Hunter's Mark: A Star-Crossed Book (Loki's Wolves 0)

by Melissa Snark

  "Hey! Everyone okay down there?" Daniel called out from above.

  "Aye, t'was a close call. I almost got trampled!" Macan answered. "My ankle's broken."

  "Stay put. I'm coming down."

  "Yeah, right. Where else am I gonna go?"

  "What's that?" Daniel asked.

  "Naw, never mind!" Macan swept his arms wide in exasperation. "Hurry! The beast might come back at any time."

  Beast? Victoria spun in a slow circle, seeking any sign of another creature. But aside from a few insects skittering across the rocky earth, she found nothing. Puzzled, she returned her attention to Macan, wondering if the hunter had hurt his head when he'd fallen. A concussion or dehydration could account for hallucinations, though the man sounded lucid enough. From a hunter, talk of menacing creatures hardly qualified as outside the norm.

  Her priorities divided between performing an examination of Macan's injuries and securing the area. Ultimately, concern for external threats won out. The hunter had already been down here for hours. He'd survive another couple minutes until she could get to him. Besides, Macan and Daniel remained engaged in a shouted exchange of information she was reluctant to interrupt. In passing, she gleaned that Macan believed a menacing apparition inhabited the canyon.

  "Hang in there. I'm securing a rope. Beast you say? What'd it look like?"

  "I didnae get a good look at it 'cause I was hiding under the tarp. It was big."

  "Big?" Whatever he was doing, Daniel's activities sent a rain of loose soil falling into the canyon onto their heads.

  "Aye, big."

  Victoria performed a thorough inspection of the area, walking a circuit from one side of the canyon to the other—a distance of no more than sixty feet at its farthest point. A conspicuous furrow against the cliff caught her attention. Although it was only a couple feet across, it ran deep—much further back than the other grooves in the gully. Its straight lines had the look of being manmade rather than natural. Thistle bushes and scrubs clung by determined roots from hard-packed earth, forming a curtain of overgrowth. Additionally, the trail was strewn with good-sized rocks.

  She picked a path around the debris, navigating it with relative ease thanks to her small size. Her suspicions were rewarded when she located a recessed mine entrance set about twenty feet back. Eureka! Could this be the lost gold mine that so many men had sought and failed to find? She wanted it to be just so she could gloat later.

  Three weathered wooden beams formed an irregular entrance—narrower at the top than the bottom. The soil had eroded away, exposing a couple large boulders that overhung the opening. No mine cart tracks or "No trespassing" signs, as many a movie had led her to expect. Still, she considered the discovery really damn cool. As soon as she got the chance—and more urgent matters got dealt with—she intended to show it off.

  She doubled back and emerged from the alley just as Daniel completed his descent. He released the climbing rope, took the flashlight from his backpack, and walked toward Macan.

  "Damn, Macan—look at you. Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass this is gonna be to explain to my old man?"

  Macan huffed. "Don't be a wee clipe! Ye just leave your father outta this. Nuthin's happened here he needs to know aboot."

  Head held high, Victoria trotted over to join them. While Macan grumbled, she nudged aside the tarp to get a better look at his legs. A foul odor assaulted her nose. Groaning, she pointed her nose to the side.

  "I'm bowfing, Lassie—been down here all day sitting on my bahooky in the dirt beneath thon merciless sun." He obliged her and dragged the cover off his lower legs. His left pant leg had been rolled up and his shoe removed, exposing his ankle which was swollen and bruised.

  "Can you heal him?" Daniel asked, stroking his hand from her shoulders to her hips. His touch raised the hairs across her back.

  She huffed in exasperation because she lacked the energy necessary to undertake a full shift back to human. Hindsight being 20/20, she regretted her decision to change to a wolf. For tracking and travel, it had been her top choice, but it'd have been really good to be able to communicate with the guys.

  Lacking words, she tried the next best thing. "Roof."

  "Thon naw or aye?" Macan puzzled. "I dinnae speak woof."

  "Not sure," Daniel said, laughing.

  "Roof." As her goddess would've said, Always leave 'em wondering. Taking a deep breath for fortitude, Victoria leaned in for a closer look. Her eyes cast a goldish glow, illuminating the wound for better viewing, and her professional opinion aligned with Macan's prior conclusion—it was broken. A frustrating development but one they'd have to deal with using traditional first aid. Freya had already forgiven her once for breaking the rules by using her magic to help Daniel. To do so again was simply unacceptable. She refused to cross that line for a man she wasn't intimately involved with.

  She glanced up and found both men watching her intently. Her ears flattened against her skull and her tail dropped. With an apologetic whine, she shook her head.

  Understanding lit Daniel's face. He clapped his hands. "Okay, looks like we do this the old fashioned way. Macan, let's find some straight branches and get a splint on that leg. We're going to have to make a rig with the ropes and lift you out of here."

  "No offense, Danny, but I've got a good hunner pounds on ye."

  "It's a good thing we've got a wolf on our side then." Daniel looked straight at Victoria and grinned. She wolf-smiled in return.

  "Let's get out of here before that beastie comes back," Macan scolded them with waving arms. Abruptly, he froze. His pie eyes locked upon a distant point and his mouth gaped wide. A bellow erupted from him.

  "Ach, ye bastard! 'Mon then, ye hairy bawbag!"

  Victoria jerked and pulled back. She opened her mouth to scold the Scotsman but forgot she couldn't speak. Only a rumbling snarl rolled from her muzzle.

  "What the—" Daniel also reacted with mixed aggression and confusion. His arms shot up in a defensive stance against the unknown threat.

  An eerie green glow appeared behind her and Daniel. She registered movement—shifting shadows—and the brittle crunch of dry dirt. Before she could react, a fist walloped Victoria upside the head. The force of the blow knocked her off her feet and sent her flying. She tumbled through the air.

  A cacophony: men's shouts, a piercing, inhuman shriek, and then a rifle boomed.

  She smacked into the wall of the canyon and tumbled straight into blackness.

  Chapter Ten

  * * * *

  Victoria regained consciousness, feeling like she'd gone rounds with a freight train—and lost. Her head throbbed, bloated and burstable, while queasiness swam laps in her gut. Groaning, she twitched her nose and had immediate cause for regret when she snorted a snoutful of dust. She was upside down, muzzle buried in the dirt. Coughing, she slumped over and accidentally pushed into a somersault that sent her rolling ass over teacup. No dignity, but the end justified the means as it righted her so she could breathe properly again.

  The effort also brought a whole new sort of suffering in the form of aches and pains. Based on the stabbity-stab in her side and her initial shortness of breath, she had at least a couple broken ribs. She hadn't healed yet and probably wouldn't for some time considering her crippling exhaustion. Mentally, she composed and offered up a fragmented prayer to Freya. Until her regeneration kicked in, she determined to employ careful movement.

  Memory returned—Macan and Daniel—and restored her motivation to get back on her feet. No doubt she resembled nothing more than a zombie-wolf as she righted herself on taffy legs. The world swung far to the right—and then returned on a wide arc to the left. Wobbling, she took an experimental step and managed to remain upright.

  She lifted her head and glanced about the area in a wary search for the thing that had attacked her. Not just her... Them. She retained a vague recollection of the clash between the hunters and their unknown assailant. Her concern grew urgent—she had no idea how long
she'd been out. Apparently long enough for the conflict to play through.

  She spied Macan's prone figure on the ground near where he'd been sitting. Daniel was nowhere in sight. Fear for his safety suffocated her. Her protective instincts clamored for her to rush to his rescue. Without a better understanding of what'd happened though, she couldn't do anyone any good. Fighting rising panic, she headed over to investigate.

  Reaching the Scotsman, she sniffed him and huffed in relief to discover he was only unconscious, thanks to a nasty injury on the side of his head. If their attacker returned, he was helpless. Her best bet was to hide him. She seized the edge of the tarp in her teeth and dragged it to cover the hunter. Hardly ideal camouflage but he'd said it'd fooled the creature before. Hopefully, it'd work again.

  Putting her nose to the ground, she caught the sulfuric scent of a discharged firearm and fresh blood—Daniel's. She searched and found a splatter trail and signs of a person having been dragged into the gulley that dead-ended in the hidden mine entrance. For whatever mysterious reason, the mine monster had chosen to take Daniel while leaving Macan and Victoria behind. Who knew? Maybe it was a random thing. Or perhaps the hunter had seemed like a better prize than an old man with a broken leg or a coyote-sized wolf.

  A handgun fired on full auto.

  Victoria stopped. The sound originated from deep within the earth, a muffled echo that carried from the craggy opening. She counted five bursts before she recovered her senses and then she stopped counting.

  Victoria lunged into action. She dug in her claws, tearing up the soil to acquire traction. Gathering momentum, she shot down the narrow alley, running flat out at her full speed. Lancing pain shot through her side but she bore down with renewed resolve. She locked on the mine entrance—straight ahead of her—with tunnel vision born of single-minded determination.

  The firearm's boom ceased—replaced by an otherworldly bellow and a man's combative shout—Daniel. Victoria passed the weathered beams of the mine's ingress. The path sloped downward into the ground. It grew cooler—darker. The rocky sides were narrow and the roof low. Her stride shortened as a matter of necessity to avoid running straight into a wall.

  Following the clamor of the battle ahead, she rounded a blind corner and dropped straight into the cold, muddy water of an underground river. Startled, she exhaled a fountain of bubbles but retained enough sense not to inhale. Her feet brushed a rocky bottom, which she used to push off. It sent her shooting upward. The second her head broke the surface, she gulped air and paddled for all she was worth. The depth was about three to three-and-a-half feet. She couldn't touch bottom without diving, which put her at a distinct disadvantage.

  A garish green glow lit up the interior of the water-hewn cavern. Victoria cast about for the source, located it, and stumbled into absolute bafflement. She stopped paddling and sank. Her nose submersed, flooding her nostrils with water, and startled her back to her senses. Frantic, she resumed swimming.

  When she read Patrick Guffin's journal account of a giant ghost-skeleton guarding a lost gold mine, she'd naturally taken it with a grain of salt and approached the matter with a healthy degree of skepticism. Guess no one had told it.

  Old Skelly—a ten-foot-tall skeleton with an unusually thick and heavy bone structure. The water came to its knees and it hunched over because its head and shoulders scraped the ceiling. The thing faced away from her, granting Victoria a clear view of its knobby spine. It held an enormous pickaxe—the kind used in excavation. Stringy pieces of moss clung to its frame. As described in the journal—a copper mine lantern hung suspended within its ribcage, the source of the eerie haze.

  She marveled ever so fleetingly at its height—how did it even get around? The mine entrance itself was no more than five feet. She wondered but then she dismissed the stray thought. It didn't matter, and besides, spirits violated the laws of physics with impunity. They had their own unique, discordant rules.

  The distinct tap of metal against stone emanated the other side of the cavern beyond the skeleton. Paddling furiously, she managed to raise her head high enough to spot Daniel. The skeleton had the hunter cornered, backed into a crevice in the wall. Their gazes caught for a split second—long enough for her to be certain he'd seen her.

  From the looks of it, Daniel had retreated to the only safe place the ghost couldn't reach, but it wouldn't stay so much longer. As she watched, Old Skelly swung the pickaxe overhanded and buried the blade in the fissure, releasing a spray of stone. A big chunk of rock broke off, widening the opening.

  Making noise only would've alerted it to her presence, so Victoria approached the fiend, doing her level best to swim stealthily. Despite her efforts, her paws produced noticeable splashing. She got right up behind it. Lucky for her, the ghost had poor perception because it didn't even spare a glance around. It just swung the tool again, laboring to break through.

  "I dropped the knife at the entrance to the crevice." Daniel sounded short of breath—he must be wedged in tight. "I can't reach it. Can you distract it?"

  Without thinking, she whoofed in affirmation and then cringed. Braced. Waiting for the ghost to turn around, spot her, and smash her to smithereens with the business end of its pickaxe. Once again, it ignored her and she wondered if it was deaf.

  At a total loss, Victoria stared at the huge femur in front of her. Her lips peeled past her lips in a silent snarl. Her mouth watered. Before she formulated the thought, her wolf heeded the ancestral calling that said all bones must be bit. Acting on instinct, she seized the thigh bone between her teeth and locked her jaws.

  That got its attention. Old Skelly emitted a piercing shriek that filled up the entire cavern. It spun in a fast, furious circle, dragging her through the water. The momentum wrenched her jaws but she hung on with the same stubborn tenacity pit bulls were reputed for.

  Around and around she goes—where she stops, nobody knows.

  The enraged skeleton never let up, not even for a second. It vocalized its rage—a nerve-shattering screech she swore she would haunt her dreams for years to come. A giant bone hand slapped the water, whacked it again, and then clobbered her. Her head spun, along with the rest of her. Dizzying. Traumatizing her already fragile head and belly.

  Fuck him. She refused to let go.

  The world wrenched—tilted sideways. The femur in Victoria's mouth flew free and she went with it. She skipped across the pond. Smacked the rock wall. She caught a glimpse of the now one-legged skeleton descending toward her like a felled tree. She yipped in panic but her full mouth muffled the squeak so she sounded like a terrified mouse.

  Old Skelly fell on top of her—its central torso aimed at her head. Its spine clobbered her snout, knocking her muzzle aside, and the back of its ribcage formed a cage over her head. The femur in her mouth wedged into other bones, and the whole damn thing sank straight to the bottom of the lake. She landed beneath the skeleton, her side pressed against unyielding rock.

  Imprisoned, she plunged into pitch black water, feeling the rise of air bubbles foaming past her. She let go of the femur but found she was trapped in a way that allowed precious little room for negotiation. Her head banged against the lantern suspended within the ghost's ribcage. Despite being submerged in murky water, the lamp continued to glow—lighting the interior of the skeleton's torso so she could make out its individual ribs. Eerie greenness all around.

  For a few seconds, she worked her legs at a furious pace, turned and twisted, attempting to escape her prison. Unlike the many things that hurt but didn't kill her, she could drown.

  Her lungs hurt; her blood pounded in her ears. Her struggles weakened and realization dawned—no matter how hard she fought, she wasn't breaking free on her own. All her exertion only used her remaining air faster. Waiting to be rescued didn't suit her but she had no alternatives except to trust Daniel would find a way to get this thing off her.

  Having died once to become a Valkyrie, she had no fear of death... She yearned to live with every fiber of h
er being. Forlorn and frustrated, she wondered—was this how her life ended? Taken out by a clumsy collection of bones? Oh, the ignominy. Would Freya send one of her sister Valkyries to retrieve her soul, or was she supposed to transport herself? A second death hasn't been covered in the Valkyrie Handbook.

  Her chest ached, near bursting. She passed the point of pain, descending straight into unconsciousness. And where in the name of Hel was Daniel? Had he stopped for lunch?

  In answer to her question, the skeleton's dense ribs beside her head shattered inward, forced aside by a thick knife blade. Bone fragments jammed into her face. Victoria flinched and jerked, losing precious air. For a split second, things got brighter because both knife and lantern emanated that same creepy nimbus. But then the weapon's point thrust through the lamp's glass pane and its light expired.

  The magic knife's soul-sucking magic drank up the ghost's essence—downing the entire thing in a greedy gulp. It emanated hollowness—emptiness—death.

  Her breath exhaled in a rush. Victoria inhaled water. Simultaneously, the prison of bone lifted off her and she was floating free. Blackness filling her inside and out. Distantly, she was aware when big hands seized her and hauled her to the surface. Pressure against her sides—renewed pain from her battered ribs—the expulsion of liquid from her body.

  Abruptly, she awoke on the inhalation of a tiny breath, but it wasn't nearly enough. Her body craved more, but her swamped lungs didn't have space. She coughed and vomited muddy water while Daniel held her against his chest, both arms wrapped around her.

  "That's it, breathe—just breathe. I've got you. You're safe." Daniel stroked her head, flattening her ears against her skull. His aura sheltered and melded to hers. Ruby tones sparkled like fireworks against the predominant blues which were sapphire bright.