, the terrain changed, and suddenly, they were speeding up a slope and Rayne was much closer than before.
At the narrow mouth of the wide valley, Nu’untivut sent images with orders to team up, one warrior and multiple Ahklut each, to check out the area and report back.
Arvik deliberately went with the warrior Parktoq because he was headed west, away from the lodestone presence that was Rayne. Once he heard the timber wolf howl from above, he had no doubt she and the other shifters had a plan.
Nu’untivut had been forced to improvise a new battle plan after he’d failed to smash Fort LeBlanc’s outer barrier. Swarming it with the combined group magic of the Ahklut might have won the day in the nineteenth century, before the invention of modern magic and military ordnance. And before he lost two-thirds of his attack force to the choice of going south.
Arvik had wanted to go with them, but he had to trust that his grandparents and the rest of the Ulu would receive them with respect and kindness. His job wasn’t done.
The first of the westbound attack force had thrown themselves and their magic against the barrier. Nu’untivut’s simultaneous punch had caused the earth to crack open, but not the barrier.
Arvik had been angling to get closer to Nu’untivut, when he saw Inyiqti in human form pull the shaman aside to speak urgently into his ear. Moments later, the main Ahklut force had received a flurry of images that ordered them to keep attacking with magic and physical force. Even as the last image circulated, the shaman and the oracle, once again a wolf, had run northeast.
Arvik had followed, confused, until he saw the arrival of Fort LeBlanc’s defending armies attacking from two sides. Inyiqti must have seen them coming and told Nu’untivut. The shaman was jumping ship, using the frenzied Ahklut attack to cover his escape. How very like him to deem everyone but himself and a few warriors expendable.
In the valley, Nu’untivut had projected confidence, but Arvik had heard the undertone of anger and fear in his orders. Especially when his warriors began reporting the valley had no way out.
The warrior Parktoq led his group, the one Arvik-as-Niglaktok had joined, back through the big rocks and toward the wolves clustered in the center of the valley. Nu’untivut and Inyiqti stood in the center, protected by the rest of the wolves. Parktoq added his bad-news melody to the group song.
Arvik could hardly listen to anything but the siren song of his mate, who had somehow snuck into the group. He only knew which timber wolf she was because his heart told him, not because she looked different. Even Tiri, the elder Ahklut who Rayne sat right next to, accepted Rayne as one of their own. Her skill amazed him even as fear for her iced his veins.
Nu’untivut gave the order to go back the way they’d come, where he’d already sent four warriors to scout ahead. The two remaining warriors, Parktoq and Kajuq, started trotting south. The shaman and the oracle followed.
None of the other Ahklut who had followed them to the valley moved.
It took Nu’untivut a few seconds to notice. He snapped a bite at the flank of a standing wolf, who yelped and dodged, but moved north instead of heading south. Growling low and long, Nu’untivut stopped to turn and send an angry, imperative song that the valley felt like a trap. The accompanying charisma magic pushed them to fear his punishment for disobedience.
To Arvik’s astonishment, three Ahklut shifted into human form. Tiri, Uklaq, and an ancient wolf Arvik didn’t know moved to stand together, north of the shaman. They all stared at Nu’untivut.
After a long, tense stillness, Nu’untivut shifted into human, demonstrating his shifting speed as a show of power. He wore a mountaineer’s many-pocketed parka over his deerskin shirt and military-style trek boots.
Arvik-the-wolf suppressed a disdainful sneeze. He was faster, and Rayne made them both look like snail shifters.
Nu’untivut gestured impatiently at all three. “Speak.”
Tiri stepped forward. “You lost the vote. We no longer listen to your song, Nu’untivut.”
“Vote?” His sneering song declared that true Ahklut didn’t vote, they fought and took. “You are the ones who lost.”
He turned his back on them and stalked away, his back and arms stiff, anger etched on his face.
All the other standing Ahklut sat. Except for Inyiqti. And Rayne.
Belatedly, Arvik realized he should have sat when the others did. Rayne’s unwavering gaze and her unshielded song told him she was standing to support him. Warmth expanded in his heart.
Nu’untivut spun to face the elders, his expression enraged. “Who won this vote? Who will lead when the Fort LeBlanc traitors hunt you down like vermin?”
The elders turned their gaze to Arvik. The rest of the Ahklut did the same.
Just like the wolves in Montana.
Shit.
“You.” Nu’untivut’s expression morphed from stunned disbelief to savage aggression. “Since I’m no longer isuraqtujuq, I can kill you myself.”
Nu’untivut’s magical attack was swift, with the explosive power of a bottled storm.
The blow bounced off Arvik’s shields. He shifted to human in the space of a few seconds, the fastest he’d ever done it. Magic was best worked in human form.
The oracle Inyiqti shifted to human.
Nu’untivut stomped closer, bringing down his fist, mimicking the force he lowered on Arvik.
Arvik felt it, but his shields held. He caught and held Nu’untivut’s gaze and sent an image of the shaman walking away with Inyiqti and his few remaining warriors. “Your time is done.”
Nu’untivut held his hand to the sky, drawing power from the clouds.
Arvik almost missed the shaman’s flicked side glance. He hastily cast a firefly spell toward Nu’untivut and ran toward the trio of elders.
The witch’s spell did its job, breaking the shaman’s concentration for crucial seconds.
Arvik extended his shield just in time to deflect the lightning bolt and redirect it to scorch the ground a meter in front of Nu�
��untivut’s feet. The shaman jumped back, bumping into Inyiqti.
Arvik stilled his face as he gathered the potential for all the magics he knew. “Your choices are peace, exile, or challenge. Go after anyone else, and I’ll kill you where you stand.”
The shaman barked a derisive laugh. “I make my own choices.”
Charisma magic deluged Arvik’s world. His shields were useless against the black despair that accompanied image after image of death and destruction. Peace was a myth. Arvik and every other Ahklut would be torn limb from limb by the vengeful Fort LeBlanc populace. Their stripped and broken bones would lie at the bottom of the deepest, darkest sea.
Arvik gritted his teeth and fought the onslaught with images of the wonders he’d seen in the outer world. The promise of spring and new life. The camaraderie of trusted friends. The noisy delight of children. The quiet comfort of beloved family.
Nu’untivut’s river became a flood, trying to take over his will to fight, to think, to live.
Arvik reached for the only warmth he had left. Rayne.
Songs burst from the core of him. Brilliant, sexy black woman. Clever, strong white dire wolf. Adventure. Laughter. Passion. The shaman’s dark magic couldn’t fill a heart that was already full.
Everything in Arvik sang for the woman he loved. He hoped she could hear him.
Rayne watched the shaman showdown between Nu’untivut and Arvik. She hated feeling powerless. Meddling in magic she didn’t understand got people killed. Calling in the cavalry got people killed. Breaking cover got her killed. Not protecting Arvik got him killed.
Tearing her attention away from the confrontation, she assessed the rest of the Ahklut. The skinny wolves just watched. The smaller female wolf with Nu’untivut shifted into a stocky-bodied, plain-faced native woman who had the same startling pale blue eyes that made her look blind. Like the asshole shaman, she wore a mix of modern and old-style clothes, and a whole shopping channel’s worth of jewelry. She looked angry and scared. Rayne knew the feelings.
There was no sign of the four wolves that had gone toward the valley entrance, but the surly female and dark-furred male were stalking Arvik like he was a wounded deer.
She launched herself toward them. Sitting Ahklut scrambled out of her way.
The closer of the two stalkers turned to face her, snarling. His magic attack tried to paralyze her with fear. She went straight for his throat.
He twisted away, but she still got a mouthful of fur and a taste of blood. She lunged and bit again as he turned, this time tearing a solid chunk out of his shoulder.
His pained yelp drew the attention of the female stalker, who darted in with slashing teeth aimed at Rayne’s vulnerable flank.
Dodging, Rayne used her powerful shoulders to redirect the female’s momentum into the bloody male. While they stumbled together, she got ahold of a flailing back leg and bit down hard.
Not much could stand against the jaw strength of a pissed-off dire wolf. The wolf’s leg crunched in her mouth like chicken bones. She shook it for good measure before she let go, making sure the leg would be unusable for a while.
The bloody male leaped on top of her, raking her ribs with unnatural, cat-like claws and biting the extra-thick fur on the back of her neck.
She bucked him off like a bronco rider, then spun and lunged into him, barreling him into the dirty snow.
The injured female squirmed toward Rayne with snapping jaws, projecting the same fear magic the male used.
Rayne channeled angry dire wolf into her warning growl at both attackers, and readied fireball spells she could cast even while in wolf form. Do not fuck with me or my mate.
The female wisely froze and lay still. The bloody male awkwardly backed up, then crouched and put his head down.
She’d heard but ignored the words between Arvik and Nu’untivut. Now, she noticed waves of command from the shaman that wanted her to feel lost and alone, like the only one left in a cold and corrupt world, like nobody ever would or could love her because she was an abomination.
Dire-wolf rage flooded her. Not happening, asshole.
Moans and whines of distressed wolves came from all around. Nu’untivut apparently didn’t care that he was hurting his own people, as long as he won. Double asshole.
She moved closer to the Ahklut male who smelled like Arvik but looked like a crippled old man. The stony gargoyle expression was familiar. Except for the hints of anguish in his eyes.
Ah, hell. Helping him was more important than the risk of being exposed as an interloper. Drawing from her wardrobe, she shifted to human.
The shaman’s continued assault gave her an instant human stress headache. Arvik’s amassed magical energy felt like static electricity on her skin. She edged closer to him anyway, using her magic to search for the wavelength he’d used when befriending Little Brother.
She became aware of quiet, distant music and flickering images, like a television in the next room. It felt familiar, like a movie she knew. Chills made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Obeying her intuition, she pulled off her glove and slipped her hand into Arvik’s.
Colors, sounds, images, scents, and memories burst into her mind. The auction-house clinic. The hellfrog. Arvik’s flurry of emotions when she’d kissed him. Older memories of people he’d found, loved, and lost, stretching back in time. His worry that she was deaf to his song. That Nu’untivut was right, and he’d always be the hunted, hated monster.
She sent him an image of how she saw him. Noble, sneaky, funny, magical, sexy as sin. The man she’d been falling for since he’d chosen to help all the shifters escape. Since he’d shared his true nature with her. Since he’d smiled with admiration when he first saw her dire wolf. Since he’d chosen the much harder path of honesty, so they could be together.
I pledge you my heart. His unspoken words melted the last of the ice from Nu’untivut’s despair magic.
She leaned closer, sending an image of their bodies entwined. I lov—
A simultaneous gunshot sound and blow to the ribs made her instinctively turn to block Arvik’s body with hers.
She turned her head to see the sky-eyed native woman struggling to cock an old-style shiny nickel Colt .45 revolver.
Rayne drew two knives and spun quickly to throw one, all the while kicking herself for letting herself get distracted.
Nu’untivut’s hand snaked out to catch the knife. He cocked his arm to throw it back, then howled in pain and dropped it, his glove charred and smoking.
Rayne’s second knife hit the target, the shoulder of the shooter. She shrieked and twisted backward, stumbling away from the shaman. The gun flew out of her hand. She tripped over a rock and fell to her knees.
Nu’untivut shouted a string of words and spread his hands wide. A whirlwind of Arctic winds spun around him. In the blink of an eye, a blinding blizzard of gale-force winds expanded to engulf the Ahklut and the valley. The ground tilted and gravity went wonky.
The wind pressure tried to take her breath away. Flailing, she reached toward the heat source that was Arvik, only to bash him in the nose.
He caught her arm and pulled her against him. Everything righted when he did.
I’m shielding the Ahklut from the worst of the storm, but I can’t stop it. Nu’untivut is getting away.
A hazy image of the shaman shifting into wolf form and running south formed in her mind. She wrapped her arms around Arvik’s strength. Time to call in air support. Her fingers tangled with her collar as she struggled to pull out the comms necklace.
She projected an image of a smart-ass grin, but wasn’t sure it worked. Since we’re in a snowstorm, you could sing the Little Brother song to your new pack.
20
Arvik gritted his teeth, trying to hang onto his magic. To his sanity. To his woman.
His shield protected the Ahklut against the worst of the Arctic hurricane, but each gust of magically produced wind felt like a sledgehammer on his head. Songs of the Ahklut sw
irled around him, demanding his regard.
Rayne mumbled into the pendant around her neck. A brief, brilliant flare of magic burst from her. Which made his body steal blood from his brain to send to his groin. The wolf and orca parts of him sang to the dire wolf part of her. Battlefield! he growled at them. Dance later!
Amusement bubbled up from her. She sent him a fleeting image of her as a stripper sliding sensuously on a pole. This kind of dancing?
Not helping. No, I was—
Subsonic thunder ripped through his brain. Wolf instinct said to run, to find a cave. A screech like rending metal vibrated his bones. Orca instinct said to dive deep and swim as far as his air lasted.
Thunderbirds. Flying death.
Long-ago memories seized him. His parents had saved him from their attack by sacrificing themselves.
Arvik! The magnetic voice compelled him to listen. An image pushed through his spiraling thoughts, one of the smiling sheriff from Kotoyeesinay. You know him. He only wants Nu’untivut.
He clamped his jaw tighter and fought his instincts. He did know the man. More to the point, he trusted his mate.
Her arms tightened around him. Your pack’s fear will kill them. Help them.
She was right. Chaos and cacophony reigned, ripping them apart note by note.
Dredging up strength from somewhere, he sang. Charisma magic helped deliver his message of calm, of peace.
He soothed the bleeding wounds of loneliness that Nu’untivut had gouged into them all, singing of the vibrant community he’d discovered with his grandparents. Of his deep love for his mate. Of his hope that they could someday find the same happiness.
Another thunderbird screech sent a shiver through him and the Ahklut.
He sang of family and friends, and justice long overdue. Of his memories of his last days with the tribe, all those centuries ago. Of the deaths Nu’untivut had admitted to during the final confrontation.
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