by Jane Godman
Where did Madden fit into this team? She knew his teammates teased him for being a narcissist. The pretty boy of the brotherhood. And it was true. Even in a team of striking individuals, Madden’s looks made him stand out. He took the jokes well, laughing at the comments that he couldn’t walk past a mirror. She could tell he was valued by his friends. She had overheard Sebastian saying there was no one he would rather have beside him in a tight corner than Madden. He was leading them on this mission. Even so, there was something about him that she still couldn’t fathom.
This is a man who knows my body better than I do myself. A man who has licked every inch of me. Who can have me wet and pleading with just a look, yet there are times when he feels like a stranger to me. She knew it was a deliberate tactic on Madden’s part. Those barriers were carefully erected to keep prying eyes away from something within him that he wanted to remain hidden. Even when he held her in his arms and seared her body inside and out, he held something of himself back.
That moment in the glade when they had been in wolf form and he had been about to take her as his mate had been the final proof. Maria knew Madden loved her, even if he didn’t know it himself yet. In that perfect instant, under the midnight sun, his inner wolf had wanted to claim her. At the last minute, something had intervened and pulled him back from making her his mate. She sensed it had come from within him, and she could tell that decision was killing him. She could see it every time she looked in his eyes. He wasn’t a man who was happy with the choice he had made back then. The truth was obvious to Maria, even if Madden himself was doing his best to ignore it. He was a man who was in hell.
Since they were on their way to confront a dangerous serial killer, a man who appeared to have an obsession with Maria, and one who might possibly even be an immortal werewolf hunter, this was probably not the best time to indulge in any soul-searching. It wasn’t even a good time to grab Madden by the shoulders and force him to face the truth. We are meant to be together. He could fight it, or give in to the inevitable. She hoped he’d accept it. At the same time, she hoped he’d open up to her. Spending the rest of her life trying to get over that impenetrable barrier he had placed around his heart was going to be hell. But Madden was worth it.
* * *
The flight from Fairbanks to Anchorage took just under an hour. Most of the team was qualified pilots, although they hired chartered planes with their own crews for international journeys. When they landed, Sebastian, who was flying the plane on this occasion, brought it to a halt and spoke into his radio.
“Madden, you might want to get up here. We’ve got company.”
Madden made his way to the cockpit. As soon as he got there, he saw what Sebastian meant. The private company from whom Wilder had chartered the plane was based in its own compound. Sebastian had stopped in front of a hangar and group of at least fifteen uniformed men stood on a line on the tarmac, arms folded across their chests. In the distance behind them, against the wire fence that separated this compound from the runway, Madden could see a line of vehicles.
“Are they cops?” Sebastian asked.
“No.” Madden scanned the waiting group carefully. Their expressions told him everything he needed to know. Negotiation wasn’t going to be an option. “That’s not a police uniform, and those aren’t cop cars against the perimeter fence. Anyway, if the Anchorage Police Department wanted to send someone out here to meet me, they’d have called to let me know. I’ve worked closely with them on the Cage Killer case. There’s never been any welcome committee on my previous visits. And there’s certainly no reason for them to send that many people out here.”
“So who are they?” Wilder joined them, making the small space even more cramped.
“If, as we’ve suspected for some time, we are dealing with Chastel, then it’s likely they’re his followers,” Madden said.
“Hellhounds?” Sebastian’s lip curled. “If that’s the case, they’re human. Any one of us could take all of them with our hind legs tied together.”
“Unless they have silver bullets or knives,” Madden reminded him. “Chastel knows how to hunt werewolves, remember?”
It was a sobering thought. Until recently, the brotherhood had been like all other Arctic werewolves. They had been members of that unique species who could only shift and be killed under the light of the midnight sun. Then the goddess Angrboda had given the brotherhood the ability to shift anywhere they chose, but at the same time she had increased their vulnerability. Now, if a silver bullet or dagger pierced their heart, they could be killed anywhere . . . and Jean Chastel knew it.
“I don’t see any sign of weapons.” Wilder sized up the opposition. “We can still take them.”
He was right. When all seven members of the brotherhood were together, they were a force of nature that could move mountains. Madden bit back a curse. The brotherhood was all together, but someone else was with them.
“What about Maria? I can’t expose her to this.”
Wilder glanced back at the cabin of the plane. “She will have to stay here.”
Madden took a moment to consider the situation. Wilder was right. It was the only thing he could do to protect Maria from what was about to happen. In the next few minutes, he and his friends were about to shift and tear into that group of waiting men with a ferocity that would terrify her. She might have recently discovered her inner wolf, but nothing could prepare her for the brotherhood in fighting mode. It could shake Madden to the core, and he was part of it.
The problem would be getting Maria to listen. He had learned very early in their relationship that the woman he loved had a stubborn streak. And there it was. He loved her. He had admitted it at last. And a fine fucking time to do it.
Madden made his way to the rear of the plane, trying to formulate the right words to explain what was happening. All he could think of was that he wanted to tell her what a fool he’d been. I love you. They were the only words he could think of to say to her. Maria looked up from her contemplation of the sketch she’d been drawing. She must have seen something in his eyes that startled her, because her brows drew together in a questioning frown.
“I—” Shit. He’d come so close to just blurting it out. Not now. Try for a little finesse. “I need you to wait here. There’s a situation we have to take care of.”
“What sort of situation?” Her gaze traveled past him to where Wilder and Sebastian were talking to the others. Madden turned his head to see that Samson was already shrugging out of his clothing.
“One that is going to involve some bloodshed.” She deserved the truth, but she didn’t need to hear it all. Not the gory details. His eyes pleaded for her understanding. “Stay here, Maria. Please?”
To his relief, she nodded. Swiftly, Madden stripped off his clothes. Before he joined the others, he handed Maria his cell phone. “Callie Monroe’s number is in there.”
“But you’ll be back.” She swallowed hard. “Won’t you?”
He grinned and leaned over to press a kiss onto her lips, his heart lightening at the feel of their soft warmth. “You can count on it.”
Chapter Twelve
The brotherhood descended the steps of the plane in human form. Six naked men and one woman in her underwear—Jenny preferred to maintain a small amount of modesty until the moment she shifted—lined up and confronted the waiting group of men.
Centuries ago, this had felt different to Madden. Facing the enemy naked had been a proud, warrior-like act. Often, their opponents were werewolves and would also be naked. If they were not werewolves, they would be intimidated by such fine specimens of masculinity.
Now, in this modern age of technology and formality, the act took on a different role. It still got the attention of the enemy, but for very different reasons. Naked people tended to be looked upon as weirdos these days. It gave the brotherhood an unexpected edge. The opposition didn’t take them seriously. Although the jokes, laughter, and derogatory comments were annoying, they worked in their
favor. It lulled their opponents into thinking they had some sort of advantage. As soon as the brotherhood shifted, they had the element of surprise, dominated the scene, and didn’t have to deal with the inconvenience of shredded clothing. It was a win-win situation.
A man stepped forward from the uniformed group, his lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “No, thanks, guys. You’re really not our type.” His eyes lingered on Jenny. “Although, once we’re done with the formalities, I’m sure the lady will appreciate spending a little time with some real men.” The slow rumble issuing from deep within Wilder’s chest made him pause. “Are you growling at me, wolf boy?”
Wilder gave him back stare for stare, not blinking, not moving. It was the standard brotherhood tactic. Not responding. Madden had done it himself often enough. He knew how unnerving it could be for an opponent. The seven Arctic werewolves stood shoulder to shoulder, assessing the opposition.
Easy. It was Samson’s voice.
Weapons? Madden asked the question.
In the vehicles. Samson was the group’s tracker. His nose was the most powerful. Even though the cars were some distance away, Madden trusted his friend’s powerful wolf senses. I can smell silver.
Shock tactics? Madden checked.
Go for it. Samson’s voice in his head was loud and clear.
The brotherhood was used to working in unison. They shifted so fast, the man facing them let out a shout of surprise and tried to dart back toward his friends. Seven huge white Arctic werewolves dropped to their haunches and bared their canines. Seven matching snarls ripped through the air. Madden knew his role as leader gave him a unique insight. His teammates would act almost entirely on wolf instinct, but he would retain a strong element of his human persona. From that perspective, he would be able to analyze what was going on and make decisions.
Madden moved swiftly, catching the man who had confronted them as he was midway back to his companions. Swiping his claws down the man’s chest, Madden ripped through flesh, muscle, and bone. This wasn’t just an attack on their leader, it was a message to the others about what they faced if they stuck around. He had to make this look good. Or, depending on the perspective, very, very bad.
As the helpless human slumped against him, Madden let him fall to the ground. Crouching over the writhing figure he bared his huge fangs. Making sure he had the attention of every one of the Hellhounds, Madden lowered his head and, using his lethal teeth and claws, tore through flesh, bone, and muscle and ripped out their leader’s heart. The action was enough to send a few of them scattering and running for the exit gates.
Not sticking around for the main event? I’m only just getting started.
Madden knew the unique telepathy between the members of the brotherhood meant his teammates could hear his thoughts.
Biting into the bloody heart, he shook it, spraying great, thick droplets of blood in an arc around his head. Although his wolf instincts conditioned him to enjoy the scent and taste of blood, human blood was distasteful to him in the same way that wolf blood would be. The sweet, coppery taste was too close to cannibalism.
But they don’t know that.
Shapeless red globules dripped onto the ground. Madden cast the torn heart aside and turned his attention to the body. Samson joined him and together they put on the performance of their lives. Doing what wolves do best, they tore the flesh from the body.
“The master never warned us about this.” It was an anguished cry as a few more of the onlookers fled.
The master. It was what the Hellhounds called Chastel. Not conclusive, but another indicator that they were facing the werewolf hunter they knew only too well.
Taking advantage of the paralyzing shock induced by the sight of two giant werewolves feasting on the body of their leader, the other members of the brotherhood lunged at the uniformed men. Madden and Samson flung aside the brutalized body and joined them. There was a flurry of fangs and claws as they charged down their targets. The initial sound of fleeing footsteps was quickly drowned out by shouts of panic and the snapping of teeth on bone.
Madden caught sight of Sebastian launching himself onto the back of a fleeing figure and plunging his razor-sharp claws into the Hellhound’s back. As Sebastian used his jaws to grip the back of the man’s neck and slam him into the tarmac, his victim screamed out a spray of red bubbles.
Another one down.
On the periphery of his vision, Jenny, the swiftest and most elegant of the brotherhood’s fighters, took on two of the Hellhounds. Twisting and turning between the two, she slashed, dodged, and sliced with devastating effect until the two men were brought, bloodied and bewildered, to their knees. Madden had seen her use this whirlwind tactic before. If any of her opponents lived, they always swore they had been faced with more than one werewolf.
Madden kept one eye on those vehicles. So far there was no movement from the men behind the wheel of each. Who was controlling this scene? The guy who had appeared to be their leader was dead, but they were obeying someone, that much was obvious. It was as if they were listening to an invisible voice, waiting for instructions before making their move.
Chastel, you bastard. He was convinced the werewolf hunter was somehow mixed up in this. Where are you?
Jean Chastel was a coward. It was a truth he had demonstrated over and over in his dealings with the brotherhood. The werewolf hunter hid behind his followers, placing them in the firing line while he kept his distance. If Chastel ever got close to the action, he swiftly took to his heels at the first sign of danger to himself.
There were seven cars, ranged in a line facing the plane and each had only one occupant. As Madden contemplated how to deal with them, two of the Hellhounds threw themselves on him from behind, pressing him facedown on the tarmac.
With a howl of rage, he twisted his body beneath them, feeling intense satisfaction as his claws connected with flesh and warm blood soaked his fur. He would let one of these two live. He wanted answers to a few questions when this fight was over.
To his right, he saw Samson hurl one of his opponents over his head. At the same time, seven sets of headlights came on as the vehicle engines gunned into life.
* * *
Maria spent a few minutes waiting obediently in her seat. Then she decided she needed to be able to see what was going on. It was all very well for Madden to tell her to stay where she was, but he hadn’t told her anything about what was happening. From the way the brotherhood had stripped off their clothes, she guessed a fight was imminent. What if they were defeated? That would leave her trapped on this plane with no way of knowing what had happened to Madden.
Cautiously, she had made her way to the other side of the plane and peeped out of one of the windows. Her heart sank as she caught a glimpse of a line of uniformed men. Police? She dismissed the idea. Madden was a police officer. He wouldn’t contemplate shifting into werewolf form and fighting human officers. Militia? Bounty hunters? She swallowed hard. It seemed impossible that the seven members of the brotherhood could take on so many opponents.
She needed a better view. The cockpit door was still open, so she made her way to the front of the plane. When she reached the small space, the windows gave a clear, all-around view, but they were facing away from the action, which was taking place at one side of the plane. She chewed her lip in frustration.
She could be dutiful and return to her seat, or she could move around the plane until she found a window from which to watch to action. While she did that Madden and his friends could be getting killed on the tarmac outside. He could be dead right now, and I wouldn’t know. Or, she could do something about it. I won’t be a victim again.
Making her way to the aircraft door, she slid it carefully open. Crouching low at the top of the steps, she surveyed the scene below her.
It was carnage. The dark surface of the tarmac was shiny with blood. Bodies and body parts littered its surface as the werewolves tore through the humans, hurling them into the air and shaking them as if they we
re rag dolls. Maria raised a hand to her lips, half shocked, half relieved at what she was witnessing. I should have known they wouldn’t—couldn’t—be defeated.
She experienced a feeling of mild surprise that she wasn’t more repelled by what she was witnessing. Blood and gore were not her usual style. She avoided slasher films and didn’t enjoy horror stories. But I’m a werewolf . . . and I’ve just escaped the clutches of a serial killer. Maybe my shockability threshold has been raised.
From her vantage point, she had a view of the vehicles that were lined up on the opposite side of the compound. From here, it was obvious what the plan was, and she recognized it with a feeling of horror. Whoever was in charge of this attack was callously sacrificing the men out in the open. The horrific fight that was taking place was nothing more than a diversionary tactic. Once the Arctic werewolves were sufficiently engrossed in the battle, those vehicles were going to speed across the tarmac and plow into them.
The werewolves couldn’t be killed by the cars, but they could be horribly maimed. Then, if the drivers had silver bullets or knives—and Maria suspected they did—they would be finished off while they lay injured.
She had to do something before they could put their plan into action. But what? Think. She forced herself to stop panicking and focus. The tires. She had to let down the tires on those cars and she had to move fast. Shimmying down the steps of the plane, and keeping low to avoid the mayhem, she dashed toward the hangar. There must be some tools in there, something that she could use.
