by C. Gockel
Twisting and shoving, the beast shrugged off the chain about his neck. Lowering his head, the krampus brandished his horns and stomped his hooves. He menaced another charge. Hot breath flew from flared nostrils. Blood soaked the wiry black hair of his massive chest and hock where she'd bitten. Despite the injuries, the creature presented a formidable threat.
She wanted to kill the krampus so bad she could taste it.
Roaring, she rushed toward him. The krampus swung toward her voice. She took three running steps and leapt straight at the beast's head. With both hands, she caught hold of his horns and used her strength to force his head down.
Snorting, the krampus jerked away from her. His back hit the wall, and for once the close quarters worked to her advantage. While the beast thrashed from side to side, she held on for all she was worth. One of his horns was slick with blood, making it difficult to keep a good grip. A steady snarl reverberated in her throat, escaping in bursts as she panted for breath.
Jake rushed in, his burning dagger held aloft.
"Kill it." Victoria grated from the side of her mouth. She pulled on his horns to straighten his neck and strove to hold him steady.
"With pleasure." Jake brought the knife overhead in a wide arc. The molten blade struck the back of the devil's neck and cleaved through the spine. The blow severed the backbone, exposing muscle and bone, but failed to decapitate the beast. Blood poured from the wound. The sound of sizzling accompanied the odor of burnt flesh.
Caught in his death throes, the krampus wailed and lurched to the side. Victoria kept him upright. The scent of fresh meat flooded her nostrils, tempting her wolf. Her mouth watered, and hunger clawed at her sides. Through an act of will, she quashed the impulse to fall on the drying beast and gorge.
Jake grunted and yanked his blade free of the beast's back. When he swung the knife again, an arc of blood sprayed from the blade. The weapon hit straight on the mark and sliced clean through the krampus's neck. The body dropped to the floor, leaving Victoria holding the head by the horns. A fountain of blood flowed from the body, forming a puddle. The dark red fluid saturated the white fur of her feet.
Tilting her head, Victoria looked down into the krampus's face. Red-rimmed eyes bright with malice stared up at her and then dimmed to black coals. Her mouth curled into a sneer of disgust. She opened her hands and drop-kicked the head, sending it flying across the room.
Abruptly, her awareness of her injuries hit her like a freight train. Panting, she dropped to a crouch and sat on her heels. Oh, how she hurt. Even with her accelerated healing, it promised to be hours before she felt one-hundred percent again.
Gritting her teeth, she initiated the painful change from her half-wolf form to human. Her face and hands returned to normal first, then the rest of her followed. Her fur retracted into her flesh. Bones snapped and knit. Transformation sped her healing, repairing some but not all the damage.
Fully human, she knelt naked in the pool of krampus blood. She looked up and found Jake Barrett standing over her, the burning dagger poised. As their gazes met, his hand clenched about the hilt. Muscles rippled beneath his scarred skin and traveled the length of his arm. In that moment, she fully expected the blade to descend and take her head.
Daniel had inherited his brown eyes from his father. Jake’s had crow's feet at the corners, and his soul was infinitely more cynical. His face set in a stoic mask, but his discipline had cracks. She read the hesitation, the temptation, as he wrestled with the instinct to kill her.
"You're not afraid of death," Jake said.
"No, why should I be? My soul belongs to Freya." Victoria's first death had been the result of combat, in service to her goddess, who had returned her to life to serve as Valkyrie.
A tug pulled on the corner of his mouth. Those ferocious eyes burned. "You should be afraid of me."
"Oh, I am." The man terrified her, but she refused to be cowed. She tilted her head to the side, exposing her throat. Her tone turned taunting and provocative. "Kill me and you'll never have your answers about how Daniel died."
Suffering distorted Jake's face, and his mouth contorted into a grimace. "Our deal stands. On your honor."
"On my honor." Victoria agreed without hesitation. "When Jasper and my pack go free, I'll surrender my life to you."
"I asked for answers," he said sourly. A severe expression replaced his agony, and he gave a curt nod. The burning dagger vanished from his hand. The tattoo appeared on his arm. "Agreed."
His choice of words gave her the faintest hope. Maybe he'd actually allow her to explain about Daniel's death. At the same time, she rejected the possibility. Listening and granting clemency were two separate things. How could she ask Jake Barrett to show her mercy when she couldn't forgive herself?
Victoria straightened and stepped out of the puddle. Her bare feet left bloody tracks on the concrete. Her nudity caused her no shame or embarrassment. Few shifters were shy.
Jake averted his eyes. Without a word, he removed his shirt and tossed it to her. "Here."
Swallowing a snicker, Victoria caught the garment out of the air and pulled it over her head. The cloth was damp with perspiration and smelled like Jake Barrett. The hem hung past her knees, but it was better than nothing.
Across the room, Skinner moaned.
Victoria and Jake turned in unison toward the injured man. The fallen hunter struggled to sit upright. Sweat glistened on his brown skin, and blood stained the front of his torn shirt.
Jake rushed to his friend, dropped to one knee, and placed a hand on Skinner's uninjured shoulder. "You're injured."
Grunting, Skinner persisted. "No shit, Sherlock."
"This ain't the time. Stay down." Leaning over, Jake made his point by pinning the injured man.
Skinner offered brief, fierce resistance. Then he collapsed, cursing up a storm.
Across the room, Victoria hesitated, torn between offering to help and keeping a safe distance. As a nurse and a healer, her instincts called her to tend to the injured. Common sense kept her silent. The hunter was her enemy. She owed him nothing.
Instead, she hurried to the imprisoned children. Michael and the girl were bravely quiet. Piteous sobs wracked the smallest of the three, a little boy who appeared to be about three. If these were the same abducted children mentioned in the newspaper article, then the girl's name was Crystal. The youngest boy should be Vincent.
"Is it dead?" Michael asked.
"Yes, it's dead," Victoria assured him. "Give me a sec, and I'll get you out of there." She stopped, staring up. Ceiling-mounted chains supported the cages, placing the locks well out of her reach. A burst of annoyance washed over her, and she swallowed a word inappropriate for young ears.
"Stand on a barrel," Michael said.
Victoria's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Good idea." She grabbed the empty steel drum that had been tipped over during the fight and dragged it toward the enclosures. Once she stood it on end, it served as an excellent makeshift ladder.
She positioned it before Michael's cage first. Victoria fumbled with the locking mechanism which involved interlocking tumblers and finger placement. After a few minutes, she got the correct combination. The lock snapped open, and she pulled the doors wide.
With a cry, Michael flew into her open arms. She hugged the small boy close and stroked the back of his head. He stank of filth and fear, but she didn't care. "Shh, it's okay, Michael. Your mother loves you. She sent me to save you."
"My mother is dead," Michael said. "I saw the monster kill her."
"Her spirit is watching over you." Victoria lowered him to the ground. "No matter what happens, always remember that, okay?"
The child nodded. "I know."
"Hang tight, buddy. I'm going to get the other kids free, okay?"
Michael dipped his chin. "I'll be okay."
Victoria's heart ached for him. The poor boy had no living family to return home to. He would probably wind up as a ward of the state and faced placement in foster
care. She wished there were something more she could do for him, but it was out of her hands. She already had more people depending on her than she could protect.
"What's your name, sweetie?" Victoria freed the little girl next and lowered her gently to the ground. The child's glassy eyes worried her.
The girl's stare remained blank for a long moment, then she blinked and said, "Crystal."
"Crystal, stay with Michael. You're going to be okay."
Unbidden, Michael approached and took Crystal's hand in his own, freeing Victoria to deal with the final cage. Opening the doors, she pulled out a boy no older than three. "Vincent, let me help you out of there."
The little one sobbed and clung to her but never spoke a word. Cradling the toddler against her chest, Victoria jumped down from the barrel. She landed squarely on both feet.
Movement caught her peripheral vision. Victoria turned and found Jake standing close–too close for comfort. Clutching the boy tighter, she took a quick step backward. The hunter possessed uncanny stealth, another trait he shared with his son. Few people were able to sneak up on her.
The man's features remained set in an unreadable mask. He studied the boy in her arms and then his gaze swept over the other two children. Michael and Crystal held hands, clinging to each other. Jake's clenched hands betrayed his inner turmoil, alluding to a tightly constrained anger.
Victoria perceived sympathy and horror in his familiar brown eyes. For about the hundredth time, she reminded herself that he was the enemy, no longer her ally. She moved closer to the children and hovered protectively over them. Stepping forward, she laid her hand upon Michael's shoulder.
Jake's gaze strayed to the cages, and his horror intensified. Upon seeing the conditions the children had been kept in, he swore, "Son of a—"
"Language!" Her blue eyes narrowed, and she shot him a warning look over the top of the toddler's head. Her breath hissed between her teeth.
"Beach," Jake finished lamely. Despite his reputation as a merciless killer, the hunter had a sense of decency.
She smiled. Daniel's compassion and humanity were one of the things she'd loved best... Shit. She squeezed her eyes closed against a sudden onslaught of sorrow. She really needed to get a fucking grip and stop comparing Jake Barrett to his dead son.
"We need to get the children out of here," Victoria said, casting a glance toward the krampus's decapitated body. Where had that head gone?
"I agree." Jake spread his arms, herding Michael and Crystal before him. "Take them outside and tell them to wait. Then come back in. Skinner's hurt pretty bad. I've stopped the bleeding and stabilized him for the moment, but he needs a healer."
Victoria's expression hardened. "Why the hell would I heal him?"
Jake's jaw worked. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "It'll go easier on you if you cooperate. Skinner is my best man, and I owe him. One way or another, you're going to help him."
Victoria's heart palpitated. Shit. His lack of intonation scared her worse than any amount of shouting could have. How did the man manage to pack so much threat into such a monotone statement? At the same time, she found his choice of words interesting. Why was Skinner his best man, and not his second son, Sawyer?
She stared at her enemy. She actually preferred to help over allowing a man to die, though it wasn't like he was offering her many options. She shrugged. "Fine, I'll do what I can."
"You do that."
Victoria offered Michael her hand and addressed the children, "I want you all to close your eyes. I’ll lead you outside."
Michael's gaze darted toward the decapitated corpse they had to pass on their way out. His throat worked as he swallowed. His scent was thick with fear, but he held fast to his courage. He accepted Victoria's hand and clung to Crystal.
"Okay," Michael said. "Let's go."
Victoria’s heart swelled with fierce pride at his courage. The children closed their eyes. They continued to hold hands while she escorted them into the alley. A black SUV, presumably Jake's, was parked just outside the rear entrance. She located her mobile phone on the ground, stooped to pick it up, and started to slip it into a pocket. Only to realize she wasn't wearing jeans. Sighing, she settled for holding it.
"I need for you to wait here. I have to go back inside because a man is hurt." Bending, Victoria passed the toddler to Crystal. The girl sat on the ground with her back against the wall and hugged the boy.
The kids stared at her with fearful round eyes. Michael said, "Don't leave us alone."
Victoria sighed and searched for the right words. If Jake was right about Skinner's condition, she didn't have much time. Yet, she was loath to rush off and leave the children unprotected.
An anxiety-ridden bark interrupted whatever she'd been about to say. Startled, Victoria scanned the alley. Blessed relief filled her when she spotted the Rottweiler crouched between two trash bins. She'd thought the krampus had killed him. She whistled softly and patted her knee, issuing a summons.
The Rottweiler whimpered. He rose and trotted forward, his head and tail lowered in a show of submission. The children regarded the animal with open curiosity and no fear. Victoria extended her hand, and the dog pushed his muzzle into her palm, licking her fingers.
She caressed the dog's soft ears and leaned forward to whisper to him. "You're to stay with these children and protect them. Do you understand?"
The dog's stubby tail wagged. Lifting her hand, Victoria urged the youngsters closer so they could touch him. "Michael, this is my friend. Go ahead and pet him."
Michael hesitated, staring suspiciously at the dog. The other two children huddled behind him. His shaking hand rose slightly. "What's his name?"
"He doesn't have one. He doesn't have an owner." A situation she desperately hoped was about to change. The dog and the boy both needed someone.
"I've always wanted a dog." Michael was the first to approach, extending a nervous hand to stroke the Rottweiler's head. The dog's stubby tail wagged furiously, and the boy's confidence soared.
"See, he likes you," Victoria murmured.
Within seconds, a smile blossomed on Michael's face. "I'm going to call him Rascal."
Her throat closed, and her heart ached. Her voice emerged as a dry rasp. "That's a good name."
The other two children followed his lead, and soon enough all three kids were crowded around the dog. She waited for a couple moments while they became acquainted.
"I have to go inside," she said again. "But Rascal is going to watch over you. Will that be okay?"
Michael looked up and squared his shoulders. "We'll be okay."
She took a couple of steps, then hesitated. "I'll be right inside if you need me."
The boy looked at her. "Go on," he said, putting his forehead against the dog's. "I've got this."
Grinning, she turned back and almost walked straight into the mountain that was Jake Barrett. Eyes flashing, she pulled up. "Stop doing that!"
He chuckled. "Pay more attention. Where did the mutt come from?"
"The 'mutt' helped me find this place. Without him, we couldn't have rescued the children." Victoria's tone slipped toward testy. She disliked the implied slur against the dog.
A grunt served as Jake's reply.
Her impatience ratcheted another notch higher. Didn't the man have even the remotest sense of urgency? It was his injured friend, not hers, who awaited their return.
He cleared his throat. "I got to thinking. The little ones shouldn't have to sit on wet pavement in the cold. They can wait in my car."
"Oh." She huffed. His thoughtfulness took the wind right out of her sails. Under the pretext of helping Crystal and the toddler to rise, Victoria averted her gaze. Jake opened the rear door, and they placed the two children into the back seat.
"Michael, come on." Victoria beckoned to the boy.
Michael's arms tightened about the dog's neck. "Not without Rascal."
A pleased smile tugged at her lips. She did her best to hide her smirk an
d failed in a spectacular way. She looked to Jake, one eyebrow arched in a silent question. Michael also turned his attention to the hunter.
"Damn mutt probably has fleas." Grumbling, Jake assisted Michael and the dog into the backseat and closed the door. He circled to the back and opened the tailgate. When he returned, he had on a fresh shirt.
She experienced a twinge of envy and wished she'd had the sense to bring a change of clothing. Typically, she had a go-bag for the occasions when she would have to shift. But in the excitement, the duffle had gotten left in the back of the pickup truck.
Jake addressed Victoria. "Let's get back inside."
She nodded and led the way.
Chapter Eleven
Skinner lay on his back atop a wooden pallet that got him off the wet concrete floor. A waded leather jacket pillowed his head, and the discarded remains of a small first aid kit littered the area.
At a glance, Skinner appeared to be unconscious. Probably in shock. Victoria knelt beside him to confirm, checking his vitals. His breathing was shallow and his complexion pallid due to blood loss . His heart labored in his chest, each beat a valiant struggle for life.
"You did a decent patch job," she said, inspecting the injury. Gauze bandages swathed the hunter's shoulder.
"I've had a lot of practice," Jake said grimly. He knelt beside his friend. His tone reminded her that the hunters didn't have healers. They relied on traditional medicine. Their dangerous chosen profession made them no strangers to injury and death.
She nodded absently and peeled away the wrappings. Her hands were steady even though she inwardly balked at the filthy conditions. The busy work settled her anxiety and provided a convenient, albeit short-lived, reprieve. She faced a dilemma. As a rule, her people did not use their gifts to benefit outsiders.
Composing her thoughts, she opened herself in prayer. She reached for a spiritual connection with her goddess. My Lady? I need you. I have a big problem.
Freya's warmth touched her. I've been watching.
Any advice? Victoria removed the last of the bindings.
