by Jane Godman
Samson turned back to Valetta, his mischievous grin dawning. “Looks like I may have done just that.”
She shook her head at him in disbelief. There were instances of humans and werewolves falling in love. There had even been occasions when this had led to a successful long-term relationship. But it wasn’t easy. She looked again at Cindy’s sweet, pretty face. Could she accept the bite of a werewolf and the transformation that went with it? Valetta doubted it. Hendrik had dealt with enough heartache in his life. She hoped Cindy wasn’t going to bring him more.
After everyone had finished eating, Samson, Valetta, and Hendrik went through to the study where they could talk in private. Before Hendrik could ask her any questions about where she had been, Valetta handed him Teresa’s letter.
Recognizing the writing, and guessing what it was, Hendrik took a seat behind his desk. “Are you quite sure you want me to read this?”
Valetta and Samson sat on the opposite side of the desk. “You have to read it. It explains everything.” Valetta tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. Tried, but didn’t succeed.
Hendrik opened the one-page letter with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. He stared at it for much longer than the time it must have taken him to read it. The silence in the room became something more than silence. It came to life. Began to breathe and grow. Ran its fingers along the back of Valetta’s neck. Stroked her cheek. Blew in her ear. Teased her and tormented her until she wanted to scream and shout. Anything to make it go the fuck away.
When Hendrik looked up at last, his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “I knew.”
Of all the words she had been expecting him to say, those two were the last. “You knew she was a Shadow Wolf?”
He shook his head. “I knew Teresa was different, that she wasn’t what she pretended to be. But no, I didn’t know what she was.”
“How did you meet?” Samson’s voice cut across the sizzling emotion between father and daughter.
Hendrik turned to his friend, his expression a combination of sadness and embarrassment. “I don’t remember.”
Valetta leaned forward, gripping his hands on the top of the desk. “Dad, this is important. We need you to tell us all of it.”
He returned the clasp warmly. “That is all of it. I swear it is. I don’t remember how Teresa came into my life. It sounds crazy, but that period is a blur. I made the decision to leave the brotherhood because I was no longer one of the strongest or bravest Arctic werewolves. It was time for someone else to take my place. That’s how it works. It wasn’t something I regretted or was unhappy about. It’s just the way it is. It comes to us all.” He flashed a glance in Samson’s direction. “I was lonely. That was unexpected. I was building my political career, but I missed the . . .” He frowned, as though searching for the right word. “Camaraderie of the brotherhood.”
“I never knew.” Samson’s voice was gruff. “I’d have stopped by more often, spent more time here. You seemed happy.”
“I was happy . . . once Teresa came along. I just don’t know how Teresa came along.”
Valetta frowned. “So you just woke up one day and she was here?”
“Maybe. I can’t say how it was. She just was.” His smile was fond and reminiscent. “And, even though we weren’t together for long, she was the most wonderful, beautiful part of my life. So I never asked any questions.”
Even though this information fueled her nightmares, her father’s expression was so serene and blissful that Valetta couldn’t rouse herself to anger about his lack of interest in Teresa’s origins. It explained so much, yet left so much untold. A Shadow Wolf was driven to find a mate, but why had Teresa chosen Hendrik? And what was her motive? She seemed to have been a benign presence, so why would she have wanted to produce a child when the Shadow Born had such a capacity for destruction? Samson and Lowell had filled her in on the possible connection to Ulu. Why had Teresa traveled and come here? That single sheet of paper in Hendrik’s hand didn’t answer any questions about the mystery that was Teresa. On the contrary, it raised so many new ones.
“Did Teresa ever talk to you about the Shadow Wolf or the Shadow Born?”
Hendrik shook his head. “Like I told you, until I started to get these messages, I’d never heard of it.”
“Did she ever mention an island called Ulu?” Samson asked.
“Isn’t that in the south of the state? I don’t recall her making any particular reference to it.”
“Did she ever talk about a man called Jean Chastel?”
Hendrik’s expression changed. For a moment it seemed as if he was chasing an elusive memory, then he shrugged. “The name sounds familiar, but I meet a lot of people. I’m not sure if Teresa ever mentioned him, or if I’ve heard it somewhere else. Sorry.”
Samson slumped back in his chair. Valetta sensed his frustration and empathized. It was another brick wall. Every time they thought they were getting somewhere, they ran into more of these insurmountable barriers.
There were so many questions, but she took a breath, plunging ahead with one that had been bothering her. “When I was growing up, why didn’t you tell me about my Arctic heritage? I only found out yesterday that Arctic werewolves can’t be killed unless they are under the light of the midnight sun. That parts of my werewolf education were missing.” When he didn’t answer immediately, she pushed further. “Was it because you knew I was different?”
Hendrik’s face clouded over. “I was never sure. As I said, I knew Teresa was different, but I didn’t know what that meant. When you were growing up, all I wanted to do was protect you. I couldn’t see anything about you that made me think you weren’t an Arctic werewolf, and yet—” he shook his head “—I didn’t know for sure you were. So I didn’t tell you anything. As you grew older, it got harder to introduce the subject. So I didn’t. I took the coward’s way out.”
Even though he had kept a huge part of who she was from her, Valetta couldn’t get angry with him. He had done it out of love for her. Her next question was even harder. “We’ve never visited my mother’s grave. What happened to her body?”
Before Hendrik could reply, Madden burst into the room. “We’ve got trouble.”
Fairbanks, Alaska, was two hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle. Nevertheless, it benefited from the midnight sun for long periods during the summer months. That was why many Arctic werewolves chose to make it their human home. Some settled in more northerly communities while others chose to live in Canada, Russia, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, or Iceland. The key was always the midnight sun.
It was a magical time when the sky became an artist’s canvas. A unique striation of orange, pink, blue, and purple, each layer vying with the one before in its drama. When night and day fought a timeless battle and the sun refused to yield her place to the moon. It was the time of the Arctic werewolf.
The midnight sun called to Arctic werewolves in the same way that the moon called to other werewolves. It was theirs, creating a mystical, magical bond among them and between them. When the midnight sun shone, Arctic werewolves came together. Arctic attacks on other Arctics were unknown. They were a peaceable breed. They cared for their own, protected their cubs, and policed the wider wolf community through the powerful Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun. Rogue Arctic werewolves were unheard of.
It was midnight and the golden glow on the horizon should have been a cause of well-being. Instead, the circle of motorbikes surrounding the outer wall of the mansion was canceling out any feelings of contentment those inside might have been experiencing.
“Bastard.” From Hendrik’s suite on the top floor of the house it was possible to see the surrounding area. Samson’s mouth thinned into a line. “So much for not making a move without us.”
“Is it Konrad?” Valetta wasn’t as tall as Samson, so she didn’t have quite the same view.
He nodded. “With about ten others.”
They made their way back downstairs to where the others were waiting in the k
itchen. “I’m going out there and taking Madden and Sebastian with me.” Samson could see Valetta was about to protest at the way he was assuming command, but he didn’t have time to waste on a debate about this. Her safety was too important for him to compromise it.
“I’ll come, too.” Hendrik made a move to follow them.
Samson shook his head. “Although the threats are addressed to you, Lowell thinks the real target is Valetta. I need you to stay here and protect her and Cindy.”
“You want me to skulk inside the house when I’m supposed to be the leader of the Guardians?” Shards of snapping gold fury lit the depths of Valetta’s eyes.
“We both know the illusion that you were in charge was something Chastel created for his own purposes. Now they mean business and I’m not prepared to put you in the firing line.”
“You’re not prepared? Don’t I get a say in this?” The militant light in her eyes deepened.
Drawing her to one side, he lowered his voice. “No, you don’t.”
Samson kept his eyes on hers. The message was clear and he knew she understood it. He was pulling rank. Wolf rank. He was an alpha male and she was an alpha female. Her pack status was assured, but she was obliged to defer to him. To his strength, his masculinity, his dominance. Her human might not like it, but Valetta was a werewolf. She would obey.
Her mood shifted suddenly. He caught a flash of something new in the depths of her eyes. She was aroused by his dominance even though she resented it. Then she lowered her eyes. Slowly, she nuzzled her nose along the line of his jaw in a gesture of respect and submission. She was scenting him while marking him with her own aroma. The gesture was natural and he doubted she was even aware she was doing it.
“As you wish.” The words were a sigh. Snapping back to reality, she blushed slightly. Biting her lip, she returned to Hendrik’s side with a slightly puzzled expression as though wondering what the hell had just happened.
Before he left to go in search of the Guardians, Samson had decided Hendrik needed improved security. Originally, he had considered bringing in a couple of guys from his own company to watch over his friend. There were a number of reasons why he was glad he had changed his mind and decided to call on Madden and Sebastian instead. Discretion might not have been the most important consideration anymore, but he knew it still mattered to Hendrik. The fact that his live-in bodyguards were members of the same elite squad of which he had once been part had reassured him. Plus, there was no one Samson himself trusted more than other members of the brotherhood. Now, as they stepped out of the gates of the mansion together, he was just relieved to have his friends on each side of him. The brotherhood comprised the seven bravest and strongest Arctic werewolves. Seven and only seven. Three out of the seven were stepping out to confront Konrad and his gang. Three out of seven. I’ll take that. They were a formidable team. And Valetta’s life depended on them.
The bikers stopped circling and Konrad drew up in front of them. The others ranged behind him. By walking out of the house naked, the brotherhood members had already signaled their intention. This wasn’t a negotiation. They were planning to shift. The Guardians were similarly prepared. They wore shorts and were barefoot. They already knew this was going to be a battle.
“We’ve come for the Shadow Born.”
“Tell Chastel to do his own dirty work instead of sending a group of kids.”
Something flickered in the normally lifeless depths of the other man’s eyes. Gotcha. It confirmed Lowell’s suspicions were correct. This was all an elaborate setup and Chastel was behind it. That was the “what?” Now they needed to make sure of the “why?” and find out the “how the fucking hell do we stop this madness?”
“You don’t get to negotiate on this.” Konrad’s blank-faced swagger returned.
Samson laughed. “I don’t intend to.” He glanced briefly to left and right. “Whatever else happens, this guy belongs to me. I want him alive. Temporarily.”
As he shifted, he saw a glimmer of fear on Konrad’s face. Good. Let the fucker wonder what his fate was going to be. The brotherhood members knew how to launch an attack. Surprise might be one element, but extreme violence was the other weapon they used to their advantage. The Guardians barely had time to dismount from their bikes and shift before three huge Arctic werewolves were tearing into them. The smaller, younger werewolves of the motorcycle gang were hopelessly outweighed and outclassed. The three Arctic werewolves systematically wreaked their own brand of wolf chaos, thrashing and slashing each adversary, before tossing them aside and moving on to the next. The scene soon became one of carnage, with bodies of dead and dying Guardians scattered between the overturned bikes.
Normally when Samson shifted, his wolf took over to the point where his human instincts ceased to exist. As he fought, he recalled something Wilder, the leader of their previous mission, had once told him: that when you were in charge, you retained an overview of what was happening. Your human kept an element of control. Samson had been skeptical. Until now.
Now he knew exactly what Wilder had meant. Samson was aware of everything that was happening around him. Madden and Sebastian fought almost gracefully, their movements a fluid blur of silvery fur, gleaming teeth, and lethal claws. The less-experienced werewolves, having no similar strategy, were trying to run, scattering, ignoring Konrad’s enraged howls. One of the Guardians was brave enough to make a dart for Samson. Leaping onto his back, the youngster sank his sharp teeth into Samson’s shoulder. With a grunt of annoyance, he threw the foolhardy young werewolf off and pinned him to the ground. It was almost with regret that he sank his teeth into his throat. At least the kid had shown some balls, unlike Konrad who was sidling away. Clearly, he was considering making a run for it.
Dropping into a crouch with his teeth bared, Samson launched himself at Konrad, bringing him crashing onto his back on the pavement. His wolf wanted to get this over with and rip the bastard’s throat out. His human wanted the same thing, but Samson managed to ignore both instincts. Instead, he pinned Konrad down by placing his jaw around the other werewolf’s throat. The message was clear. Move and you’re dead. It was odd, but Konrad’s wolf achieved more expression than his human. Samson saw defeat in his eyes.
He risked a glance around. Madden and Sebastian were done. Three or four of the Guardians had survived the carnage. They were wandering aimlessly around and it was unlikely they would have any clear recollection of what had transpired here today. Samson felt sorry for them. They were just kids. Whoever had recruited them to this hadn’t prepared them, hadn’t trained them, and sure as hell hadn’t supported them. If they survived, they were likely to be traumatized for life by what they’d just been through. And for what? Because some bounty hunter had a clever plan? Samson’s desire to meet Chastel face-to-face increased.
Removing his jaw from Konrad’s throat, Samson shifted back and signaled to his team members to do the same. “Let them go.” He gestured to the pitiful remnants of the Guardian fighters. “They can go back to their compound and give the others a message about what happens when you try and take on the brotherhood.” He prodded Konrad with the toe of his boot. “Let’s get him inside.”
Chapter Eight
Valetta paced the floor of the familiar kitchen, her ears straining to do the impossible task of hearing what was going on beyond the extensive grounds and walls of her mansion home. She was aware of Cindy regarding her with an expression of alarm on her face, but Valetta couldn’t find anything in her that would allow her to take time out to pause and offer any reassurance. For now, Cindy would have to continue to be uneasy. Welcome to the family.
Uneasy! Valetta almost laughed aloud at the understatement. Unease was what she had felt for the last two years. Ever since she had read her mother’s letter, she had lived with a permanent sense of crawling tension. There was never a moment when it wasn’t with her. It had been her constant companion. She supposed it was how a criminal felt, the wondering if today was the day the knock on the
door was coming, living with the guilt, the fear of exposure. Then the threats had started and unease had become a distant memory. Unease had been like an old friend she missed and wanted to see again. Unease had been replaced by terror.
And over the last few days her whole world had been turned upside down. Now fear stalked her. It walked gleefully beside her, tugging at her hair, breathing down her neck, prodding her in the back. She was no longer living. She was surviving in a raw state where logic no longer existed and any trace of pride or self-consciousness was long gone. Her body and brain strained together in pursuit of a single objective. Survival.
Yet should survival be her goal? It was another question she had asked herself over and over in the dark reaches of the night. Does a Shadow Born deserve to live? What redeeming qualities do I have? She had never found any answers to those questions. But they came back to her now. This would not be happening if I wasn’t here. Chastel would not be able to threaten the Arctic species if I did not exist. She looked up and caught Hendrik’s worried eyes on her face. When she attempted a reassuring smile, her heart faltered with the force of her love for him. I owe it to him to find out if there is something—anything—I can do to put this right before I think about bowing out of this world for good.
Her brain whirred over the details of what she had learned about who she was and why they had reached a point where they were hiding out while a group of rogue Arctic werewolves laid siege to the house.
She had learned from Lowell that it was likely that all Shadow Wolves were descended from an ancient ancestor, a single mutant whose altered genetic code had spawned a new, misunderstood species. As a result of the mistaken beliefs arising about this new breed, the descendants of this werewolf had lurked in the very shadows that had given rise to its name, not daring to interact with others, their longing for acceptance leading them to emulate those they wished to become. Over centuries, the breed had evolved further, becoming dependent on another species of wolf for survival. Like the cuckoo that laid its eggs in another bird’s nest, the Shadow Wolf needed to breed with another species in order to survive. That was what the legend said.
