Sawyer opened his mouth to argue, but his father beat him to the punch.
"Can you make guarantees, Victoria?" Jake asked.
Sawyer would have sworn he could hear his father's mental wheels turning, suspicion vying with practicality. His old man possessed an unparalleled ability to parse even the most charged matters down to cold calculations.
Victoria bent, taking a closer look at his injured hand. She swiped her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Her tell. She wasn't completely confident his fingers could be saved even with her magic. Oddly, Sawyer found the fact she didn't offer immediate assurances actually reinforced her credibility.
She cleared her throat. "I can definitely heal the middle finger. I'd say I have better than fifty percent odds of reattaching his fingers without any adverse side effects. No guarantees."
"The cops," Sawyer protested
"Better arrested than maimed for the rest of your life," Jake grated. "Sawyer, do as Victoria says."
His back stiffened, but he swallowed the instinctive protest. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Jake's exhalation conveyed marked relief. "Call me afterward to let me know you're okay."
"Will do." Sawyer ended the call without saying goodbye. He shoved the phone into his pocket and stared at Victoria, stuck in a quagmire of suspicion. The impending threat of being arrested compounded his paranoia. Victoria had plenty of reasons to hurt him. He'd tried to kill her several times and invaded her territory. Sneak attacks and subterfuge weren't her style though.
A cold trickle of sweat ran down his back, and a shudder shook his body. He hadn't been so scared or alone since he was a kid.
"Sawyer," Victoria said sharply.
He looked up and found himself snared in her blue eyes. His breath hitched, and his heart thudded hard in his chest. She captured his gaze, compelling and commanding, and he was unable to look away. She extended her hand, palm open.
"Please let me heal you." Her voice embodied a powerful skill possessed by truly dominant wolves, and the hypnotic melody created a marked resonance deep in his chest. Her will pushed against his mind, attempting to subdue him as if he were one of her subordinates. She promised a haven of security and comfort.
"I—" Words failed him. For a second, he wanted nothing more than to succumb, to surrender to her authority and fall into safety. His stubborn streak rebelled, fighting her influence. His resistance throbbed, spreading outward and fracturing her hypnotic spell.
A snarl trembled in his throat as if it were the most natural response. He asserted his will, turned her aside, and drove her out. "No. Knock it off."
"You're just like your brother." Victoria flashed a sheepish smile but spoke with a morose moodiness that indicated she didn't necessarily think the similarity to be a good thing. However, her attempt to sway him ceased.
"Did you try that mind trick on Daniel?" he asked, driven to satisfy his curiosity about her relationship with his brother despite his weakness. He'd spent months thinking Victoria had murdered his brother, and just as long hunting her. Their killing dance had ended in a burning warehouse with a visit from his brother's spirit, but a whole lot of people—hunters and wolves—had died along the way.
"No. It's an Alpha's trick. Not to say Daniel and I didn't have our fair share of contests of will." A sad smile flickered across her lips, but she didn't elaborate. She glanced away as if to conceal her grief. Her hand remained extended in offering, the other cupped protectively against her stomach—a chilling reminder that she held his severed fingers.
A chuckle resonated through Sawyer's chest, but the vibration reduced him to shaking. Sweat poured from every pore in his body, leaving him drenched and freezing. In vivid contrast to his weakness, he noticed how the injuries to her throat had already healed; leaving only flaking bits of dried blood on her skin. Lucky for her, werewolves were immune to the necrotic properties of a vampire's bite.
Victoria bit her lower lip. "Sawyer, please let me help you. I understand that you were trying to avenge your brother's death, and I swear on Daniel's soul, I don't harbor any malice."
He didn't know why, but her choice of words convinced him when nothing else would have. Before he changed his mind, he thrust his injured arm toward her, trying to ignore how it trembled.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fólkvangr, Freya's hall in Sessrúmnir
"Loki?"
"The one, the only. Back by popular demand." He presented a shallow bow, rolling his hand in a flourishing mockery of deference.
"But you were bound—" The goddess swept her arms across her body and summoned a midnight gown to cover her nudity.
Loki snickered. "False modesty hardly becomes the whore of Asgard."
Freya seethed, fire in her heart. "You are a mange-covered cur who has been bred as a mare and fornicated with filth."
His brow waggled. His smirk spread. "It's true. I've fornicated with you."
She sputtered and refused to acknowledge his jibe, however true. "How is it you are here? You are supposed to be imprisoned."
He tilted his head, eyebrows lifting. His cocky demeanor cracked, and she caught a glimpse of the smoldering fury burning in his soul. "Bound at the bottom of the world tree while the serpent's fangs dripped venom onto my face?"
She exhaled sharply, shocked at his vehemence. "Yes."
He scoffed. "They lied."
Midgard
"Why are you helping me?" Sawyer asked in a raspy voice.
"Isn't that a question for a burning building?" Victoria snapped off the sarcastic reply because she didn't really know why she was going out of her way to assist her sworn enemy. As a rule, her people used their magic to benefit their own kind. Not outsiders. However, he wouldn't be the first hunter she'd healed, and she doubted he'd be the last.
"You didn't explain why you helped me then, either." Tremors shook his entire body, and sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip. He stank of pain and fear.
His suffering engendered a deep tug of sympathy in her heart. She'd seen Sawyer mad with grief and anger, curious and bewildered following a visit from his brother's spirit, annoyed and impatient for answers. But never vulnerable.
"It's going to be okay, Sawyer," she said, adopting the soothing bedside manner she'd acquired from her training as a nurse and a healer. Catching his proffered limb in a firm grip, she pushed up the sleeve of his coat and revealed a sheath strapped to his forearm. The toxic aura of the silver knife overpowered her perception of his spirit.
She unfastened the first strap holding the sheath in place, and his arm jerked in reaction. "I'm taking this off so I can heal you."
He grunted, but offered no further resistance.
Once she had the straps undone, she allowed the weapon to fall to the ground and stroked her palm across his furry forearm. Bending her head, she took a closer look at the injuries. His pinky and ring fingers on his right hand had been amputated with a single clean slice. His middle digit dangled by a few strands of sinew.
Her stomach kicked into her throat, and she gagged. Swallowing, she turned her head and breathed deeply. Normally, she wasn't squeamish. At six weeks, she wasn't showing yet, but nausea had been her ever-present companion since she'd become pregnant.
"Don't hurl," Sawyer gritted out from between clenched teeth.
"I won't. My stomach is a little upset."
"What's wrong with you anyway? Werewolves don't get sick."
She ignored him. As Victoria summoned her healing magic, light radiated from her hands, and their spirits connected, allowing her to perceive the damage to his body. She still held the severed fingers in her cupped palm, doing her best to shield him from the sight. She positioned the middle finger so the bone would set properly, and then directed the spell to mend the break at a vastly accelerated rate.
The hunter exhaled and relaxed as the pain eased. "You didn't answer my question," he said. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Damn the man. Persistence was his defining characteris
tic, and also his most annoying. She didn't owe Sawyer any explanations, but relief washed through her when a police siren wailed in the distance, conveniently diverting the hunter's attention from her nausea.
"The cops." His arm jerked, forcing her to tighten her grip.
"Don't panic. I need you to remain still." Proper healing required proficiency, patience, and power. If she rushed, she risked leaving him with nerve damage.
Victoria pulled his hand toward her chest, curling her hands around his so the severed fingers were held in proximity to the stumps. She bent her head to pray. As Freya's Valkyrie and priestess, she shared an intimate spiritual connection with the Norse goddess of love and war. "My Lady of the Vanir, please, I need your help."
"You're praying," Sawyer muttered. "That can't be good."
Victoria's eyes popped open, and she reprimanded him in a sharp tone. "Show respect."
Sawyer's mouth hung open for a second and then snapped shut. Victoria nodded and scowled, hoping he had the good sense to keep quiet.
A brilliant flame ignited within her second sight. Freya's golden voice filled her mind. Victoria, what do you ask of me?
"Help me heal this man."
A hesitation ensued, leaving Victoria sweating. At last, Freya replied: This man attempted to kill you. He set the fire in the warehouse and led the ambush that killed Rand.
Victoria winced. "Yes, he is wretched. Goddess, I know he isn't worthy, but as you have instructed, I must show compassion to my enemies."
A delicate snort preceded Freya's reply. Those weren't my exact words.
Siren blaring, lights flashing, a police vehicle turned into the parking lot. Panic lanced through Victoria. "Goddess, please. I beg of you—"
You are my priestess, Victoria. Against my better judgment, I will heal the hunter. I hope it is not a mistake.
Divinity flowed from Freya into Victoria, manifesting as white-hot light like the sun, radiating from her palms, her eyes, and her mouth. The power touched Sawyer, jolting the hunter. Victoria's firm grip kept him from toppling.
The brilliant flare lasted several seconds and then faded, leaving Victoria momentarily blinded, blinking while her vision returned to normal. Intent, she listened, absorbing Sawyer's harsh breathing and racing heartbeat, the sudden silence of the siren, and then a cacophony of many voices all talking at once.
Her eyes focused enough to make out Sawyer's bulky form across from her. She dragged his hand close to her face for inspection. All five fingers appeared to be intact.
"What happened?" he asked, sounding stunned.
"My goddess consented to heal you." Victoria traced a fingertip over where the injury had been, searching for a scar, but she couldn't find as much as a scratch.
Sawyer inhaled sharply. "Tell me—"
"Yes?"
"Will I ever play the piano again, Doc?" He maintained a deadpan expression, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away.
"If I had any respect for you, it's gone." Groaning, Victoria quelled the impulse to smack him upside the head. She let go of his hand. "I hope you don't mind the fingers being reversed too much. It's not pretty, but at least it's functional."
With an alarmed squawk, he bent over his hand, scrambling toward the pool of light cast by a lamp. A second later, he muttered a curse. "Very funny."
"I thought so." Chuckling, Victoria recovered Sawyer's bayonet and the sheathed silver knife from the pavement. She stepped beside him as he snatched up his .45 and holstered the handgun.
"A county sheriff's car just pulled into the parking lot."
At the news, her spirits took a hopeful upswing. She crossed her mental fingers that Sheriff Mike Trash was among the first responders. Glancing about, she performed a quick inspection of the area. A gory mess covered the pavement. Once morning came, the remains of the vampires would turn to ash, leaving no trace.
"Get these out of sight." She thrust the bayonet and the sheathed silver dagger toward the hunter.
He accepted the knives, tucking them out of sight with quick, efficient movements. He cast a sideways glance in her direction, his eyes lit with sudden curiosity. "What happened to your dagger?"
"What do you mean?"
"No way you're hiding anything in that outfit."
Victoria glanced down at herself. She'd forgotten she wore a dance instructor's clothing—a skintight, rhinestone-studded black leotard with lacey sleeves and fingerless gloves. The shorts hit mid-thigh, showcasing her shapely bare thighs and calves. She had on black ballet slippers, and her long, blonde hair dangled down the middle of her back in a French braid.
"The dagger is magical, and I didn't have time to change and save your sorry ass."
"I didn't need saving. I had everything under control."
"That's rich." Victoria peered toward the police car in the lot. On the far side, two uniformed officers stood amid a swarm of frightened women and girls. She recognized all of them as either her students or their mothers.
She sighed. "Why didn't they get the hell out of here when the gunshots started?"
Sawyer grunted. "Sheep. People are sheep."
"No argument here. We're in luck. One of the officers is my brother-in-law."
Technically, the relationship was a bit more complicated, but she didn't have time to explain how Sheriff Mike Trash was the brother of her dead mate's murdered wife. Or was it easier to say he was her brat stepson's uncle? She and Arik had never married, so none of the legal terms applied, but in the world of wolves, kin was kin.
"Great." Sawyer's tone said the opposite. "The young guy or the bald guy?"
"The bald guy. His name is Mike Trash." She toed his shotgun toward him. "Wouldn't a Super Soaker filled with holy water have been more effective in a vampire fight?"
Grunting, Sawyer stooped to retrieve his weapon and shouldered the strap so the weapon disappeared within the folds of his coat. He chewed his lower lip, and his pensive stance was reminiscent of the hunted instead of the hunter. "I didn't know I was going to be fighting vamps, or I'd have brought different weapons. I assumed your territory would be clear."
She bristled at the implied insult. "My territory is clear. Or it was..."
Damn him. Anger percolated beneath her ironclad control. Had the hunter led the master vampire to her? Or had the monster already been stalking her when he happened across Sawyer? Either way, the safety of her entire pack was in jeopardy.
Sawyer scowled. He exuded supreme confidence, but she scented the sweet note of fear underlying aggression. "You're right. From what little he said, the Spaniard was after me. They got the jump on me because I got careless. It was stupid."
His recrimination was aimed at himself. Victoria relaxed and allowed her defensiveness to slide. She had no reason to believe he'd lured the undead into her domain on purpose. Forewarned of the threat, she could prepare and warn her pack to be on their guard.
She was surprised when she offered the hunter consolation. "Don't be too hard on yourself. He got the jump on me too—" Her lips compressed. Her failure had meant the death of her lover...
From beneath a furrowed brow, Sawyer looked at her. Reluctant realization tempered the warrior's brooding gaze until it was no longer vicious with accusation.
She pitied him, but his understanding gladdened her also. Clearing her throat, she asked, "How does your hand feel?"
He stilled, flexing his fingers, staring as if seeing the appendage for the first time ever. A genuine smile tugged at his lips, and his eyes shone with gratitude. "It feels good. Thank you."
Her breath hitched, and her unaccountable rush of pleasure rendered her embarrassed. The man made her feel caught in his crosshairs. She turned her head so he wouldn't see her bemusement, but her voice warmed. "You're welcome."
Awkward silence descended.
Victoria cleared her throat. "I want to talk to the sheriff alone. This will be easier to explain if I don't have to explain you too."
Sawyer chuckled. "I'm going to call
my father and let him know I'm still alive."
"Good. The last thing I need are more hunters trespassing in my territory."
Sawyer shot her an odd look but said nothing. He retreated, fading into the shadows. When he wasn't fucking up, the hunter was a damned scary opponent, proficient with guns and knives, a skilled tracker who moved like a cat.
Victoria stepped into the open, standing beneath the circle of light cast by an overhead lamp. She waited a couple seconds before the officers spotted her. They talked for a moment, and then Mike Trash approached her alone. Relief suffused her when he kept his sidearm holstered.
"Victoria." The sheriff appeared to be in his late-forties to early fifties with a rectangular face, ears that stuck out a bit, and a receding hairline. His piercing, intelligent brown eyes were his best feature. He stood a handful of inches taller than Victoria and appeared fit. He was good-looking, not quite handsome, but cute. He was human and also a medium able to perceive spirits. His awareness of the supernatural and his law enforcement position made him a powerful and influential person.
"Hi, Mike." Victoria tipped her head in greeting and mustered a polite smile. She hadn't spoken to the sheriff in weeks, not since Arik Koenig's funeral. Victoria's mate of one day had died battling a Norse winter witch, leaving her pregnant but not alone. She still had her pack mates.
"I-ah, wasn't expecting to find you here." Mike rubbed his finger across his upper lip. His gaze strayed past her to where a pool of vampire blood congealed on the sidewalk. "The witnesses are reporting multiple gunshots and growling. And then a brilliant flash of light."
She followed his gaze. "Vampires—three of them. They've been dealt with."
His head swung toward her, eyes and mouth agape. "Vampires?"
"They're all dead," she repeated. "There's no cause for concern."
She hated lying, but she refused to tell him about the Spaniard. The master vampire would annihilate any human who got in his way. Mike and his officers wouldn't stand a chance.
The sheriff produced a sound of disagreement in his throat. "There haven't been vamps in Sierra Pines in decades. Arik—"
Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2) Page 5
