by Jane Godman
To her surprise, Serena leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Along with the faint tang of the menthol cigarettes the other woman smoked, Odessa could feel the pent-up emotion emanating from her. It was an unexpected gesture from a usually reserved woman. Siberian werewolves were generally undemonstrative. Which makes my own behavior out in that garden even more surprising.
“I will leave you to collect yourself.” Serena made it sound like Odessa had suffered a bereavement. “Alexei and I will see you in the conference room when you are ready.”
When she had gone Odessa heaved a sigh of relief. It was proving to be a night of firsts. First time having sex with a stranger. First time having sex in public. First time feeling like she had just let down her entire species. Is there anything else I can do to screw up spectacularly, or is that enough?
Chapter Two
Five years of blood, sweat, and tears. Of sleepless nights. Of near despair. Of blank looks, patronizing comments, and doors slammed in her face. Of wondering what the hell she was doing. This was the culmination. Was it worth it? Hell, yeah, it was.
Odessa experienced a fierce sense of pride as she looked around the crowded conference room. Serpent’s Eye was launching at last, the first in the Nine Clans series, an online fantasy game with a linked board game in which the microchipped physical pieces moved in time with the onscreen action. Santin Creative was her baby, her creation, and it had taken everything she had to get people to see past her youth and inexperience and give her this chance.
Odessa stayed out of the limelight. Her looks weren’t helpful in this industry. People expected Odessa Santin, CEO, to be a hard-nosed bitch. The reality was younger, prettier, and more approachable. Since she was usually asking for cash or support, she found the element of surprise useful.
Odessa had been forced to fight for what she wanted from a very early age. Her father had never been around much and her mother, while she had done her best, had been far from a typical submissive female wolf. Emina Santin was a cold woman who lived for the family honor and believed nothing else mattered. The result had worked in Odessa’s favor. They made me a fighter, an alpha female. Today was the proof.
Her team, dressed as characters from the game, were wandering among the assembled crowd, distributing leaflets and refreshments. She had chosen her employees well. All the people who worked for Odessa were Siberian werewolves, all shared her creative vision, all were young and fiercely loyal to her. It was standing room only now, the rows of seats facing the podium were all occupied, mostly by press. Odessa had chosen not to go with the dressing-up theme. Instead, she wore a cool white linen dress. Sleeveless and fitted, it clung to her slender curves. Her hair was caught up in a neat chignon and she wore her favorite nude heels to add a little height to her petite frame.
A nod from Alexei was the signal that it was time to start. Odessa moved to the podium, conscious of a hush falling over the room as she sat at the table and checked if her microphone was working. She knew what that hush meant. This is Odessa Santin? She could feel the stares, almost hear the judgments. Young, attractive, inexperienced. What could this slip of a girl possibly know about the cutthroat, changing-by-the-minute world of online gaming?
Alexei took his place on Odessa’s right and Serena joined them on her left. Alexei remained standing. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the launch of Serpent’s Eye. At Santin Creative we believe a picture is worth a thousand words, so we don’t propose doing much talking. Instead, we’ll let our product be its own voice. There will be an opportunity for questions at the end of the film.”
The lights were dimmed, and the film Serena had worked so hard to perfect appeared on a large screen behind the podium. Odessa didn’t watch it. She knew it by heart, knew it was the ideal pitch for their product. Instead, she watched the audience. Attempted to gauge their reactions. And told herself she wasn’t searching for one face in particular. Wasn’t searching for one silver-blond head and one muscular body.
She had spent a sleepless night. Not obsessing over this presentation as she should have been. Not even reliving that conversation with Serena and feeling residual embarrassment. No, instead she had been wracked by erotic memories of that incredible, illicit encounter with the gorgeous Arctic werewolf. Every time she tried to turn her thoughts to work, her memory would insist on taking her back over the details. Over kisses so carnal they should be illegal. Over the way his fingers felt against the sensitive flesh of her mound, of how the head of his cock stretched her as he pressed inside . . .
Oh, dear God! It was happening again. Here in this presentation, when she should be focused and in control, she could feel her cheeks flaming and her underwear getting wet. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be here. Odessa had no idea what his presence would do to her self-control, but she didn’t want to find out. Not on the biggest day of her professional life. Talk about timing. I have had zero sex for the last five years, now I’m trying to pack all of that lost time into one day. Although she tried to tell herself it was inconvenient, it was the most exhilarating feeling she had ever known.
The lights went up and there was an unexpected round of enthusiastic applause for the film. Odessa gestured to Serena who blushed and took a self-conscious bow. Alexei rose to his feet again, ready to direct the questions and Odessa experienced a renewed rush of pride.
“Odessa, this is a high fantasy concept. Can it compete in a world where futuristic combat games dominate the market?” The question came from a well-respected gaming journalist. It was a gift to Odessa and she spent several minutes outlining the vision behind Serpent’s Eye, where it fitted in the bigger picture and where Santin Creative was going next. Her words caused a buzz in the room that sparked the next series of questions.
For thirty minutes, Odessa, Alexei, and Serena expertly fielded the questions from the audience. This was their dream; this was what they had been waiting for. They had eaten, slept and breathed this for the last two years. In Odessa’s case, for longer. It was finally coming true. It wasn’t her imagination. They were selling it. Those people out there got it.
“We’re going to wrap up this session up now, but we’ll stick around if any of you want to talk to us individually,” Alexei finally said. “Oh, sorry. I see we have one last question from the gentleman at the back.”
Heads turned toward the rear of the conference room and Odessa’s stomach did an odd little flip as she caught a glimpse of white-blond hair and muscular arms revealed by a black T-shirt.
His voice was calm, carrying easily across the whole room. “I’d like to ask a question about your company’s activities within the Arctic Circle.”
Odessa’s brows snapped together. The Arctic Circle? What the hell?
Alexei cut in before she could speak. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“My name is Lowell.” He strode forward as he spoke. Placing a series of photographs on the table in front of them, he looked Odessa directly in the eye. “I’d specifically like to ask about this.” He tapped the pictures with one long finger. “Toxic waste dumped in the Arctic tundra. As you can see”—he turned slightly so that the audience could hear every word—“these barrels carry the Santin Creative logo.”
Odessa’s eyes narrowed. Lowell. That was the name of the environmentalist crank who had been calling and emailing her. In that split second, with hundreds of pairs of eyes upon them, she tried to figure out what must have happened. Could this man, who clearly had some sort of crazy grudge against her because of these photographs—photographs of something she had no idea about—have taken his revenge in the most spectacular way imaginable? Humiliated her by getting her to have sex with him in a public place? Dear God, does he have photographs of that, too? Was she about to be blackmailed on two counts?
Aware of Alexei and Serena watching in concern, she spoke quietly, covering her microphone with her hand. “How much will it take to keep you quiet?”
His eyes blazed with a golden fire that took her
breath away. His inner wolf stared back at her in that instant, strong, proud, and dominant. It took everything she had for Odessa to maintain eye contact in that instant.
“I don’t think you want to have this conversation here.” It was obviously taking a huge effort to keep his own voice low.
Odessa nodded. “My room. Five minutes.” She wrote her room number on a slip of paper with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.
Lowell took the slip of paper and pocketed it. He collected his photographs and strode away, restrained fury evident in every taut muscle.
* * *
Lowell spent the intervening five minutes getting his breathing under control. He was so angry he couldn’t see straight. She thought she could offer him money to make this go away? Clearly that beautiful face and the slight air of vulnerability were a façade. He’d been fooled by it last night, but the cold light of day told a different story. Like father, like daughter. Odessa was as evil and destructive as Santin, but she was more dangerous. Her father, at least, had never tried to hide who he was. It was clear that Odessa was picking up where Santin had left off. She was destroying the Arctic homeland and she thought she could buy off Lowell, the only person who was prepared to call her on it.
Her five minutes were up. Lowell took the elevator up to the tenth floor and found her room. Odessa answered the door as soon as he knocked and he stepped inside, his rage a tight knot inside his chest. Last night she had worn a simple, summer dress and her hair had been loose. Today she was all hard, sharp lines. As she prowled the room, her fury was evident in every curve of her body. He tried to tell himself he would never have been attracted to this version of her, but it wasn’t true. Whatever it was that drew him to her had nothing to do with her looks. Even through his anger, he could feel it. It was something deeper and stronger than lust . . . although the lust was still doing its best to make itself felt. Telling himself it was nothing more than a memory of the best sex he’d ever had, Lowell did his best to shove it aside.
“How dare you hijack my presentation?” Her eyes were like her father’s. How had he not noticed that last night? Too light to blaze, they grew icier in anger. “Have you any idea how long and how hard I’ve prepared for this day?”
“How else was I supposed to get an audience”—he gave the word a disdainful emphasis—“with you when you weren’t returning my calls or answering my emails?” He threw the photographs onto the bed. “Do you know what sort of damage you are doing to a fragile ecosystem with that kind of shit?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Why am I even asking that question? Of course you do. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Your father had more honesty. He ripped the throat out of the Arctic werewolves instead of killing them slowly by poisoning their environment.”
She stopped pacing and her eyes narrowed as she turned to face him. “You knew my father?”
“We weren’t exactly friends, but our paths crossed a few times.” Like when he tried to destroy the Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun by capturing and slowly torturing us. I still have the scars on my back from the lash marks he inflicted on me four hundred years ago. Or the time he unleashed his father—your granddaddy, the great Fenrir—the mightiest and most evil werewolf of them all on the world. That was only twelve months ago, so that encounter is fairly fresh in my mind.
Odessa seemed to be slowly processing what he was saying. One hand came up to cover her mouth as her expression changed to one of shock. “You are one of them, aren’t you? This Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun? The ones who have sworn to wipe out the Siberian werewolves forever?”
The conversation was getting derailed. It wasn’t meant to be about Santin or the brotherhood, although it was hard to see how the feud between the Arctics and the Siberians could be kept out of it, since that must be the motivation for what Odessa was doing. He didn’t know where she’d gotten the idea that the brotherhood wanted to destroy her pack, but he could guess. Santin always did have a taste for the dramatic.
“That has never been the aim of the brotherhood. We are an Arctic peacekeeping force, set up by the goddess Angrboda. Destruction is not our goal, but when the werewolf code is broken in the way your father crushed it, then we will step in and exact retribution.”
“So you were one of the ones who killed him.” She was shaking now, her slender body wracked by emotions that went way beyond anger. “That performance you put on just now at the presentation, all of this”—she pointed to the photographs—“even last night. It is all about you getting your retribution.”
“I didn’t know who you were last night.” The words came out fast and harsh.
“I don’t believe you.” Her voice was an anguished whisper. Odessa’s complexion was pale anyway. Now it appeared waxy.
Lowell’s own anger was fading fast, giving way to a range of feelings he couldn’t name. This was not the way he had envisioned the meeting unfolding. How was he supposed to deal with her obvious hurt? He didn’t know this woman, yet he’d been inside her. They had enjoyed the most intimate, searing exchange of their lives—Lowell knew, with absolute certainty, it was the same for her as well—yet now they were snarling and circling each other, ready to attack. He owed her something, some reassurance. He wanted—needed—her to know that last night hadn’t been about some warped act of revenge.
Before he could speak, Odessa had regained control. She drew herself up to her full height, which was admittedly not very tall. “I don’t know what these photographs are about.” Her voice was cold. “I accept that the containers in those pictures bear the Santin Creative logo, but my company makes online games. We don’t use poisonous chemicals.” She looked directly at him. Although her ice-blue eyes appeared cold, he could sense her emotions still raging beneath the icy exterior. “What proof do I have that these photographs are not fakes?”
“I’ve been there and seen the damage,” Lowell said. “I was involved in the cleanup operation after these chemicals were dumped.”
“So the only proof you have to offer me is your word?” The question hung in the air, challenging him. He could read her mind. To a Siberian, the word of an Arctic was as worthless as a check written in invisible ink.
Anger flared again, bitter and raw, but with it came a feeling of resignation. Odessa had no reason to trust him. To be fair, she had every reason not to trust him. Lowell had always been highly empathetic and his ability to see the other person’s side kicked in now, just when he didn’t need it. From Odessa’s perspective, he was the bastard who had killed her father, followed her here, had sex with her without telling her who he was and then wrecked her presentation. All on the strength of these photographs. She hated him and he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t like himself too much right at that moment.
“The evidence is gone now.” Lowell was usually the master of calm. This woman did things to him that made every second he was with her a battle for self-control, both with his temper and his ability to keep his hands off her. Even now he was having a hard time fighting the urge to close the distance between them and kiss her until she was on her knees with longing. He needed to get away, to put as much distance between him and Odessa as he could. “All I need is your assurance it won’t happen again.”
“Since I wasn’t responsible in the first place, that won’t be a problem.” Odessa’s jaw was rigid, so the words came out stiffly.
With a muted growl of frustration, Lowell decided that was probably the best he was going to get. Leaving the photographs scattered on her bed, he stalked out of the room without another word.
* * *
Odessa stood in the center of the hotel room, trying to master her breathing. How was it possible to want to do so many different things at once? She wanted to throw herself onto the bed, pound the pillows and indulge in the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her. She also wanted to run after Lowell and smash her clenched fist repeatedly into those perfectly carved Nordic features. At the same time, she wanted to grab him by the hand, drag him back here a
nd find a reason to keep him in this room—in her bed—for at least seven days, naked and totally at her command.
She did none of those things. Instead, she went into the bathroom and checked her face in the mirror. It was a little paler than usual and her eyes looked strained, but otherwise the reflection gazing back at her was the one she saw every day. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she was glad of this mask of calm.
Odessa had never really known her father. The things she knew of Santin were what she had gleaned from her mother, Emina. It wasn’t as if theirs had been a regular family life. She knew Santin had spent centuries imprisoned in the palace of Jotunheim, although Emina had never been specific about the nature of his crimes.
“Jotunheim is the home of his own mother, the goddess Angrboda,” Odessa had pointed out one time. “If she agreed to his imprisonment, my father must have done something very bad.”
Their family tree was a complex one. The details weren’t spoken of publicly, but Santin and his twin brothers, Skoll and Hati, were the result of an incestuous relationship between the goddess and her son Fenrir. Just the mention of her grandfather’s name could strike terror into the heart of any wolf. Fenrir was destruction incarnate. His only desire was to destroy the world and all who dwelt in it, but he couldn’t be killed. The goddess Angrboda—the woman who was his mother and tricked into also becoming his lover—kept him chained in the dungeons below her palace.
Emina had tossed her head in response to Odessa’s comments. “Your father has powerful enemies who carry false stories to the goddess. Even though she is his mother, her loyalties lie with the Arctic werewolves.”
It hadn’t been a particularly satisfactory answer, but it had been the only reply her mother had been willing to give. Over the years, it had always been the same. The evil Arctics are trying to destroy us. The Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun have only one goal . . . the annihilation of the Siberian species. When Santin escaped from his icy prison and briefly returned to his family, his message had been the same.
