by Jane Godman
He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes. Last night they had discussed the logistics of shifting in a public place. There was no way six muscular men stripping off their clothes in a crowd was going to go unnoticed. They had come dressed for the occasion in sweatpants, T-shirts, and sneakers. Even so, they knew they were going to attract some attention. Now they were on this damn stage in full view of everyone. Wilder decided the best they could do was lose the shoes. The rest of their clothes would have to get shredded as their bodies changed. This crowd was in for more of a show than they could ever have anticipated.
Van Marsh was in full flow now. Pacing back and forth at the front of the stage, he was chanting, pleading, almost singing his message. Wilder knew he also had one eye on the brotherhood. He was waiting for them to make their move. The crowd was lost in the occasion. The screens showed him the joyful expressions, the tears, the smiles, the clasped hands.
With a glance at his companions, Wilder slipped off his sneakers. The others followed him. He knew Van Marsh registered the movement out of the corner of his eye. Wilder nodded to Gunnar and saw his friend slip away from the crowd to where he had left the truck.
Now!
At the same time as the six Arctic werewolves shifted, Van Marsh threw down his microphone and, with a mighty roar, launched himself from the stage and into the crowd.
The Marsh wolves of Norse legend were said to be enormous, feral beasts, with sandy fur, claws like razor-sharp scimitars, and the jaws of a lion. As Van Marsh shifted in midleap, Wilder knew in an instant that legend had not exaggerated. Landing just short of the front row of the crowd, the werewolf was as large as a bull and twice as angry. Dropping to all fours, Fenrir let loose a bloodcurdling howl.
There was an instant in which the crowd seemed unsure of what was happening. Then, as the giant creature ran headlong into the group of people nearest to it, screams rang out and panic took over. The beast tore through the gathering, clamping its jaws into flesh, using its nails to tear through skin and muscle. People scattered screaming left and right while the Arctic werewolves raced after Fenrir.
Wilder, always the fastest of the brotherhood, managed to hook his claws into Fenrir’s hind leg. The giant werewolf roared, turning on him, those huge jaws snapping close to his head. The other Arctic werewolves piled on top of Fenrir, using their claws and teeth to bring him down. It took every ounce of their combined strength to hold him. His lethal fangs and claws slashed wildly at the smaller werewolves as, writhing and howling, he attempted to throw them off. As always, Wilder retained an element of his human senses, allowing him to view what was going on.
The crowd had cleared a space around them, and he was aware that it wouldn’t be long before the police arrived. They had to get Fenrir to the truck and do it fast, but moving him was going to be a problem. Hell, just holding him in place was proving hard enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement.
As if from nowhere, a seventh Arctic werewolf joined the fight. Sleek and graceful, she was unmistakable. Wilder’s heart soared. Jenny sank her claws into Fenrir’s abdomen, her eyes meeting Wilder’s with a look of exultation. Her presence gave him renewed strength. With a low growl, he signaled his intention to the others.
Get this bastard out of here.
Dragging the huge body of a howling, flailing Marsh werewolf was no easy task. They should have been able to move him easily. They could bring down an elk or a caribou between them, but this was different. Fenrir had a strength that came from more than his sheer size. Something primeval and deadly was powering him. This wasn’t like hauling the weight of a fresh kill. This took an effort beyond anything they had known before. Between them, the seven werewolves clamped their claws and jaws onto whatever part of the huge body they could get hold of and inched it closer to the truck.
Instead of the utter confusion Wilder had expected, there was silence all around them. The panic died away and those closest to the werewolves froze. No one came near them. On the periphery of his vision, Wilder was aware of the crowd standing back and watching with a combination of fascination and horror. He didn’t see any police. No shots were fired. It was as if the remnants of Van Marsh’s hypnosis still lingered among those nearest to the stage. Either that, or everyone was waiting for a punch line, for someone to explain that this was all part of the show. With relief, Wilder saw Gunnar waiting by the truck. He had lowered a ramp so that they could get Fenrir into the back without having to lift him.
As soon as they had Fenrir in the truck, Gunnar moved fast. Slamming the door closed, he jumped into the cab and started the engine. The swaying movement of the fast-moving vehicle, together with the cramped space, wasn’t going to help the Arctics. Keeping Fenrir under control until they reached the warehouse was not going to be easy.
Despite his concentration on the task, Wilder was concerned about Jenny. It was obvious she was badly injured. Her left leg was trailing. He could sense her weakness and scent the coppery tang of blood when she moved. Wilder faced a dilemma. They needed all seven members of the brotherhood to restrain Fenrir and chain him, but he yearned to shift back so he could care for her.
Let’s finish this.
* * *
Although Jenny had shifted, it was as though her inner Arctic couldn’t quite shake off her human. Her wolf senses were subdued. The feeling scared her. She must be in even worse shape that she thought. She heard Wilder’s voice telling them to finish it through a fog of pain. Fenrir was going crazy now they were in the truck, bucking and twisting within the grip of the Arctic werewolves. It was hard to believe it could take the combined strength of seven of them to pin him down, but the reality was they were struggling. Those murderous jaws snapped perilously close to Arctic flesh a few times and several members of the brotherhood let out a howl of rage or pain as Fenrir’s lethal claws connected with their flesh.
Wilder was protecting her, keeping her away from the worst of the action. Jenny could sense his concern and she was grateful to him. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep going. Long enough to get this bastard chained. That was what she was focused on. They all were.
Hang in there.
Wilder’s words could have been meant for all of them, but she felt them resonate inside her. The Arctic werewolves were tiring, but Fenrir’s rage seemed to be fueling his strength. Just when he seemed on the verge of breaking free, the truck slowed and then halted.
The doors at the back were flung open and Gunnar appeared, his face concerned. They were inside a large warehouse. Fluorescent overhead lights illuminated the scene. Gunnar brought the ramp around to the rear, and Jenny caught a glimpse of a huge cage. When they had Fenrir inside it, they could finally relax.
“Bring him out. The chain and sword are ready.”
On hearing those words, Fenrir’s howl echoed off the walls and his massive body bucked convulsively. The movement allowed him to break free of the grip Vigo had on one shoulder. Thrown to one side, Vigo crashed headfirst into the side of the truck and lay still, stunned by the blow. Without thinking, Jenny dived forward to take his place. Fenrir’s lips drew back in a snarl, baring his teeth. He could sense her weakness. Concentrating all his energy on her, he drew his head back, aiming his massive snout and maw at her. The feral scent of his breath made her stomach churn. Triumph gleamed in the hellish depths of his eyes. She saw everything in those eyes, the end of the world, her own death, unimaginable evil. Jenny knew she couldn’t move fast enough to get away from him . . . and so did Fenrir.
Wilder made it just in time, launching himself at Jenny just as Fenrir’s jaws snapped closed on where her throat should have been. Pain flared through her injured leg as she rolled to one side and darkness clouded her vision briefly. Her Arctic werewolf took control, strengthening her and forcing her back onto four legs. Crouching low, she saw Wilder sink his fangs into Fenrir’s shoulder. At the same time, Gunnar, clearly tired of being a spectator, jumped into the back of the truck and looped the chain aroun
d Fenrir’s hind leg. As soon as the chain connected with Fenrir’s body, it changed. Instead of being a dull, rusted metal, the links glowed brightly as though heated with an inner fire.
Fenrir threw back his head and roared until the sides of the truck shook. He swung his head around to glare marsh fire at Gunnar. “Traitor!” His whole body convulsed as though Gunnar had applied electrodes and switched on the current.
“Get him out of the truck,” Wilder ordered.
The Arctic werewolves dragged the shuddering wolf out of the truck and onto the warehouse floor. Since Fenrir was no longer as much of a threat, Wilder gave the order to shift back. Swiftly, they wrapped the chain around his body, encasing him in its glowing length. Fenrir seemed to shrink inside its weight. With no fight left in him, he curled on his side as though sleeping.
“Now the sword.” Naked, Wilder turned and picked up the sword Angrboda had given them. “Hold his jaws open.”
Samson seized Fenrir’s upper jaw and Sebastian grabbed the lower. They held open the huge mouth of the mightiest and most dangerous werewolf ever known, as Wilder slid the sword between them. Propping his jaws open forever meant Fenrir would never again be able to use his powers of persuasion as he had on Santin.
That’s the plan . . . just as it had been the first time.
“Get him into the cage.” They lifted Fenrir into the cage and locked it. It was a curiously solemn moment. They regarded the helpless figure in the cage silently. They had achieved what they set out to do. That which had seemed at the start to be impossible. Yet they were so exhausted by the experience they didn’t even have the energy to high five each other. And there was still a long way to go.
Throughout the whole chaining process Jenny thought Gunnar had seemed curiously heavyhearted. Now, he broke the silence, becoming businesslike. “There are clean clothes over there for all of you. I have chartered a plane . . .”
His voice faded as Jenny slid to the floor and darkness overwhelmed her.
Chapter Fourteen
Angrboda had said that the ability to shift away from the midnight sun came with a price. The price of dying away from its precious rays. Not Jenny. Some prices were too high.
His own limbs trembling with fear and shock, Wilder scooped up her naked body and carried her over to one of the long workbenches that lined the warehouse walls. She was pale as ice, her breathing irregular and shallow. When he saw the wound on her leg, his heart plummeted. How had she managed to stand, let alone walk, with such a devastating injury? Even through the fog of his concern for her, a fierce pride at her courage tore through Wilder’s chest. She had come through for them, but at what price to herself?
The others had dressed and stood in a silent group, waiting for him—their leader—to tell them what to do next.
“She comes with us.” Let anyone dare mention the brotherhood code. No one did. There was a solemn nodding of heads. He could sense his own shock resonating deep within them. “This injury needs to be tended before we move her.”
There was a bustle of activity as, obviously relieved to be able to do something to help, everyone found something to do. Gunnar handed Wilder some clothes and he slipped them on while Samson went to fetch water. Vigo, who had some medical training, checked Jenny over.
“It looks like she’s lost a lot of blood and she’s in shock.” He pursed his lips over the injury. “I’d say this needs stitching, maybe even a skin graft, but it’s infected. That needs to be treated first. Plus, she’s not human, she’s an Arctic werewolf. The best thing for her will be to get her to a cold place as fast as we can.”
Wilder nodded, his throat too tight with emotion to speak. “She fought like a wolf, even though she was dealing with that.”
Gunnar dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “That’s because she’s one of us and she’s tough. She’ll get through this.”
Wilder dropped to his knees beside the bench, brushing Jenny’s hair back from her face. She has to get through this. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt that she would never have gone out alone if it wasn’t for him. Right now, he couldn’t waste time wallowing. Jenny needed him to be strong. She looked unbearably fragile, but, at his touch, her eyelids fluttered open and a slight smile trembled on her lips.
“We did it.” It was barely more than a whisper.
“Thanks to you we did.” He pressed his lips to hers.
“Wilder?” Her voice was weak, but a frown touched her eyes as she glanced around at the other members of the brotherhood looming over her. “Can I get dressed?”
“Vigo needs to look at your leg.”
“Do you all need to look at my tits at the same time?”
Wilder’s laugh was shaky. “My nursing skills need work.” A little clumsily, he helped her into the underwear Gunnar had provided for her, taking care over her injured leg, then slid a sweatshirt over her head. “How the hell did you do this?”
“Van Marsh locked me in a basement and left me there. I climbed out of a window, but there was broken glass.” She bit her lip as Vigo washed the cut on her leg, before swabbing it with antiseptic, then dressing it.
Vigo’s face was serious. “You’ve made a hell of a mess of this leg, Jenny.”
Gunnar looked at his watch. “We need to go.”
“Can you move?” Wilder asked Jenny. She was the most important thing. She was the only thing. Nothing else mattered.
She nodded. “I might need some help getting my pants and shoes on.”
While Wilder helped Jenny get ready, Gunnar and Samson used a winch to lift the cage into the truck. Although there was no movement from Fenrir, his eyes glittered with venom as he watched them through the bars. He appeared focused on Gunnar in particular, probably because he had been the one to bring him down with the first touch of the chain. Wilder didn’t bother to ask how they were going to get a giant caged and chained wolf with a sword between its jaws through international customs without attracting attention from the police and probably animal welfare authorities. Leave that to Gunnar. One day he would sit the older Arctic down and ask him how he did these things. Today, he would be content to let Gunnar weave whatever strange magic he used and get them across to the other side of the world.
Wilder helped Jenny into the cab and joined her so they could ride alongside Gunnar while the others climbed into the back of the truck.
“Why do you suppose Fenrir dived into the crowd?” Jenny asked, as Gunnar backed the truck out into the street. “He wasn’t ready to start the destruction of the world, so what was he hoping to achieve?”
“I think he just planned to get away from us. He had the crowd in a trance, so as long as we couldn’t capture him, he thought he was safe. No one would remember what happened. He didn’t know the goddess had given us the ability to shift and he knew he had you locked up, so he must have been sure the brotherhood was weakened to the point where we couldn’t hold on to him.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “He didn’t count on our seventh Arctic. He didn’t know you were the bravest and strongest of us all.”
Jenny didn’t answer. With her head on his shoulder, she was asleep.
* * *
Throughout the journey, Jenny had been deteriorating. Halfway across the Atlantic, she woke from a deep sleep with her whole body violently shaking. From then she had alternated between raging fever and an unnaturally low body temperature. Her pulse rate was racing, her breathing ragged and panting. Wilder wasn’t sure she knew who he was anymore. Now and then she would mutter under her breath. Wilder caught snippets of what she was saying, but they made no sense. The only words he could make out were “Gunnar” and “these days.”
He could tell by Vigo’s face this was serious. “That wound was infected. This is likely a blood infection or septic shock.”
“What can we do?” Wilder cradled Jenny in his arms and tried to keep the note of panic out of his voice.
“If she was human, she would need to be hospitalized. Even then, when it’s
advanced—as this appears to be—the prognosis isn’t good.”
By the time the chartered jet stopped in Helsinki to refuel, Wilder had reached a decision. They stepped down onto the tarmac to stretch their legs and he called the brotherhood together. “I’m staying here with Jenny.”
It was the toughest thing he’d ever had to say. He was their leader. He hadn’t taken on that role lightly. God knows, he hadn’t wanted the job at all. But having agreed to it, he’d sworn to see it through. And he’d surprised himself by doing it well. He’d stepped into Gunnar’s shoes and become a good pack leader. Now he was walking out on them before the end. Part of him couldn’t look them in the eyes. Nevertheless, he owed it to himself, to Jenny, and to the brotherhood to do it. He lifted his head and was surprised to see his own tears mirrored in the eyes of each of his friends.
Samson stepped forward, his voice gruff as he pounded Wilder painfully on the shoulder. “Bring her back to us.”
The others moved forward to add their support to Samson’s. In spite of his emotion, Gunnar managed to remain efficient and called for a cab to come to the airport complex to pick up Wilder and Jenny. He collected their luggage while Wilder carried Jenny down the aircraft steps.
“She means a lot to all of us.” Gunnar clasped Wilder’s hand briefly. “Take care of her.”
“That’s the plan.” Wilder glanced back at the plane, his expression hardening. “Make sure that bastard can never escape again.”
“You did the hard part. All we’re doing now is finishing the job.”
As the cab pulled away, Wilder looked out of the rear window. The group of Arctic werewolves was returning to the plane in preparation for the final leg of the journey. He shifted Jenny’s weight so that she was more comfortable and gave the driver the address of the hotel they had stayed in the first time they had come to Helsinki. It felt like another lifetime ago. The city seemed to mock him with its winter wonderland beauty and he remembered Jenny’s pleasure in seeing the snow. He made her a silent promise. We’ll play in the snow again before we leave here.
