Storm Wolf

by Jane Godman

  He led the others through to the huge kitchen that looked out onto the gardens at the rear of the house.

  “I can never come here without thinking how much I’d like to open my own restaurant one day.” Jenny sighed longingly as she looked out onto the darkening view of the lake.

  “Serving only raw meat?” Wilder came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “I’ll have you know there is an art to filleting a caribou steak.” There was a mock reproachful note in her voice

  “It’s an art I’ve never had to learn,” Valetta said. “Samson has always eaten it before I can get the knife down from the rack.”

  There was a lot of laughter and a few jokes about Samson’s expanding waistline following this comment. It was always the same. They hadn’t been apart for very long this time, but it didn’t matter if it was four days, four weeks, or four hundred years. They slipped back into the same camaraderie they’d always had. Even though Lowell had half his mind focused on whether Odessa was okay, he joined in the laughter. This was the only situation in which he felt comfortable with other people. This, and lately, with Odessa.

  Lowell took packs of meat out of the fridge and opened them, placing them on a platter on the kitchen’s central island. He knew from experience just how much it would take to feed this group, so, by the time he had finished, the dish was piled high. Nothing tasted as good as a fresh kill, but this sort of feast was so much better than human food. Lowell shuddered at the thought of cooked meat or prepackaged meals. When other people were around he was forced to eat those things as a cover, but his inner wolf rebelled at the mere thought of it.

  As his friends fell on the food like ravening dogs, he cast a glance toward the doorway. Should he interrupt Odessa’s heart-to-heart with her grandmother, or leave them to it? While he was trying to make up his mind, Jenny approached him.

  “Shall I see if they want to join us?”

  He gave her a grateful smile. “You read my mind.”

  “You had that look on your face that guys get when they are just starting out in a relationship and they don’t want to ruin it by doing the wrong thing.”

  Lowell opened his mouth to explain that he wasn’t in a relationship with Odessa, but he never managed to get the words out. Before he could speak there was an almighty crash. With one accord, the brotherhood dashed from the kitchen into the hall.

  “Fuck,” Samson muttered under his breath as he slid to a halt on the tiled floor.

  The reason for the curse was all too obvious. The sight that met their eyes was not one Lowell had ever expected to encounter in his elegant home. The front door hung off its hinges and a pack of six snarling Siberian werewolves slunk through, crouching low as they made ready to attack.

  * * *

  Odessa felt she should experience a sense of shame at the way she cast herself into her grandmother’s arms and sobbed wildly on Angrboda’s broad shoulder. High drama and neediness were not in her repertoire, but this was the most comforting thing she had ever done. The goddess’s strong arms enveloped her and her floral perfume soothed her. Before long, Odessa was pouring out the whole story. Oh, not just the story of the last few weeks. No, Odessa couldn’t even do self-pity in a straightforward way. Through the tears, she was spilling it all. The lonely childhood with a mother who didn’t give affection. The father she never saw. How nothing was ever good enough for Emina. How it was all about upholding the honor of the Siberian pack so that, as a child, she had been scared to move in case she got it wrong and let everybody down.

  “I had to do my duty or I was punished.” Where had that forlorn wail come from? It seemed to have come from her lips, but she couldn’t remember ever having made a sound like that before. “Nobody ever told me they loved me.”

  She was overwrought. That was what it was. All this death, destruction, and deception going on around her together with the madness of her feelings for Lowell. Feelings she didn’t understand, but that had turned her whole world upside down. Then she had been thrust into this meeting with her grandmother, a woman she had been led to believe was cold, hard, and distant. Yet Angrboda was the opposite. She was warm, affectionate, and she looked at Odessa with so much love it made her heart ache.

  “I’m so confused.” She thought she’d better mention that. Just in case it wasn’t obvious.

  Angrboda laughed. It was a deep, melodic sound, like a waterfall trickling over rocks. “You have every right to be. Tell me the truth. Were you told I was a depraved monster who would corrupt your mind and steal your soul?”

  “Something like that.” Odessa sat up a little straighter. She felt the need to explain herself. “I don’t do crying.” Lame, Odessa. So lame. Since she was a damp bundle of tearfulness it was obvious that denial was futile. She did crying. She wanted to give herself a good kick in the ass and was surprised the goddess didn’t decide to do it for her. Angrboda was a strong woman, the strongest. Legend and history were agreed on that. What would she think of a granddaughter who blubbed like a baby at the first opportunity?

  “Why ever not?” Angrboda regarded her in surprise. “A good cry does you a world of good.”

  It was the most un-goddess-like thing to say and it made Odessa laugh. “Why are you here?” There must be an important reason why Angrboda had chosen to leave her enchanted palace and travel all this way. Odessa wasn’t going to flatter herself that it was for the pleasure of meeting her granddaughter.

  Before Angrboda could speak there was a loud splintering noise from the direction of the hall and the sound of running footsteps. Odessa jumped up and dashed from the room, colliding with Lowell who was coming from the kitchen with the other brotherhood members just behind him. She didn’t have far to look for the source of the problem. Although they paused just inside the door, the six Siberian werewolves had clearly come with the intention of launching an attack. They were in fight mode but appeared hesitant after finding so many people crowding into the hall to confront them.

  The goddess strode out of the family room. She was the ruler of all werewolves, known and feared by all. Her presence alone should have sent the Siberians scattering in fear of their lives.

  “What is going on?” Her voice echoed around the circular hall.

  Gunnar jerked a thumb in the direction of the Siberian werewolves. “Maybe you should ask them, Wolf Mother.”

  Angrboda stepped between the Siberian werewolves and the others. She was a formidable sight with her flaming hair and imposing stature. “Why do you presume to enter the territory of an Arctic werewolf in this hostile manner?”

  The Siberian werewolves cringed and abased themselves before her, lowering themselves onto their bellies, pinning their ears back, and showing their teeth. Odessa was mortified, but also deeply troubled. These were her pack, but she had no idea who these werewolves were or what was going on. As Angrboda had said, it was unknown for them to enter the domain of another werewolf in this way. To do it without the knowledge of their leader was sinister and disturbing.

  As she watched, the stance of the Siberians changed. Their whole focus changed. Cocking their heads, they switched their attention away from the goddess and appeared to be listening to a distant sound. Or maybe an internal voice. In an instant, they shifted from a submissive attitude to an aggressive one. Crouching with tails cocked, lips pulled back, and fangs bared, they formed a ring around the goddess. This was unheard of. Werewolves who dared to threaten their own deity? With ears forward and eyes wild, one of the werewolves lunged, its jaws snapping dangerously close to Angrboda’s throat.

  That was enough. It was too much. A werewolf had dared to bare its teeth near the goddess. Even if it was a bluff, intended to intimidate rather than harm, it was a step too far. The circular hall erupted into a blur of movement as, in perfect harmony, all of the members of the brotherhood shrugged out of their clothing in a well-rehearsed movement. In less than a minute, seven huge Arctic werewolves dropp
ed to their haunches and faced the Siberians.

  Gunnar drew Odessa, Angrboda, and Valetta up the curved flight of stairs so that they could look down on the scene. “None of us want to be caught in the middle of what’s about to go down.”

  “Those are my pack members, yet they are acting against my wishes,” Odessa said fretfully. “I need to go down there and put a stop to this.”

  Angrboda placed a hand on her arm. “They are acting under duress. Let the brotherhood deal with it, then we can discover more.”

  Under duress? What did that mean? Odessa didn’t have time to ask, or even examine the thought as violence exploded a few feet below her. Her inner wolf surged against her human skin as she watched, wanting release, the urge primal and unquestioned. There was a fight going on, and she should be part of it.

  Her gaze focused on Lowell as he sprang at the Siberian who had snapped at Angrboda. Lowell’s razor-sharp claws ripped deep gouges into the other werewolf’s back as his jaws clamped into its neck. The Siberian howled, rolling around on the floor, trying to shake him free, but Lowell clung on tight. Even across the distance between them, Odessa could feel the fury pouring off him in white-hot waves as he threw the Siberian around, shaking the huge werewolf like a rag doll. Droplets of blood flew in an arc around the pristine tiles of the hall before he released the limp body, dropping it to the ground. The Siberian lay still. Dead still.

  One of mine, Odessa thought. But she couldn’t feel sorrow or outrage. That werewolf had disrespected the goddess. There might be more outrageous crimes in the werewolf world, but right now she couldn’t think of one.

  The Siberian werewolves were outnumbered by the Arctics and outclassed by their superior skill. And the Arctics worked as a team. It was incredible—but also quite sickening—to watch the way they systematically slashed and sliced their way through their opponents, backing each other up, sensing when one of their number needed support.

  “We need to know who is behind this encroachment,” Angrboda said, as she scanned the action.

  “They will keep one alive so that we can ask questions.” Gunnar rested a hand on the goddess’s shoulder in reassurance, and Odessa experienced a momentary surprise. They were a couple. It seemed the goddess still had the power to shock with her love life.

  The floor below them was starting to look like a child’s playroom after the worst kind of tantrum. The broken and torn bodies of the Siberian werewolves looked like ripped-apart puppets. The pieces were all there, but not necessarily attached, or in the right places. The Arctics backed away. The move from extreme brutality to absolute calm was swift and stunning. Job done. One by one, they shifted back, grabbing up their clothing and dressing quickly.

  “There are two still alive.” Lowell leaned over the bodies of the Siberians. “Bring them through to the kitchen.”

  He strode ahead of the others, restrained fury in every line of his body. Odessa knew why. Just like all wolves, werewolves were territorial and this was his home. Even if you took his inner wolf out of the equation, he was the most intensely private man. Now, his house was full of people and mangled werewolf bodies. His elegant hall was splattered with blood and there was a horrible stench of wild animal. It was no wonder he looked pissed off.

  Odessa found Lowell gripping the kitchen counter hard, his head bent as he took several deep breaths.

  “Hey.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “You okay?” She started to laugh and he smiled. “Dumb question?”

  “They don’t come much dumber.”

  “Sorry. Can I blame the jet lag?”

  “Only if I can use the same excuse for being a gibbering wreck.” She leaned her forehead against his chest. “What happens now?”

  “I guess the others are making some sort of attempt at cleaning up out there. Then we ask some questions of the survivors. Whether we get any answers . . .” He shrugged. “Answers haven’t been a feature of this whole sorry mess so far.”

  “Am I part of the sorry mess?” She bit her lip as soon as she asked the question. People were dying all around them. The future of both species was at stake. Yet she sounded like a needy teenager. Do you like me? Check this box if it’s a “yes.”

  Lowell pressed a kiss onto her lips. “You are amazing.” He turned away as Samson and Madden dragged two injured Siberians into the kitchen.

  He said I’m amazing. She was in the middle of a war zone, yet Odessa wanted to dance around the kitchen. She contented herself with lightly touching her lips where he had kissed them. I’m going mad. That’s what it is. None of this is real. I have totally lost my mind.

  “Let me speak to them.” She moved forward. “They are Siberians and I am their leader.”

  Lowell placed a hand on her arm. “Okay, but bear in mind that although they may look like Siberians it could be an illusion.”

  “What do you mean?” Nothing about her life at the moment was making any sense, and what Lowell was saying wasn’t helping.

  “If Chastel is involved in this, then the magic he uses could fool us into thinking anything he wants. That Siberian who showed his defiance to Angrboda wasn’t exactly behaving in a werewolflike way, was he?” Lowell asked. “Chastel—if that’s who we’re dealing with—can make them look and act like werewolves, but he can’t give them the deep-seated instincts that a real werewolf has. No true werewolf would dare to bare his teeth to the goddess, let alone come close to attacking her.”

  “Just because it looks like a werewolf and howls like a werewolf doesn’t mean it is a werewolf?” Odessa surveyed the two surviving Siberian werewolves as she spoke. Huddling together in a corner of the kitchen, they certainly looked like werewolves. Sorry, pitiful, bloodied werewolves, but werewolves nevertheless.

  “Exactly.” Lowell stayed with her as she moved closer.

  “This will be easier if you shift back,” she said, crouching close to the injured werewolves.

  The one nearest to her bared its teeth. Before Odessa could respond, the tip of Lowell’s foot nudged the werewolf’s ribs. “Show respect to your leader.” The werewolf gave a yelp and cringed away from him.

  “We want to talk to you.” Odessa tried again. “I am Odessa Santin, leader of the Siberian werewolves. You must know my name. Shift back into your human form so that we can speak to you.”

  The werewolves nestled closer together, whining and turning their heads away from her.

  “I don’t think they can understand you.” Lowell frowned as he looked at the Siberians. “Does anything strike you as strange about them?”

  Odessa was still bemused about the behavior of the werewolves. She had never been defied by a member of her own pack before. “What do you mean?”

  “I noticed just now when I nudged this one with my foot. A werewolf wouldn’t have reacted with so much fear. I think these two are normal wolves.”

  Samson and Madden moved closer to view the frightened animals. “Fuck.” Samson ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. They aren’t werewolves at all.”

  “No. That can’t be right.” Odessa shook her head. “They were werewolves when they burst in here. You saw them. We all did.”

  “I know what I saw then, but I also know what I’m seeing now. These two are smaller than werewolves, and their jaws and fangs are not as pronounced. They have changed since they attacked us, but it has been so gradual we’ve barely noticed it.” Lowell’s expression was sympathetic as he looked at the two terrified animals. “These two aren’t even wild. I’d say they’ve come from a rescue or rehabilitation center.”

  Wilder came into the room in time to catch the end of the conversation. “Is this Chastel’s doing?”

  At the mention of the name, one of the wolves threw back its head and let loose a terrified howl.

  Chapter Nine

  “Why did you come here?” Lowell knew it was a belated question, but it was still an important one.

  Angrboda nodded. “It was my intention to tell you that when I
arrived, but we were distracted.”

  They had returned to the family room. There was a barn in the grounds and the two surviving wolves were now residing in there. The bodies of the others had been buried in the yard and the hall had now been cleaned of any bloodstains. Valetta had volunteered to call local wildlife conservation charities to see if she could discover where the wolves had come from. She had taken up residence in Lowell’s office with his laptop and her cell phone.

  It was close to midnight and the mood was somber. It seemed to Lowell that they were on a collision course with an unknown force. Right now it seemed they were careening toward a dark destiny with no way of stopping this nightmare. The faceless puppet master jerking their strings knew the script, but he wasn’t sharing it with his performers.

  “There have been some problems with Fenrir’s behavior,” Angrboda said. Her voice was unnaturally hesitant. As always, it was obvious that it cost this proud woman a great deal to talk about the son who had tricked her into becoming his lover.

  “I only know Fenrir is imprisoned and that he is greatly feared.” Odessa spoke up quietly. She still looked slightly stunned by everything that had gone on. Lowell wanted to hold her and soothe away the look of bewilderment in her eyes. “I would like to know more about him so that I can understand the reason why he is locked up, and why he inspires such terror.”

  Gunnar took Angrboda’s hand. “She should know. This is her heritage.” He was only person Lowell knew of who would dare speak to the goddess in such a way.

  Angrboda nodded. “Fenrir was the most beautiful and the mightiest of all werewolves, but he was also the most savage. From an early age his hatred of Odin’s creation of the human race led him to declare war on all mortals. Fenrir swore that one day he would destroy the world. The gods decided the only thing they could do to contain his savagery would be to imprison him. Only a magic chain would hold a wolf of Fenrir’s size and strength. The gods had a chain made from six impossible things. They were the sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sensitivity of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of a bird. Those things do not exist, so of course the chain was enchanted. Fenrir was tricked into placing himself in the chain and a sword was inserted into his mouth to keep his jaws apart so he couldn’t speak. That is how Fenrir must spend eternity. If he is ever freed, he will fulfill his promise to devour the world.”