Ice Wolf: A Shifter Romance

by Jane Godman

  The corridor took them down, as though they were entering the bowels of the earth. Jenny cast a look behind her and Wilder thought she might be wondering whether it was still possible to turn back.

  “What are you thinking?” Her face was a pale blur in the half light as she looked up at him.

  “That if it wasn’t for you, I’d be sitting behind a desk, eating a stale tuna sandwich and writing a report about the stunted growth of alpine flora.” Her mischievous chuckle echoed off the stone walls. “Thank you for rescuing me from that particular hell.”

  In spite of the situation, her laughter was infectious. In all the years of picturing himself walking into Jotunheim again, Wilder had never imagined he would be doing it with a smile on his face. “I aim to please.”

  Jenny twined her fingers more tightly with his. “You do, Wilder. Believe me, you do.”

  While taking a moment to curse the luck that he’d found her at the exact moment Santin also came back into his life, Wilder felt the subtle change in the stone beneath his feet. Rough rock gradually became smoother until they were walking on marble. The passageway began to widen and brighten until it opened out, leading them into a circular hall. This place was hauntingly familiar to Wilder. The scene of so many of his nightmares, this was the room in which Santin had held them prisoner, torturing and taunting them. It hadn’t changed in the last four hundred years, even down to the raised platform at one end with the red velvet curtain behind it.

  Jenny looked around, her wide golden eyes taking in the floor-to-ceiling arched windows, each providing a spectacular view of the snowy pine forest and occasional glimpses of the lake beyond. “I thought the corridor was leading us down, beneath the mountain.”

  “It’s all clever stuff,” Lowell said. “Designed to disorientate.”

  “Everything about this place is unsettling.” Even Madden, usually the unflappable one of the group, sounded nervous. Wilder could tell he wasn’t the only one thinking back to that night, remembering the feel of the leather whip biting into his back, the boots connecting with his ribs, the fists smashing into his face. In his mind, he relived the taunts and jeers, the calm, smiling expression on Santin’s face, and the long hours of waiting for midnight to come. Can we do it all again?

  Like fuck we can.

  No way was he putting Jenny through that. His hand closed around the syringe case in his pocket.

  Just let me get close enough to touch him. I’ll do the rest.

  “What do we do now?” Jenny asked.

  “Now we wait.” As Wilder spoke, the doors to the room slammed closed behind them.

  * * *

  The atmosphere in the circular room was so thick with tension, Jenny felt she could reach out a finger to prod it. Like the skin on a balloon, the air was stretched so tight she was sure it would instantly ping back into place.

  “Bastard.” Samson was prowling the room.

  “It could be the goddess who is keeping us waiting.” Wilder seemed to be trying to achieve a note of calm. It didn’t work, and Samson gave a snort of derision in response.

  “Santin won’t wait too much longer.” Wilder looked out of one of the windows.

  “Why not?” Jenny stepped closer to him, needing his nearness to calm her own nerves.

  “He wants to kill us. He can only do that when the midnight sun shines.” Wilder nodded at the sky. “His window of opportunity is approaching.”

  “Window of opportunity?” The drawling voice made them all start and turn to look at the man who had spoken. “What a horribly mortal expression. You have spent too long behind your desk, Wilder, my friend.”

  This had to be Santin. Even if the look of hatred on Wilder’s face wasn’t enough to convince her, this man’s appearance was exactly what Jenny had expected the Siberian leader to look like. He was almost a caricature of a werewolf. That dark hair with its white streak coming down the center peak. Those piercing, almost colorless, blue eyes. Those lean, sharp features and the slim, muscular body. Santin looked like a fairy-tale villain who ate little children for breakfast.

  “Where the fuck did you come from?” With a glance at the locked doors, Samson growled out the question they were all thinking.

  “You don’t expect me to give away all my secrets, do you?” Santin was standing on the dais at one end of the room, swinging a silver dagger back and forth between the forefinger and thumb of one hand. He had managed to acquire another coat made from the pelts of Arctic foxes. The hairless skin of his chest was visible where the garment gaped open and, although it seemed a frivolous thing to focus on in the circumstances, Jenny decided that beneath it there was the very real possibility he might be naked.

  “Where is the goddess, Angrboda?” Wilder stepped forward, facing the Siberian.

  Santin’s lips drew back in a smile that showed all of his teeth. “I regret that she is somewhat indisposed and cannot join our little party.”

  “You’re a fucking liar.”

  “Such heat,” Santin sighed, stepping down from the platform and moving closer. Jenny kept her eyes on that swinging knife. Even though she wasn’t in wolf form, silver made her flesh crawl. She could smell it. The awful verdigris-tinged scent burned into her nostrils and down her lungs. “But you always were fiery for an Arctic.” He turned his head, looking in Jenny’s direction. “How nice of you to bring me a little present.”

  Wilder’s was the loudest, but five other growls joined his and echoed off the marble walls at those words. Each member of the brotherhood moved closer to Jenny. Six identical snarls were directed at Santin. The Siberian laughed.

  “I demand to see the goddess.” Jenny could sense Wilder fighting to keep his rage in check. He was succeeding. For now.

  Santin sighed again. “For a man who is about to die, you really have the strangest idea of your rights.” He turned his head. “Come.” From behind the curtain at the back of the dais, dozens of Santin’s guards appeared. They moved into place, standing like statues in a circle around the edge of the room. Jenny shivered; the feeling of claustrophobia was overwhelming. Wilder had walked them into this. He would get them out again. She looked up at his face. He was staring at Santin, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight with tension, his whole body rigid with anticipation. Wilder knows what he’s doing. I trust him to get us out of this.

  Santin shifted his gaze away from Wilder briefly. “Tell the goddess to join us.”

  Since when does a Siberian give orders to Angrboda?

  The woman who was escorted through the curtain by two guards was huge. As tall as Samson and almost as wide, she had hair the color of dried blood and skin as white as snow. She stood very still, with her hands behind her back, looking down upon the scene. Jenny had never learned the Norse legends. Unlike the other members of the brotherhood, she did not come from an ancient line. Her father used to joke that her family were newcomers. When he had been attacked by a rogue Arctic werewolf as a young man, he had miraculously survived the experience. Jenny’s mother, falling in love with the cultured mortal behind the werewolf, had agreed to receive his bite and become his mate. Jenny hadn’t been taught to revere the stories surrounding the Nine Clans of the Iron Wood. Nevertheless, she knew a little of the tales surrounding this fearsome goddess who was worshiped by werewolves the world over. Looking into Angrboda’s glittering green eyes, she could believe every word.

  Each member of the brotherhood went down on one knee, bowing their heads and placing their right hands over their hearts. Jenny decided it would be a wise move to copy them.

  Why aren’t the Siberians showing their respect?

  The silent question whirled back and forth between the other Arctic werewolves, a telepathic signal that something was very wrong.

  “Rise.” Angrboda’s deep voice suited her large frame.

  Wilder rose to his feet and stepped closer, looking up at the goddess, who stood very still on the dais, the Siberian guards still flanking her. “Mother of All Wolves, we have come here to re
turn the escaped criminal, Santin the Siberian, to the dungeons. If you will command his guards to stand aside, it will be our pleasure escort him back to his cell.”

  Angrboda shook her head. “I cannot do that.”

  “Wolf Mother, it was you who decided upon his sentence. By escaping, he has defied your will.”

  “You do not understand.” There was a trace of regret in Angrboda’s voice. She turned slightly so that her hands could be seen. They were tied behind her back.

  Wilder swung around to face Santin. “What madness is this?” Jenny saw his shock reflected on the faces of the other brotherhood members.

  He has dared to bind the wolf deity!

  “The goddess is my prisoner now.” Santin flung his arms wide to encompass the whole room. “Jotunheim has a new ruler.”

  * * *

  How can this be happening? To even consider a stunt like this, Santin was even more dangerous and deranged than Wilder had imagined. To carry it through took his evil to a whole new level. The Siberian was watching Wilder’s face, a slight smile playing about his lips, almost as though he was inviting his enemy to admire his daring. Wilder would not have believed anyone, even Santin, could be capable of this sort of profanity. Angrboda was revered by all werewolves, regardless of pack loyalty. Devotion to the goddess was something a wolf cub suckled with its mother’s milk. Laying hostile hands on Angrboda was one of the vilest acts a wolf could commit. Why am I surprised? This is the Siberian we are talking about.

  Surreptitiously, Wilder opened the syringe case in his pocket.

  He focused his attention on Santin. “You bastard.”

  The Siberian’s laughter rang out. “You couldn’t be more wrong about that.” He took a step closer. “Now that the formalities are over, shall we get on with this? I’ll admit I made a mistake last time. I underestimated you, Wilder. I didn’t count on your blind, pathetic loyalty to this thing you call the brotherhood. Which is why you are the one going down to the dungeons this time. Meanwhile my guards will get to play a few games with your friends as we wait for the midnight sun.”

  Just one more step.

  “You think you can take me to one of the cells without a fight, Santin?”

  “I’m sure I can, but I don’t have time to find out.” Santin beckoned and four guards stepped forward.

  “Coward.” Wilder spoke the word softly.

  His tactic worked. The Siberian closed the space between them, stepping right up to him, chest to chest, snarling and spitting. “Don’t brand me with your own Arctic gutlessness.”

  Wilder’s heart was pounding. He only had one chance at this. All their lives, and now that of the goddess herself, depended on his actions in the next few seconds. He withdrew his hand from his pocket, pleased to see that it was steady, and pressed the long needle fully into Santin’s chest. Pushing the plunger down hard at the same time, he emptied the contents of the syringe into the Siberian’s body. His only feeling was one of intense satisfaction. He remembered Gunnar’s words. An injection of this would be lethal to a human. Santin might be in human form, but he had also just taken a hit of quicksilver and wolfsbane straight into the black depths of his werewolf’s heart.

  Santin reeled back, clutching his chest. “What did you just do to me?”

  Wilder held up the empty syringe. “Quicksilver and wolfsbane. Deadly. Or so I’m told.”

  “And fast-acting.” Lowell nodded in his most scholarly manner.

  Santin turned to Angrboda. “Mother, is this true?”

  It was bizarre, Wilder thought, that, even after he had defiled her, Santin would turn to the goddess for reassurance and call her mother. Angrboda’s expression was curiously sad. “They speak the truth. You have only minutes to live.”

  Santin fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

  Angrboda spoke to the guards at her side. “Release my hands. I must go to my son.”

  “My son”? What the fuck?

  The guards hesitated, looking to Santin for guidance. In no condition to notice those around him, the Siberian did not respond. Wilder sprang onto the dais and swiftly untied Angrboda’s hands. She murmured her thanks before stepping down and kneeling beside Santin.

  Desperately, he clung to her. “You gave me immunity to silver, you must be able to do something about this.”

  “I cannot.” She smoothed his hair. “And even if I could, I would not.”

  Jenny came to stand beside Wilder, resting her cheek against his upper arm. “If she’s his mother, how can she say that to him?”

  “Because she has a responsibility to rid the wolf world of evil. And she will do it, even if the wrongdoer is her own child. Remember the story of Fenrir?” Jenny shivered, glancing down as if picturing the deadly werewolf chained in his rocky dungeon beneath their feet.

  As if to confirm Wilder’s words, Angrboda continued, “You have gone too far this time, my son.”

  Santin started to laugh, the sound a feeble echo of his former confident chuckle. He looked directly at Wilder. “She’s right. You might have killed me, but I leave a legacy so great even you and your mighty brotherhood will not be able to undo it.”

  “What does he mean?” Wilder spoke directly to Angrboda.

  “You will find out. Soon the whole world will know.” Santin clutched his chest, falling back in the arms of the goddess.

  Jenny buried her head against Wilder’s shoulder as the Siberian jerked and twitched in the throes of death. After Angrboda laid Santin’s lifeless body on the marble floor, she rose to her feet. Her expression was remote as though she was struggling to regain control of her feelings. “Return him to his cell. I will tend to his funeral pyre later.”

  The Siberian guards seemed bemused, uncertain of what to do next.

  “Your goddess has spoken,” Wilder snarled. Two of the Siberians, braver than their companions, sprang forward and lifted the body of their leader between them. Slowly, they carried Santin out through the curtain behind the dais. After a moment’s hesitation, the other guards followed them.

  Angrboda watched them leave. “They will obey me now. Santin’s ego would not allow him to appoint a second-in-command. There is no one waiting to take his place.”

  “Can you tell us what has been going on? How did Santin escape, and what did he mean about his legacy?”

  To Wilder’s surprise, the goddess covered her face with her hands. “It is a tale almost too awful to be told. And I wonder if Santin might be right. Is it too late for his terrible deeds to be undone?” She lowered her hands, glancing out of the window at the brilliant sky. “I see your hour is upon us. Let us go somewhere more comfortable and I will tell you the story of my poor, unhappy son.”

  Chapter Ten

  The room the goddess led them to was surprisingly modern and considerably more comfortable than the hall they had just left. It reminded Jenny of one of the staff meeting rooms at the research center where she worked, except it was more luxurious, tidier, and didn’t smell overpoweringly of coffee. Chairs were grouped around a low table and Angrboda gestured for the brotherhood to be seated.

  “Do you wish for refreshments? I can have some fresh meat and water brought in for you.”

  Although Samson’s eyes brightened at the suggestion, Wilder declined the offer. “I think we should hear your story without any delay.”

  Jenny noticed that Angrboda’s hands shook slightly as she arranged the skirts of her long gown. It didn’t bode well for what they were about to hear. What could be so bad that it made this woman, who was one of the wives of the notorious trickster god Loki, tremble? Angrboda, whose very name meant “foreboding,” was known to be a fierce werewolf warrior, wise woman, sexual high priestess, magician, and seer. Yet surely those were tears Jenny glimpsed brightening the goddess’s eyes before Angrboda blinked them away?

  “Very well. You know the story, of course, of my sons, Skoll and Hati?”

  Wilder nodded. “The wolf gods who chase the sun and moon.”

>   “What is not generally known is that Skoll and Hati had a brother. A feeble, weak boy who was not expected to live beyond childhood. With careful nursing, he survived and eventually flourished. His body grew strong, but his mind remained weak. He became bitter and angry when Odin gave Skoll and Hati such a great responsibility and ignored him.”

  “This was Santin?” Jenny forgot to be overawed and spoke directly to Angrboda.

  The goddess nodded. “I felt responsible for my son’s hurt. I began by giving him small things to ease his pain. Then his demands increased. He wanted a wolf pack of his own, then a territory. I allowed him to take over the Siberian domains. Then came the insistence on immunity to silver. I knew then he had ambitions to become the greatest werewolf leader ever, but I tried to ignore what he was doing. I knew nothing about the night he captured the brotherhood and planned to kill you here in my palace. He arranged it so that I was away from home, attending a meeting with the other leaders of the Nine Clans of the Iron Wood. When Gunnar brought me evidence of his atrocities, and the time came to imprison him, it was almost a relief.”

  “Gunnar always said Santin had powerful friends. He suspected you might be one of them, but even he did not picture anything like this. Did you help Santin to escape?”

  Wilder’s calm voice had a dramatic effect. Angrboda wrapped her arms around her body and began to rock back and forth. Her long red hair covered her face, hiding her expression. “No. I did not help him.” There was no disguising the anguish in her tone.

  “But someone did?” Angrboda nodded. “Who was it?”

  “Fenrir.”

  “Shit.” Jenny wasn’t sure which of the team uttered the word. Maybe it was more than one of them. Maybe none of them said it aloud.