BATTLE CRY
Book 2: Loki's Wolves
by Melissa Snark
DEDICATION
Over the two years I spent working on Battle Cry, both of my grandmothers passed away. My grief and loss have been invested into the pages of this book.
I'm dedicating this novel to the memory of two women who are so inspirational to me. Grandma Florence was an independent and strong-minded lady. Grandma Grace was a source of compassion and kindness to everyone she met.
Wherever you are, please know you are both missed.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A great many people helped me bring Battle Cry to completion. I'd like to start by thanking the beta readers who provided constructive criticism which helped shape the story: Rissa Watkins, Richard Decker, Kirsten Hale, and Gabby-Lily Raines.
Thank you to Reba Rhynland for all her help in heading up my street team. Her support has been amazing and is much appreciated.
I also owe an extra shout out to my dedicated critique partners, Lisa Rayns and Sheryl R. Hayes. Thank you for helping me through the process! I can't count the number of times I turned to my friends for feedback and support. Or to seek a sympathetic ear so I could vent!
I owe Jennifer L. Carson big time for deconstructing my first flawed draft. Her feedback provided the structural framework for the story before you today.
Thanks go to Sharon Pickrel from Words Done Well.
Thank you also, Joe and Helen Nazzaro from One More Time Editing
Farah Evers... I love my cover!
Special thanks to Michelle Devon and Lynn Hunter who have been instrumental in the development of my world-building. Upon many occasions I've turned to Michy for sound advice and benefited from her wisdom.
CHAPTER ONE
There stands an ash called Yggdrasil,
A mighty tree showered in hail.
Thence come the dews that fall in the vales.
It stands evergreen 'bove Urd's Well.
From there come women, very wise,
Three from the lake that stands 'neath the pole.
One is called Urðr, another Verðandi,
Skuld the third; they carve into the tree,
Each child's life and destiny.
~Völuspá or "The Insight of the Seeress", Poetic Edda
Urd's Well at the roots of the World Tree
The white wolf ran along the trunk of the great ash tree. Her claws dug into the silvery bark while she descended toward the bottom of the Nine Worlds. Thick gnarled roots radiated from the tree's immense base and then grew thinner. Just beyond, the dark waters of the Well of Urd formed a vast lake spread outward into eternity.
There, destiny awaited: her future and her unborn child's.
Upon reaching the sandy soil, Victoria shifted from her wolf to her human form and walked naked to join the women gathered about the shallow shore. The Norns, the Sisters Wyrd, personified Fate. One a maiden, one mature, the last a crone: Verðandi, Skuld, and Urðr.
At the lakeshore of the Well, the three sisters filled crude wooden bowls with water that nurtured the tree. The youngest sister, the beautiful maiden Verðandi who personified the Present, smiled in greeting. "You visit us again, Victoria Storm."
"As you predicted I would." Victoria spoke with deference. She sought guidance from the Norns and needed to curry their favor.
Skuld, an imposing woman in her middle years and the Future incarnation, labored in ominous silence beside her older sister, Urðr, a gnarled old woman and the Past aspect of Fate.
Without a word, wizened Urðr thrust the bowl she gripped in her bony fingers into Victoria's hands. The vessel, hewn from weathered gray wood, had shallow sides and a broad, flat bottom. Securing a firm hold, Victoria stepped into the lake and grimaced when the frigid cold bit into her flesh. She placed the lip of the bowl to the water and then filled the container to the brim.
Old Urðr said, "The man you loved has died."
Victoria winced. "Yes."
Verðandi's tone softened. "His soul is tormented."
Victoria's foot snagged on a stone, and she stumbled. Water sloshed over the brim and doused her hands. She lost half the contents of the container before she recovered her balance. Her throat worked in a convulsive swallow. "No, you're mistaken. I was there when he died. I saw Daniel's soul cross over."
"I am not mistaken," Verðandi said with genuine sorrow. The youngest Norn stepped away.
Mouth open, Victoria rushed after her, determined to demand the Present Fate provide her with a satisfactory explanation, but the old woman got in her way.
Urðr's lips pulled thin over cracked and yellowed teeth, an expression more grimace than grin. "Your mate has also died, as have so many others. You leave a trail of death in your wake."
"Also true." Fuming with frustration, Victoria followed the Norns to the base of the tree. She walked slowly, placing each step with precision, taking care not to spill another drop.
The three sisters each took a turn watering the roots of the tree. Verðandi acted first, followed by the silent Skuld, and finally Urðr. The eldest persisted in taunting Victoria. "Your love and your mate were not the same man."
Scowling, Victoria bent and poured water on a root until her bowl was empty.
"The past is the past. There is nothing I can do to alter it," she said with determined pragmatism. "I've come to see you because I am pregnant."
Youthful Verðandi clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "You doubt yourself. You drown in sorrow and anger."
Ancient Urðr cackled.
"True enough." Victoria bobbed her head once. Her temper roiled beneath ironclad self-control. She had no patience for delays, no use for games. She wanted answers.
Shadows enshrouded Skuld, and her voice manifested upon the air, thick and oppressive, closing in from all sides. "Your daughter will not grow to adulthood in Midgard."
Victoria's heart slammed against her breastbone. Her breath expelled in a horrified gust. The bowl dropped from her hands which flew to protect her abdomen. "What do you mean?"
"Your daughter will be taken from you on the eve of her third birthday," Skuld said. "The one you trust most, a member of your own pack, will give the child over to your greatest enemy."
A growl trembled in Victoria's throat, and her entire body shook under the dual assault of fear and rage. The suggestion of betrayal from within her own pack filled her with disbelief to the core of her being. It was unthinkable. Gritting her teeth, she sought a solution, refusing to dwell on it. "How am I to prevent this?"
"We speak of what will come to pass," Verðandi said in a sympathetic tone.
"Your predictions are not carved in stone," Victoria said. Arguing with Fate was a foolish endeavor, but she refused to accept their prophecy.
The old woman, Urðr, smiled with a frightening gleam in her eyes. "Predictions, carved into the trunk of the World Tree, carved into the spiritual fabric of the world."
Stubborn determination settled over Victoria like armor. Her mother had taught her there was no absolute fate, just as there was no absolute free will. Life consisted of a wide range of possibilities between the two extremes. She refused to allow her daughter to die at three years of age. She would move worlds, alter fate, slay gods.
Whatever it took.
"Do you wish to save your child?" Skuld asked.
Victoria answered without thought. "Yes. I'll do anything. Tell me. Please."
"The final days are upon us," Verðandi said.
Skuld took over speaking. "To save your daughter, you will side with Loki against the Aesir. You will use your enchanted dagger to cut the binding of the great wolf Fenrir. You will be responsible for fr
eeing the beast that kills Odin."
Victoria's stomach turned. Her head shook in automatic denial. "When the gods imprisoned Fenrir, my people pledged fealty to the Aesir. We have served them loyally ever since. Even when we were driven from the homeland, almost a millennium ago, we remained faithful. I will never cut Fenrir's bonds. To do so would end the world we live in and doom us all."
Skuld's gaze held steady. "You will."
Victoria snarled her denial. "No. I will never become the servant of the Trickster or willingly take part in bringing about Odin's death."
Skuld turned her head and pinned Victoria with one black eye that rolled in its socket like a liquid marble. "To save your daughter, you will."
CHAPTER TWO
Fólkvangr, Freya's hall in Sessrúmnir
The rumble of a throat clearing filled Freya's bedchambers. Eyelids fluttering, the goddess turned her head toward the sound and rolled onto her side. Her gaze settled on the intruder. Her mouth opened to alert her sleeping companion, but her alarm faded. The young man was unarmed.
His lustful gaze wandered her lush curves, full breasts, and ample hips, instead of centering on her face. The scent of his arousal curled about him like fragrant incense. Well-accustomed to such reactions, Freya accepted his blatant admiration as her rightful due. At the same time, his masculine beauty astonished and pleased her.
He wore the uniform of the modern male: jeans, a t-shirt, and the odd footwear with the swoosh rune—garb the goddess found ugly. However, this brash young male had the brawny physique of a god, attractive enough she found any covering too much. He would prove interesting enough to bed if she chose not to slay him for his transgression.
"How did you sneak past my Valkyries?"
"Shhh." He held his finger to his lips, beckoned with a crooked hand, and then stepped from the room past the heavy velvet curtains that enclosed her sleeping area. In his wake, he left the irresistible allure of adventure.
Midgard
As a man of prophecy, Jake Barrett foresaw his own death. He perished between the gaping jaws of a monstrous black wolf. His blood-curdling howl thundered around the world. Flames burned in his eyes, smoke curled from his nostrils, and leathery lips drew taut over glistening white incisors.
Always, the beast swallowed him whole.
Boots pounded on the hard-packed dirt. The lone hunter sprinted toward the pack of enormous wolves. He reached across his torso to claw at the stylized dagger inked on the back of his forearm: his tattoo weapon, indestructible and always with him. The intricate artwork had rough edges that overlaid scorched scar tissue like a brand. Dark tendrils of energy surrounded the knife, arcing beneath the surface of his skin.
When his palm covered the hilt, sharp pain radiated through his arm. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air. The tattoo vanished from Jake's arm, and a dagger appeared in his hand. The knife had a thick, wide blade aglow with a halo of molten steel.
When he neared an outcrop, he halted briefly and studied the pack. A great red wolf ran at the head of the group. Several dozen wolves followed in a loosely spread formation. They were no mere beasts. The shifters were the descendants of Fenrir, the son of Loki, and several times larger than their animal kin in size. Claws dug into the stony terrain, casting a spray of dirt and jagged rocks in their wake. The Alpha's piercing howl split the sky, carrying for miles across the Santa Catalina Mountains northeast of Tucson, Arizona.
A half mile distant, Skinner and the hunters loyal to Jake fought in grim desperation for their lives. The enemy army emerged from an old mine shaft in a steady swarm, seemingly endless and without any discernible source. Jake wanted to be with his men at the heart of the fight, not defending their flank alone against the new threat.
The radio transmitter Jake wore buzzed with static, but he clearly made out his second-in-command's voice across the airwaves. Skinner sounded understandably worried. "Is that old Fireball Finn?"
Chuckling, he reached up to adjust the fit of the earpiece. "No one calls Finn that to his face—"
"—and lives," they finished in unison.
"What do you think, friend or foe?" Skinner rasped.
Across the radio, a burst of machine-gun fire blasted Jake's hearing. He winced and grimaced. He infused his voice with confidence. "Friends."
"Twenty bucks says they're going straight for our unprotected flank."
"I'll take that bet, and our flank isn't unprotected. I'm here. Hold the line, soldier."
"That's exactly what we're doing, sir. Tho', I'm thinking now's a great time to take the time off I'm owed."
For all Skinner's sarcasm, he would do exactly as he said. They'd served together in the Marine Corps prior to forming their own private paramilitary organization, and they'd had each other's backs in countless confrontations.
Jake trusted no one more.
"What the fuck are these things?" Heavy breathing, grunts of exertion, and the occasional muttered swear word accompanied Skinner's question.
"They're called draugar," Jake muttered. "Incredibly rare." They were an obscure breed of vampire from Northern Europe, and they were a problem. Not only were they noted for their strength and intelligence, but they could walk in sunlight. Individual draug usually operated as solitary predators found in cool, watery environments.
"Fucking great!" Skinner said. "Vampires on the critically-endangered species list."
"I'd like to reduce that to extinct." Chuckling, Jake resumed his journey to intercept the pack. He adjusted his path to skirt around an area where the rough terrain looked too dangerous to cross at a full run in poor light.
When the Alpha wolf neared, he howled again. The pack echoed the call, blending their voices into a chorus to produce a ferocious battle cry. The sound boomed across the landscape.
Jake's heart thundered in his ears while he ran straight at the charging wolves. The red werewolf stood as high as a horse in the shoulder, taller than Jake at full height, which was impressive even for one of the wolf shifters. His size, combined with the distinctive ginger hue of his fur, left no room for mistaking the Alpha's identity: Fireball Finn. He led a war party from the White Mountains Tribe, perhaps thirty in number.
They were far from their territory, but he didn't have time to consider the possible reasons. He had to deal with what fate put in front of him. It meant regarding them as a direct threat until proven otherwise. The wolves weren't the sworn enemies of the hunters, but neither were they allies. A bitter conflict and many gruesome deaths had undermined trust and destroyed their cooperation.
Skidding, Jake slid into a defensive stance, his dagger poised to strike. He focused on Finn, ignoring the other wolves. In a challenge, the Alpha alone mattered. A bellow tore from his throat, a primal shout of aggression and dominance. He beat his chest with his fist. "Finn, face me as a man!"
The great red wolf broke stride, head and front quarters jerking up in surprise. The heave of his breathing rumbled the air. His long claws struck bedrock, throwing a shower of sparks. His stride shortened. A perceptible ripple spread through the war party. The remainder of the pack transitioned from a gallop to a jog. They scattered to both sides to avoid colliding with one another.
Finn underwent a swift transformation from wolf to man. His muscles rippled, flowing like water beneath his thick fur. Bones cracked. Tendons crunched, breaking and altering. His spine straightened, and his hind legs restructured. He stood upright. Fingers grew from his front paws. His muzzle shortened to allow speech. He halted the change midway, a form reminiscent of the classic movie wolfman. On his hind legs, the werewolf towered over twelve feet tall, covered in shaggy ginger fur.
Skinner sometimes likened werewolves to living tanks, mounds of muscle with deadly teeth and claws that obliterated everything in their paths. They could be hurt by fire, drowning, or steel weapons, but their real vulnerability was silver. Still, a full-grown male was typically an even match for many undead.
The Alpha's eyes cast a golden glow upon his
face. His sharp canines glistened when his lips peeled back in a grim parody of a smile.
Jake strode to meet the wolf's advance. "State your business, Finn."
Finn's sides heaved a huff of laughter. "Are you challenging me, Hunter King?"
"Alpha Finn, if you come to settle a debt of honor, then fight me alone in personal combat." Jake's voice rose to a shout. He brandished his burning dagger to add emphasis to his challenge. "Act with dishonor, and Odin shall know you as a coward!"
"Impressive that you, a nonbeliever, have Odin's ear." Animosity replaced the amusement in the Alpha's gaze. He snarled, slyly mocking. "Why should I question your honor, huntsman? It's not as if your hunters participated in the slaughter of an entire pack."
Annoyance frayed his self-control but Jake refused to acknowledge the snide jibe. His eyes narrowed, and he offered a flinty stare. "Do not test my patience, Finn. Are you here for me or the undead?"
A ripple tugged the red wolf's neck and traversed the length of his body, terminating in a tail twitch. His mouth opened, and a snarl rolled from his throat. "Our fight is not with you, Barrett. We come for the vampires."
"Then don't let me stand in your way." Jake lowered his dagger.
Finn's thick muscles bunched as he launched into a standing leap. The hunter's arms jerked, hands tightening on the grip of his weapon. He aborted the impulse to take a swing when the Alpha flew overhead.
The red wolf's paws passed close to Jake's head, so close he could have used the long claws to shave his beard. He stood his ground, refusing to duck or give an inch before the test of his nerves. Even the slightest sign of fear would make him look weak. Following their leader, wolves swerved left and right, flowing about the hunter like a river around a rock.
Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2) Page 1
