Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2)

by Melissa Snark

  Unfazed, Morena continued her verbal volley, still performing a Sylvie-voiceover. "At least with Sawyer, you'd be getting a male who's not too smart, so he'd be easy to manage. And he's not too ugly."

  "Oh, you're mean. And I mean that in the best possible way." Choking on laughter, Victoria leaned over and hugged Morena. They traded jibes and cracked jokes for the next half hour, many but not all at Sawyer's expense. Her mood took an immediate and marked upward turn, and both her headache and morning sickness abated. They clowned around until they turned onto a two-lane Main Street which bisected a picturesque downtown lined with shops, businesses, restaurants, the library, and a cluster of government buildings.

  Sierra Pines, California, located within the heart of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, had a small-town, big-money feel. The exclusive alpine community clung to the western shore of Echo Lake and boasted country clubs, million-dollar homes, and a ski resort. Miles of pristine alpine forest full of deer and elk and other small prey extended in every direction, including the remote and rugged Desolation Wilderness. Fallen Leaf Lake and Lake Tahoe lay to the north.

  "It's good to be home," Morena said in a breathy voice. Her contentment traversed the pack bond. Her aura was a restful forest green.

  "Yeah." Victoria heaved a deep sigh of relief, feeling some of her tension drain away. While her territory extended for miles to the north, including all of Desolation Wilderness, and to the east, encompassing the whole of Lake Echo, the most familiar areas were those close to the town.

  Across the miles, she sensed the pack's worry and fear. No member of her little family would truly feel safe until they were reunited. That morning, she had called Sylvie to offer assurances she and Morena were okay. The lengthy conversation that followed brought Sylvie up to speed on almost everything that had happened. She'd kept Jake's secret, not just for his sake but for the safety of everyone she cared for. She hadn't talked about her rift with Freya yet.

  Ironically, Morena had pegged Sylvie's reaction to a T. "Excuse me a moment, but it seems my hearing is failing. I thought you said Sawyer Barrett is a member of the pack now."

  Victoria winced and ground her teeth. "That's what I said."

  Dead silence followed and then Sylvie moaned. "In the name of the goddess, Victoria. What were you thinking?"

  "I wasn't. I had to forge a connection with Jake before I could heal him, because his wards blocked me." Grimly, she enshrouded her thoughts and emotions, using all her self-discipline to hide the truth. Becoming Alpha had improved her skill at subterfuge.

  As she turned into the driveway of the lake house, she noticed the front lawn was overgrown. Mentally, she made a note to cut it next weekend. Before she turned off the engine, Morena released her seatbelt and bolted from the vehicle. The front door flew open, and Sylvie and the rest of the Storm Pack bounded down the front walk to greet them.

  Sawyer, she noted, parked the Chevelle along the side of the road a few hundred feet from the house. It was the smart, cautious choice. She stood so he remained in her line of sight at all times. Despite joking with Morena, she respected the hunter for his cunning and skill. During their brief association, he'd spent more time trying to kill her than not. In a weird way, she'd gotten to know Daniel's brother between the shotgun blasts and burning buildings.

  Sylvie hugged Victoria and then Morena. "Thank the goddess you're both home and unharmed. I swear, you've taken years off my life over the last couple days."

  "I'm sorry, Sylvie." Victoria adopted a contrite expression, putting on her angel face. "I didn't intent to cause you undue distress."

  "Oh you, so full of it," Sylvie said, chuckling. "I tire of saying it, but you're going to put this old woman in her grave someday. Was all of that danger exciting?"

  "Nonstop thrills." Victoria stooped to greet the pack's four non-shifter members with open arms. The gray wolves, Sophia and her three pups, welcomed her with wet tongues and wagging tails.

  "Victoria had all the fun. As usual, I got stuck on the sidelines," Morena said with complaint in her tone. She yelped when Mick, the largest and most rambunctious of the young wolves, reared back to rest his front paws on her chest, almost knocking her over. He licked her face while she laughed.

  "I wouldn't have gotten out of there alive if it wasn't for Morena's sharp nose." Victoria delivered the praise with a proud smile for the teenager.

  "I smelled the bomb," Morena bragged, preening under the approving gaze of her elders. "I called it. It was definitely a trap."

  The sound of a car door opening and then closing came from down the street. All heads reflexively turned in Sawyer's direction as he walked around the front of the vehicle. He leaned against the fender, arms crossed, long legs stretched before him. The man wore menace like a cloak even without a 12-gauge shotgun in his hands.

  The older woman crossed her arms. "Speak of the devil..."

  "Sawyer's not the devil."

  "But he's a devil," Morena said with a quick grin.

  Victoria pointedly ignored the sarcastic jibe.

  Sylvie harrumphed. Then she spread her arms to herd the bounding gray wolves toward the house. "The lot of you inside. Move along."

  "Hey." Morena squawked as she got caught up in the sweep, but she headed in the direction of the front door anyway. In a blink, she shot to the head of the pack, racing across the overgrown front lawn with the rest of the young wolves hot on her heels.

  "She makes me feel old," Victoria said, watching the teenager go with a fond smile. "Was I ever that hyper?"

  "Twenty-three isn't old, sweetheart. And yes. Once."

  "I'll be twenty-four next month." And a mother before the year is out. "When?"

  "When what?" Sylvie asked, distracted as she cast a worried glance toward Sawyer. "What about him?"

  "When was I hyper?" Victoria patted her friend's elbow as they progressed along the paved walkway toward the front porch. "He can wait out here. He knows I'm going with him."

  Sylvie's hazel gaze swung toward her Alpha. "When you were three you were as jittery as a grasshopper, but at least you let your mother dress you up in pretty outfits. By the time you were fourteen, it became obvious that you'd never grow those final two inches to reach five feet. You turned into a late blooming tomboy. You had a chip the size of Thor's Hammer on your shoulder, and you went around just daring anyone and everyone to knock it off."

  Unchastised, Victoria bit back a grin. She recognized herself in the depiction. "Maybe I had something to prove."

  "Had?" Sylvie snorted as she crossed the threshold. "That's rich."

  Grinning, Victoria wrapped her arms about Sylvie's waist and hugged her. "He's not going to try to hurt anyone, I promise. Let's go inside so we can talk. I have a lot to explain and not much time."

  With the pad of his thumb, Sawyer stroked the pebble resting on his palm. Assessing it for weight and smoothness, he found no rough patches, but the shape was more oval than round. Still, he deemed it sufficient. He studied the lake's glossy dark surface, as still as the afternoon air. Conditions were perfect, if he could find the right stone.

  He enjoyed the basic physics of the sport—hydrodynamics, momentum, and gravity. The mental exercise calmed and focused his thoughts while the physical exercise gave him an outlet for pent up energy. As boys, he and his brothers had competed at everything, including stone skipping.

  Gripping the edges, he turned and drew his arm back for a throw that sent the projectile skimming across the water. He counted seven skips before the lake swallowed the stone. Before the ripples faded, he resumed his search by shuffling the rounded cobblestones with the edge of his boot.

  The manmade river-rock beach covered a quarter mile along Lake Echo's western shore. The backyard of the sprawling craftsman style house led directly to the water. No fences or hedges marked the property line, and there weren't any neighbors visible for as far as the eye could see. A large covered pool and pool house were at his back, a dock and boathouse to his left. The buildings and
grounds were well maintained, although the lawns were overgrown. He wondered if any of the women in Victoria's all female pack knew how to operate a mower.

  Maybe he could earn an ounce of forgiveness if he offered to cut it for them.

  A stand of pine trees provided some shade from the overhead sun, but the temperature climbed steadily toward the mid-seventies. He shed his coat and draped it over a pier pylon to keep it clean. Underneath, he wore a short-sleeve T-shirt and jeans. He had left his firearms in the Chevelle because he didn't want another confrontation with the Storm Pack. Being unarmed made him antsy, but trust had to start somewhere.

  After a moment's hesitation, he unfastened the straps of his forearm sheath and placed the silver dagger on top of his jacket. That left him with the bayonet on his belt and the hunting knife tucked into his boot.

  Practically naked.

  Staring out across the glossy lake, Sawyer absently rubbed his right hand. He tugged at each of his fingers in turn to be sure they remained firmly attached. His ego still smarted over having allowed those three vampires to get the drop on him. Remembered pain continued to haunt him despite Victoria's quick repair of the severed digits. Shit. Talk about close calls.

  Had he thanked her for saving his hand? He thought he'd done so, but his memory of the attack and what followed blurred together. Just in case, he determined to express his gratitude again at the next appropriate opportunity. Victoria had saved him and saved his father. He owed her.

  Sawyer might just offer to do her gardening indefinitely.

  He dug into the gravel, kicking the top layer aside, shifting the cobble as he searched for the next skipping stone. Most of the rocks were a couple inches wide, but few possessed the flat, round profile he desired.

  Over the crunch of tumbling stones came the crisp snap of a branch split underfoot.

  Tensed to combat readiness, Sawyer jerked toward the sound, reflexively reaching for his .45. His hand closed on air. The holster was empty. He'd left the handgun in the car along with his shotgun. His hand dropped to the hilt of the bayonet sheathed on his belt.

  A gray wolf stood beside the trunk of a pine tree. From its size, the animal was an adolescent, perhaps a few months old, and its stance was friendly—ears pointed, tail held high, tongue lolling.

  Exhaling, Sawyer released his grip on the knife and moved his hand from the weapon. He tried to relax, well aware of how scent affected wolves. "Hey, boy," he said, pitching his voice to a soothing tone. "I don't want any trouble. What's your name?"

  The gray wolf tilted its head to the side. The bushy tail thumped and the puppy walked toward Sawyer. Magic crackled in the air, a single, perfectly pitched note, an intense feeling of familiarity. Nearing the hunter, the pup extended an inquisitive nose.

  Sawyer's mouth opened in a silent oh. Pack bond. He recognized the powerful empathic connection this time from having experienced it before and also from Morena's explanation. Of course. The puppy accepted the presence of a stranger in his territory because the magic connected them.

  Overcome with awe, Sawyer dropped to a crouch and extended his open hand. The wolf's breath blew past his hand in a hot puff, and then the warm, wet nose touched the center of his palm. Friendship and trust emanated from the pup.

  The pounding footsteps of someone or something coming toward them crashed through the forest. Startled, Sawyer yanked his hand back just as the wolf spun toward the sound.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Fólkvangr, Freya's hall in Sessrúmnir

  "She is loyal only to me."

  "Are you sure about that?" He mocked her with his stare and his smirk.

  Fear whispered through her soul, and Freya hesitated. Deep down, she had doubts, not only about Victoria's loyalty but also about her own worthiness. After all, she consorted with Loki, the vilest of creatures, out of cowardly self-preservation and an unwillingness to accept her inevitable demise. Could it be Victoria sensed Freya's deadly flaw? All too recently, her priestess had chosen practicality over her unquestioning devotion.

  Silent, she regarded Loki with hard suspicion. Did the Trickster know something she didn't? She could always ask... But no. She refused to show weakness.

  Summoning an aura of confidence, she found her own smirk. "Victoria worships me, whereas she speaks your name with distrust and disdain."

  "She loves you." He eyed her with misgiving.

  The goddess arched her brow. Her tone became sweet. "I am her goddess. Of course she loves me."

  Midgard

  Morena barged into the open. Breathing hard, the teenager skidded to a halt, shouting at the top of her lungs. "Mick! Get away from him!"

  A tremor of uncertainty rippled through the puppy, and his tail tucked between his legs. Mick shot Sawyer a quick glance, no longer as trusting or welcoming.

  The hunter's mouth tugged, and a hard lump of regret formed in his gut. He acknowledged the wisdom of the teenager's distrust. The youngest members of the Storm Pack should be taught to regard him with suspicion. He deserved no better.

  Morena snapped her fingers and pointed, still speaking loudly. "Mick, now! I mean it! He's dangerous."

  Sawyer rose and directed a nonchalant smile at the girl. "Hey, there, Foxy. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

  Her narrow face jerked toward him. She flushed, then her eyes narrowed and her chin assumed a belligerent tilt. "I'm not afraid of you, redneck."

  Her choice of slurs irritated the hell out of him, but he refused to let it show. The girl had the potential to become a serious pain in the neck if she figured out how to get under his skin. Showing teeth, he adopted a slow drawl. "Course you're not, darlin'."

  With a jerky step, she glared murder at him. "What're you doing out here?"

  "Walking. I needed to stretch my legs."

  "Did Victoria give you permission to leave the car?"

  He smirked. "I don't need permission. I'm a member of the pack now."

  A second of stunned silence followed. Then Morena let loose a string of curses, most in Spanish, some in ancient Norse. She insulted everything from his intelligence to his looks to his ancestry, employing surprising creativity and an admirable vocabulary.

  He bore the verbal assault with a grin, and once her rant ran down, he tipped an imaginary hat and winked. "That's some language for a lady to be using, ma'am."

  "I'd love to wring your neck," she hissed, fuming.

  "I'm sure you would."

  Sawyer nudged aside a pile of gravel with the side of his boot. Spotting a promising looking stone, he swooped to pick it up while keeping one eye on the teenager. Turning his back on her would have been a stupid risk, especially since she'd already tried, and failed, to take him out. Even though she ranked low in the Storm Pack, all wolves harbored intensely territorial instincts. Plus, Morena blamed him, with good reason, for the deaths of people she cared about.

  Impulsively, Sawyer turned, drew back his arm, and heaved the stone toward the lake. It skipped once, twice, and then sank. Displeased with his performance, he exhaled and dropped his hands to his sides.

  Morena blew air in disgust. "You throw like a girl."

  "That's sexist. Some of the best throwers I've known have been women. My mother could make a baseball fly in loops. It was uncanny." The fond memory of his mom evoked a deep pang of bittersweet sorrow. Sarah Barrett would be ashamed of the man her second son had become.

  Grumbling, Morena kicked over a pile of rocks and snatched one from the ground. "Let me show you how it's done."

  Her stone traveled five bounces.

  "Not bad," Sawyer drawled. He allowed the proclamation to hang before adding, "For a girl."

  "Asshole..."

  He snickered and located another skipping stone. He and Morena settled into a semi-friendly competition. After a while, the silence resembled something comfortable. When the wolf puppy and two of his siblings returned to watch them, Morena didn't chase them away. A full-grown female gray wolf shadowed the three youngsters.

/>   "Are they shifters?" Sawyer ventured to ask, making a vague motion with his hand toward the trio of puppies. He counted nine ripples from his last throw—far from his personal best, but not bad. Good enough to top Morena's best throw of eight skips.

  A breeze kicked up and created vigorous waves on the lake's surface. The teenager squinted at the water and then huffed in resignation. She tossed aside a handful of rocks that hit the cobblestone bed with a clatter.

  Morena pushed her shoulders back and regarded him with an expression best characterized as wily. "Information isn't free."

  Caution filled him. "What do you want?"

  She crossed her arms. "Tit for tat. For every question I answer, you answer one."

  Dubious, he eyed her. On the surface, the exchange sounded fair, and he stood to learn as much from the questions she asked as the answers provided. "Okay, but some topics are off-limits."

  Her brow arched. "Such as?"

  He jerked his head to indicate negative. "Can't say."

  The corners of her mouth turned down. She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Fine, I reserve the same right of refusal."

  He grinned. Damn, the girl had brains. His admiration of her continued to deepen. "Explain how the pups fit into the pack."

  Morena took a deep breath. "Non-shifter wolves and humans are considered members of the pack so long as they're blood relatives or mated to a shifter. With the pups, Sophia, their mom, is a gray wolf, but she carries our genes. Their dad was a full wolf shifter. He died in Phoenix at the airstrip… Along with my parents."

  Morena slanted an accusatory glance his way, but her dark eyes held more grief than hatred. Tentative hopefulness edged her voice. "You really weren't there?"

  The massacre in Phoenix was one of the few sins not on his conscience. Guilt churned his gut, hard fists pounding away at his soul. He had plenty more to atone for, if such a thing were even possible. With each passing day, his desperation to identify a path to redemption grew more compelling and elusive. The depths of his pit kept growing deeper, the sides slicker, and the light dimmer.