Brow furrowed, Jake strove to remain impassive. "The undead are attacking across southern Arizona with overwhelming numbers. We're fighting losing battles in Nogales and Tucson. Without the support of the packs, we don't have the manpower necessary to hold out much longer."
Finn's solemnness belied the jut of his jaw. "My pack defends its territory. What happens beyond our borders—"
"Isn't your problem," Jake finished for him. The Alpha's challenge left him unfazed. He admired Finn's cleverness in playing Devil's advocate for the sake of their audience. "That is until all of your neighbors have fallen and the enemy arrives on your doorstep. Then it's your problem."
Tarak snarled, revealing glistening fangs. Every head in the room turned toward the Beta wolf. "Then we shall fight and die in glorious combat, honorable deaths befitting true warriors. Our deaths will honor Odin, and we will join him in Valhalla."
Finn smiled, spreading his hands. "See what I must deal with?"
Jake's breath escaped in an exasperated huff. Idiotic fucking fruit loop. Striving for patience, he tilted his head back and rolled his eyes heavenward. "Have you considered the possibility that Odin doesn't appreciate senseless deaths?"
Sputtering, Bodaway choked on his outrage while Finn grinned wide enough to swallow worlds. Behind raised hands, Lenna giggled.
Silence reigned, and then Tarak choked out a challenge. "How dare you!"
Finn's snort diffused the buildup of outrage. "Tarak, you're going to rupture something. Relax." The Alpha addressed Jake. "Go on. I'd like to hear your proposal for unity."
"Cooperation among the packs has dissolved into chaos," Jake said. "Petty rivalries and infighting are taking priority over defeating the real enemy. While your people bicker, the undead threat is growing. A strong Alpha must step up and unite the packs again before it's too late."
Finn's lips compressed. "You want someone to fill Adair Storm's shoes."
The hunter rocked on his heels. "A tall order, I know."
"He was a great hero." Finn's gaze strayed to where Tarak and Bodaway stood united in open opposition. "You have your work cut out for you, Jake Barrett."
Jake walked over to face the Beta wolf and the priest, holding the gazes of each in turn. He looked them in the eyes and spoke with quiet determination. "Make no mistake. Those who choose to fight with me will be triumphant. Stand aside or get out of my way. If you oppose me, then you'll be destroyed and your soul won't be receiving the E-ticket to Valhalla. You'll wind up somewhere dark and deep, suffering eternal hunger and endless thirst. Hel's hounds will dismember your body, the pieces used to reinforce the walls of Hel's mansion."
Stupid Tarak fumed in silence, but real fear crossed the priest's face. His eyes widened, and he took a step backward.
Finn chuckled, spreading his hands wide. While he spoke in an amiable tone, his gaze contained forbearance. "Well, it sounds like we have much to discuss. It is too bad the hour grows so late. Perhaps we should reconvene this discussion when circumstances are more favorable."
"Another time then." Casting a glance over his shoulder, Jake regarded Finn with a newfound respect. The Alpha possessed unexpected cunning.
"Yes, another time. But soon. We must not allow too much time to pass between our visits." Finn clapped his hands together. "I don't know about you, but this has been very informative."
Jake strode from the suffocating hot room, breathing easier once he stood outside beneath the open sky. He headed toward his people who greeted him with monocyclic words and tense stares.
"We done?" Skinner asked.
He nodded. "We're done. Let's get the hell out of here."
"Jake Barrett!" Finn bellowed from across the yard.
Jake swung around to face the Alpha, his brow lifted in question.
Grasping Lenna's arm, Finn marched the young woman toward the hunters. "You have forgotten something."
"Oh?" Jake regarded the downtrodden young woman. He pitied her. She'd committed no crime, merely had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thanks to a misplaced dagger stroke, she was his responsibility.
"Lenna belongs to you now." With a gentle shove, Finn sent her stumbling toward him, and she advanced a couple steps before she stopped. "You should take her, for her own protection. Here she is in great danger."
Anger crashed through Jake. He glanced down at Lenna's bent head, and pity tempered his fury. Bending, he extended his arm and offered her an open hand.
He waited.
After a full minute, she looked up to meet his gaze, her expression full of reverence. Her trembling arm rose, and she closed his fingers around his palm. She smiled, trusting, like a child with wonder in her eyes.
Guilt pinched his conscience for how inexorably he'd altered her life with a single careless knife thrust. Exiled from her home, stripped of everything she'd ever known. As they walked away, he dropped his voice to a gentle pitch. "Your place in Valhalla is eternally assured."
She humbly lowered her face. "Thank you, my king. I am your wolf."
Long shadows stretched, providing a welcome shade from the sun's beating rays. Gripping the brim of his baseball cap, Jake adjusted the tilt to better shield his eyes while his thick fingers swiped sweat from his brow. In a few hours, he was supposed to rendezvous with Victoria and Sawyer. It would be tight, but he'd make the meeting.
His men marched ahead. Skinner strode at the front of the unit as they tracked through the forest. Flush with springtime growth, the slopes were bedecked in orange and yellow wildflowers and speckled in violet blossoms.
Lenna trailed the unit, walking apart from the hunters. Her chin hugged her chest, and her shoulders hunched. Her path ran parallel to Jake's, and he remained acutely aware of her terrible isolation.
Rejected by her people, not a member of his. She stood alone. Her plight engendered a deep tug of pity at his heartstrings. He wanted to find some way to help her, but he lacked a clear plan. Even introducing her to Victoria carried inherent risk. Wolves were territorial and rarely accepted outsiders.
The hunters neared the dirt turnoff where they'd parked the vehicles. At the head of the unit, Skinner shortened his stride and dropped back through the ranks until he walked beside Jake. Staring straight ahead, he spoke from the side of his mouth. "Are we going hunting?"
"We'll discuss it." Teeth bared, Jake shot his friend a knowing glance. The not so subtle emphasis wasn't lost on him.
Skinner's brown eyes were hard and bright, polished agates. "Good."
"Gather round, we need to talk." His voice rose over the unit's banter. With a wave of his arm, Jake convened an informal roadside meeting.
With Skinner at his side, he waited for his people to settle down. Contemplatively, he surveyed their faces. All total, his organization numbered in the thousands, spread to the far flung corners of the globe. However, the select group of people who served with him and fought beside him on a daily basis occupied a special place in his esteem. He loved each and every one of them.
They fell quiet. Eyes turned to him in pregnant expectation. Hidden in the branches of a nearby tree, a raven let rip with a raucous craa. Biding his words, Jake remained silent a moment too long.
Crazy Cali toed the line. "With all due respect, sir, I need to take a piss. So if you're going to give a speech, get on with it."
Laughter rocked the unit. An anonymous male voice called boldly from the rear of the crowd. "And keep it short."
"That's enough. Quiet down." Jake affected a scowl, enjoying their easy camaraderie.
His men's rollicking amusement continued unabated.
"Shut the fuck up!" Skinner shouted at the top of his lungs. "Or I'm gonna kick some ass."
A sudden hush descended.
Jake tipped his hand to his second-in-command, then addressed his people. "Today, you've witnessed the truth behind our conflict with the Storm Pack. My son and Adair Storm's daughter enacted their own version of Romeo and Juliet. Our enemies exploited the situat
ion. Killed my son. Framed Victoria for his murder. Set us at our allies' throats."
Among his followers, Jake sensed troubled minds and hearts, even in those like Skinner, self-disciplined enough to conceal their turmoil. With the exception of Sawyer, his people weren't accustomed to his sons blatantly disobeying him. Daniel had always been a model son. Focused and disciplined.
Voices rose in a concerned murmur. Jake's hands rose and slowly lowered, soothing the disquiet. "I'm not interested in recrimination or casting blame. Victoria isn't a murderer. Daniel acted within his rights as a grown man. What matters is my son is dead. Our alliance is broken. We've been manipulated and infiltrated. Betrayed by one of our own."
A spark flickered, igniting murderous anger in the core of their community. Jake's grasp of the fire exceeded simple empathy. Their shock and rage were known to him. Chart's treachery wouldn't be soon forgotten or forgiven.
"The traitor in our ranks is dead. Cursed. That's not the end of this matter. Far from it. I've learned Daniel's soul has been imprisoned by the vampire who murdered him. Behind it all is an individual we only know as 'the necromancer'."
He hesitated, parsing his words while he allowed them time to absorb the news. Gasps accompanied shock, followed by exclamations and curses. A turbulent riptide sundered his people, and voices swelled to shouts.
He employed magic to reach out to them, perceiving each individual as a distinct thread. Gathering the chaotic strands, Jake pulled them closer, restoring the unity. He refused to allow their enemies to destroy them. Soothed, they quieted.
"I'm going to rescue my son," he said in a voice like gravel, "and destroy anything and everyone who gets in my way, starting with the vampire, Vildivia, and ending with the necromancer."
The eyes of every man and woman present riveted upon him.
Outwardly, he exuded cool confidence, but a volcano brooded at his core. His vengeance would not be an impulsive act of uncontrolled rage but a conscious act of absolute destruction. "This ain't a noble quest to protect humanity. It's personal. It's probably a trap. It's definitely dangerous."
He waited to hear their response. Skinner spoke first. "We're talking about the diversion of resources from the defense of civilian targets. People are going to die."
Cali snorted. "People gonna die, regardless of what we do."
"More people will die." Skinner shot her a narrowed-eyed glance. "Than would've otherwise."
Jake tipped his head. "That's exactly right. For that reason, I'm going alone. Skinner, you'll take the unit and return to Tucson to defend the civilian population."
Dead silence greeted his announcement.
In a deliberate display of defiance, Skinner stepped from his side and joined the rest of the unit. A brick wall of mutinous faces stared back at him. The men drew together, adopting a tight shoulder to shoulder formation.
Skinner folded his arms across his barrel-shaped chest. "Fuck that. We ain't going anywhere."
The men rumbled their agreement.
"We look after our own," Cali said. "Daniel was one of us. We owe him."
He scanned their faces. "It's your choice."
"We appreciate you asking, Jake," Skinner intoned. "But we're with you."
"To hell and back," Jose Ortiz pledged, tone fervent. "Whatever it takes."
Echoing his sentiment, a cheer went up among his men, embodying their unity, loyalty, and support.
His heart warmed, and he smiled upon his family. "Let's go to work then."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fólkvangr, Freya's hall in Sessrúmnir
"Ragnarök is coming."
Panicked, Freya sought to deny the world-end even though Odin predicted the inevitable outcome. "Loki, why must this be? So much time has passed. It sounds like you have been successful on your own. Why must you seek to end the world and destroy—"
Seething, he cut her off with a violent wave of his arms. "No matter how many times I say it, no one ever hears me. I have no desire to end the world. For all of their flaws and weaknesses, I prefer the company of mortals. They are ever-changing. Unlike stuffy, stagnant immortals, humans explore, destroy, and adapt the world to themselves and themselves to their world. They evolve. I love popcorn. Chocolate and peanut butter. Rock 'n' roll. Action movies. I'm not ready for this world to end. There's so much I haven't seen or done. I want to walk on the moon. Be there when humanity sets foot on another planet."
He spread his hands. His ironic voice boomed throughout the chamber. "I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a huge George R.R. Martin fanboy. What do you suppose the odds are that I can save him from perishing when Ragnarök arrives?"
Freya sniffed in disdain. What a raving lunatic!
Most of what he said was utter nonsense, but she believed him. Desperation pinched the corners of his eyes and mouth. "Then why?" she asked. "Why orchestrate the end of everything if you like it so much?"
Midgard
"Oh, Daniel. I'm so sorry..."
Glass crunched beneath Victoria's flip-flops. She crouched on a filthy tile floor between two rows of busted metal shelving in the abandoned gas station. The skeleton of the rundown building remained, steel beams and decaying red brick walls, and all of the windows were smashed.
Dozens of restless spirits, spectral blurs suffering in torment, wandered through the area. Fortunately, none of the ghosts were aware of her presence, and she preferred to keep it that way. Vampires had once used the structure as a haven, and she suspected those who remained were their murdered victims, souls trapped in the veil between the physical world and the afterlife. The metaphysical realm had many names, but Victoria's mother, Katherine, had always called it the Shadowlands, and it was the word Victoria liked best.
Her fingertips touched a dark, crusty stain on the floor. She lifted her hand to her nose and inhaled the musty scent of old dried blood and mold. Her throat ached as tightness centered deep in her chest. She blinked, and tears ran down her cheeks. Flowing fast and free, they dripped from her face and landed in the dust.
Her tears reconstituted the blood in the place where she and Daniel had fought and slain a dozen vampires. In the exact spot where her lover had died.
Chocolate-brown eyes stared at her, wide with shock, confusion, and pleading. His mouth opened and closed as he attempted and failed to form words. His hands grasped at his torn jugular, trying to staunch the bleeding from the gaping wound.
Daniel crashed to his knees.
She rushed to him and reached for his throat. A spurt of hot blood hit her cheek and upper torso, splattering her T-shirt. Tears flowed down her cheeks, becoming lost in the rivulets of blood running down her face. Her hands covered his, and she made a clumsy, panicked grab for her magic.
"Oh, Goddess, help me." Light sputtered from her hands, flickering before emanating as a steady glow. She connected with him spiritually and perceived his slowing heart and plummeting blood pressure. She poured energy into a spell and attempted to stop the bleeding. The injury was too massive.
His heart beat for the last time.
"No, no, no..." Sobbing, she clung to his body, still trying to knit the severed vein. Slick blood coated her hands and face. Overwhelming pain crushed her, so all she could do was crouch on the cold ground, drowning in tears.
"Victoria, don't cry." Strong hands gripped her shoulders.
"It was my fault. I should have saved him." Tears dripped down her face. She'd held Daniel for an hour after his heart stopped. She'd witnessed the departure of his soul from his body, doing nothing to interfere because his soul belonged elsewhere than Valhalla. Or so she'd believed...
"It was no one's fault but the bastard who murdered him." Kneeling beside her, Sawyer pulled her into his arms. He held her close, her face pressed to his shoulder, her body cradled against his chest. The empathic pack bond flared between them. His guilt and sorrow mirrored her suffering.
Sawyer smelled like her pack. He also smelled like her enemy.
"I wish that were true
." For a moment, she succumbed to temptation and melted against him, taking comfort in his strength. The savory scent of a cinnamon aftershave overlay his earthy arousal. He desired her, but he didn't want to. His posture remained stiff. His arms and back were just a little too tight.
"We'll avenge my brother." Sawyer turned the words into a vow, the place where he channeled his darker emotions. His single-mindedness and bloodthirsty rage rivaled that of any wolf. He locked onto his target and pursued it with fanatical determination.
Having been the focus of his obsession, she could honestly say she never wanted to get on that side of him again.
She had to get away from him before the situation escalated into sex or violence. Or both. Gulping air, Victoria reigned in her wildcatting emotions. She seldom cried, even in front of members of her own pack, certainly not in front of an enemy. An Alpha never showed weakness or demonstrated vulnerability, especially not before a man she hardly trusted.
"Revenge isn't everything, Sawyer." Straightening, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. Fortunately, he didn't test her resolve.
At her slight prompting, he stepped back. "I know that. I want to rescue my brother's soul."
"I agree with that."
"Then I want to rain hell and destruction on his captors, this Vildivia and Necromancer. They both have to die."
Despite her best effort to remain somber, a smile split her face. "That's a plan I can get behind."
He flashed a grin as he ran his hand through his unkempt hair and pushed it out of his face. His long bangs flopped into his face, concealing his right eye. "Do you smell anything?"
Dirt. Mold. Dried blood. Grief, guilt, and desire.
Her gaze locked on those dirty blond strands, and her fingers twitched. Pursing her lips, she hid behind her irritation and adopted a fierce scowl. "I smell lots of stuff, but aside from us, none of the scents are fresh."
"Did you find any evidence of vampires?"
Startled, Victoria's heart surged and throbbed against her breastbone. Beside her, Sawyer also stiffened. Like guilty teenagers caught groping on the couch, they jerked around and faced Jake Barrett.
Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2) Page 20
