by Jane Godman
Amber’s wolf instincts kicked up a notch, telling her to get away. And that was when she felt it for the first time. The inability to move. She hadn’t decided what she was going to do, but, even if she had planned to run for her life, in that instant, she would have been unable to do it. Even though her mind was whirling, her body had shut down. She might as well have been carved from stone.
And that was before Fenrir turned his head. Although her attention was focused on the giant, chained beast inside the cell, she was conscious of the sudden agitation around her. Different voices spoke inside her head.
He has never done that before.
The chain should stop him from moving.
What the fuck is going on?
Amber already knew the answer to that question. Without exactly knowing how she knew it, she was aware that she was the reason Fenrir had turned his head. He wanted to get a better look at her.
Her panic-stricken mind attempted to shake off the idea. She tried to convince herself she was being overly imaginative. It was the situation. She had been through a hell of a few days. Being in this place—inside the legendary palace of Jotunheim, facing the most feared god of them all—those things would play tricks with anyone’s mind. Fenrir had turned his head because there was quite a crowd outside his cell. He probably wasn’t used to visitors . . .
None of those things worked. As Fenrir opened his eyes and looked directly at her, the feeling intensified. Whatever the reason, the werewolf god of destruction was focused solely on her.
Those eyes were like nothing she had ever seen before. Blazing with an inner green-gold fire, their depths were pure venom. The sword holding Fenrir’s jaws wide prevented any facial expression, but, as he gazed at her, Amber got the impression of triumph from him. Vigo, picking up on what was happening, made a movement to get between her and the front of the cell.
“No.” Her first attempt at speaking wasn’t entirely successful, the word sounding more like a croak. She tried again. “I want to know what this is about.” That was better.
If the biggest, baddest werewolf in the world wanted to get into a staring competition, she wasn’t backing down. Wasn’t she meant to be one of the seven bravest and strongest? It was time to earn her stripes.
“We have decided to move you, Fenrir.” Vigo’s voice was steady, echoing slightly within the rocky confines of the dungeons. “This is no longer the most secure place to keep you.”
There was no reaction. Fenrir didn’t shift his gaze from Amber’s face.
“You will be transported from Jotunheim to the island of Ulu close to the Tuxedni Glacier in Alaska.”
Still nothing, even though Fenrir, with his acute intellect, must have instantly figured he would be in danger once he was moved from the sacred protection of Jotunheim.
“We will begin the journey immediately.”
Slowly, despite the sword holding his huge jaws wide apart, Fenrir’s lips moved ever so slightly. The impossible was happening before their eyes. As he stared at Amber, Fenrir was smiling. She got the feeling that, if he could, he’d have also licked his lips in anticipation.
* * *
Amber soon discovered that the brotherhood traveled in style. Wilder was responsible for getting the team to where they wanted to be without any hitches, and he was very good at his job. When the brotherhood decided to move, everything seemed to happen in double-quick time. Although Angrboda remained at Jotunheim, Gunnar was traveling with the brotherhood and overseeing the transportation of Fenrir. The giant cage to which the huge werewolf had been transferred was in the hold of the private aircraft, and the four warders who currently guarded Fenrir’s prison cell were accompanying them to watch over him throughout the journey.
“All this must cost a lot of money.” Amber lay back in the seat next to Vigo on the flight from Helsinki to Alaska. “Who pays the bills?”
“When Angrboda set up the brotherhood, she decreed that every Arctic werewolf who lives as a mortal should contribute in whatever way he or she can. There have been long periods of time when nothing happened and no money was spent. The brotherhood’s bank account is healthy.”
“I didn’t know about the contributions. I haven’t paid any dues.” The realization made Amber wonder how many other werewolf customs she could have been missing out on while she had been hiding away on the edge of the world. After spending the night with Vigo, she was starting to realize there was a whole side to her human personality she’d suppressed.
“I think your circumstances might be considered unique.” His smile got her every time. She took a moment to wonder if it was just her he affected that way, or did he leave a trail of helpless women in his wake wherever he went.
Stop it. She tried to make the voice in her head a stern one. You were the one who told him this was about unconditional sex, remember? It didn’t matter how panty-meltingly gorgeous he was. She could enjoy here and now, but his past—and his future—were no business of hers.
Even so, she couldn’t help the little smirk that crossed her lips. Panty-melting? Her panties hadn’t had time to melt last night. The memory of Vigo’s big hands tearing them from her made her squirm ever so slightly. God, this was going to be a long flight.
“You mean I won’t get a demand for late fees?” Determinedly, she got the conversation back onto a lighthearted track.
“I’ll put in a good word.”
“Are we flying direct to Ulu?” Amber was still having a hard time believing that the werewolf god of destruction was in the hold of this airplane. As a child, Fenrir had been the shadowy figure lurking on the edge of her nightmares. Thankfully, the magic chain appeared strong enough to restrain him, even to keep him comatose. Without it, nothing would have persuaded her to share the same transport as him. Not after that strange exchange in the Jotunheim dungeon. She was still trying to convince herself it had all been her imagination. Unfortunately, the other members of the team weren’t helping. They had been equally spooked by Fenrir’s behavior.
“That isn’t possible. There is no airfield on Ulu.” Vigo stretched his long limbs reminiscently. “There isn’t even anywhere to stay.” He gestured to where Wilder was engaged in a lengthy and serious conversation on his cell phone. “He’s probably organizing a boat and some tents.”
“Tents?” Sleeping under canvas with Fenrir in a cage nearby didn’t sound like an ideal situation.
“Trust me, Amber.” His voice was low, his face temptingly close. Making out on an airplane with his friends close by while they were engaged on a perilous mission? She was shocked at how tempting that was right now. “I don’t know what game Fenrir is playing, but I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Is that what this is to him? A game?”
“Who knows? I don’t want to probe what goes on inside that mind.” An expression of distaste crossed Vigo’s features. “But I think it would amuse him to try and scare you because you are new to the team.”
Amber thought back to the look in Fenrir’s eyes. The mingled triumph and anticipation. The smile he achieved in spite of the sword holding his powerful jaws wide apart. Did she share Vigo’s opinion that Fenrir was toying with her? Teasing the new girl? She wanted to agree with him. She really did . . . but she wasn’t convinced. There had been something in the green-gold fire of those eyes, something that spoke of a deeper intention. Could she explain it to Vigo without sounding crazy? Not when she couldn’t even explain it to herself . . .
“So how do we get to Ulu?” She dragged her gaze away from his lips and back to his eyes.
“We’re flying to Anchorage. Jenny, Sebastian and Cindy will leave us there and make their way home to Fairbanks. Wilder is organizing a boat large enough to take Fenrir’s cage and the twelve of us.” He indicated the seven members of the brotherhood, Gunnar, and the four guards. “It’s a long journey and Ulu is an inhospitable place. The currents around the island are ugly, and exposed sand banks on the approach can make it dangerous at the best of times. The
wind, called a williwaw, blows straight down off the mountains into the sea. It can rip up fifty-foot-trees by their roots and throw them into the inlet we need to sail through to get to the only sheltered harbor. No matter how skilled the captain of the boat we hire may be, he or she will be unlikely to agree to approach the island in bad weather.”
“So we could face the prospect of being stuck out at sea with Fenrir in a cage and nowhere to go?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He gave her a smile that was probably intended to reassure her. It didn’t work.
“I’m still not clear on how this works.” Maybe it was exhaustion that was causing her confusion, but she was struggling to picture what would happen once they got Fenrir to Ulu. “We take him to Ulu and . . . what? We simply take him out of his cage and kill him? Even though this is Fenrir, it sounds so cold-blooded.”
“The alternative is to allow him to carry out his threat to destroy humanity.” Vigo’s voice was gentle, but firm. “This doesn’t feel good to me either. The brotherhood wasn’t set up to be an attacking force. Our role is to protect and defend, but Fenrir has given us no choice. This really is about the future of the world.”
Amber sighed, slumping back into her seat once more. “I guess I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep and then . . .” Her voice trailed off as she remembered that “and then” had involved him.
Vigo leaned closer. “I know. And just thinking about it is making me hard all over again.”
* * *
Although Vigo was prepared to face problems with the weather, his heart sank as they sailed out into Tuxedni Bay. The clouds were dense and the wind fierce. The mountains disappeared behind a low-slung gray fog and the sea bubbled as though it had reached boiling point. The riptide action in this part of the world could be brutal. Vigo and Wilder had engaged in a lengthy conversation with the ship’s captain.
“Approaching Ulu on a good day is difficult. If the inlet looks too dangerous when we get there, I’ll turn back. No matter how much money you offer me, it’s not enough to kill myself.”
Resisting the temptation to swear at the man for doing his job, Vigo followed Wilder down to the cabin. Fenrir’s cage was secured to the deck and covered with a canvas sheet, keeping its contents safe from prying eyes. The four guards remained in position beside it, one at each corner. Although the captain had cast a curious eye at the large cargo when it was carried aboard, he hadn’t asked any questions.
The power of money, Vigo thought. He wondered what the guy would do if he knew his ship was carrying a werewolf with the potential to bring about the end of the world. The price would probably go up, that’s for sure.
The boat had a large single cabin with a central table and narrow bench seating. The team were gathered together around it. The mood was subdued, and Vigo knew that, even though they had been fighting Fenrir for five long, difficult years, the thought of what was to come was a heavy responsibility weighing them all down. Killing Fenrir in the heat of battle when he was on the attack was one thing. Planning his death? Fine tuning the detail? This was an execution.
“Why does it suddenly seem like we’re the bad guys?” Samson scuffed a moody foot against the table leg.
Madden nodded gloomily. “All my adult life I’ve hunted murderers. Now I feel like I’m one of them.”
Vigo hadn’t wanted to lead this mission, but, as he looked at the faces of his friends, he knew it was his job to keep it on track. Eternities ago, the gods had decided that Fenrir was too dangerous to roam free. They had also decreed his blood was too tainted to spill, leaving a dilemma to be resolved centuries later. Now the burden of protecting the world from his evil was on the shoulders of the brotherhood, and Vigo’s in particular. Thanks for that, Odin. Vigo met Gunnar’s gaze and saw encouragement and understanding. So this was what being in charge felt like. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Squaring his shoulders, he faced his friends.
“Do you remember how we felt five years ago when Fenrir abducted Jenny?”
Wilder’s lips drew back in a snarl. “I will never forget it. I wanted to rip that bastard’s head off.”
“How about when Fenrir shifted and launched himself into the audience—men, women, and children—in Central Park?”
Lowell shook his head. “Fuck, yes. We’d have done anything to stop him.”
“And six months ago, when he was inside Chastel’s body, again in Central Park, tearing chunks out of Sebastian, ready to kill and maim the high school students and their teachers who were at the ice rink, did anyone feel any pity for him then?”
His words were having the effect he wanted. He saw the faces around him hardening as the men he had fought alongside for the last five years remembered how those situations had felt. How Fenrir’s sidekick, Chastel, had made the fight against the brotherhood personal, attacking them individually and hurting them as a group. He didn’t have to say the name of their friend Hendrik. In that moment, they were all thinking of him. Fenrir hadn’t been the one to kill Hendrik Rickard, former member of the brotherhood, Samson’s father-in-law, and mentor to them all. But Fenrir’s shadow lay over Hendrik’s death, just as it did over all Chastel’s deeds. Ever since they discovered the alliance between Fenrir and Chastel, it had become impossible to separate the two. They had formed an alliance in which the lines between the two had blurred. When Chastel died, he had been almost completely dominated by Fenrir.
His choice. Vigo couldn’t find any sympathy in his heart for the man who had delighted in torturing innocent people just to harm the brotherhood.
He turned his attention to the new recruits. Amber was quiet. Could he say unnaturally so, when he barely knew her? The connection between them was so strong he felt able to read her moods, and he knew why she was troubled. It was the same reason he had been shaken up back at Jotunheim. What the hell had that look—that grotesque grin—from Fenrir been about? Vigo’s inner wolf had surged to break free at the time and, even now, he felt his hackles rise at the memory.
Like a flashlight on full-beam, Fenrir had directed his menace at Amber. Vigo was convinced he saw her as the weakest link and was attempting to intimidate her. Fenrir knew better than anyone that the brotherhood operated as a team.
They were seven. It was their number. The first choice “lucky number” of humans, beloved of the gods and favored by nature. There were seven days in a week, seven colors in a rainbow, seven notes on a musical scale, seven seas, seven continents . . . and seven members of the brotherhood.
At full strength they were greater than the sum of their parts. If they lost one, they lost more than one. Fenrir knew it as well as Vigo did. The problem was Amber’s own confidence. She was new to the team, so she barely understood the dynamics. And, beneath that tough exterior, she was vulnerable. Vigo was worried that Fenrir could hurt her. Not physically. He would make sure that didn’t happen. But the gleam of those fiery eyes was concentrated evil, and Amber had seen enough trouble in her life. Could she withstand the power of Fenrir’s malevolence? Would Gunnar have selected her for the brotherhood if not?
As if aware of him watching her, she turned her head, her golden gaze tangling with his. Would he ever get used to the rush of sensation that hit him when she looked into his eyes? He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Every time it happened, it was a perfect moment, sending a shiver of longing and anticipation down his spine. A slight smile touched her lips as she acknowledged her own feelings in return. Because she smiled so rarely it felt like the greatest triumph he had ever known. Like he’d just won an Olympic marathon, or slain a dragon. Suddenly, he knew what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He wanted to dedicate it to making Amber smile.
Vigo’s continued his scrutiny, taking in the other new addition to the team. His unease about Kristof hadn’t diminished, but he had still to discover its precise cause. To be fair to him, the guy hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe that was part of the problem. Vigo remembered when he had joined the brotherhood. He had been so o
verawed, unsure of what to say, and scared of screwing up that, looking back, he was sure he had acted like a teenager on a first date.
Kristof was . . . the word “unruffled” came into Vigo’s mind, but it was more than that. He might genuinely be a calm person. That inner serenity could have taken years of work. Just because Kristof didn’t show it openly, it didn’t mean being part of the brotherhood wasn’t a big deal for him. But it was a sense of what lay beneath the calm that disturbed Vigo. There was a faint whiff of complacency, a hint of conceit. And why the fuck are Amber and I the only ones to notice it?
Ulu was an oddity. With its ruined fortress and wild landscape, it was like a Scots isle that had been transported to the Gulf of Alaska. Complete with cave drawings, an ancient prophecy, and the legacy left by sorcerers, it had a unique mysticism.
As they talked about the logistics of taking Fenrir’s cage across the island to the ancient fortress, home of the great sorceress who had reigned over Ulu for centuries, Kristof listened intently. That was another thing Vigo noticed about him. Kristof listened, he didn’t contribute. Maybe that was his special talent. At some point in the future perhaps he would recount this conversation word for word.
With a sigh, Vigo glanced out of the porthole at the murky seas. Through the rain and mist the green and gray landmass of Ulu was just coming into view. At least one of their problems were solved when the captain called down to tell them that the wind had dropped and he was going to take them into the inlet.
Chapter Nine
As they pulled alongside an old and very rickety dock, the clouds lightened and the sun shone through. Omens and portents were part of werewolf folklore and Amber could see that her companions felt it the same way she did. They would take this as a sign.
“Ulu shares its magic.” Vigo took her hand as she stepped from the boat onto the dock.
It was a curiously poetic statement, but she knew what he meant. The atmosphere here was different. It had a magnetism, an energy all its own. She had never experienced anything like it. There was a unique force field at work, creating an electricity that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It was powerful, but benign.
