by Jane Godman
Valetta opened her mouth to cry out to Samson, to warn him that Chastel was escaping, but she saw him brought down under a planned assault by a group of determined Hellhounds. He rose with a howl of rage, shaking off his assailants, turning on them with his jaws snapping wildly as bone crunched and flesh tore beneath his assault. There was no way he was going to hear Valetta if she called him. If Chastel was to be stopped, she would have to deal with this herself. Valetta streaked down the steps and followed Chastel out onto the cliff top.
He was hurrying along the cliff edge. She could see a flotilla of boats bobbing on the waves below and assumed they were the means by which the Hellhounds had reached Ulu. Chastel was heading in that direction, but he paused when he heard Valetta approaching. Turning, he faced her, his expression a mask of malevolence.
“You were supposed to help me. Instead you killed Konrad just by looking at him.” He sounded like a sulky schoolkid. “You lied to me.”
Valetta almost laughed aloud. This man who had lied, cheated, killed, and tortured for centuries to get his own way was complaining because, under duress, she hadn’t told him the truth. Chastel’s ego was even more monumental than she could have believed.
“Just like you lied to the people of Gévaudan,” she said.
There was a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “That was necessary.”
“Necessary? You killed hundreds of people. When I first heard the story, I couldn’t understand why there were two wolves, a year apart, but I think I understand it now. It was all about publicity for you, wasn’t it?”
Unable to resist the opportunity to boast about his achievements, Chastel nodded. “Of course it was. The king’s hunters failed the first time with their dogs and horses, so it looked so much better when I, the lone, brave hunter, succeeded the second time.”
Now she had him on the subject of himself, Valetta was determined to keep him talking. Surely Samson would notice she was missing and come looking for her? “And you were clever enough to ensure the body wasn’t embalmed properly, so the king’s scientists couldn’t examine it and find it was an ordinary wolf after all.”
Chastel gave a flourishing bow. “But of course. The great Chastel’s genius is well known.”
Valetta felt her temper flare at the way he still spoke of himself in the third person. “Yet now you haven’t got Konrad to do the dirty jobs for you, and I’m not playing your games, you’ve decided to sneak away. What a pity I noticed you leave.”
“You can’t kill me.” He didn’t sound sure.
“No, but we both know someone who can.” Valetta took a step toward him, enjoying the look of fear in his eyes. “This whole charade has been about one thing. You can pretend to other people it’s about me, about capturing the Shadow Born, or making my powers work for you. But don’t try and fool me. You’re a coward. You want to take me out of this equation, take away Samson’s protection so he can’t kill you and fulfill the prophecy.”
Chastel licked his lips. “That? It’s just an old story. This talk about prophecy is nonsense.”
“If you really believe that, get back in there and face Samson.”
But Chastel wasn’t listening. His eyes widened, and he looked just past her. Some extra sense that Valetta reserved just for Samson told her why. Turning her head, she saw the huge Arctic werewolf crouching low behind her. Keeping his golden eyes fixed on Chastel, Samson pulled his lips back in a ferocious snarl to show lethal, bloody fangs.
A ghastly grin appeared on Chastel’s lips. “Why couldn’t you get the message the first time? With the fake wolf attack in your village? When we destroyed your homes with fire and we took your women and children? You were supposed to slink away into obscurity after you found your mate with a spear through her head.”
Valetta raised a hand to her mouth as his meaning sank in. It was Chastel who had killed Anna and the other women and children of Samson’s home village? He had been responsible for burning their homes and driving them out of the place they called their ice heaven? Even back then he had been determined to destroy the man he knew would be his downfall? Samson’s furious rumbling growl told her the words had resonated with him as well.
As Chastel reached into the waistband of his pants and drew out his gun, Valetta caught a whiff of the unmistakable stomach-churning, nostril-burning stench of verdigris. She remembered the story of how Chastel had brought down the so-called Beast of Gévaudan with silver bullets. Chastel raised his arm in preparation to fire at the same time that Samson launched himself forward. Acting purely on instinct, without any rational thought, Valetta shifted into her Shadow Born wolf form, throwing herself between the two men.
The bounty hunter’s bullet hit the pale gray wolf in the chest, penetrating her heart. She dropped to the ground as Samson powered forward, sinking his fangs into the flesh of Chastel’s throat.
Chapter Fourteen
Samson threw back his head and howled. Chastel’s blood soaked his muzzle, but there was no triumph in the knowledge that the great bounty hunter finally lay dead at his feet. The price he had paid for finally ripping out Chastel’s throat had been too great.
His human emotions overrode his wolf instincts. For the second time in his life Chastel had murdered Samson’s mate. Valetta’s lifeless body lay nearby and Samson went to her, crouching low beside her. He laid his head on her neck, nuzzling into her soft gray fur.
She had given her life to save him, taking Chastel’s bullet straight into her brave heart. Now, Samson willed his own heart to stop beating so he could join her. Pain like this wasn’t meant to be endured. That gaping hole of raw agony in the middle of his chest couldn’t heal a second time. When it hurt so much to draw a breath, why bother? Hellfire burned its way through his veins and he was powerless to do anything except lie down beside her, his whole body shuddering violently as he pressed up close to her, inhaling her scent.
When he felt Valetta move, he lifted his head in shock. Slowly, her eyes flickered open. Turning her head, she gazed at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then she lifted her head. Very gently, she rubbed her muzzle against his.
This couldn’t be happening. Either he was suffering from the extreme effects of shock, or his wish to die with her had come true. He certainly felt very much alive and, as she nuzzled her warm body into his, so did Valetta.
“What the fuck is going on?” Shifting back, Samson decided his human was better equipped to deal with these conflicting emotions than his wolf.
“I think we might be discovering exactly what my Shadow Born powers look like.” Valetta shifted back and sat up, examining the milky white flesh between her breasts. There was a very faint red mark marring the perfection of her skin. She pointed to an object on the grass a few feet away. “I’m not going to touch it, but that’s a silver bullet.”
“You mean it passed right through you without doing any damage?”
“I wouldn’t say that. It hurt like hell.” She twined her fingers with his. “But not for long.”
Samson shook his head. The feelings of grief he’d experienced a few minutes earlier went into reverse. Sharp tears stung his eyelids at the same time that he wanted to snatch Valetta up in his arms and swing her wildly round and round in a mad, euphoric dance. Chastel was dead and they were alive. He could tell her he loved her and they could get on with the business of living . . .
“Wasn’t it all too easy?” Valetta looked at Chastel’s body as if she couldn’t quite believe he was dead.
Samson helped her to her feet, holding her and exulting in the sweet warmth of her body against his. “His monumental arrogance was his downfall. He thought he could take on the brotherhood and defeat the prophecy. He lost.”
After several minutes, he became aware that Valetta was regarding him with a mildly bemused look on her face. “Shouldn’t we go back inside and see how the others are getting on?”
The others? Ah, fuck. He knew there was something else he was supposed to be doing. Maybe this being in charge t
hing wasn’t going as well as he’d believed it was. He reassured himself with the thought that the brotherhood was the best team in the world. He cleared his throat, restoring his expression to neutral. “I was just going to say that.”
Rising to his feet, he reached down a hand and pulled his beautiful, naked mate to her feet. He had unfinished business with her, but a whole immortal lifetime in which to do it. Nothing had ever made him feel so good as that thought.
Back inside the hall, it was as he expected. The Arctic werewolves had forced the Hellhounds back against one wall and were standing guard over them. The shell-shocked humans, many of them injured, were clearly afraid to move. Whenever any of them was foolish enough to try, a giant, snarling werewolf with jaws dripping blood was an effective reminder that it might be a better idea to remain still. A small pile of weapons in one corner gave off an eye-watering stench of silver. Chastel had prepared his followers well, but they had been no match for the brotherhood. Samson felt his heart swell with pride.
Naked, Samson strode into the center of the room, making sure all eyes were on him. He kept hold of Valetta’s hand. There was a good chance he might never let it go again.
“Jean Chastel is dead.” Samson’s voice echoed off the ruined walls. “Take a good look at his body when you leave this place. Let it be a reminder to you of what happens to werewolf hunters.”
“We’re letting them go?” Wilder shifted back, his face skeptical as he asked the question.
Lowell joined them. “I agree with Samson. A warning like this will work wonders in the werewolf hunting community. Once this group takes the message back of how Chastel died, this might even be the end of the Hellhounds. At the very least, they should lie low for a while.”
Wilder nodded. “We’ve never killed our prisoners, so I suppose there’s no other choice.”
Samson gave another order. “Before you escort them to their boats, get them to bury their dead and those stinking weapons.”
The brotherhood members donned their clothing before they set about the cleanup job. Since Valetta’s clothing had been shredded when she shifted, Samson gave her his T-shirt, which was so big it hung to mid-thigh.
“How did Chastel get you to leave the camp?”
“I was down on the beach talking to my mother. When she left, he came along and threw that net over me.”
He blinked at her. “Your mother?”
A hand lightly touched his arm. Swinging around, he found himself gazing into the eyes of Teresa Rickard. She smiled up at him. “I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you again.”
Valetta sat on one of the exterior walls of the ruined fortress next to Samson with Teresa at right angles to them. Around them, the brotherhood members were in full-on cleanup mode so that no sign of what had happened here remained. It was a brotherhood rule that they must never leave a trace of their presence.
Under Wilder’s instructions, the surviving Hellhounds were surrendering their cell phones and Vigo was hurling them off the cliff and into the sea. The last thing the brotherhood needed was publicity. Social media was the enemy of the modern werewolf. Madden and Lowell were supervising the burial of the dead Hellhounds while Sebastian and Jenny were organizing the disposal of the weapons.
“I can’t get my head around this.” Samson looked stunned. “You mean Chastel made up this whole Shadow Wolf thing just to undermine me?”
Teresa nodded. “He was terrified of the prophecy, of the giant Arctic werewolf who would one day kill him. It was an obsession with him. In the end, he decided to go on the offensive. When it came to the Shadow Wolf, Chastel had an advantage no one else had. He was the doomsayer who had started the scare stories about this awful creature who could destroy whole species of wolves. He knew it wasn’t true. There was only ever one Shadow Wolf. Me . . . and I was trapped on this island, unable to contradict him.”
“And he knew that there was only one person, other than you, who could be my protector.” Valetta was conscious of Samson’s eyes on her profile. “If it wasn’t you, it had to be your daughter.” He turned to look at Teresa. “Couldn’t you have told me this when we met all those years ago, before Valetta was born?”
Teresa laughed. “If a woman you’d never met before had told you she’d been sent to protect you because you would be the person to save the Arctic species from the evil bounty hunter who killed your first mate, would you have believed me?”
Samson grinned. “When you put it like that, probably not.”
Valetta turned her head to look at him. “We thought Chastel wanted me, but all the time he was gambling on my father’s friendship with you. When he threatened my father and I went to investigate, Chastel was counting on you coming to my rescue. He knew my father couldn’t come after me, so who else would he turn to other than his best friend? You would be my protector, not the other way around. When you came to the Guardian compound to find me, he thought he had us both where he wanted us.”
His expression softened. “He didn’t take into account your strong will.”
Valetta rested her head on his shoulder. “Or yours. We make a formidable team.”
Samson turned back to Teresa. “And these Shadow Born powers that Valetta has been so worried about?”
Teresa smiled at him. “Valetta is powerful. There is no question about that. But, like all of us, she has a choice about how to use these powers. If, like Chastel, the person wielding the power is evil, then the outcome will be evil. But Valetta was not born bad.” She leaned forward and pressed Valetta’s hand. “So her strength will be used wisely. That was what Chastel couldn’t understand. He thought he could force her to use them for his evil purposes, but that was never going to happen.”
“Talking about formidable teams”—Samson’s arm tightened around Valetta’s shoulders—“what about Valetta’s children? Will they inherit her powers?”
“Along with her beauty and goodness? Of course.”
Valetta thought back to when she had first read Teresa’s letter. Then she had believed she would never be able to live a normal life, that she would never have a family of her own. Now, it seemed that all of those things might be in her grasp at last. It didn’t seem possible that she could have gone from such a pit of despair to such huge relief in a short space of time. But while they were talking of family life . . .
“My father still believes you are dead.”
“I am dead. And that’s the way I must stay.” Teresa’s expression was sad. “I know it seems as if I was cruel. That I used Hendrik just to have his child, but it wasn’t like that. Although I loved him, I was never meant to live in the human world. What we had could only ever be brief. Sadly, I didn’t know that until it was over.”
“I don’t feel good about keeping secrets from him.” Valetta frowned at the thought.
Teresa rose to her feet. “He is building a new life. Don’t take that away from him.”
Valetta felt her jaw drop. How could Teresa know about Cindy? But her mother was already leaving them, drifting away, disappearing even before she should have been gone from view. Valetta shivered and Samson drew her closer. “Let’s get away from here.”
They walked in silence back to the boat, where Hendrik, Cindy, and Emvin were waiting for them. Even once they had set sail, no one seemed inclined to talk about the events of this strange day. Valetta watched from the porthole until the island of Ulu disappeared completely. One day she would come back, but next time it would be different. When she came again, she wouldn’t be stepping into the unknown and she wouldn’t be fighting a cowardly, brutal enemy. She would be coming back to her ancestral home, on her terms.
Darkness had fallen when they reached Chisik and everyone headed off to shower and change before dinner. Valetta was so tired, she could barely climb the stairs. The events of the day—of the last few weeks—must be catching up on her. She stepped wearily into the welcoming warmth of the room, preparing to head for the bathroom.
Samson, who was just beh
ind her, caught hold of her hand as he kicked the door closed. The light in his eyes was even more warming than the room. “After everything that’s happened, there was only one thing I could think of all the way back here.”
She moved closer, her tiredness disappearing fast. There were magic spells and then there was the sort of magic Samson could weave. It had nothing to do with sorcery, but it was every bit as potent. “What was that?”
His hand inched up the inside of her thigh. “The knowledge that you have nothing on under that T-shirt.”
Samson moaned, wondering how he could make any sound at all when his throat felt like it had closed up. When Valetta was sliding her beautiful mouth up and down his ready-to-burst cock.
“I’m so fucking hard for you.”
She sucked harder at that, taking him all the way in, her moan of pleasure vibrating off the base of his shaft. Reaching under him, she lightly caressed his balls and they instantly tightened.
“God, I’m so close.”
Teasing him, she moved away, keeping him hovering on the brink. Tilting her head back, she grinned at him, enjoying his torment. Replacing her hand with her mouth, she gripped him hard and fisted him. Long, fast strokes.
Samson growled. Regaining control, he tipped her from her kneeling position onto her back. A startled cry escaped her and he laughed softly as he ripped off his remaining clothes. Valetta was already naked, the T-shirt he had lent her on Ulu long gone.
“Open your legs.”
He loved the way Valetta shivered with anticipation as she obeyed. Gazing hungrily down at her, Samson stroked her sex with his thumb, then slipped it inside her as deep as it would go. Her hips came off the bed in one convulsive movement. Pulling his thumb out of her, he slid it up toward her swollen clit, circling it gently. Lifting his thumb to his mouth, he sucked on it, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. Valetta moaned softly, her eyelids fluttering closed.
