by Jane Godman
Odessa continued relentlessly working at the knot that held her mother’s wrists behind her back. Her fingertips were becoming numb and she wasn’t sure her actions were making any difference. She reasoned that she may as well keep going. She had nothing else to do.
“There were men with her. They threatened me. Even when I told them who I was—the wife of the great Santin, mother of the Siberian leader—they refused to listen. Then that woman told me things about your father, and about you. Lies all of it.” Emina began to cry quietly.
“What did she tell you?” There! The knot definitely gave just a fraction.
“She said she was your father’s child. That he’d had another mate. But how could that be true? He was a werewolf. We mate for life. Your father would not have done something so fundamentally wrong as that.” Emina’s voice wavered. “Would he?”
It was hard to believe any werewolf would break the code so spectacularly. But this was Santin. And he was Angrboda’s spoiled darling. Maybe he thought he could take another mate and, if called in front of the goddess to account for his sins, he believed he would be able to sweet talk his way out of it. By all accounts, he had persuaded his mother to let him off with lesser crimes.
“It seems strange that you did not hear of it before now.” Odessa tried for a noncommittal answer.
“Exactly.” Emina pounced on those words like a drowning woman thrown a lifeline. “She was clearly a liar by the things she said about you. She told a wild story that you had fallen in love with an Arctic. Nothing could have been more ridiculous. I told her not to be so foolish. You would never disgrace your name in such a way.” When Odessa didn’t answer, Emina gave a horrified little cry. “Tell me it’s not true.”
“When we are out of here, we’ll continue this conversation. And, for once, I will talk and you will listen.” Odessa spoke more firmly to her mother than she ever had before. “But for now, we will concentrate on the fact that your hands are free. It’s your turn to untie mine.”
Chapter Thirteen
The huge male Arctic werewolf ran through the forest, guided by his friend’s voice in his head. Energy surged through his weakened body with each step. The farther he got from the hated silver, the stronger he became. Night was falling and the glowing orb of a full moon was filtered through the strands of trunks and leaves. The moon was not a friend to his species and the werewolf missed the light of the midnight sun. That strange mystical glow that refreshed and warmed him.
Pushing his way through the dense foliage, leaping over moss-encrusted boulders and fallen logs, splashing through a stream, the werewolf’s strides lengthened as he drew closer to his goal. To his mate. She was in danger and the urge to be with her drove him on . . . that and the need to spill the blood of his enemies.
According to myth, once the shift to werewolf was complete the animal instincts took over and nothing human remained. Lowell had never found that to be true. Since his human was the more complex being he found many of those traits remained. He supposed shifting was a lot like being drunk or on drugs. When he was in his wolf form, he was different, he was governed by raw emotion and instinct rather than reason, but the person he was still lingered. Logic might no longer be his uppermost reaction, but it was there, deep down inside. His human lived in a world that had many changing conditions and was forced to interact with many beings. It meant the physical changes imposed on his body by becoming a werewolf were not hard for him to adapt to, mostly because he welcomed them.
The increased keenness of his senses was a distraction at first but he soon grew used to them. He welcomed his sharper smell, taste, and hearing and he had learned to subdue his wolf’s desire to hunt until the time was right. When he was young, the changes in his muscle structure and body hair when he shifted had been uncomfortable. Now, he barely noticed the change.
So shifting for Lowell was like being a supercharged human. His higher-level thought processes were tucked away, but he knew what he was doing and why he was there. He knew those bastards would pay for what they had done. He also knew from Samson’s warning that they were still around.
Which was why, when he drew close to the clearing, the werewolf slowed his pace and slunk into the denser trees instead of coming into the open. His keen hearing couldn’t pick up any distinctive sounds, but he could smell the intruders. They were close. He sniffed the air, seeking Odessa, but her distinctive scent remained elusive. He dropped his head in a momentary gesture of defeat and longing. Shifting back, he slumped down, resting his back against the trunk of a tree. If they’ve harmed her . . .
He couldn’t allow himself to think that way. Odessa—and the others—needed positivity, clear thinking, and decisive action from him.
What’s going on?
Samson responded immediately. Sebastian and Vigo are missing.
Fuck. Wilder and Jenny?
In the house with me and Madden.
Lowell got to his feet and began to move stealthily through the trees. He was still unsure how many intruders they were dealing with. Samson said he had picked up the scent of at least three people in Emina’s kitchen. It was an unhelpful statement. “At least three” could mean anything. And who were these people? Were they human or werewolf? Lowell liked to know who he was up against. Silver cloth aside, was he facing fangs and claws or guns and knives? When it came to a fight, these things mattered. What mattered even more was that two of his team were missing.
Seven and only seven. The brotherhood worked best when everyone was together.
He reached the back porch of the house without incident and slipped inside the kitchen door. The four brotherhood members sprang up from their seats at the opening of the door, but they relaxed slightly when they saw who it was.
“You look like shit,” Samson said, having studied Lowell’s face.
“So would you if you’d had a silver cloth thrown over your head.”
Madden whistled. “I wonder if that’s what happened to Sebastian and Vigo?”
Jenny, ever practical, ran upstairs and returned with a bathrobe. “We don’t want to embarrass the neighbors.” When Lowell had covered himself, she gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re okay. What happened to Odessa?”
“I don’t know.” Lowell ran a hand through his hair in frustration. His scalp still tingled where the silver had been in contact with it. “Those bastards came up behind us on the ridge. They hit me over the head and threw a silver cloth over me. Then they dragged me off and left me in a cave about half a mile from here. I didn’t see what happened to Odessa.”
“When we knew there were four of our number missing we regrouped here to try and get to grips with what was going on,” Samson explained.
Wilder beckoned them to the window. “There’s something going on out there.”
They gathered around, staying back so they couldn’t be seen by anyone outside. The moon provided enough light for them to see what was happening. Serena and four men had gathered in the center of the clearing. They seemed to be contemplating the scene, studying the moon, the house, and the surrounding area from different angles. One man took a number of photographs before stepping back, nodding approvingly.
“What are they doing?” Jenny whispered.
“It looks as if they are getting ready to make another of their films,” Lowell said.
“Does anyone recognize the guy on the right?” Samson’s eyes were fixed on one figure. Everyone followed his pointing finger.
Lowell could hear his companions’ thoughts, so he knew they were all thinking the same thing as him. Since he already had additional information, he decided to be the one to say the words aloud. “He looks a hell of a lot like Jean Chastel.”
* * *
When Odessa had finally freed herself and her mother of their restraints, she rose to her feet and felt her way around the surface of the well. The rocks were uneven and an idea began to form. How deep was this well? She looked up at where she had last seen that circle of light at the t
op of the well. It was gone now, which must mean that night had fallen. Based on what she could recall, she judged the well to be about sixty feet deep. That was a hell of a long way to fall . . . and her right hand was as good as useless.
“Remember when I used to climb the south ridge for fun, using just my hands and feet?”
She couldn’t see Emina’s face, but she could picture her expression from the outrage in her tone. “I always told you not to do that. That south ridge is a sheer wall. Why you could have killed yourself a dozen times—”
“But I didn’t, did I?” Odessa ran a hand over the craggy stones. “I got really good at it. I used to time myself and try to improve each time. Before I left for New York, I could almost race up that thing. I’m out of practice, but I think I can still do this.”
Emina’s sharply indrawn breath echoed in the confined space as she finally realized what Odessa was suggesting. “You can’t be serious. If you fall—”
“What choice do we have? Are we going to sit here and wait for them to come back for us?” Odessa reached out a hand, fumbling for her mother in the darkness until she could connect with Emina’s shoulder. When she did, she gripped it hard. “You know they’ll kill us when they do.”
Odessa felt Emina’s nod against her hand. Sitting on the damp ground, she tugged off her sneakers and sweatshirt and rolled up her jeans. She didn’t tell Emina that climbing in the dark was about a hundred times more dangerous than climbing in the daylight. There was no point in worrying her mother further. She considered waiting until morning, but who knew what might have happened by then? Their captors were unlikely to wait around, and she needed to know if Lowell was okay. She shook that thought away and replaced it with another. He has to be okay.
Climbing was a jigsaw puzzle. Odessa had always enjoyed fitting together the pieces as much as she had enjoyed pitting her strength and endurance against the elements. But this was a puzzle she had to complete in darkness. The pieces were hidden from her. On a normal climb, as she moved, she could look ahead and decide where she would next place her hands and feet. At each stage, she would be faced with a series of minute cracks and holds, varying in size, shape and distance from each other.
This time, there were no visual clues. She was feeling her way.
Odessa contorted her body, the memory of climbing the south ridge behind the clearing coming back to her. Her limbs and muscles responded to the demands she made of them as though the last time she had done this was yesterday and she offered up a mental thank-you to her personal trainer. Never again would she complain about going to the gym. Twisting, stretching, lunging, swinging, dangling, pushing herself onward and upward, she forced herself inch by inch toward the top of the well. Her climb was made easier as she got higher, because the moon came into view and she could see a section of the wall above her. This irregular rock face was actually easier in parts than the south ridge, and this time the adrenaline rush was driving her on.
“Be careful.” Emina’s panicky voice sounded a long way beneath her.
Don’t talk to me! “I will.”
In a series of graceful movements, ignoring the protest of her muscles and the stinging in her bleeding fingers and toes, Odessa drove herself on with equal measures of physical and mental determination.
The moonlight showed her two things. Her left hand was less than a foot from the top of the well, but her body was stretched to the limit and she couldn’t find a foothold for her right foot. Leaning away from the wall slightly, she could just see her next handhold. If she swung outward, she could just reach it with her left hand, but it would mean hanging on by only her injured right hand. If her hand wasn’t strong enough, she would plunge back to the bottom of the well.
I’m a werewolf. I won’t die, but I could be horribly maimed, and then what use will I be to Lowell and my mother? What use am I stuck here dithering? When Serena returns I am dead. This way, at least we have a chance.
Mustering every bit of strength she had, Odessa lunged for the handhold. The outcome hung in the balance. Her right hand screamed in agony and her bruised and bloodied fingers burned as they gripped the tiniest of ledges. Her left hand clawed frantically above her head for the next hold, groping to find it. Catching and missing it. She wanted to scream aloud, but her lungs didn’t have enough air in them. Sweat was pouring from her, coating her whole body, slicking her flesh and running into her eyes. She took a breath. One more try. Don’t give up. She made herself a promise. You are going to get out of here so you can tell Lowell you love him.
Her second attempt was pure agony. She threw herself out from the rock face, swinging dangerously as she went for the hold. At first, her tired brain told her she had missed again. A sound somewhere between a sob and a scream left her lips before she realized she was safe. The fingers of her left hand clung tight to the tiny ledge and she found her next foothold. I did it. From there, she was slowly able to accomplish the rest of the climb and haul herself over the edge of the well. Collapsing onto her back and gazing up at the sky, she saw the full moon through the trees and took a few minutes to allow its silver glow to refresh her.
Got to get moving. She didn’t dare risk calling down a few words of reassurance to her mother. Reasoning that Emina would know she’d come back for her as soon as she could find a rope or some other way of getting her out of the well, Odessa set off for the cover of the trees.
* * *
“My God, you were right all along.” Samson turned to look at Lowell. “It wasn’t Chastel who died on Ulu twelve months ago.”
“Which means you are in more danger than any of us,” Lowell said. “Chastel was afraid of the prophecy that foretold he would be killed by the largest Arctic werewolf. That’s you, Samson. He will do all he can to eliminate you.”
“He seems to have other things on his mind at the moment.”
Samson was right. The group outside were totally focused on their task. Meanwhile, Lowell was getting increasingly edgy about their hiding place. He couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to their enemies that the Arctic werewolves might be back inside the house. Was it because they didn’t have Odessa with them? That strange mark on her hand seemed to be some sort of tracking device. Was it possible that without it Serena and her werewolves had no way of knowing where they were? Or maybe they did know. Maybe the performance outside was all an elaborate charade to throw them off balance. One thing they could always expect from Chastel was the unexpected.
“We need to get out of here,” Lowell said. “I want to find Sebastian and Vigo.”
The others responded eagerly to that suggestion. So far all attempts to contact the missing brotherhood members telepathically had proved futile. It wasn’t a good sign. When the goddess had granted them the ability to shift away from the midnight sun, she had also brought greater vulnerability their way. Unlike other Arctic werewolves, the brotherhood could now also be killed away from its mystical light. No one wanted to say the words aloud. If Sebastian and Vigo couldn’t be contacted telepathically, could it mean they were dead?
No. We would know. We would feel it.
“Front door.” Lowell nodded in the direction of the hall.
He led the way along the narrow corridor. Half expecting a trap, he eased open the front door and checked the clearing in front of the house. All was quiet and Lowell gestured toward the trees. One by one, they made their way stealthily across to the first line of forest, crouching low among the tree trunks and foliage. Lowell took a breath. He felt like he had been released from captivity. The scent of the forest would do that every time. It wasn’t his natural environment, but it was the next best thing. Even when he was in danger, its powers of rejuvenation were remarkable.
“When Odessa and I were up on the ridge looking down, we saw Sebastian and Vigo circling the most distant of the group of houses. It’s possible that is where they were captured.” Lowell continued to scan the area. “We need to stick together. I don’t want anyone else going missing.”
<
br /> Easing their way through a thicket of sheltering trees as a group was one of the things the brotherhood did best. Although they had adapted to modern life, a woodland environment still came more naturally to them than a suburban one. Samson led the way. His keen tracking instincts enabled him to scent danger and judge the mood of a situation faster than any of his companions. With no more noise than the scuttling of mice or shuffling of rabbits, they circled the clearing until they were behind the first group of derelict group of houses.
Sebastian? Vigo?
Nothing. Lowell was reluctant to order his team to split up to search the tumbledown buildings again, but crowding into each of the small cottages as a group seemed excessive. He was just pondering the matter, when he heard footsteps and voices approaching.
“It’s them.” Samson dropped into a crouch and the others followed his lead.
Serena and her group had left the clearing and were now nearing the outbuildings. Lowell’s supercharged hearing picked up their conversation as they drew closer.
“Why not tonight?” Serena’s voice had the petulant tone of a child deprived of a promised treat.
“Because we need the best possible light for filming.” The man spoke with the same distinctive inflection as Valetta’s mother Teresa, who had been born on Ulu. Was it Chastel? Lowell’s inner wolf seemed to think so. He felt his fingers curl into wolf claws.
“But that means those Arctic werewolves are still roaming free tonight.”
Her companion gave a chuckle. “Our secret weapon will take care of them.” Secret weapon? Lowell hoped he might reveal more.
Serena’s sigh of satisfaction carried on a slight breeze. “You promise?”
“You can count on it. And imagine the outrage that will ensue once we show the Siberians footage of those Arctic werewolves killing Odessa Santin and her mother—”
