Wolf's Cross: Book 4 (Loki's Wolves)

by Melissa Snark

  Sylvie caught her Alpha's gaze. The Skald rolled her eyes heavenward and pressed her palms together, pantomiming prayer. She mouthed, "Goddess help these poor, pathetic creatures. Blessed be."

  An involuntary chuckle caught Victoria unprepared. The worst of her frustration dissipated, and her disposition improved dramatically. Sylvie was right—they were only males, in desperate need of both her patience and her guidance. The guys might not like it, but she would figure out a solution.

  Logan's claws scraped on the tile. His hot breath struck the small of her back, and her frilly blouse stirred and was then sucked against his nostrils when he inhaled. She twisted to face him and pressed her palm to his wet nose. If she had been in her wolf form, they'd have bumped muzzles. Instead, she curled her fingers about his snout to complete the ritual affirming their bond. They were still packmates, despite his six-month absence, no matter how contentious their reunion.

  As though bidden, Logan's anger rammed its way through the empathic connection; unmistakable and impossible to ignore—and aimed completely at her. Protectiveness overlay his displeasure. Unfortunately, it rendered his shitty attitude completely acceptable to Victoria's wolf. Her beast preened and luxuriated in the heat of his regard, accepting it as her due.

  Images imbued with potent emotion traversed the link, more effective than words. Set to a rhythm, deep bass drums would've pounded out a primal song. His grievances were many and the wound to his ego egregious. Here, he'd returned to discover his home invaded by strangers. The females of his pack surrounded by hunters. When he’d jumped to their defense, he'd been shot, assaulted, and insulted...

  "I'm going to stop you right there." She blocked his magic, exerting her own. "You're comparing being territorial to guardianship. Those aren't the same thing. Not by a long shot."

  Logan snorted, blowing a spray of spit. He got right in her face, huffing hot, citrusy breath. Glowing amber eyes locked on her accusingly, the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen on a man. Too bad he always seemed to regard her with such hostility.

  "Knock it off. You're drooling on me." Victoria's fist flew up. She bashed Logan on the nose. His eyes narrowed but he backed off. "I understand you're upset, but you were gone for months. You said you were leaving and never gave an indication you'd be back. As Alpha, I made Sawyer a member of this pack. Normally, I wouldn't care about a male pissing match for rank so long as you took it outside. But he's a helpless human and it wouldn't be a fair fight."

  "Helpless." Sawyer muttered beneath his breath.

  Victoria shot the hunter a narrow-eyed glare warning—Shut up.

  Logan rumbled his disagreement. He shifted—his paw to a claw, his front leg to an arm. Elegant, precision shape changing, unlike anything Victoria had ever witnessed before. He scooped up a handful of the fired bullets littering the floor, shoved his open palm beneath her nose, and then cast the metal aside with an eloquent grumble—helpless, his furry backside.

  Victoria bit the insides of her cheeks to kill a smile. "Look, we can't talk while you're like this. Shift back. We'll pretend this never happened and start over. I'll make proper introductions and you two can shake hands."

  Rearing his head, Logan grunted. His long, low moan sounded suspiciously like "Noooooo."

  "Fine, be that way." Victoria edged toward Sawyer. She wrapped her arm about his waist and gently nudged the hunter toward the patio exit. "Are you injured? Do you need healing?"

  A shadow moved across his face. "Nah. I'm fine. Just some bruises."

  "Good." She scented no hint of deception on his part. Relief haloed her. She'd feared she'd broken ribs when she'd jumped him and knocked him down.

  "How's your hand?"

  "Already healed." She flashed her palm, flexing her fingers.

  "Good." His approval warmed her like sunshine.

  Amazingly, charm worked where reason had failed. Sawyer cooperated with her attempts to herd him toward the patio. He only stopped to retrieve his coat and shoulder harness from the kitchen chair.

  Victoria laid her palm over his heart. "Give me a couple minutes, then I'll meet you out front. We can check out those drifters in Broken Bend, okay?"

  "Yeah, all right." He sounded like he hated the idea but at least he was cooperating. He tipped his head toward the refrigerator. "I want my gun."

  Seconds ticked past loud enough she heard each and every one. She hesitated to return his firearm, but he wouldn't leave without the .45. It all came down to trust.

  "Morena, get the man his gun." Victoria gestured with her hand, urging speed. At her back, Logan grumbled his displeasure, but she made a point of ignoring him. Her patience with macho posturing was done.

  "Riiight. One gunsicle comin' right up." A bound and a stride carried Morena to the fridge. She jerked open the door, rooted around within until she located the firearm, and then slammed it shut. The teenager deftly flipped opened the gun, checked to be sure the chamber was clear, and then closed it. Grasping the barrel, she offered the handle to Sawyer.

  The hunter accepted the .45 and holstered it. His shuttered gaze scanned the room one final time, lingering on each of them in turn. He pointedly failed to acknowledge Logan while the black wolf's unwavering gaze smoldered with loathing.

  "I'll be outside. Waiting," Sawyer drawled.

  Their eyes locked. The unspoken message came through loud and clear. If she took too long, he'd return, guns locked and loaded.

  Chapter Six

  Sessrúmnir, Freya's hall in Fólkvangr

  Arik ceased obliging Tregul's persistent demands for affection and lowered his hand. The tiger growled to protest the neglect, but it earned him little more than a summary pat.

  After a considerable delay, Arik said, "I'm concerned for Victoria."

  "Victoria?" Freya floundered, caught off-guard by the direction of the conversation. A coarse, alien feeling filled her... jealousy? No, impossible! A goddess was above such trivial attachments to a mortal man. And just the mention of her disgraced priestess burned her blood. Victoria—whom she'd favored above all others, indulged and spoiled, only to have her generosity rewarded with disobedience and betrayal.

  "Yes, Victoria. My mate and the mother of my unborn child." A cool facsimile of a smile played on his lips. Even pinned beneath Tregul's massive bulk, the man was too damn composed to be believed.

  She quelled the reflexive desire to correct him. Victoria Storm was his former mate. Arik belonged to Freya now. The urge to tell him so, to put him in his place, was great. Right there on the tip of her tongue. But a twinge of intuition urged her to caution.

  "What about her?" Freya asked instead.

  Arik's brow rose. "It's come to my attention that there's a proximate threat—not only to my wife and daughter but to my entire pack."

  "You agreed to sever all earthly ties when you entered into my service." Haughtiness crept into her manner, her tone as piercing as the head of a spear.

  "I'm a Philadelphia Lawyer. I know what we agreed to."

  Sierra Pines, California, on the western shore of Echo Lake

  "You're pregnant!"

  Wincing, Victoria turned and found Logan right behind her. Face contorted, he loomed over her; his bare chest in her face. The musk of male aggression permeated the air. He held his clenched fists at his sides, stance rigid and his voice seethed. He'd completed the transition from wolf to human in a handful of seconds, so smoothly she hadn't even noticed.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious."

  "Why didn't you tell me, Vic? Why is the only reason I'm finding out because I walked in and caught you red-handed—" He bit off the accusation but it was too late. No mistaking the distrust in his eyes or the hardened suspicion in his voice.

  "Caught me red-handed doing what? Being pregnant?" Infuriated, Victoria thumped Logan right on the breastbone, nailing him with two fingers. "You want to know why I didn't tell you? It's none of your damn business—"

  "My dad's been dead less than six months and you've already shacked
up with a fucking hunter. Is he the father?"

  Shocked silent, Victoria's mouth quivered. His verbal assault thrust a dagger of hurt straight through her heart. His cruelty cut her to the quick. Tears flooded her eyes, spilled down her cheeks, and dripped onto her lips. In the single most humiliating moment of her entire life, she choked on a sob.

  Logan got a good look at her expression, and his face blanched. He shut his mouth. Quicksilver emotions crossed his face, mirroring his internal conflict. His voice emerged raw. "Vic, I—"

  A blur moved behind Logan, and a chair busted over the top of his head. Solid hardwood shards exploded, flying everywhere. He dropped to the ground like a sack and landed flat on his back. Stunned, Victoria blinked her blurry eyes into focus and gaped in astonishment at Morena. Breathing hard, the teenager lowered her arms.

  The silence thundered.

  Twisting around, Logan tilted his head to gap up at the girl. "Morie?"

  "¡Tu eres un pendejo!" Bending, Morena berated him, heaping verbal abuse on his head. She switched to English once her tirade sputtered out. "I can't believe I thought you were so fucking great."

  "Okay, got it. You're pissed. You've made your point on my skull." Flat on his ass, he lifted his hand to gingerly touch the injury.

  "Asshole." Morena spat on the ground beside him. Then the teenager sprinted through the French doors. Sophia and the three half-grown adolescent gray wolves followed right on her heels.

  "Wow." Astonished, Victoria stared after Morena, wanting to say thank you, but the teenager and wolves were already out of earshot. Just the fact of her Omega's defense took the worst sting out of her hurt. Her pack loved her and would defend her even if this one stupid jackass said whatever thoughtless thing popped into his mouth.

  "I don't think I've ever been as proud of that girl." Stepping close, Sylvie pulled Victoria into a sisterly hug. "Are you all right, Victory?"

  "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." She pointedly ignored Logan, as did Sylvie.

  Muttering, Logan climbed to his feet and marched from the room. "I'll be back—with pants!"

  Even though she swore she wasn't going to look, Victoria stole a quick glance. The male werewolf was long and lean, his build sinewy, and she critically noted he appeared to have shed pounds he could ill afford to lose. He was already too thin, and his broad shoulders and big hands and feet enhanced the impression of an adult male who'd not yet achieved his full growth. Logan had a tramp stamp across his lower back—a tattoo of an Ouroboros serpent, a snake devouring his own tail. He didn't appear to have acquired any fresh ink, at least not on this side. He had the ass and thighs of a swimsuit model.

  "Humph." Sylvie's snort spoke volumes.

  Victoria grinned and shrugged. "It'll be a while before he's back unless he's willing to wear maternity pants. All of his clothes are bagged and shoved to the back of the closet."

  "I'll help him... if he asks." From the severity of Sylvie's tone, it would take an apology to earn her assistance.

  Well, tough. It served him right.

  “That was Finn on the phone, before all this, this...” Victoria waved her hands at the disheveled room in general. “Before it got out of hand."

  "Oh?" Sylvie lifted her brow.

  "Finn says things are getting worse." Taking a deep breath, she brought Sylvie up to speed on her conversation with Finn.

  "Are you sure it's wise to bring outsiders into our territory?" Sylvie asked once Victoria petered out.

  "Maybe not wise, but it's happening." She shrugged.

  Sylvie snorted. "What about Logan?"

  "Better to keep him out of it, at least for now. Don't tell him what's going on or he'll find some way to cause trouble." Victoria fidgeted, casting an uneasy glance in the direction Logan had gone. She spoke in a hush, wary of being overheard.

  "Agreed. Why on earth are you squirming like you've got ants in your pants?"

  "Sorry." Victoria forced herself to be still. "Right now I just want to get out of here before Sawyer decides to come looking for me." Or worse, Logan. She imagined he'd be annoyed when he found out she'd been living in his room instead of the master suite that had belonged to Arik.

  She panned the kitchen and trailed off. The area was a disaster. Overturned and destroyed furniture, blood on the floor and walls, spilled food and ceramic shards from a dropped plate, not to mention the dirty dishes people had abandoned.

  "Go. I'll clean this up." Sylvie shooed her.

  "But I should help." Victoria bit her lower lip, debating her desire to go versus her duties to remain.

  "Morena and Logan will help. I'll see to it." The Skald waved the Alpha away. "Go. If Sawyer has truly detected intruders in our territory, then you have bigger concerns than these."

  "Okay." Victoria capitulated because she lacked any real desire to argue. Deciding to follow the route all three hunters had taken, she crossed to the French doors which still stood wide open. Hesitating, she looked back. "Sylvie..."

  In the act of gathering coffee mugs from the table, the Skald paused and looked up. Her brow rose in silent question.

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." The Skald tipped her chin.

  Hurrying her steps, she passed through the courtyard and turned to head around the house, but then remembered her phone. She'd been holding it when the commotion had started and must've dropped it. Worry niggled at her that the device had fallen into the water so she retraced her steps and breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted it on the concrete beside the pool.

  The phone was face down, a yard from her forgotten flip-flops. Pausing, she wedged her feet into the sandals and then bent to scoop up the device. Intense irritation ran through her when she turned it over and discovered a shattered screen.

  "Damn it, Logan, you're buying me a new phone." She fumed, heaping the blame on the male werewolf. At the same time, her topsy-turvy pregnancy emotions tilted her toward intense sorrow. To the point where she wanted nothing more than to find a man's strong shoulder to lean on and have herself a good cry.

  A man's strong shoulder... The most awful joke yet. She did not cry on shoulders. Male or otherwise.

  "Goddess, no one warned me pregnancy was the same as being certifiably insane," Victoria said aloud, addressing the words to Freya, the Norse goddess of love and war who she served as priestess.

  Actually, we did warn you but you chose not to listen. Freya's tone was scathing and it stopped Victoria in her tracks.

  A tremor ran through her. She blinked rapidly to prevent the tears that stung her eyes from falling. Months ago, Victoria disobeyed Freya's will and explicit instructions when she had resurrected Sawyer Barrett from the dead. Broken faith was bad enough, but she had consorted with another Norse god to accomplish the feat.

  Disobedience and infidelity.

  She ached from body to soul. Oh, how she missed the rapport she'd once shared with her goddess. Not so long ago, their conversations had been full of lighthearted banter and affection, laughter and joy. Now, Freya made her censure known through both her silence and scornful comments on those rare occasions when chose to speak. Freya's anger was justified—a goddess commanded; a faithful priestess submitted. Once that trust was broken, could it ever be mended?

  Victoria blamed herself; the dishonor belonged to her alone. She'd apologized countless times already and would do so however many more times her deity required.

  My Lady, please. My heart is broken. It was wrong of me to disobey you. Please, set a task before me. Grant me an opportunity to make amends. Victoria closed her eyes and clasped her hands together in prayer. Her deity had to take priority—Sawyer could wait a while longer.

  Freya's silence served as her answer, just as it had the other times Victoria had begged for an opportunity to do penance. She released a thin sigh and opened her eyes.

  Any task I set before you will be difficult as befits the offense you have given.

  Her heart leapt to her throat, lifting on a surge of hope. Tears spille
d down her cheeks. Please, Goddess, I'll do anything you ask!

  Anything? Freya asked in the severest tenor.

  Yes, anything. Victoria's blood ran cold but she had no choice but to promise. She dared not refuse the first glimmer of forgiveness she'd seen in months.

  I will contemplate it.

  She rounded the house and found Sawyer had already backed her car out of the detached garage. The hood was up on the 1970 Chevelle SS 454, and the denim-clad ass and legs of the man bent over the engine were visible. The convertible's top was down, and its glossy red paint glowed in the morning sunlight, as did the pristine white leather interior. The motor idled, a steady purr, like a great cat loving the attention lavished on it.

  "I might've known," Victoria teased, approaching the vehicle. And yeah, though she was reluctant to admit it, she took the opportunity to admire the hunter's tight back end. Her gaze lingered. Damn, the man was fine. Off-limits, because she had once dated his brother, but a girl could look.

  "I've been meaning to check the timing belts." Pulling back, Sawyer closed the lid and stroked his hand over one of the two black racing stripes that ran down the hood. Long dirty-blonde strands hung into his face, so her fingers itched for a pair of scissors. Or, even better, some clippers.

  The other two hunters were gone, as was their vehicle.

  "I guess we're taking the Chevelle?" Victoria asked, hazarding the obvious. She'd left the keys to the SUV on the key hook in the kitchen, and loathed the idea of going back inside and risking another run-in with Logan.

  At times, she wondered why she'd bothered paying for the title transfer and registration that made her the legal owner of the vehicle. Sawyer spent as much time behind the wheel as she did. Not that she blamed him. Before he'd given Victoria the Chevelle to settle a debt owed, the convertible had belonged to Daniel, Victoria's lover and Sawyer's older brother. The car held enormous sentimental value for them both. She preferred to share. Cutting Sawyer off from the tie to his brother would've been petty and spiteful.