The Child Thief (Loki's Wolves)
Page 1
"Help me. Please. The child thief has stolen my son," a woman said, her voice full of desperation. An icy hand closed around Victoria Storm's arm and the chill of the grave swept through her body. She gasped and halted, turning toward the woman, but remained silent. She took a moment to study the distraught spirit.
The woman had light brown hair and an olive-toned complexion. She wore a mid-thigh length white nightshirt, stained with dried blood. Her legs and feet were bare. The ghost's appearance mirrored the condition of her body at the time of death—her face and throat bore dark bruises, defensive wounds marred her hands and forearms, and the side of her skull had been bashed in.
The spirit took Victoria's silence as an opportunity to continue her plea. "Please, Michael is all alone and he's so scared. I need your help."
Victoria's gut clenched, because she had no choice except to refuse. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I can't help you."
Several paces ahead, Jasper turned back toward Victoria. His bright eyes focused on the apparently empty spot before her and his eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath his lank brown bangs. His tongue flickered across his lips, moistening them against the aridness of the winter air. "What's up?" he asked, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is a ghost here?"
"Shhh." Victoria shushed him. She cast an anxious glance about her, concerned that their odd behavior would attract the wrong sort of attention. Neither Jasper, nor any of the humans present, could see the dead woman because they lacked Victoria's gift of spirit sight.
Cheerful holiday decorations lined the streets and storefronts along bustling Central Avenue of downtown Albuquerque. The sidewalks were crammed with holiday shoppers out to take advantage of the clear Saturday afternoon before Christmas. No one so much as spared the two werewolves and the invisible spirit a glance.
"You must help me," the woman pleaded. "No one can see or hear me."
At the same time, Jasper said, "What does she want? C'mon, tell me what's going on!"
Victoria spoke to Jasper from the side of her mouth. "She says that her son was kidnapped and she needs me to help him."
Jasper grinned. "Cool!"
"Not so much for her," Victoria said with a glare, irritated with the teen's lack of sensitivity. Not that she really blamed the boy for craving excitement, but their lives were already dangerous enough.
"Find out what we can do," Jasper said.
Goddess help me! The boy has too much testosterone, too little sense. Rolling her eyes heavenward, Victoria exhaled through her nostrils so her breath formed a cloud of vapor. Born and raised in Arizona, she found the extreme winter temperatures of the high desert to be familiar, but the thin air left her lightheaded.
"Come over here so we can speak privately," Victoria said, addressing both the spirit and the boy. She shook off the ghost's hand.
Grasping Jasper's forearm, she pulled him into the natural alcove the western apparel storefront provided, out of the path of pedestrian traffic. Although, the fifteen-year-old stood a full head taller and outweighed her by at least twenty pounds, she moved him without effort. He lacked the stature of an adult male and deferred to her, because she outranked him within their pack's hierarchy. The dead woman followed.
Victoria regarded the distressed woman and her stomach roiled. As Valkyrie and the goddess Freya's priestess, Victoria had a duty to respond to a spirit's call for help. As a nurse and a healer, she had a nurturing nature and rarely passed on an opportunity to render assistance to those in need.
However, she had bigger considerations. Hunters had dogged her pack nonstop for the last two weeks, pursuing them from Arizona to the high desert of New Mexico. Most of her pack, including her parents, had died in Phoenix when the war with the Barrett family began. The fallout had left Victoria in the role of Alpha, the highest ranked wolf and leader of the ragged group of survivors. It was her responsibility to get Jasper to safety and the longer they stayed out in the open, the better the chances the hunters would find them.
"I'm sorry, but I can't save your son," Victoria said. "I have to protect my own people."
The woman moaned but before she said anything else, Jasper launched a passionate protest. "Victoria, we have to help her!" he said. "It's the right thing to do!"
Victoria stifled a groan.
The ghost grabbed her arm again. "Please, he's going to be eaten."
THE CHILD THIEF
A Victoria Storm Story
by
Melissa Snark
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
THE CHILD THIEF: A Victoria Storm Story
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Melissa Snark
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover art by Farah Evers
Editing by Lara Parker
Contact Information:
Melissa Snark
P.O. Box 1347
Pleasanton, CA 94566
Email: melissasnark@gmail.com
Please visit the author at melissasnark.com & melissasnark.blogspot.com
Publishing History
First Printing, 2013
Published in the United States of America.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author respects trademarks and copyrighted material mentioned in this book by introducing such registered items in italics or with proper capitalization.
DEDICATION:
To my husband and my children. I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
THE CHILD THIEF benefited immensely from the invaluable feedback provided by my beta readers: Carol Braswell, Lucinda Gunnin and Marissa Reale.
A big thank you goes to Farah Evers for taking my vision of a Christmas nightmare and translating it into such an amazing cover.
Finally, I'd like to thank my editor, Lara Parker, for her assistance in polishing the final draft to completion.
Praise for Melissa Snark
"A CAT’S TALE actually tells a story with all that luscious loving. For that reason, I feel A Cat’s Tale, by Melissa Snark deserves five stars."
~Michelle Devon
Texas Straight-Talk Reviews
~*~
LEARNING TO FLY
"Ms. Snark did a very good job when she wrote her characters, Cassie and Kyle. The relationship between these two was very sweet and a joy to read. But who doesn't love a man with a sexy Irish brogue? Through the entire book I enjoyed watching the relationship between these two play out, while at the same time, waiting to see what was going to happen with Simon Lynch. I was not disappointed in how Ms. Snark had this story play out. This is definitely one of those times where you cannot judge a book by its cover. The content is totally worth it and I look forward to reading more by Ms. Snark."
~Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
Chapter One
"Help me. Please. The child thief has stolen my son," a woman said, her voice full of desperation. An icy hand closed around Victoria Storm's arm and the chill of the grave swept through her body. She gasped and halted, turning toward the woman, but remained silent. She took a moment to study the distraught spirit.
The woman had light brown hair and an olive-toned complexion. She wore a mid-thigh length white nightshirt, stained with dried blood. Her legs and feet were bare. The ghost's appearance mirrored the condition of her body at the time of death—her face and throat bore dark bruises, defensive
wounds marred her hands and forearms, and the side of her skull had been bashed in.
The spirit took Victoria's silence as an opportunity to continue her plea. "Please, Michael is all alone and he's so scared. I need your help."
Victoria's gut clenched, because she had no choice except to refuse. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I can't help you."
Several paces ahead, Jasper turned back toward Victoria. His bright eyes focused on the apparently empty spot before her and his eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath his lank brown bangs. His tongue flickered across his lips, moistening them against the aridness of the winter air. "What's up?" he asked, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is a ghost here?"
"Shhh." Victoria shushed him. She cast an anxious glance about her, concerned that their odd behavior would attract the wrong sort of attention. Neither Jasper, nor any of the humans present, could see the dead woman because they lacked Victoria's gift of spirit sight.
Cheerful holiday decorations lined the streets and storefronts along bustling Central Avenue of downtown Albuquerque. The sidewalks were crammed with holiday shoppers out to take advantage of the clear Saturday afternoon before Christmas. No one so much as spared the two werewolves and the invisible spirit a glance.
"You must help me," the woman pleaded. "No one can see or hear me."
At the same time, Jasper said, "What does she want? C'mon, tell me what's going on!"
Victoria spoke to Jasper from the side of her mouth. "She says that her son was kidnapped and she needs me to help him."
Jasper grinned. "Cool!"
"Not so much for her," Victoria said with a glare, irritated with the teen's lack of sensitivity. Not that she really blamed the boy for craving excitement, but their lives were already dangerous enough.
"Find out what we can do," Jasper said.
Goddess help me! The boy has too much testosterone, too little sense. Rolling her eyes heavenward, Victoria exhaled through her nostrils so her breath formed a cloud of vapor. Born and raised in Arizona, she found the extreme winter temperatures of the high desert to be familiar, but the thin air left her lightheaded.
"Come over here so we can speak privately," Victoria said, addressing both the spirit and the boy. She shook off the ghost's hand.
Grasping Jasper's forearm, she pulled him into the natural alcove the western apparel storefront provided, out of the path of pedestrian traffic. Although, the fifteen-year-old stood a full head taller and outweighed her by at least twenty pounds, she moved him without effort. He lacked the stature of an adult male and deferred to her, because she outranked him within their pack's hierarchy. The dead woman followed.
Victoria regarded the distressed woman and her stomach roiled. As Valkyrie and the goddess Freya's priestess, Victoria had a duty to respond to a spirit's call for help. As a nurse and a healer, she had a nurturing nature and rarely passed on an opportunity to render assistance to those in need.
However, she had bigger considerations. Hunters had dogged her pack nonstop for the last two weeks, pursuing them from Arizona to the high desert of New Mexico. Most of her pack, including her parents, had died in Phoenix when the war with the Barrett family began. The fallout had left Victoria in the role of Alpha, the highest ranked wolf and leader of the ragged group of survivors. It was her responsibility to get Jasper to safety and the longer they stayed out in the open, the better the chances the hunters would find them.
"I'm sorry, but I can't save your son," Victoria said. "I have to protect my own people."
The woman moaned but before she said anything else, Jasper launched a passionate protest. "Victoria, we have to help her!" he said. "It's the right thing to do!"
Victoria stifled a groan.
The ghost grabbed her arm again. "Please, he's going to be eaten."
Victoria flinched and her conscience got the better of her. Her resistance to helping the woman crumbled. Better to die than dishonor my calling.
"Where is Michael?" Victoria asked.
The woman opened her mouth as if to offer a ready answer but then her face froze in an expression of anguish. "I—I—don't know. He's close and it's so dark. Please, he's so scared."
Nostrils flaring, Victoria swallowed her impatience. Ghosts! They never provide straight answers. "I need more than that to help him," she said.
"I-I don't know." The spirit's body wavered.
Victoria panicked, afraid the distressed ghost would dissipate. She softened her tone and changed the nature of her questions. "What's your son's full name?"
The woman's flickering form steadied. "Michael," she said. "Michael Allen Frasier."
"Good, that'll help me find Michael," Victoria said. "What's your name?"
The spirit blinked. "June," she answered with less conviction. "June Frasier. I'm thirty-two. I'm a court reporter."
"How old is Michael?" Victoria asked, nodding encouragement. They were doing well—the woman had volunteered more than was asked.
June's lips compressed and her eyes filled with tears. "He's six." She grabbed Victoria's hand. "Please, you have to find him. He's all alone and he's so scared."
"Okay, tell me where he is and I'll look for him." Victoria glanced up and down the busy street ensuring their unorthodox conversation was not attracting attention. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed.
June's eyes widened and she shoved a fist into her mouth, biting her knuckles. The edges of her form flickered and static ran through her pattern, indicating that she might wink out at any moment.
Ghosts were displaced souls trapped between the planes of existence. Their ability to interact with the physical realm depended on force of personality and the trauma associated with their death. Because June lacked a solid presence, Victoria suspected the only thing anchoring the mother was her love for her son.
"Where did you die?" Victoria asked, her sense of urgency increased with each passing second. "Is your child still near your body?"
June gasped and stared at her in open horror. "What do you mean? I'm not dead!"
"No, wait! Don't go!" Victoria lunged, grabbing for the ghost, but her hand passed through the spirit's arm. Within seconds, June had dissolved into a shower of gray and white sparkles.
"Damn it!" She stomped her foot on the pavement.
"What happened?" Jasper asked, dancing with excitement.
"She's gone." Victoria ran a hand across her scalp to the base of her braid. She wore her pale blonde hair back a lot lately. It had been weeks since she'd indulged in luxuries like makeup or nice clothing. Hot meals were far and few between; hot showers even rarer.
"Gone? Where'd she go?"
Victoria exhaled. "I don't know. Sometimes the soul crosses over once the person realizes they're dead. Other times, too much stress can disrupt the ghost for a while. She might recover and come back."
Jasper's fists clenched. "How long will that take? We can't wait! The kid needs help."
Victoria opened her mouth but froze before an answer crossed her lips. Her gaze locked on a man a hundred feet from them. He stood beside a black Mustang, head bowed as he fed change into a parking meter. He faced away from her but she recognized his profile.
Jake Barrett. Hunter. The man responsible for the deaths of her parents and most of her pack.
Her heart thundered in her ears. She stopped breathing and then resumed with a gasp. Unbidden, her wolf rose and a growl trembled in the back of her throat. Her blue irises expanded to eclipse the whites of her eyes, and sharp canine teeth pressed against the insides of her mouth. She pressed her lips together in an effort to conceal the involuntary reflex before one of the humans on the street noticed her and screamed.
Jake Barrett commanded fear and respect among men and monsters alike. He measured more than six feet tall, and had a dense, muscular physique. Salt-and-pepper dappled his brown hair and the sixty years of exposure to the desert sun had weathered his skin to tanned leather.
Beside her, Jasper trembled. "V-Victory, is that--?"
"It's
okay. Don't panic. He hasn't seen us yet." She sent a cooling wave of energy through the pack bond to calm him. As his Alpha, she had the power to command his wolf and ensure he retained control over his more primal impulses.
Jake Barrett had three other men with him. Hunters, like wolves, tended to travel in groups. She recognized one of them as Sawyer, Jake's second son, and the other as Skinner, a burly black man with a bald head and intricate tattoos. She did not know the slender youth—a teenage boy with an uneven smattering of chin hair and bad acne.
Until recently, the Barretts had been her pack's allies in the never-ending war with the undead and the other monsters who stalked humanity. The thirty year alliance had ended in a single day following the death of Daniel Barrett, Jake's oldest son and Victoria's lover. Jake believed Victoria had murdered his son and he would stop at nothing to see her dead.
The hunters converged on the sidewalk and exchanged words. Victoria and Jasper had not yet been spotted within the recessed alcove of the western apparel store.
"What are we going to do?" Jasper asked, sounding panicked. "What about the kid?"
"We'll save the boy, but first ourselves." She stepped into the store and pulled him after her. "C'mon, we'll go out the back."
Chapter Two
"The plan is for the pack to remain hidden and close to the vehicles. Be ready to go at a moment's notice. If we get separated, then we'll meet up in Santa Fe," Victoria said, addressing the entire pack.
"We should stay together," Sylvie said, scowling. Her arms clenched across her chest, conveying her worry, and her chin set at a stubborn angle. She had straight gray hair, brown skin, and hazel eyes.
Sylvie's mate, Paul, itched at the gray scruff on his jaw with his good hand. He wore a hook on the stump of his other wrist. Both Sylvie and Paul shared similar ethnic features, a genetic mix of their Native American and Norse heritage.