Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2)

by Melissa Snark

  "I wasn't at the airstrip that day." Staring across the water, Sawyer spoke softly, hoping she'd scent the truth and believe him. No matter what else he'd done, he didn't want Morena believing he might be the hunter who'd killed her parents.

  "My turn," Morena said as if she hadn't heard him. Or as if she refused to listen.

  He swallowed, shoving nervousness down deep before it showed. "Shoot."

  She shot him a fast grin. "Are you like your father?"

  Sawyer reared back. Whoa! Not what he'd expected at all. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean..." Her hands opened and closed, perhaps mirroring her inner struggle as she attempted to grasp thoughts and suspicions. "Are you like him? Magic? Unkillable?"

  Tension eased from his body, and he flashed a predatory smile. "Why, are you planning to jump me again?"

  Morena's face flushed dark red, and anger sparked in her eyes.

  Sawyer chuckled. "No, I'm not like my father. I can die, I think. I haven't actually done it yet."

  Satisfied, she nodded. "Your turn."

  He licked his dry lips. The whole concept of the genetics of mystical creatures as well as the prospect of a wolf-born werewolf struck him as inexplicably fascinating. Was lycanthropy a recessive or dominant trait? He'd love to lay his hands on some real data and construct a model of the genetics. "So what are the odds those pups will grow up to be shifters, and when will you know?"

  "The Change happens after we hit adolescence, but no one knows for sure when, or even if a child will grow up to be a shapechanger." She rolled her shoulders. "We'll know when it happens. Victoria says any one of the pups has a chance. Even if they don't, then their offspring in future generations may produce a wolf shifter."

  Sawyer's eyebrows drew together so sharply his brow furrowed. The whole, illogical thing gave him fits. Did the adolescent wolf become a full grown adult with severely retarded language skills? How were they socialized? He opened his mouth to ask, but Morena kept talking.

  "Victoria calls them the future of the pack." The teenager spoke in a flat, resigned voice, devoid of hope. A poignant pang of depression rang through the girl's soul, echoing like a bell toll.

  Sawyer's lips compressed. His conscience laid the blame for her despair squarely on his shoulders. His mind raced, full of words—of comfort, sympathy, assurances, self-recrimination, and a confession that would get him killed.

  A good man owned responsibility for his crimes. A good man accepted the consequences. Sawyer wasn't a good man. Even mired in guilt and self-loathing, his desire to live trumped any impulse to make suicidal confessions.

  "You don't have much faith in the future," he said, making his words a statement, not a question.

  Morena turned toward the lake to avoid his face. The teenager hugged herself and rocked on her heels. She remained stubbornly silent, refusing him an answer.

  Respecting her privacy, Sawyer mirrored her posture. He looked out across the water and watched the white-capped waves the wind kicked shoreward. Sunlight glinted on the broken surface, creating a dazzling display.

  "I'm sorry for what happened," he said in a voice rife with sorrow.

  "Sorry doesn't make anything better." Morena's tone held bitterness and anger. "It doesn't bring back the dead."

  Nothing he ever did would bring back the dead.

  "I know that, but I need to say it anyway." He wanted her to know the apology was genuine, so he made his first attempt to control the pack bond, flattening barriers and pushing his regret without any way of knowing what he was doing. "This war between hunters and wolves is over, Morena. For what it's worth, you can believe in the future again."

  A gasp escaped the girl, and she swung toward him. "How did you do that?"

  "I don't know what I did." He shook his head, hating how uncomfortable this entire pack business thing made him feel. He didn't belong, not in the least.

  "You're asserting yourself like—" Morena bit off the rest of her sentence.

  Sawyer's brow furrowed while he puzzled over that. He had no idea what to say, and then an anomalous movement far out on the lake caught his attention. The thought vanished, and his alarm skyrocketed. Squinting, his hand rose to shield his eyes.

  The distant figure of a dark-haired man thrashed about, clearly struggling to keep his head above water.

  "Fuck. There's someone out there." Lifting his leg, he grabbed hold of his boot and hopped on one foot while he yanked it off.

  Morena charged toward the water but then skidded to a sudden halt. "Where? I don't see anyone."

  "Right there! As plain as day!" Sawyer removed his other boot and tossed it aside. Wasting precious seconds, he thrust his arm toward the water and pointed at the man. The action forced his attention to the distressed swimmer, who reared up out of the water and waved his arms.

  The wind swallowed the man's words and carried only an indecipherable cry.

  "Where? Where?" Morena pivoted, shouting as she scanned the lake.

  Striding forward, Sawyer seized her shoulder and positioned his arm beside her face. "There!"

  Mouth agape, Morena scoured the distance and then tilted her head up to search his face. "Sawyer, there's no one there."

  A switch flipped in his brain. Recognition slammed him.

  Frantic, Sawyer shoved Morena aside and charged toward the water, determined to save the swimmer at any cost. "That's Daniel! I have to get to him!"

  "What? No! Dammit, Sawyer!" Morena's hands locked on his elbow and dragged him back. "You're loco! There's no one there!"

  Acting on reflex, Sawyer twisted and broke her hold on his arm. The maneuver forced her backward, leaving him free to resume his rescue. Frigid water bit at his bare feet and soaked the denim of his jeans as he waded to his waist in the chilly lake. Then he dove, briefly submerging his head below the surface. The cold blanketed his entire body, a rude shock that punched a hole in the adrenaline surge which drove him. Fear formed a leaden weight in his gut. Nothing scared him more than drowning. Nothing.

  He settled into a powerful freestyle stroke, swimming for all he was worth. The compulsion to reach his brother overwhelmed all else. No thought, no reason, only primal instinct pulsed through his being. After a couple minutes, he lifted his head from the water in order to get his bearings.

  Fifty feet away, Daniel broke the surface, his dark head visible for a moment amid flailing arms. A shout tore from his throat, and then he disappeared under the water.

  Sawyer inhaled a huge lungful of air and dove, swimming toward where his brother had gone down. At first, sunlight filtered through the murky water, permitting limited visibility. Bubbles drifted past his face as he went deep, searching desperately for any sign of Daniel.

  Without warning, his hair pulled taut, and his head jerked back. Startled, Sawyer lost a burst of air. Hands seized him from behind. They locked about his waist and forced him upward. He twisted, attempting to break the other swimmer's hold, but his assailant clung fast.

  As they broke the surface, Sawyer automatically gasped, dragging deep breaths into his strained lungs. Wet hair clung to his face and obscured his vision. Blinking, he ran his hand across his eyes and found Morena treading water in front of him.

  "Sawyer, you're hallucinating! There's no one—"

  Hands together, he tucked his head and shoulders and submerged again. Her gurgled voice followed him as if she'd stuck her face underwater to keep shouting at him. Kicking hard, he propelled his body downward into the cold, dark depths. A single imperative ruled him—he had to save his brother.

  His angled arms spearheaded his dive. Using his legs for propulsion, he sank, releasing a steady stream of bubbles to aid with his descent. Visibility constricted to no more than a few inches in front of his face. The absolute blackness made blindness his reality. Instead, he used his hands to search for Daniel.

  He struck an impossibly hard, jagged object head on. Pain lanced through his cranium and shoulder, and he drifted into a tumbling spiral. His groggy m
ind struggled to regain his bearings, but it only got darker.

  The pressure in his chest built. His lungs burned. As he neared the upper limit of his capacity to hold his breath, a sense of urgency impinged on his single-minded determination to rescue his brother. He needed to go up for air, but the lack of visual cues rendered him disoriented. He no longer knew up from down.

  Stupid.

  Evading Morena's attempts to help him had been pure foolishness. Distantly, he wondered if the teenager had given up or lost him in the gloomy water. If she quit, he wouldn't blame her.

  Hanging on by a whisper of reason, he fought the instinct to struggle, aware that strenuous physical exertion used up his remaining air faster. Sawyer slid through the water, hoping his body's natural buoyance would float him toward the surface before he drowned.

  Dreamlike images of childhood memories filled his mind.

  The summer Sawyer turned six, Arizona's stifling August heat, over a hundred degrees in the shade, made life unbearable. Long days of summer boredom stretched behind him, and the imminent threat of school starting the next week loomed like the hangman's gallows. In those days, Jake was absent more often than home, always away on hunting trips.

  "I'm bored!" Sawyer shouted at Daniel, trying to obtain his attention.

  His older brother never looked up from his video game. "Go play outside."

  "It's hot. I want to go swimming."

  "Well, you can't. Not till mom gets back from the store."

  Something seized his hand. Startled, Sawyer jerked away but failed to break the grip. He reached for his belt knife, but when he opened his eyes, an eerie orb, haloed in a greenish light, filled his vision. His brother's visage came into rapid, close-up focus, the rest of his body obfuscated by the absolute darkness that surrounded them.

  The sight of Daniel's floating head sent a jagged bolt of uneasiness lancing through Sawyer. His entire body convulsed. The jolt set him to tumbling through the dark water. It was a nightmarish memory that was only too fresh in his mind.

  Early on a December evening of the prior year, Victoria drove up to the Barrett residence in the Chevelle. Sawyer was home alone, and he recalled being curious and concerned at her arrival, but he recognized her as Adair Storm's daughter. Tearful and incoherent, she offered a garbled explanation, but he no longer remembered exactly what she'd said as she dragged him toward the vehicle.

  What he recalled with perfect clarity was his blank horror when he laid uncomprehending eyes on what she had wrapped in an old pattered blanket—his brother's decapitated corpse. What followed remained hazy, a blur of violence and fury. He'd pursued her halfway across the country with unthinking rage, trying to avenge Daniel's death.

  Sawyer's gaze locked with Daniel's. He stared deep into his brother's eyes, perceiving awful torment and anguish. Love and loyalty washed through him, reinforcing his determination to help at any price. His grip tightened. He wouldn't let go, not for anything.

  Wishing he possessed the ability to share his thoughts, Sawyer verbalized his commitment, I'm here. I've got you. I won't ever let go, no matter what…

  Sawyer's oxygen-starved lungs burned.

  Daniel's lips formed words. As if crossing a great distance, his voice carried, but the words were indecipherable. The sound echoed to another decade, another time of great duress. At six-years-old, Sawyer had been a know-it-all with no sense of his own mortality.

  "But I wanna!"

  "No! You know the rules!" Daniel growled, still focused entirely on his video game. "No swimming till Mom gets home."

  "Fuck the rules!" The F-bomb was the first dirty word Sawyer ever learned, and he loved the forbidden sound. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck the rules. Fuck everything and everyone."

  "Mom hears you talkin' like that, she'll make you eat soap."

  "Yeah, fuck the rules."

  The Arizona sun blazed white-hot overhead, and the pool was as warm as a bath as he slid into the deep end off the side. He swam for a while, laps at first, working off some of his excess energy. Then he floated on his back, staring at the clear blue sky. Sucking in a deep breath, he sank beneath the surface, releasing a steady stream of bubbles as he drifted downward. At the eight-foot mark, he struck concrete.

  "Sawyer!" Daniel's voice was full of frantic fear and urgency.

  Hands seized his shoulders and attempted to turn him. Doggedly, Sawyer tightened his hold on his brother's hand. No one would tear them apart, never again. He stared into Daniel's face, needing his brother to see the promise.

  Objects, wavering tendrils like tentacles all adjoined at the base, sliced through his brother's head and disrupted the vision so it disintegrated into a swirl of dark energy. A monster? Magic? Before he decided, Morena's foxlike face appeared in his peripheral vision. Her hands locked on his forearm, and she tugged, trying to separate him from Daniel.

  Convulsing, Sawyer expelled the last of his air. Through an act of sheer will, he aborted the reflexive inhalation that would suck water into his lungs. Instead, he clamped his eyes and mouth shut. Suffocation was by far preferable to drowning. He refused to release his hand clasp with his brother.

  Daniel's shout grew fainter but more coherent, "Sawyer, let…"

  He floated on the bottom of the pool until the burn in his lungs reached the point where he had to go up for air. He pushed off only to discover the sluggish response of his body. Head thick, limbs leaden, he felt as if his insides were filled with sand and weighing him down.

  With a panicked effort, he worked his arms and kicked for all he was worth. Flailing, he broke the surface long enough to gasp a lungful of air, and then he submerged again. He managed to come up one more time before the strength to fight deserted him. He floated for a time, panted his final breaths, and then silently slid beneath the clear water.

  Fingers pinched the tops of his ears hard. His eyes popped open just as Morena jerked his head toward her. Her mouth covered his own, lips pressed together to create a seal. She forced him to open and blew air into his lungs. His starved body latched onto the lifeline. His free hand molded to the back of her head, his fingers grasping for her short hair.

  "Sawyer, let go!"

  Sawyer's entire body thrashed. Turning Morena with him, he twisted to look for Daniel. Instead, he saw the enormous bulk of the submerged tree trunk sprawled on its side like a felled giant. His hand was grasping the stump of a branch, anchoring him to the bottom of the lake.

  He opened his hand and let go.

  Morena released his ears and yanked her mouth away. Strong, small hands grasped his arms, and he grabbed hold of her in return. Together, they pushed off the bottom and kicked in unison. Precious seconds later, their heads broke the surface. Water streamed from his long hair and down the sides of his face as he looked upward toward the sun.

  Clean, blessed air flooded Sawyer's lungs as he floated on his back. He lacked the energy necessary to do anything else. He gazed up at the infinite blue sky overhead, breathing heavily while his body replenished its depleted oxygen reserves. Confusion and curiosity about what had happened thrummed in the back of his mind, but for the moment, he was thrilled to be alive.

  A short distance away, Morena floated beside him. The teenager recovered first. He could tell because he heard her muttering beneath her breath. "Idiot hunter..."

  Sawyer tilted his head toward her. "No argument here."

  Not this time anyway.

  Convulsions wracked Sawyer's young body as he expelled pool water from his lungs. The blistering pavement baked his bare skin, and his brother's hands pressed hard against his back, an additional layer of abuse. Daniel's voice shouted recriminations in his ears long before his vision resolved.

  "You idiot! I told you, Sawyer, no swimming till mom gets home! Oh man, you're in a shitload of trouble. You're gonna get a whipping when dad hears about this stunt."

  Female voices carried across the lake. Wolves echoed the calls, voices raised in plaintive howls. Treading water, he turned toward the cacop
hony. He spotted Victoria's white-blonde head as the she-wolf swam steadily toward them. The Native American woman, Sylvie, watched from the shore along with the mother wolf and three pups.

  "What happened?" Victoria asked once she reached them.

  "Sawyer tried to kill himself," Morena snapped out, jerking her head toward the hunter. She added something in Spanish and lifted her arm out of the water to gesticulate.

  His tired mind struggled to translate. She was pretty much calling him an idiot again. He had to love a woman who could curse him as a fool in three distinct tongues, although the names she called him in Old Norse were usually far cruder.

  Victoria's dubious gaze swung toward him. "If you wanted to drown yourself, you coulda just said so. I've got some burlap sacks in the shed."

  "I did not try to drown myself." Irritation pricked at him despite his fatigue. Being cursed with the company of smartass werewolves must be the price fate had determined he should pay.

  "Let's get to shore and then discuss this." Victoria's tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth, and she grabbed for Sawyer's arm.

  Even exhausted, Sawyer evaded her attempts to help him. He set out at a slow but steady sidestroke aimed at the shore. He might not arrive fast, but he'd arrive under his own power.

  "Idiot," Victoria muttered. The she-wolf followed, effectively hovering by swimming circles around him.

  "That's what I said." Ever impatient, Morena shot off through the water, splashing the adults behind her with a couple kicks undoubtedly designed to throw up a wave.

  Closer to shore, the depth became shallow enough for Sawyer to stand. Sharp rocks bit into the bottoms of his feet as he trudged onto land. He slicked back his wet hair, and dropped to his knees on the cobblestone. Bending over, a sense of detachment swept him even as he experienced the heaving of his lungs and the throb of his heart with increased awareness.

  He'd almost drowned. His worst nightmare manifested as reality.