by Jane Godman
“First of all, don’t write modern-day werewolf hunters off as sad freaks, sitting at home on Internet forums chatting about their weird fantasy lives.” Emvin’s voice was deadly serious. “There is an element of that, of course. But werewolf bounty hunting is as old as time, and it can be a very lucrative profession.”
“Can be?” Jenny leaned forward, obviously eager to hear more about these people who could make money from hunting her down and killing her. “In what circumstances?”
“Lowell asked me specifically about the hunter called Jean Chastel, who legend says is immortal. I believe you’re already aware of his background and that he swore to wipe out all werewolves?” Emvin looked around the table and received a series of nods in reply. Except for Fergus, who looked slightly bewildered, everyone knew exactly what he was talking about. “But Chastel also recruited a huge following over the centuries. Known as the Hellhounds, his supporters will go to any lengths to bring Chastel the head of a werewolf. And he pays huge rewards in return.”
“Chastel has devised a points system. The higher the number of points a werewolf head scores, the more money the hunter delivering it will earn.” Lowell’s voice was grim. “Guess which dead werewolf scores the most points?”
“An Arctic werewolf?” Samson hazarded.
“Right the first time.” Lowell turned to Emvin. “We know where Chastel’s hatred of wolves came from, apparently it was something that developed in his childhood, but why this obsession with Arctic werewolves in particular?”
“There’s a suggestion it’s linked to an ancient prophecy, but the details are lost.”
“Like everything else to do with this fucking mission,” Samson muttered under his breath to Wilder. Speaking up so that everyone could hear, he addressed a question to Emvin. “Konrad, Chastel’s sidekick, said his master was born centuries ago on an island. Was it Ulu?”
“It’s possible, since there are many legends about the magical powers of the shaman on this island and Chastel didn’t get his immortality by accident.”
Samson saw Valetta cast a glance out of the porthole at the stormy seas. Through the rain and mist, a green and gray landmass was just visible. He saw her eyes widen as she glimpsed Ulu for the first time. Although her expression was difficult to read, it wasn’t what he’d expected. There was no fear in her eyes. No dread of the unknown or concern at what she might discover about herself in this mystical place. If anything, there might have been a glimmer of excitement in the golden depths of her eyes. Beside her, Fergus also watched her face. Samson suspected they both watched for the same reason . . . because Valetta was enchanting, and it was impossible to look away from her. Somehow, that enchantment was enhanced by her expression as she gazed at Ulu.
As if Samson’s thoughts were some sort of cue, the captain called down that the wind had dropped and he was going to risk taking them into the inlet.
Valetta didn’t know what had changed, but as soon as she stepped foot on Ulu, everything was different. She was different. The dark cloud that had hung over her for so long had lifted. She had no idea why, but she knew instantly that this island was the key to everything. Now, she just had to find the answers. Maybe coming to Ulu hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
Almost as soon as they pulled alongside an ancient and very rickety dock, the clouds lightened and the sun shone through. Omens and portents were part of werewolf folklore and Valetta could see that the other werewolves felt the same way she did. It was a sign. One they would take.
Once they had set up camp in a sheltered cove, Samson consulted with Emvin and Fergus about the kayak journey to the caves. The improved weather was the deciding factor and he decided they would set off after lunch rather than waiting until the next day. The presence of two humans among them meant they ate sausages and beans, and Valetta felt as unfulfilled as she always did after consuming human food. It provided nourishment without enjoyment. She and Jenny discussed their longing for raw meat as they changed into waterproof gear.
Jenny pulled a face at her. “Let’s hope the academics don’t stick around. Although I think Fergus has a thing for you.”
Valetta felt a blush stain her cheeks. “I noticed him watching me, but I thought I was imagining it.”
“No, he’s smitten. Samson needs to watch out.”
Valetta shook her head. “It’s not like that with me and Samson.”
Jenny snorted. “Like what? Like you weren’t meant to be together?” As Valetta made a pleading gesture, she held up her hands. “Okay, I’ll shut up. If you want Fergus to back off, just tell him you’re a werewolf. That should do the trick.”
“I can do even better. Don’t forget, I’m Shadow Born.”
“My God, Valetta. You’re on the wrong side. You could earn a fortune if you joined Chastel and his Hellhounds.” Jenny’s laughter took any sting out of the words as the two of them went to join the others as they got into the kayaks.
Fergus took the lead as they kayaked into a narrow inlet, with Samson behind him. Wilder and Emvin brought up the rear. The tides were running swiftly and they paddled hard against a strengthening ebb. In the distance snowy peaks stood out against a now clear sky. They hugged the deeper, clearer water against the left bank, where meadow grass merged into forest on the sloping hillside. After an hour and a half of hard paddling, Fergus pointed to low granite cliffs opposite a white mass of glacier. The fractured rock face of the sheltered caves was almost impossible to see behind trees and hanging undergrowth. They clambered out of the kayaks alongside the grassy bank and pulled the little boats clear of the water.
Wading back into the water, they followed Fergus into the narrow cave entrance, switching on their headlamps so they could see in the gloom. Feeling the jagged, slippery rocks under her boots, Valetta once more offered up thanks for the organizational skills that had led Wilder to ensure they had the right equipment with them.
“How did anyone ever find this cave, let alone discover the drawings?” Samson’s voice echoed oddly in the confined space.
“Don’t forget that although Ulu is remote, it is not uninhabited,” Fergus said. “The population here is small, but people do occasionally visit, even though the islanders rarely travel. Word got out about the paintings in the Tuxedni caves and, not to be outdone, the islanders here on Ulu must have mentioned their own pictures.”
They continued a downward path into the depths of the cave, the water remaining at about waist height on Valetta and Jenny, until they reached a point where Fergus hoisted himself up and along a ledge. Although the cave narrowed here, it was drier and eventually opened out onto a cavern where they could all stand, although Samson was hunched over.
Fergus pointed to the markings on the rocky walls around them and above their heads. At first, the paintings and carved figures appeared indistinct and disappointing. It was only when Fergus withdrew laminated drawings from his backpack and showed them what the ancient pictures represented that Valetta could clearly see what the images were.
One picture depicted a pack of wolves bringing down a large beast that looked similar to a bison. The next showed the image Lowell had described when he first told Samson the story of this cave. It showed a large, pale wolf being stalked by another wolf. The outline of the second wolf was indistinct, almost shadowy.
“Scholars believe it was this painting that first gave rise to the legend of the Shadow Wolf,” Fergus explained. Pointing to the painting, which was high up on the cave roof, he drew their attention to the figure of the second wolf. “The belief is that this wolf is trying to blend with the other wolf, to emulate it.”
Samson, being the tallest, was closest to the picture. He studied it in the light of his headlamp, turning his head side to side. “Or to protect it.”
Emvin regarded the image thoughtfully. “Do you know, in all the years I’ve spent studying it, I’ve never seen it that way? You could be right.”
They turned to look at the other paintings. Some were newer and sho
wed a large wolf clamping its jaws around the head of the two-legged human figures. There were other pictures including one that appeared to show the pale wolf mating with the shadowy wolf. The final group of pictures was crowded and chaotic. It was here that the man-wolf hybrid could clearly be seen, rising on two legs and facing a human. Although the image was crudely drawn, Valetta got a strong sense that the human in the picture was supposed to convey a sense of evil. Her heart gave a thud of excitement. Whoever painted this picture was sympathetic to the werewolf.
She pointed to the image. “Is that the Shadow Wolf?” There was a vague shape behind the pale werewolf. It could almost have been overlooked as a flaw in the rock, but it was too careful, just a fraction too deliberate.
Fergus sighed. “No one knows what it is. Debate has raged ever since the pictures were discovered.”
Valetta turned to seek out Emvin in the gloom. “Didn’t you say there was a prophecy? That it was the reason for Chastel’s hatred of the Arctic werewolves?”
He stepped closer to her, looking up at the picture. “Yes, but the details of the prophecy aren’t known.”
“Most of the wolves in these paintings are pale. Are they Arctic werewolves?” Samson asked.
Fergus shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. Whoever painted them all those centuries ago may have just used whatever materials were to hand.”
But Valetta knew that wasn’t true. She gazed up at the painting of the huge Arctic werewolf confronting the evil man. She studied the shadowy figure behind the wolf. She knew whoever had painted that picture intended it to be a very specific message. Valetta knew what the message was and she knew who it was for.
“You’ve been very quiet since we left the caves.” Valetta had wandered a little way from the camp in the darkness. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, Samson followed her. The moon was full and the scene was clearly lit. He missed the midnight sun, but it was a beautiful night.
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, her expression distracted, and he was spellbound all over again by her beauty. That was when it hit him, and hit him hard. He was in love with her. All these delaying tactics, all this crap about how it was just sex, not love, none of it mattered anymore. She was his mate. He wanted her for life. He had been lucky enough to fall in love twice in one lifetime. His head took a moment to process the thought before checking in with his heart. Okay with that? Surprisingly the answer came back instantly. Yes. It’s about fucking time you figured it out.
“It’s this place.” She nodded at the moonlit waters of the bay.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be gone tomorrow.” He moved to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders in a comforting gesture. He couldn’t be near her and not touch her.
“No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Valetta rubbed her cheek against his hand. “Ulu has made me feel differently about who I am. For the first time, I think there might be a positive side to being Shadow Born.”
“You do?” He turned her to face him.
She nodded. “I don’t know it all yet, but in that cave I got a sense of my true self.” She smiled. “And I didn’t dislike her.”
“Find her.” Samson’s voice was husky with the force of the emotion he felt. She must be able to feel it radiating outward from him. “Find your true self, Valetta. Let her out. Here and now.”
She hung her head. “I can’t.” The words were an agonized whisper. “I need the midnight sun.”
“We both know your Arctic werewolf is not the real you.”
“What if I’m a monster?” The words were barely a whisper.
He slid a finger under her chin, lifting her head so she was forced to look at him. “Then you’re my monster.”
Samson wasn’t sure she understood what he was saying, or even if she heard the words. A single tear slid down her cheek. With a determined nod, she slipped off her clothes before turning back to face him. Her beautiful golden eyes gazed back into his and he sensed her reaching deep inside herself, finding the part of Valetta Rickard that she had ruthlessly hidden away for so long. Ignoring her Arctic, that beautiful sleek wolf who leaped with pleasure at the prospect of release, he could see her delving deeper into the inner recesses of her consciousness.
“I am Shadow Born.” She said the words proudly. For so long it had been a matter for shame and secrecy. Now, for the first time, she was probing that part of herself. Seeking it. Curious to learn more about who she really was. All of her.
Samson could see the moment when something stirred inside her. Soul deep. She held her breath, her expression changing as she welcomed this newness, this oneness. Would she be consumed by fire and fury? By the need to destroy and devour?
“I know you.” As her Shadow Born wolf rose to the surface, Valetta cried out in shock. “I am you.”
As Valetta dropped onto all fours, she looked up at Samson. There was a plea in her eyes. He knew she was waiting to see how he would react. When she saw the look of surprise and appreciation on his face, the tension left her body. Her Shadow Born werewolf was smaller and slighter than her Arctic werewolf, with soft gray fur and Valetta’s dark gold eyes. There was nothing monstrous about her. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Shrugging quickly out of his clothes, Samson shifted. Impatiently, Valetta nudged him with her snout and he broke into a run.
They ran side by side in the darkness, the female shadowing the movements of the male. Although he was larger and stronger, she kept pace with him, effortlessly matching his movements. When they reached the cover of a pine forest, they paused, panting for breath. Sides heaving and tongues lolling, they lay side by side. He rested his head on her neck in a gesture of ownership and she closed her eyes briefly, an expression of near ecstasy on her face.
When they rose to their feet, the male caught the fur at the back of the female’s neck between his teeth, drawing her to him, and she bowed her head in submission.
Chapter Twelve
They shifted back as they reached the foot of the hill, diving into Samson’s tent, gasping for breath. Valetta managed to stifle the laughter welling up inside her by pressing her face into Samson’s neck. “Emvin and Fergus are probably asleep, so I don’t think we need to worry that they’ll be wondering why we’ve been for a naked midnight run.”
“I think the locals might be wondering what the hell was going on.” Samson caught her up into his arms. “There are no wolves on this island, so howling on the hillside is probably not something they’re used to hearing.”
Valetta pressed closer to him, exulting in the way his cock instantly began to harden against her. “While we’re here they’d better get used to it. Although”—she moved her hand down to stroke his shaft—“I can’t help wondering if we should do it in human form as well? There were some pictures in that cave that made me wonder . . .”
She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before Samson rolled over onto her sleeping bag, pulling her down on top of him. Lying on his back, he positioned her so she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips, her warmth hugging the underside of his cock.
“I think you’re right.” His eyes glinted as he gazed up at her. “In fact, I think we need to do it as often as we can. Those paintings were pretty vague, who knows whether we’re getting it right?”
His hands slid up from her thighs to her buttocks, lifting her a little, and then he was there, at the entrance of her sex. All the fire raging through her body pooled in her groin as he guided her down onto him until he filled her completely. She gasped out loud and Samson made a possessive rumbling sound deep in his chest that increased her desire.
“My God, you’re amazing. You feel so fucking awesome.” He punctuated every word with a thrust of his hips, pushing his way deeper and deeper inside her, eliciting whimpers from her that reminded her of the noises she had made in wolf form up on the hillside.
His thumb nestled against her clit, rubbing her, teasing her, stoking the fire
that was about to consume her. That was about to consume them both. His other hand roughly kneaded her aching nipples. She clenched around him, and he ground out a relentless rhythm.
“Valetta!” Samson made a desperate attempt to whisper rather than shout as his cock swelled and began to jerk. She heard him curse as he exploded high up inside her.
Orgasm crashed through her, fast, hard, and hot as lightning. Then she was floating, writhing in a bliss that seemed to go on forever. She was blacking out, fading into and out of consciousness. And if she died right now it would all be fine. Because she finally knew who she was. At long last, after twenty-three years, she was complete. Valetta Rickard made sense. This would be a good way to go.
As she collapsed on top of Samson and the stars inside her head faded, she decided, on balance, that dying now would be a stupid idea. Now that she knew who she was and why she was here, she needed to see this through. It was her job to make sure that bastard Chastel was destroyed.
So she curled up next to Samson and asked him a question that had been bothering her. “What did you mean when you said I was your monster?”
The only reply she got was the heavy, rhythmic breathing of someone in a deep sleep. Sighing contentedly, she curled against him. They had mated in their wolf form. Samson had very deliberately drawn her to him up in that pine forest. There had been no question about his intention. None of the “wolf urges” that he had used as an excuse once before. He knew what he was doing. He was choosing her. Forever. She gave a shiver of pleasure. Sex with Samson in human form was incredible. As wolves it was something else entirely. She wanted more of that magical bonding, that wonderful, soul-deep heated exchange of themselves.
