Ice Wolf: A Shifter Romance

by Jane Godman

  She gazed at Wilder as he shifted. It was a swift and subtle change. A lengthening of his perfect features, a widening of his golden eyes. In an instant the man was gone and the wolf stood before her. He went down on all fours and Jenny’s Arctic wolf mirrored his movements. Side by side they ran through the snow, taking the same route they had followed before.

  Snow-drowned peaks and vast ice fields passed in a blur. They breathed in the drama and magic of this place they must leave behind. Somehow imprinting it into their memories meant they could take a part of it with them to strengthen them for what was to come. Finally, they paused near the same Arctic birches where they had halted on their first night in this region. The female wolf rolled playfully in the snow, inviting the male to join her, but he remained aloof. Eventually, she returned to him. Responsive to his mood, she bowed submissively before him, raising her head to press her nose against his muzzle.

  Graciously, the male accepted her respectful gesture. He allowed her to rise and rub her face over his head and shoulders, sharing her scent with him. The male placed his head across the female’s back in a gesture of ownership and she grew still, submitting to his dominance as she sensed his intention. When he took the flesh between her shoulder blades in his teeth and prepared to mount her, she pulled away. There was enough of her human remaining for her to pause. She searched his face, seeking a response to an unspoken question. A soft growl left his lips as he drew her back to him.

  Shuddering with pleasure, the wolf gave herself up to the intensity of his passion while the woman inside her still didn’t know the answer to her question.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gunnar’s first task when they reached Helsinki had been to purchase every American newspaper he could lay his hands on. Now, on the flight to Frankfurt, the whole team was feverishly reading. The floor around their first-class seats was littered with discarded sheets of paper while Jenny, Lowell, and Samson pored over their phones.

  “Fuck.” Although Samson was the one who spoke the word, it was the general consensus of all of them as they huddled together around Gunnar’s seat. “New York City. Just about as bad as it gets.”

  “What if we don’t take him there?” Sebastian asked. “We could wait. Where does he go after that?”

  “It doesn’t get a whole lot better.” Wilder opened out a double-page newspaper article and they all bent to look at it. Van Marsh’s handsome face smiled up at them from beneath the prophetic headline WILL THE WORLD BE ENOUGH? “The Van Marsh road show arrives in New York tomorrow and his rally takes place the following day. From there, he’s working his way across the country east to west, holding rallies in any number of major cities until he reaches Los Angeles. Then he’s back in Europe. His itinerary there includes London, Paris, Berlin, and Madrid. Anywhere we take him, we risk doing it in front of a crowd. Or we have to find a way to get close to him in private.” He looked at the faces around him. “Anyone here want to wait?” His own steely determination was reflected back at him. “New York it is.”

  “The guy’s got some energy.” Vigo traced Van Marsh’s route with his fingertip.

  “He’s been waiting thousands of years for this,” Wilder pointed out. “He’s psyched.”

  He glanced at the harmless-looking gym bag that contained the magical chain and the sword they would use to keep Van Marsh’s jaws apart. He wasn’t quite sure how Gunnar had gotten it onto the plane. The chain looked innocent enough, but the sword . . . well, there was no way of disguising it: it was a fucking sword. Getting it through Germany and then past U.S. border control was going to be a tough call. It would require every ounce of Gunnar’s considerable ingenuity. Although Wilder was guessing Gunnar had some methods that went not only beyond what was legal, but also beyond what was earthly. I don’t care. Just get me close enough to Van Marsh with this chain and sword to do what I need to do. Wilder groaned inwardly. What happened to that mild-mannered, law-abiding college professor?

  “The arrangements are made.” Gunnar drew Wilder’s attention back to the here and now. “From Frankfurt, we fly direct to New York.”

  Jenny groaned. “My bag is packed for the Arctic.”

  Gunnar laughed. “I guess we’ll all need to do some shopping once we get there.”

  “Gunnar, you know exactly what to say to keep a girl happy.” Jenny returned to her seat and her perusal of her email inbox.

  Wilder watched her go, a slight frown furrowing his brow. He had sensed a distance about her since they left Svalbard, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. She was the same Jenny. Her smile was as warm, her laughter as infectious. But it was as if an invisible barrier had been drawn up between them. Not of my making. All Wilder wanted to do was draw her into his arms and relive that magical moment when they had made love as wolves under the midnight sun. He knew they had crossed a boundary in that moment, but surely they needed to talk about it? With everything else going on, it seemed unlikely they would get a chance anytime soon. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and took the seat next to Gunnar, snatching up one of the newspapers.

  When they arrived in Frankfurt they had a three-hour wait before they boarded their onward flight to Newark. Just as Wilder had predicted, no one glanced at his gym bag with its strange contents, a fact that reassured and disturbed him at the same time. It was as if the bag was invisible. Just what could Gunnar smuggle through here if he chose?

  They had each spent most of the journey researching a different aspect of Van Marsh and now they gathered around a secluded table in an airport steakhouse to share their information.

  “He held his first rally in India just over two months ago. There is no record of him prior to that,” Lowell said. “It was fairly low-key. Attended by about five thousand people. How those five thousand people got to know about him isn’t on record. By the time he held his third rally, the Indian authorities estimated the crowd was over a hundred thousand.”

  “If you listen to his speeches, he doesn’t actually say anything. They are a series of promises of utopia with nothing to back them up. It seems to be Van Marsh himself that matters, rather than the words he speaks. Like Angrboda said, he’s very persuasive.” Samson held up his phone, showing them a slideshow of people crying, fainting, or simply gazing transfixed at the distant figure on the stage. “This sort of mass hypnosis is widely reported at all of Van Marsh’s rallies.”

  Sebastian went next. “I pulled up his interviews.” He shook his head. “He’s good. Very willing to talk about himself without giving away a single biographical detail. His accent is North American. Vaguely Midwestern, but it’s impossible to be more precise than that. Handsome, well groomed . . . for a guy who has spent more than a millennium underground, he knows where to go for the latest designer clothes. He comes across as humorous, self-deprecating, and very charming. Not at all what you’d expect from a destructive werewolf who wants to devour the world.”

  Gunnar flicked a glance over to Wilder. “Could we have this all wrong?”

  “Not a chance in hell.” Wilder knew when to trust his instincts.

  “These rallies. Is there a religious theme?” Wilder turned to Jenny who had taken on the task of looking into that angle.

  “Absolutely not. As Samson said, Van Marsh promises his followers utopia, but he’s not specific. He doesn’t mention a deity and his rallies don’t include prayers or hymns. This is about getting people to follow Van Marsh, not a god. He’s a cult leader, not a religious leader.”

  “This is where I took over,” Madden said. “I looked into the traits of a cult leader.” He started ticking them off on his fingers. “Charismatic, persuasive, arrogant, requires unquestioning obedience, has grandiose ideas of what he can achieve, conceals family background”—there was a ripple of laughter around the table at that—“and ensures absolute devotion from followers. Fenrir has no real need to do any of this. His end goal, as we know, isn’t to keep these followers. It’s to kill them. In his guise as Van Marsh, this persona is
very useful. The authorities have a label for him. Also, the big difference between Van Marsh and other cult leaders is that he doesn’t have to work at brainwashing his followers. There’s more to his persuasiveness than personal magnetism. I’d say he’s exerting some sort of mass mind control over these crowds. He just needs to get them together in one place to do it.”

  “So he’s working his way around the globe, hypnotizing everyone into worshiping him before he wipes them out?” Wilder asked.

  “Pretty much. Almost the ultimate punch line from the son of the trickster god Loki.” They sat in silence for a moment contemplating Madden’s comment.

  “I took a completely different angle.” Vigo was the last to contribute. “I tried to make a link between the name Van Marsh and Fenrir. It’s there, but I suppose you can make connections between anything if you try hard enough.”

  “Go ahead,” Wilder invited him to continue. “Van Marsh is unlikely to believe anyone is going to be looking for a link.”

  “And he’s daring enough to flaunt his real name anyway,” Jenny said with a little shiver.

  “Okay.” Vigo nodded. “Fenrir, also sometimes known as ‘Fenris,’ means ‘he who dwells in the marshes.’ The phrase comes from the Marsh wolves of Norse mythology. Fenrir is described in legend as having eyes that glow like the green and gold marsh fires. ‘Van’ in the Dutch language means ‘of’ or ‘from.’ So Van Marsh could be interpreted to mean ‘of the marshes.’ He’s one smug fucker.”

  As Vigo finished speaking, their connecting flight was called. Wilder rose to his feet. “We have an appointment with that smug fucker . . . and I don’t plan on being late.”

  * * *

  The goddess might have granted them the ability to shift at any time, but Jenny wasn’t sure she was going to enjoy the milder climate of New York. She missed the crunch of fresh snow beneath her feet and the icy Arctic wind in her face. She certainly didn’t like the crowds, the noise, or the sense of urgency. She did appreciate the opportunity for some retail therapy, although it felt like a guilty pleasure. Faced with the end of the world, it was self-indulgent to spend too long contemplating a new wardrobe. Returning to her hotel room, she deposited the spoils of her shopping expedition on a chair and plugged her phone in to charge before throwing herself onto the enormous bed with a groan of relief. Wilder had ordered them all to get some rest. They would meet that evening and discuss their plans for the next day. By Gunnar’s calculations, Van Marsh was due to arrive in the city within the next few hours. Would he make a ceremonial entry or sneak in quietly? Gunnar was hoping for the attention-seeking approach so they could keep track of his whereabouts.

  Gunnar had booked them separate rooms, but Jenny knew Wilder would turn up here sooner or later. The invisible bonds that bound them together were too strong to keep them apart for long. She’d automatically handed him the second key to her room and he’d pocketed it without comment. For now, she supposed he was with Gunnar, deciding on a plan of action.

  Time to think? So not what I need right now. She seemed to have done nothing but reflect since they left Svalbard. Very few of her thoughts had been about Van Marsh and the impending confrontation. Her mind insisted on replaying that scene up on the ridge when her Arctic werewolf and Wilder’s had made love. Jenny shuddered at the memory, her body wracked with erotic longing. I want to do it again. Over and over. The connection between her and Wilder had always been the most powerful thing she had ever felt, but her senses now were heightened to an intensity that was painful. We are mated, joined together forever. Yet he’s acting like it never happened.

  Jenny was confused, torn between her human instincts and those of her Arctic werewolf. When she first met Wilder, Jenny Piper had been in control. She had been the one offering him sex without strings. Now, after everything that had happened, Jenny’s inner wolf had taken charge. She knew her place in the pack. Yes, she was an alpha. But she was an alpha female. The distinction was important. Her status was conferred on her by her mate. She wanted Wilder to take charge, to confirm that what had happened between them was what he wanted. That it hadn’t been a moment of madness because the midnight sun was shining and their lives had irrevocably changed.

  Treat me like your mate, Wilder. Stop agonizing. Kiss me, hold me, tell me how much you want and need me. For God’s sake, say you love me. Then we can kill the bad guy and get on with the rest of our lives.

  But what if she was wrong? What if the rest of her life didn’t include Wilder? If he persisted in treating what was between them as purely physical and ignored the deeper emotions that drew them together? What if he still thought, as he had done at the outset, that he was too damaged for her? Not good enough? As difficult as it was to think about it, she would have to face a future without him. A future without love. Because Jenny was an Arctic werewolf and, having found her mate, she could never be with anyone else.

  Unsettled by her thoughts, and unable to rest, she slid from the bed and went to the window. The hotel overlooked Central Park and Jenny gazed out over the treetops. It was there that Van Marsh would hold his rally in a few days’ time. Apparently, city officials had initially withheld permission for the gathering on the grounds that public safety could not be guaranteed and that the park environment might be damaged. There had been such an outcry from followers of Van Marsh that the city officials had been forced to change their minds. That was how powerful he had become in such a short time. Van Marsh could overrule the decisions of the authorities in this great city. It highlighted the magnitude of the task ahead of them.

  Pulling on her sneakers and a sweater, Jenny left her room and, ignoring the elevator, ran down the stairs to street level. Once outside, she made her way across to the park, glad to find some green space in which to breathe freely and clear her head. The park was crowded and she wandered toward what she felt was the center, eventually coming to a vast, lush lawn, dotted with baseball diamonds. This must be the Great Lawn, the location planned for Van Marsh’s rally. Although it wasn’t picnic weather, it was still mild enough for people to be sitting on the grass or playing ball games. Jenny decided to walk from one end of the lawn to the other before heading back to the hotel.

  When she reached the far side, she paused, a mixture of excitement and dread crawling up her spine. Her hand went to her pocket, but, even before her fingers connected with her jeans, she remembered she had left her cell phone charging in her room. A few feet away from her a group of five men were standing huddled together studying a large paper plan. There was a lot of frowning and pointing going on. They were clearly not happy with arrangements for something that was to happen here in the park. A sixth man stood slightly to one side of them taking no part in the conversation. He was the person on whom her attention focused, the reason why she had felt the need to reach for her cell phone.

  His gray cashmere overcoat and silk scarf hung open over his designer suit and his mirrored shades reflected the images of the groups of people on the grass around him. His face was serene as he surveyed the scene. One of the men addressed a remark directly to him and he replied in a calm, soothing tone. Well-groomed or not, his dark, feral odor made Jenny’s finely tuned nostrils twitch with disgust.

  He isn’t arriving soon. He’s already here.

  Would her message carry all the way to Wilder and the others? She had no idea how this telepathy thing worked. As Jenny made a move to turn away, the man raised his shades and looked directly into her eyes. She knew who she was looking at. The face might be Van Marsh, but the eyes that blazed green-gold marsh fire into hers were Fenrir’s. Those eyes were pure evil.

  * * *

  Wilder rubbed the bridge of his nose in an effort to concentrate. Tiredness was threatening to overwhelm him. He needed sleep. More than that, he needed Jenny. He and Gunnar had been over and over possible scenarios for getting a meeting with Van Marsh, but it came down to the same solution every time. Unless they could find out where he was staying and get to him there—and, at the mo
ment, that location remained a closely guarded secret—they would have to storm the stage at the rally.

  “Great. So our plan is to pin down and chain the most popular man in the world in front of his followers. Probably while being filmed by every news channel around the globe. I can really see us pulling this one off.”

  Gunnar looked equally tired. “We’ll have to abduct him, then take him somewhere quiet to chain him.”

  Wilder choked back a laugh. “He’s Fenrir. If he shifts, we have a giant, destructive werewolf on our hands. In the center of New York City. What if he gets away from us? Even if we keep hold of him, where is this somewhere quiet you were thinking of? Here?” Wilder waved a hand around the luxurious hotel room.

  “Have you considered the logistics of getting him back to Jotunheim?”

  Wilder nodded. “This whole thing is a fucking nightmare. We have to go through with it because the alternative is unthinkable. But we have to transport a huge, chained, angry wolf with a sword between its jaws across to the other side of the world without anyone noticing. If we pull this off, Angrboda had better make sure we get a damn good holiday as a reward. Somewhere cold, luxurious, and quiet.”

  Gunnar laughed. “I’ve hired a truck and a warehouse. When we capture Van Marsh, we’ll take him there and get that chain around him as fast as we can. I’ve also arranged for a cage to transport him in. I just hope it will be big enough.”

  “You think of everything. Although you must have some very dodgy contacts—” Wilder broke off, turning his head. The voice he had just heard inside his mind was faint, but unmistakable. “Did you hear that?”

  Gunnar shook his head. “What was it?”

  “It was Jenny sending me a telepathic message, but I couldn’t catch what she was saying.” Wilder rose to his feet, his nerves suddenly on edge. Jenny needed him. He’d gotten that much from the message, even if he hadn’t been able to make out the words. “I have to go to her. I’ll catch up with you later.”