by Jane Godman
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For Luke. You are my sunshine.
Chapter One
Death to the Shadow Born.
“What does it mean?” Samson Lee glanced up from the sheaf of notes with a frown.
“I have no idea.” Hendrik Rickard looked tired. Beyond tired, Samson decided. His friend looked ill, but it was hardly surprising. There had to be a hundred of these scrawled notes. Then there was the graffiti on the walls of his mansion, the phone calls, text messages, emails, and the vicious social media campaign. Hateful, spite-filled, obscene threats of death, dismemberment, and hellfire. None of those things mattered compared to the bigger problem of his daughter’s disappearance.
Samson turned his attention back to the notes. They were all identical. Scribbled on scraps of white paper and written in thick black crayon, the large uppercase letters gave away nothing about the identity of the writer. And of course there were no helpful clues like a signature or return address.
“I’ve never heard of a Shadow Born.”
“Nor had I. Not until this madness started.” Hendrik ran a hand through his hair. “I need a drink. Join me?”
Samson nodded, following his friend through from his private office to the family room. Everything about this place was expensive, including Hendrik’s casual, four-hundred-dollar, designer sweater. In the decades since he had left the Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun, Hendrik clearly hadn’t been wasting his time.
In spite of his strained appearance, Hendrik was an imposing figure. All Arctics had the same physical traits. With their silver-blond hair, amber eyes, and pale skin, they had strongly carved Nordic features that, if you knew what you were looking for, hinted at their inner wolves. They were tall and muscular with a coiled sinewy strength and a sense of latent power. Hendrik wasn’t as tall or as broad as Samson—very few Arctics were—but he was still unmistakably an alpha male.
Hendrik held up a bottle of fifty-year-old malt whiskey. Samson nodded, deciding not to offend him by telling him he’d rather have a beer. At times like these, he chose diplomacy over personal preference even though it didn’t come easily. Dropping ice into two glasses and sloshing the expensive spirit over it, Hendrik sank into a chair with a weary sigh.
“Tell me what happened with Valetta.”
Samson’s words had the effect of making Hendrik instantly sit up a little straighter. “It can’t be a coincidence. This Shadow Born thing starts up and almost immediately after my daughter vanishes? Whoever has been targeting me with all this crap must have taken Valetta.” The ice clinked as he lifted the glass to his lips with a shaking hand.
“The day she went missing were there any signs of a break-in? A struggle?”
Hendrik shook his head. “No. When I went out that morning, she was here. I came back a few hours later and she was gone. Her car was still in the drive. Her purse and cell phone were on the kitchen counter.”
“You hadn’t argued about anything? No unsuitable boyfriends on the scene?”
“God, no. To both questions. The last time you saw her she may not have been much more than a kid, but Valetta is twenty-three now. She has devoted the last few years to her studies.” Hendrik frowned slightly. “I always worry that she might be too focused, but she laughs at me and says there’ll be time for dating when she’s saved the world.”
“She may have only been eighteen when I last saw her, but it doesn’t sound like she’s changed much.” Samson recalled the strong-willed, slightly geeky teenager who had suddenly blossomed into a stunningly beautiful young woman. He also remembered more than that. He had a very vivid memory of the last time he’d seen Valetta Rickard. Vivid and extremely erotic. But he could hardly mention that to Hendrik. “She always did have grandiose ideas.”
“Unlike a lot of other people who think big, Valetta has always been prepared to put her money where her mouth is. Ever since she graduated, she’s been making a name for herself with her research into global development.” Hendrik’s voice had started out defensive, but now he shared Samson’s smile. “And, yeah, she has pissed off a few big names along the way with her outspoken approach.”
“So she inherited her love of politics from you and her good looks from Teresa?” As soon as he spoke, Samson wished the words unsaid. Way to go. The man is worried sick about his missing daughter. Twist the knife by reminding him about his dead wife as well, why don’t you?
If his words made Hendrik miss a beat, it was barely obvious. “I’ve been going frantic with worry. I called you as soon as it happened, but you were away. It’s been over two weeks now without a word from either Valetta, or whoever has taken her.”
“I came as soon as I got your message.” Samson had returned from the frozen wastes of the Svalbard archipelago to find a series of increasingly frantic voice mail messages from Hendrik. “You didn’t contact anyone else?”
Hendrik’s laugh was hollow. “Who?”
It was a good question. Hendrik was a well-known and respected figure in Alaskan politics. He had been a state senator for twelve years. He was a model citizen. But he couldn’t draw attention to himself for one simple reason. Behind the respectable human façade, he was an Arctic werewolf. As secrets went, it was a pretty big one. Going to the police with his harassment problem wasn’t an option. Even Valetta’s disappearance wasn’t a good enough reason for him to involve the human forces of law and order. The revelation of his true identity would cause a political storm the likes of which had never before been witnessed. Mild-mannered Alaskan senator is really a werewolf? International terrorism, climate change, the global economic crisis . . . all those things would fade into insignificance.
Since Hendrik had, for many years before retiring, been a member of that elite Arctic fighting force known as the Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun, he had known exactly where to take this problem. He had picked up the phone and called his old friend Samson the same day Valetta had gone missing. It was just a pity that Samson had been otherwise engaged. When the werewolf goddess Angrboda summoned you to her palace in Svalbard to attend a party for her lover—who also happened to be one of your oldest friends—it wasn’t the sort of invitation you could turn down. It had been bad timing that Samson was unable to get a phone signal at the mystical palace just when Hendrik needed him.
Samson took a slug of his whiskey and felt the warming effects of fifty years’ worth of heat sliding all the way down his gullet. “Tell me more about this motorcycle gang.”
Hendrik groaned, tilting his head back and gazing at the ceiling. “Where do I start? They seem to have sprung up from nowhere in the last month or two. The police haven’t been able to put a name to them, but they started out by causing problems in the communities just south of the Arctic Circle. Now they’ve settled here. It’s a bizarre situation. This gang is unlike any other. They are incredibly vicious and seem determined to take over the territory
of other gangs in the area. All of a sudden, the local police have been faced with a problem reminiscent of the bloody gang warfare of decades ago. Except this group doesn’t seem to know the rules. They think nothing of attacking innocent civilians, and, right from the start, they have had one very specific target in their sights.”
“You?” Samson raised his brows.
“Me.” Hendrik nodded.
“You think this Shadow Born stuff is coming from them?”
“The timing is right. These guys turned up at around the same time the campaign against me started. Plus, the closed-circuit TV outside the house showed these notes and the graffiti were the job of some pretty mean-looking characters on motorcycles.” Hendrik sighed. “But there’s more to it.”
Samson cocked a brow at him. “By which you mean it gets worse?”
Hendrik rose and poured himself another drink. He held up the bottle in invitation, but Samson shook his head. He was already feeling the effects of the first hefty measure, and something told him he was going to need all his wits about him from now on. Hendrik sat down again. “The members of this gang look like Arctic werewolves.”
“You mean we are dealing with our own species?” Samson felt a growl rise in his throat. “You think a pack of rogue Arctic werewolves has kidnapped Valetta?” Wolf society had clear laws and boundaries. No way should something like this have happened between Arctic werewolves. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“That’s what I want you to find out . . . after you’ve made sure she’s safe.”
When your name was Samson, you got used to the jokes about muscles and haircuts. It was the reason he kept his hair ruthlessly short. There wasn’t much he could do about the muscles. They were a necessary part of his job as a private security guard. And Samson had always had more than his share of height, width, and strength. His size inevitably attracted attention from those who wanted to test him. There was always someone who thought they could take on the big guy. Even so, this was taking things to extremes.
He remained still as the four motorcycles circled him. This had been going on for close to five minutes. The grinning morons on the bikes clearly believed they were intimidating him. When he’d set up this meeting, he’d expected trouble. Now he just wanted to get it over with. This was not the group he’d been seeking. He’d known that as soon as he set eyes on them. They weren’t Arctic werewolves. Which meant they were wasting his time as well as annoying the hell out of him. Would it be wrong to have a little fun with them before finishing it?
The big one with the greasy dark hair scraped back from a receding hairline into a ponytail was the leader. His upper arms looked like tattooed slabs of meat protruding from his sleeveless denim vest. The others followed his lead in their appearance. Which didn’t say much for their intelligence. The deserted warehouse stank of exhaust fumes and Samson’s eyes narrowed with the effort of penetrating the smoke and dust-infused gloom.
Ponytail gave a signal and the bikes halted. There were three other guys, and a girl was sitting up behind Ponytail. She was almost hidden behind his bulk. It was a pity about the girl, Samson thought. He’d do his best to spare her, but he couldn’t give any guarantees about the outcome of this encounter.
“Don’t lie down with dogs.” Samson spoke directly to the girl.
“What the fuck?” Ponytail spat the words at him.
“It’s an old saying. ‘Don’t lie down with dogs or you’ll wake up with fleas.’ Personally, I think it’s unfair to dogs.” He let his gaze wander slowly over the group. “And fleas.”
“Is he for real?” Ponytail looked around at his entourage, jerking a thumb in Samson’s direction. The other bikers snickered obligingly.
“Why ain’t he wearing no shoes?” The biker who spoke stared at Samson, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
Ponytail slammed his kickstand down and dismounted, closing the distance between them. “My friend wants to know why you ain’t wearing no shoes?”
“They get in my way.”
Ponytail took a step closer to Samson. Samson’s inner wolf didn’t like this invasion of his space. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest and something flickered in the faded blue depths of Ponytail’s eyes. “What the fuck was that?”
Not yet. Samson silenced the wolf. Find out what they know first.
“No lunch.” He tried for an ingratiating grin. From the startled look on Ponytail’s face he suspected it didn’t work. He suspected it came out as more of a snarl.
“You asked for this meeting, man. You gotta have some balls walking in here all alone. Now, before we have a little fun with you, tell me why you wanted to see us.”
“I’m looking for someone. A girl.”
“Ain’t we all?” Ponytail grabbed his crotch, grinning over his shoulder at his buddies.
“A girl called Valetta.” Samson’s gaze took in the bikers. He saw something—a quick flash of emotion—on the face of the girl at the mention of the name. Yes, he would definitely have to save her.
Ponytail shrugged. “Name don’t mean nothing to me.” Samson decided he was telling the truth. The guy was too fucking stupid to lie effectively.
“Then we’re done.” Samson had been searching nonstop for three days now, pausing only to snatch an hour or two of sleep and a bite to eat at Hendrik’s place. He had been to every seedy bar in the district. He had met with just about every grinning, know-all gang leader within a fifty-mile radius. There were very few grinning, know-all gang leaders left standing now that he’d finished with them. Ponytail was his last lead. So far he had nothing to report to an increasingly jittery Hendrik. His friend’s anxiety for Valetta was rubbing off on him. To say Samson was pissed off would be putting it mildly.
“Guess so.”
Ponytail drew back his fist in preparation for the first punch. Samson knew their intention was to kill him, just as all the other gangs had planned to do. Before Ponytail’s fist could connect, Samson shifted. There was a lot of bullshit talked about shifting. Too many stories, films, and comic books had built up this modern-day myth that it took forever and caused pain to the shifter. If Samson gave the matter any thought, he found those stories mildly annoying. To a lycanthrope, shifting was as easy as breathing. It was what you did, who you were. There was none of this screaming, bone-popping, and hair-sprouting. You just did your stuff and seconds later your wolf was there in place of your human. Which was why Ponytail’s fist disappeared into the jaws of a huge Arctic werewolf.
Spitting Ponytail’s hand onto the floor, Samson crouched low, his eyes raking the other bikers, deciding whom to take next.
Leave the girl. His werewolf didn’t like the idea, but his human insisted.
She appeared frozen into immobility, which was good. He didn’t want her getting away. Leaping across the space between them, he hurled himself onto the guy who had asked about his lack of shoes. The man made an ineffectual attempt to cover his throat. It was over in seconds. Killing humans never felt good. It was way too easy. As a werewolf, you didn’t have many choices. You either killed them or let them go. If you bit them and they survived, they became your mate or your eternal slave.
Since Ponytail was still rolling around on the floor screaming, Samson decided to finish him off. He didn’t want the paunchy biker as his slave and he certainly didn’t want him in his bed. By the time he’d dispatched Ponytail to join his friend in biker paradise, the two other men had abandoned their bikes and run off, leaving the girl to fend for herself. Samson decided to let them go.
He shifted back and approached the girl. “I see chivalry is as strong as ever in the biker community.”
She didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes off his nakedness, but he decided it wasn’t necessarily a compliment. Knowing he’d have to shift, he’d left a pair of jogging pants, a T-shirt, and sneakers in a corner of the warehouse. Quickly slipping these on, he returned to the girl.
She regarded him with huge, troubled eyes. “You’re a werewo
lf.”
“Was it obvious? I thought I kept it low-key.” She didn’t seem to appreciate his sarcasm. He glanced at the bodies of the two dead men. “Were you close?”
“No.” Her curly hair bounced wildly as she shook her head. “They kidnapped me two years ago.”
“What’s your name?” Samson did his best to keep his voice gentle. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t do gentle. Once, maybe. Not anymore.
“Cindy.”
“So, Cindy, tell me what you know about Valetta.”
Her face paled and, to his surprise, she burst into tears. “Can’t you just kill me instead?”
After a frustrating ten minutes trying to get Cindy to stop sobbing and tell him what she knew, Samson decided the best course of action would be to get out of there. It was highly unlikely, having seen him in his wolf form, that the two bikers who had run off would come back with reinforcements, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Ponytail’s bike was still propped on its kickstand and Samson studied it with approval. The guy might have been a waste of good oxygen, but his bike was a serious piece of engineering.
Samson regarded Cindy with some consternation. Crying females were outside of his area of expertise, but he couldn’t just leave her here. Setting aside the fact that he still needed to find out what she knew about Valetta, he wasn’t going to abandon her in a deserted warehouse, miles from anywhere. She didn’t strike him as the type to cope well with a situation like that. With any situation, come to think of it.
Taking her by the upper arm, he led her to the bike. “Get on.”
She flinched away from him. “Where are you taking me?”
He supposed it was a reasonable question. “Somewhere safe.”
“Will there be other werewolves there?”
Samson debated the best way to answer that. Truthful or comforting? He did his best to sound reassuring as he ignored the truth. “No.”
She seemed to consider the matter for a moment. In the end, he saw her gaze flick across to the dead bodies. She swallowed hard. “Okay.”
