Twenty feet from her, Sawyer lay face down, unmoving, in the dirt. Heart in her throat, Victoria crawled toward him. The scent of fresh blood pricked her nostrils. She turned him over. A red splotch stained the shoulder of his shirt.
She grasped the material on both sides of the wound, intending to rip fabric and expose the wound for inspection. "Sawyer, you're hurt."
Sawyer caught her wrist. His eyes were glassy, a thousand-yard stare. His voice rasped, "I'm fine."
Victoria rolled her eyes heavenward. "Freya, save me from stupid males."
Freya's golden voice filled her mind, the silky caress of divine laughter. A feat beyond even my powers, Priestess.
"Ha ha, very funny," Victoria muttered.
"Where's my father?"
"There." She pointed to where Jake lay close to the fire, his rifle a couple inches from his hand.
Sawyer grimaced as he lifted his head to look toward the silo.
A sharp crack split the air as wooden railings busted under the mass of terrified cattle. The fence toppled and terrified animals burst through the opening. Following the herd leader, cattle poured from the enclosure. Their heaving sides were coated in blood and sweat, and their pounding hooves rolled like thunder.
The stampede turned toward Jake.
"Dad!" Crying out, Sawyer lurched to his feet. He ran to his father, straight into the path of danger.
"Down the rabbit hole." Summoning her wolf, Victoria charged after the hunter and shifted while in motion. Snow-white fur sprang up across her skin, her ears elongated to points, and her teeth sharpened to deadly canines. Her lower face pushed into a muzzle. The forced transformation caused bone-jarring pain while her torso and limbs lengthened and thickened, and the reforming bones distended her skin. She acquired extra height and weight. Her clothing ripped apart, and her claws shredded her shoes. To retain the use of her hands and rudimentary speech, she halted the change midway.
As Sawyer reached his father, she shot past him and placed herself between the hunters and the herd, stopping in the path of the lead animal. Lowering her head, she roared her dominance, focusing her attention on the frontrunner.
She smacked the key steer on the side of the head, and her claws left deep gouges. The forceful blow knocked the animal over. Squalling, he crashed to the ground and was trampled beneath the hooves of other cattle. Several reared and toppled. Further frightened, the stampede parted in the center and diverted about them.
Tilting her head back, Victoria released the fierce howl of a hunting wolf. Flanks heaving, the herd fled faster. The animals stank of panic, and an excited quiver passed through her body. Predatory instincts aroused, her wolf leapt with excitement, wanting to give chase.
The black and white cows were a mouthwatering temptation. Tasty, easy kills. Steak tartare. Cheeseburgers on the hoof.
"Victoria!" Sawyer shouted.
Stomach rumbling, she cast a final longing glance at the retreating flank steaks and heaved a regretful sigh before she swung back to Sawyer.
Sawyer knelt with open hands pressed to his father's chest, covering a gaping wound. "My father is dying. Can you heal him?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fólkvangr, Freya's hall in Sessrúmnir
"Impossible! Odin must know of your treachery."
Loki shrugged. "So what if Odin knows. He doesn't seem to care so long as the Aesir can point to their scapegoat and boast of how the defiant Trickster has been punished. It's all politics and appearances, smoke and mirrors."
He spoke casually of his own torture, but Freya understood the horrific nature of his punishment. The longer she considered, the more her revulsion with him blossomed. She had not forgotten or forgiven his involvement in the murder of Odin's son, Baldur, so long ago. The crime was the reason he had been punished. For all of his ability to present a beautiful facade, Loki remained the ugliest, most vile creature known to her.
She sneered. "You are mad."
He tsked. "So judgmental. I'm not mad. Of course, I've never been exactly sane, but calling me a stark raving lunatic is harsh."
"That tormented aspect is warping the whole. I perceive the changes within you even if you cannot. Darkness consumes you, Loki. You are fooling only yourself."
He blinked, and then his gaze went out of focus as if staring inward. A moment later, those sharp eyes locked on her face. His smile sent chills down her spine. "I'm nobody's fool."
Midgard
They said the Hunter King couldn't be killed, and Victoria had always believed it. Could the rumors be lies? Was the man mortal after all?
Uncertain, she approached the two men, father and son, while the inferno raged a short distance away. The sooty smoke stung her eyes and clogged her nose, and the unpleasant recollection of fighting Sawyer in a burning building in Montana filled her memory.
Despite her monstrous appearance, Sawyer's face held calm acceptance. No disgust. No fear. Only relief and gratitude. Sharp teeth made speech difficult, so she undertook a rapid shift to human that left her nude. Mentally, she cursed the decision to leave her change of clothing in the SUV.
As she approached the two men, Freya's voice issued a dark warning. Take care, my priestess. This is a dangerous man who goes to great lengths to protect his secrets.
Victoria faltered mid-stride, frozen with one foot suspended midair. Are you saying I shouldn't help him, Goddess?
Skinner jostled Victoria aside in his haste to get to the Barretts. Breathing hard, he skidded to a halt and directed a question to Sawyer. "How bad is he?"
"Bad." Sawyer bent with open hands pressed to his father's chest, covering a gaping wound over the breastbone. "I can't tell if he's breathing, and I can't find a pulse."
"Is his heart damaged?" Skinner asked.
Sawyer shook his head. "I can't tell."
"We need to get him away from the silo before the whole damn thing comes down," Skinner said.
"Give me a hand." Sawyer shot to his feet and secured a hold on his father's shoulders while Skinner took Jake's feet. Together, the two men carried him farther from the burning structure and then laid him down again.
Goddess? Why are you silent?
Skinner's proximity filled Victoria with hesitation and doubt. In Albuquerque, she had healed his severe injury and saved his life. Seeing the two men working together left her wondering. Had Skinner murdered Jasper? Was he the man Sawyer was protecting?
Two other men joined Skinner. They had the look of veteran hunters—scars and gristle, flinty stares and not a hint of fear. Hands locked on their rifles, they regarded the she-wolf with suspicious gazes. The combined aroma of aggression and hostility were noticeable even over the manure and smoke.
Victoria retreated but allowed her perception to slip into the spiritual plane, seeking a glimpse of Jake's soul. His body retained a dull aura—affirmation his soul remained within his body. Without a pack bond, she was too far away to tell how severe his injuries were or if he still lived.
She moved to get a better look at her potential patient. Watching while a man died went against her every instinct as a healer. Shouting in her mind, Victoria reached for her divine connection with Freya. Goddess, please. Grant me your wisdom. I am your priestess.
"Damn it, let her pass," Sawyer snapped. When the two men still hesitated, he shot to his feet, eyes blazing. "That's an order."
As quick as a whip, the hunters stepped aside. Following a blink of surprise, even Skinner moved out of the way to clear a path to Jake Barrett.
Skinner edged closer to Sawyer. "Do you trust her?"
"She saved your life in Albuquerque and reattached my severed fingers," Sawyer answered in a low voice. "Yes, I trust her."
"Hell." Skinner spoke in a way that sounded like a cross between an exclamation and a prayer.
Fine. If you're not going to answer me, then I'll do what I think is best. Fuming over Freya's uncharacteristic silence, Victoria stomped past the men and knelt beside the downed hunter. The exposed skin of
his face and arms was burned and his entire shirt scorched.
Relying first on traditional measures, Victoria confirmed that Jake had no discernible pulse or respiration. She stripped away his burnt, bloody shirt, ripping the fabric rather than wrestling with the garment. He had a heavy build, a muscular torso and thick limbs, as strong and as fit as a man half his age. Silvery lines with raised ridges and blotches from old gunshot wounds covered his bare chest. A canvas for a lifetime of injuries, he had more damaged skin than unmarred.
Interestingly enough, three tattoos remained intact despite the surrounding damage to his hide, and she suspected magic protected the symbols. One was the stylized dagger hunters wore on their bicep as a badge of brotherhood. The second were two words over his heart: Absit omen. It was a protective invocation, translated—May what is said not come true.
The final tattoo, a double-sided dagger with a straight blade, stood apart from the others. A larger version of the membership symbol, it ran the length of his forearm. The image had a raised textured surface, and the surrounding flesh puckered and burned as if molten metal had seared his skin. She'd seen the weapon drawn once before. In Jake Barrett's hand, the tattoo became a physical weapon, a knife with a molten blade.
Rumors abounded regarding the dagger's nature. Some said it had once belonged to a giant, others a demon. Once drawn, the knife couldn't be sheathed until it was used to kill. Once the Hunter King chose a target, the Fates cut that creature's life thread before combat even commenced.
Fresh shrapnel injuries riddled his chest, but a severe wound over his heart concerned her the most. Placing her palm over his breast, she tried for the spiritual connection that allowed her to utilize her healing magic and evaluate the extent of his injuries. She reached and found... Nothing.
Skinner's deep voice cut through the thick din of background noise. His voice held an undercurrent of pointed accusation. "Sawyer, did you set that bomb?"
Sawyer barked out a reply. "What the fuck? No! How crazy do you think I am? Never mind. Don't answer that."
Victoria blinked and lifted her hand, giving it an experimental shake. A shower of sparks rose into the air, and the radiant aura of her healing powers poured from her palm. But when she reached for her patient again, the halo dimmed.
"Was anyone else hurt?" Sawyer asked.
"No, only Jake. Everyone else was clear," Skinner said. "This had to be another assassination attempt on your father."
"We've definitely been set up. Who had access to the farm prior to the meeting? Who knew we were coming?" Sawyer asked.
Silence.
Then Skinner growled. "Andy Chart. Goddamn son of a bitch. He came up early this morning ahead of everyone else."
"Where the hell is Chart?" Sawyer's boots stomped in the dirt. "Skinner, go find that bastard and bring him back. I want him alive."
"We'll get him," Skinner's voice grew distant as he joined the men in the yard. "Everyone, gather round."
Despite his tanned complexion, Jake's flesh acquired a translucent texture, and ancient runes rose and writhed just below the surface of his skin. A mystical barrier kept Victoria from connecting with Jake. As she channeled more power into her magic, the resistance increased as if the arcane magic fed off her efforts.
A repulsive jolt slammed into her, and Victoria's entire body convulsed. Skin crawling, she jerked her hand away and rocked back onto her haunches. A panicked feeling of wrongness filled her. She'd never encountered anything like this before. Panting, she ceased her attempts to heal him, so the magic emanating from her hand faded.
His soul remained, but his body was dead. How was it even possible? She'd witnessed the like once before but understood it no better than now.
"Victoria? How is he?" Sawyer asked in a voice brittle with stress. He returned to a crouch across from her. His brow knit, his lips peeled back over his teeth in a grimace. His gaze swept her body, and for the first time he appeared to register her nudity. Without a word, he took off his T-shirt and offered it to her.
"Thanks." Victoria accepted and pulled the garment over her head. It fell to mid-thigh, far more modest than a nightshirt. "I can't detect a heartbeat or respiration, but his aura indicates his soul hasn't departed his body. I'm not even sure why he's still alive, but I suspect it's due to sheer cussedness."
"Can you help him?"
Victoria pinned Sawyer with an accusing scowl. With a quick sweep of her hand, she indicated the runes. "Your father is warded with runic magic I've only seen practiced one place—the halls of Valhalla."
Sawyer shut down. His eyes shuttered, and his lips compressed. "What about his heart? Is it damaged?"
His evasion annoyed her to no end. "What happens if his heart is damaged, Sawyer? Is that what kills him permanently?"
Stubborn silence greeted her.
"Fine. Keep your secrets. If you get him to a medical center, the doctors may be able to help him. Good luck convincing them that a legally dead patient needs a heart transplant." Victoria rose to her feet and stepped back. She glanced around for Morena, but the teenager wasn't within sight. After that explosion, she wouldn't be surprised if the girl had run all of the way home.
Sawyer surged to his feet, and his hand lashed out and caught her wrist. "You have to heal him."
Her blue eyes shone with anger and her mouth formed a flat line. She squared her shoulders. "No."
Sawyer looked mad enough to spit bullets. His grip constricted, and the hot musk of testosterone exuded danger. A violent storm raged across his aura, and his voice dropped to a deadly soft pitch. "No?"
Who are you to deny me, wolf?
Startled, Victoria blinked. Not Freya's voice. A man's assertive, mesmerizing baritone. Authoritative and compelling. She shuttered her expression, attempting to disguise her unease.
"Why?" Sawyer asked.
She scowled and yanked her arm from his grip. "We're at war, so I have no obligation here to aid an ally. Your father is responsible for the death of a boy who was under my protection, and even my goddess is advising me to be careful. Healing outsiders violates my people's customs, customs that I've already ignored once to repair your hand. Now you're refusing to answer even the simplest questions. I'm done."
Fists unclenching as though an act of will, he lowered his arms. His father's blood covered his hands. Agony filled those rich brown eyes, so much like his brother's. Pleading gentled his voice. "Heal him. Please. I'm begging you."
Victoria cringed at having to witness such a proud adversary humbled. The extent of his suffering tore at her heart, and made holding onto her conviction extremely difficult. Glancing down, she noticed the blood on her hands for the first time. Her resolve to walk away faltered.
He used her silence to press his advantage. He caught her hands, and that tenuous empathic bond between them flared to life. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. All of it from the first shot fired to the boy's death. If my father dies because of me—"
The unexpected assault of his guilt and anguish overwhelmed her but not nearly as much as his ability to evoke pack magic. Not even Daniel had possessed such a talent. Seeking to sever the connection, Victoria allowed power to touch her voice. "Sawyer, stop."
He released her and fell silent. From the look on his face, he wanted to argue. As usual, he refused to give up. A word tripped off his tongue. "Einvigi."
Incredulous, Victoria's eyes widened. "You want to engage me in single combat?"
He huffed in surprise. "No, that's not the right term. Damn it all to hell—"
She chuckled. "You just might if you keep tossing words about without knowing their meanings. What are you trying to say? Try using English."
His embarrassed grumble resembled a growl. "I'll pay blood price. Whatever it takes to satisfy your honor. Just agree to heal my father before it's too late."
Victoria eyed him. She had to give him credit for his resourcefulness. "Blood price hasn't been practiced for centuries, Sawyer. Besides, I don't want your life, and I doubt y
ou have the requisite livestock. How many goats do you own?"
He stared as if trying to figure out whether she was kidding. "Name your price."
The grinding of his teeth grated on her nerves. She sighed, and her head rolled. She rubbed her neck with one hand, closing her eyes, suddenly weary. Composing a prayer, she made one more attempt to reach Freya. Goddess? Do you forbid me to heal Jake Barrett?
Following a brief, brittle silence, Freya replied, Do what you must, Victoria.
Victoria opened her eyes and focused on him. "My price for healing your father is the Chevelle."
Sawyer winced. "My father just might kill me."
"Not if he's dead."
With an abrupt motion, Sawyer extended his hand. "Deal."
They shook, and then Victoria returned to where Jake rested on his back. She sank onto her knees beside him, and studied the canvas of runes. The arcane symbols of power produced a bone-deep resonance, a powerful warding spell that repelled her on a primal level. Without the help of her goddess, she had no chance of breaking through. Even with it... Maybe not.
"There's no guarantee I'll succeed," she said.
"Try. You've got to try."
"Tell me what happens if I can't repair his heart."
He exhaled so his nostrils flared, and the column of his throat worked as he swallowed. "He dies," he said, voice rough and raw with emotion. "Without his heart, he won't heal."
Jake Barrett had an actual vulnerability. No wonder his son guarded the secret with such dogged determination.
"There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Victoria muttered. "Now, how am I going to get past the warding?"
She raked her patient with a critical gaze again. Her attention caught on the dagger tattoo on Jake's forearm and then shifted to the smaller version on his bicep the hunters used as a badge of membership. Sawyer bore the mark, as had Daniel. In combat, the symbol glowed, providing the hunter with augmented strength and stamina, not as powerful as a wolf, but greater than that of a normal man.
Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2) Page 12
