Jerking his wrist free of her grip, he released her and stepped away.
"I am the Lord of the Storm." He hefted his dagger skyward. A lightning strike lanced from the dark thundercaps and struck the blade. The bolt snapped and sizzled, its white hot energy imprisoned. His voice resounded in the storm: "I am the Master of the Wild Hunt. Hunter King. Wodan. Knecht Ruprecht. Berchtold."
Victoria's chin jutted. Fear made her angry, and anger made her ornery. "I was just getting comfortable calling you Jake."
Delighted with her sassiness, he threw back his head and laughed. Overhead, thunder clapped—boom, boom, boom—Thor pounding his drums. Hearing his son, Jake grinned. What the boy lacked in rhythm, he made up for in enthusiasm.
Holding the dagger level, he swept the weapon in a smooth arc and released the captured lightning into a wall of vampires. Thick smoke mixed with the rain, and the stench of extra crispy corpse permeated the area.
The previously dumbfounded vampires lurched into motion, most charging toward him while a few retreated.
Chuckling, he waved his arm. "Go!"
"A simple 'No thanks' would've sufficed," Victoria tossed over her shoulder before she sprinted away.
Lenna's panicked yowl rent the air and his gut wrenched in dread. He spun toward the sound and located the grizzled gray wolf close to one of the compound's outlying buildings. The she-wolf had her back to the concrete wall. Fighting claw and fang, she was boxed in and beset by vampires.
Shouting his fury, he charged. His dagger cut wide swaths through the corpses. Heads rolled, undead clawed at him from all sides, but their sharp nails glanced off his stony flesh. Dozens of hands caught his clothing, dead weight that slowed his progress to a crawl.
Grasping the hilt of his dagger in both hands, Jake dropped to one knee. Without regard for consequences, he summoned all of his magic. A tsunami swept through him, obliterating the shields he maintained to block out his second sight. Shouting the runes, he plunged the molten blade into the asphalt, and it melted into a viscous, sticky fluid. Tar fumes singed his nostrils.
Arcane energy coalesced about Jake and formed a compact, cracking bubble. Pressure built in his eardrums until they threatened to rupture. He released the force all at once, and the wave exploded forth, flattening everything in its path. Nosferatu were blasted off their feet and blown backward.
A pair of eagle-sized ravens glided overhead. Braying hounds ran on the cusp of the hunt. Riders carried swords, axes, bows, and spears, although a handful brandished firearms. The nostrils of great horses flared orange, and hooves threw sparks.
The ground quaked with their approach. They were a legion.
Åsgårdsreien.
Jake resumed his advance, running for all he was worth. He rejected his foresight which showed him his efforts were doomed to failure before he even reached her. Ahead, a swirl of black energy crackled into existence, cutting Jake off from Lenna. Bellowing his anger, he veered and started around it.
The necrotic magic conjured an immense gravitation well. The pull sucked every nearby vampire into an immense sphere of flesh. Faces squished together. The grotesque abomination spun, supported on a forest of protruding arms and legs, a vision his mind rejected. It stank like a hideous fester of rotted corpses.
Spinning at cyclone velocity, the writhing mass pulsated, grew ever larger and denser. No new vampires joined. Rather, the expansion was fed from within, corpse flesh pulled from the depths of the underworld and infused to the whole.
Seconds before Jake reached her, the sphere rolled over Lenna and engulfed her. Her anguished wail soared over the growls and moans. The cry for help punched a hole in his soul.
Roaring, he plunged into the sphere. His arm worked as a piston, rising and falling with wild energy. He hacked at the wall of dead flesh, slicing off limbs and cleaving hunks. He experienced her terror and agony as the clammy mass crushed her. Bony hands grasped her limbs, yanking her in all directions.
She howled, and he howled with her. Her front leg separated from her torso. Bones broke, tendons ripped, and sinew tore. A ruptured hind leg brought another paroxysm of bright, blinding agony. Her body stretched and pulled apart. Her decapitation came as a stale blessing, a sudden ending to the awful torment.
Lenna's death eviscerated him. With his second sight fully open, he died with her, suffering every excruciating sensation.
The swirling sphere imploded. With a pop, it was gone.
Jake simply stopped. Stopped moving, stopped fighting. He wished desperately for the freedom to stop caring. Failure tasted bitter in his mouth, and the blessed relief of emotional numbness, total apathy, beckoned.
His molten dagger faded from his hand.
The hunt stormed through the parking lot, pulverizing undead beneath their stomping hooves. Bent over the flanks of raging mounts, riders leaned wide and seized the few remaining vampires who were summarily dragged off to eternal service in that furious army.
Hounds pressed against Jake's legs. Warm, rolling tongues licked his fingers. A great sable steed pranced to a halt before him.
The great brute of a rider dismounted. The Swedish warrior sported a wild tangle of golden hair and a fierce beard of a darker shade. He bent his head to Jake in a show of respect. "Lord, you summoned us?"
"So it would seem, Bjorn. So it would seem." He gazed past his Lieutenant, watching the circling riders. All of the undead were destroyed or claimed. Without prey to pursue, turmoil ruled those restless souls.
Jake strode toward the compound, and Bjorn tagged along on his heels.
"I have issued orders that the Chevelle is protected from damage." Tension edged Bjorn's voice as he referenced events a decade past. The last time Jake had summoned the hunt, several of the riders had galloped their steeds across the Chevy's roof.
He might have been amused if not for the hollow emptiness in his heart. Still, Jake offered assurances. "You have done well."
"My lord, your horse is here." An ancient warrior known as Gron rode past on his trotting roan pony.
A stallion blew hot spittle, a resounding huff. Eight clomping hooves generated a cannonade. The ranks of riders split to make way for the horse's massive bulk. One of the eagle-sized ravens clung to the empty saddle with inky talons.
Despite his sorrow, Jake strode to meet his horse. Arm raised, he rested his hand upon the heavy muzzle and stroked the velvety skin. The stallion's coat, full mane and thick tail were snow-white.
"Hello, old son."
Sleipnir nuzzled his fingers. I have missed you.
"We have been without your companionship for a long time, Lord," Bjorn said, echoing the sentiment. "The men have missed you."
"I've missed them also." Stroking Sleipnir's wide neck, he considered. Was it time to leave and rejoin the eternal hunt he was born to lead?
Even as temptation beckoned, Jake thought of his sons who still needed him. The horrific vision of the world's doom, too soon coming, loomed in his mind's eye. He exhaled in a long, thin stream.
"No, not yet. My job here isn't done." He placed a final, fond pat of farewell on his mount's forehead and relayed a poignant apology. I'm sorry. Our reunion will come soon. Just not today.
Don't delay too long. Dark eyes gleaming, the horse's massive head dipped and struck his chest. The force of the blow staggered Jake. Grinning, he watched as his steed rounded and tromped away.
"As you will, my lord." Sounding distinctly disgruntled, Bjorn delivered the orders to depart to the legion hunters. The hounds took up the call and sprang to the forefront, leading the charge toward the dark stairway of thundercaps ascending to the heavens. Mounted riders followed on fiery steeds.
As swiftly as the storm had struck, the clouds rolled back. Overhead, a twilight pall enshrouded the moon. Shades of sorrow haunted him. He was alone again. Only seconds had passed, and already he ached for their camaraderie.
Heartsick, Jake walked to where Lenna's body lay scattered in pieces upon the ground. Her blood-soaked t
orso rested in a puddle not too far from a torn leg. The jagged, exposed bones dripped marrow. A short distance further, her severed head rested on its side. Her glassy eye stared up at him, full of agony and accusation.
So much power at his command, yet he couldn't save a single life. The one creature he'd sought to protect, and he'd failed her. How then was he supposed to save the world?
"I'm sorry." He bent to retrieve her spirit, intending to escort her personally to Valhalla. His fingers brushed the soaked fur of her shoulder, and he found the corpse empty of a soul.
A shadow crossed over him.
An old woman occupied the space where the physical and spiritual worlds intersected. Her essence ruled destiny. Paper thin lips were drawn taut over yellowed-teeth. The tip of her tongue poked through a gaping hole.
Bony fingers formed grasping talons. "I claimed the she-wolf's soul, Deceiver. My shades dragged her to eternal damnation."
He towered, rage erupting. Magma flowed from his lips. "How dare you, Crone! She is mine!"
"You missed your chance." Her cackle shrilled across his nerves, terminating in tiny sharp pops.
His roar rocked the earth and sky. Infuriated, he summoned his dagger. Brandishing the blade overhead, he cleaved a long arc from the top of her head through her torso.
Screeching, she dissolved to a tangled mass of strings and then bled away into nothingness. The gloomy past. Unforgotten, always haunting him.
A snarl came from his right.
No time to reload. Sawyer reversed the shotgun and bludgeoned the vampire with the stock. Definitely not a killing blow.
A Nosferatu blindsided him. Ice-cold arms wrapped around his throat, choking off his air supply. A chilling hiss filled his ear, and the rot of a decaying corpse was suddenly overpowering.
Sawyer locked his hands around the arms strangling him and strove to insert his fingers between his throat and that dead flesh garrote. His vision blurred. The ashen face of another vampire loomed closer. Struggling to dislodge the assailant choking him, he bucked and twisted. Stinging pain blossomed in his shoulder. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe...
Can't.
Lungs burning, head spinning, he staggered. He lost his grip on the shotgun, and collapsed beneath the revenant's weight. His knees smashed against concrete, and jarring pain seared through his joints and shins.
The revenant was still locked about his throat.
Desperate, Sawyer let go of the tongue wrapped around his neck and grabbed for the dagger strapped to his wrist. Like a silken whisper, the knife slid into his hand. His recent close association with werewolves had made him feel rude for carrying the silver blade, but now he was relieved his survival instincts had overruled the niggling impulse to be polite.
Taking a blind stab, Sawyer thrust the weapon over his shoulder into the creature's face. A wet squish and a snarl rewarded his effort when the silver blade sank to the hilt and fluids gushed over his fingers.
Teeth bared in a snarl, Sawyer retracted, then plunged the dagger home again and again until congealed blood coated his hand and arm. A chunk of brain splattered the floor.
The vampire choking him disintegrated.
Oh, but that first breathe of air was fucking spectacular. So damn good. Gasping, Sawyer crouched on all fours while ash rained down around him. His irritated eyes watered, and the grit clogged his nose and throat. Coughing, he struggled to clear his abused airways.
A ferocious growl came from nearby, then a loud collision. Oh shit. Too close for comfort, he scrambled and scooted away until his back hit the wall.
The pack bond shimmered with Victoria's distinct psychic energy.
More growls. The thud of blows. A battle cry arose from the Alpha, a bone-chilling triumph expressed on a primal level. Something deep and visceral awakened within Sawyer, a kinship that echoed through his soul and filled him with the primitive desire to tilt his head back and howl at the moon.
As his head cleared, he struggled to regain his feet but lost his balance and dropped to his knees again. When his eyes focused, a gaping mouthful of serrated fangs filled his vision. The vampire lunged, his teeth snapping. Ducking, the hunter slashed the revenant across the cheek and opened a deep gash.
From behind, Victoria caught the vampire's head between her hands. She wore the visage of a wolf, more monster than human. Her face twisted with exertion, and corded muscles bulged beneath her skin. A nasty gash encrusted in dried blood marred her forearm.
The tips of her index fingers pierced his eyeballs, sinking into the gelatinous orbs. Hot fluids sprayed. The revenant shrieked and thrashed as Victoria's hands shifted to claws, and her thickening fingers expanded within the orbs. Sharp nails penetrated the thickset nose and cheeks, ripping open his face.
With a sharp crack, bone shattered. Victoria's wrists disappeared into the skull, and the entire carcass decayed to a pile of rotted meat.
"Gross." She shook goop off her hands. Her mouth curled down with disgust.
"Why didn't you use your dagger?" Panting, Sawyer hauled himself to his feet.
Victoria ducked her head in a sheepish evasion. "Sometimes I get caught up in the heat of the moment. I forget I have it."
Sawyer chuckled, wiping his eyes with his forearm. "If I had a magic weapon, I don't think I'd forget about it."
"I haven't actually had it all that long." Behind Victoria, the vampire he'd shot in the chest rose and focused on her.
Sawyer shouted a warning. "Look out!"
Snarling, Victoria turned as the Nosferatu slammed into her. As she fell, she lashed out and grabbed hold of the vampire's wrist. Her weight wrenched the damaged arm out of the socket.
Fetid blood gushed from the wound. Stringy pieces of tendon and cartilage dangled from the exposed joint. Shrieking, the revenant toppled.
"You've been disarmed." Smirking, the smart-mouthed werewolf tossed the limb aside and bent to finish the mutilated vampire.
A groan ripped from Sawyer. "You've got to be kidding."
"Sawyer, behind you!"
An icy grip latched onto his calf. Frost burned his skin through his jeans. A female vampire with an axe embedded in her forehead grasped at his legs. Her mouth hung wide open as she struggled to bite through his boot. The axe's haft wedged between his leg and her face, preventing her from reaching him. The harder she tried, the deeper the blade sank.
With a muffled curse, Sawyer jerked his leg from her grasp. He grabbed hold of the haft with both hands, yanked it free, and placed his foot on top of her skull. Hefting the axe, he swung overhead and delivered a decapitating blow.
The revenant dissolved into a gory mess.
Outside, the storm raged. Blood called to blood.
A chill of realization traversed his spine. Fear curled in his belly. "Oh fuck. He's summoned the hunt."
Victoria's fine brow arched. "The what?"
"No time." At a dead run, Sawyer went for the security door he'd left propped open with the knife blade. Outside, black clouds hugged the earth. The wind cut like a whip, and sleet pelted his face. Within the thunder, hounds brayed, men shouted, and horse hooves stomped.
He kicked the knife blade out from beneath the door's edge and pulled hard on the handle to shut it, but the forceful gale resisted his efforts. Half a dozen vampires rushed toward the entrance, seeking escape from the riders.
Craning his head toward Victoria, he shouted. "Help me!"
Victoria rushed to his aid. She grabbed the door, and together, they pulled until a sudden surge of resistance stopped their progress. Muscles strained, Sawyer threw all of his weight into the effort.
An arm wedged between the door and the frame. The ghoulish hand waved wildly, the long fingers opening and closing, searching for something to grab.
Victoria's blade descended and sliced through the elbow.
The door slammed shut, and the automatic locks clicked into place.
Sides heaving, Sawyer slumped heavily against the wall. Lightness swamped his
head, and his shoulder burned like a sonofabitch. "That should hold them."
"I've never seen so many vampires in one place. Where do you think they all came from?" Victoria hovered close to the entrance as if expecting the vampire horde to burst through at any moment.
"No idea." He assumed his father had a clue, but he kept his mouth shut. He wasn't going to speculate aloud without solid evidence to support his conclusions. Otherwise, his suspicions were nothing more than reckless conjecture.
"Your father and Lenna are still outside." Victoria leaned against the doorframe, panting as she caught her breath. "We should help them."
"We have to stay inside until the Wild Hunt passes," Sawyer said in a flat tone, hoping she wouldn't argue. He lacked the presence of mind for a battle of wits. He straightened, and a stabbing ache in his shoulder blade caused him to wince. "The Åsgårdsreien claims everything in its path."
"What will happen to Lenna?" Her voice was thick with worry.
"I don't know. Maybe Dad can protect her." He had his doubts.
Dragging the edge of his boot across the floor, Sawyer scraped blood and tissue into a pile, revealing the blood-soaked cement underneath. The armory floor was covered in gruesome, gory remains. Newly-turned vampires decayed messily. A vamp had to be at least a decade old before the insides desiccated enough to turn to ash.
The jabbing pain in his shoulder worsened, so he reached back to touch the injury. His fingers came away wet with fresh blood. His head ached as if it were about to split open.
"Give me a sec, and I'll heal you," Victoria murmured from her spot beside the door. "I'm tired."
"No rush. I'm fine." He wasn't, but he'd be damned before he'd admit it.
Her pointed snort spoke volumes.
An indeterminate time passed. He wasn't watching a clock, but his physical symptoms took a turn for the worse. The lightheadedness increased. Fever flushed his skin, and sweat soaked him.
Sawyer opened his mouth, on the verge of asking for help when the door to the armory swung open. Bright moonlight filled the doorway, haloing the Hunter King.
Battle Cry (Loki's Wolves Book 2) Page 24
