Valkyrie's Vengeance_Loki's Wolves
Page 12
She stiffened.
Impossible! It can't be.
She gazed into the man's familiar face, and the entire world beyond his warm brown eyes ceased to exist: the fire, her pack, the man at the business end of her knife—all of it simply stopped.
She blinked, and her surprise faded. Her mind made the logical leap: it was possible.
He's a ghost.
A strangled snarl emerged from Sawyer's throat, but Victoria did not look at him. The hunter shouldn't have been able to see his brother's ghost. He lacked her gift of spirit sight. She kept a steady grip on the hilt, discouraging him from moving lest he slit his own throat on the blade.
"Daniel?" she whispered. The roar of the inferno engulfed her voice.
A faint smile fluttered across his lips but the expression remained deadly serious. His hand locked tightly about her wrist. Daniel leaned forward. His lips feathered a soft kiss upon the shell of her ear. His honeyed voice murmured as sweet as her memories, causing her excruciating pain, soul deep. She missed him so damned much.
"Not my brother, lover. You can't kill Sawyer."
Victoria's fingers relaxed. The knife fell from her hand. "I won't, for you."
Daniel turned his head and looked his brother in the eye. "There's been enough killing."
Sawyer's features contorted in agony and his hand rose, reaching for his brother. "Danny, I—"
Before Sawyer's hand touched his brother's face, Daniel's body lost substance. Energy crackled in the air, and his form shimmered about the edges. His firm grip grew weaker with each passing second until his hand opened, and he released her wrist.
Her eyes filled with tears. "Please, don't go."
Daniel looked at her; a sad smile touched his lips. "I've got to go, baby."
She closed her eyes, and tears slid down her cheeks. The hot air of the burning warehouse sucked moisture from her skin. Her aching heart pounded, full and heavy, ready to burst. She opened her eyes and forced a brave smile. She extended her arm and brushed his fingertips. "I miss you."
His hand closed on her fingers, and he squeezed. A smiled played on his lips.
"I miss you, too," he said. Then he was gone.
Victoria stood and staggered. She bent and scooped up her knife, and then she shoved it into the sheath on her belt. She glanced at Sawyer, still lying on his back.
He looked as stunned as she felt. He rolled to his side, coughing harshly, but no longer clawed for the shotgun.
Shaken, she looked about her, noticing the fire had worsened. Pillars of flame clawed upward along the walls, licking at the wooden beams that traversed the ceiling.
She scanned the interior of the warehouse and spotted two downed men who had accompanied Sawyer. The hunters had set the building on fire and ambushed the werewolves who had taken refuge within it. A few yards away, her packmate, Rand Scott, lay slumped on the ground. She cast another glance at Sawyer, but he appeared occupied with finding a way out of the building.
Victoria fought past falling timbers toward Rand. Her left shoulder oozed blood from a gunshot. The silver shot lodged in the wound interfered with her natural regenerative ability and weakened her. It had to come out.
With a grimace, she probed the wound with her finger and thumb. Stabbing agony radiated throughout Victoria's shoulder, and she ground her teeth. Her fingers were slippery with blood, but she located the silver slug and ripped it free from her body. She quickly cast it aside before the silver burned the flesh on her fingers.
A wave of nausea washed over her. Victoria hunched over, fighting tears, riding out the pain. Freed of the silver, her body started to regenerate, and her suffering subsided some.
"Goddess, I hate getting shot."
A shower of scalding hot embers dusted her arms and face and burned fabric, skin, and hair, bringing her focus back to her surroundings. Her bright blue eyes stung and watered, leaving her almost blind. She inhaled and coughed hard to expel the toxic fumes and lurched toward her fallen friend.
"Rand?"
The warrior did not respond when she spoke or react when she touched him. She grabbed his shoulders and shoved him backward to inspect his injuries. At seven-feet tall and three-hundred-plus pounds, Rand dwarfed her. His fiery red hair, including his full mustache and beard, appeared gray from soot. A motorcycle accident years before had left him with a prosthetic attachment below his knee.
Dark red blood soaked his white cotton shirt, obscuring the rock band logo on the front. Her heart leapt to her throat. He had taken a direct shot to the torso from a shotgun loaded with silver ammo.
"Rand!" Victoria shook him, but he did not regain consciousness. Shifting her grip to his arms, she hauled him from the ground. Despite her diminutive size, Victoria lifted his considerable weight with ease.
A great crash caused her to turn toward the western side of the warehouse. The wall shattered inward and the enormous form of a creature, half-man and half-wolf, appeared amid a shower of plaster and broken boards. The werewolf stood so tall, he hunched forward, shoulders scraping the ceiling. He lumbered forward. With a turn of his heavy head, he assessed the area, eyes narrowed against thick smoke. The remnants of his torn clothing clung to his body and thick grey-peppered black fur provided protection against the flames. Like a wolf, his ears came to high points, and he sprouted a long, bushy tail from the base of his spine. Much of him remained a man, including his ability to stand upright.
"Paul!" Victoria shouted.
Paul Thornton's entrance set off a chain reaction. One of the timber beams split and brought that entire section of the ceiling crashing down in a shower of debris. A huge crack rent the air, and the roof above Sawyer caved. Victoria's head jerked, and she looked in time to see a boulder of burning debris smash down upon the hunter. A fallen concrete pylon pinned him.
Paul turned toward the destruction and moved in the wrong direction, away from her and Rand.
"Paul!" Victoria's hands hooked beneath Rand's arms. She continued to carry the fallen giant toward their packmate.
Paul turned and lumbered toward them, negotiating the debris. A mouthful of protruding fangs made him difficult to understand. "Are you hurt?"
Victoria thrust Rand toward him. "I'm fine. Can you get him to safety?"
Glowing eyes stared at her through the smoke. "What about you?"
Victoria glanced toward where Sawyer Barrett lay trapped beneath burning debris. Indecision paralyzed her. Her mind warred with her heart. She should leave the man to his fate. She didn’t know why she hesitated.
At Daniel's request, she had already spared his life. She had no further obligation. The Barrett family was responsible for the wholesale slaughter of most of her pack, including her parents. Hunters murdered without mercy, using silver, fire—any means within their grasp—in brutal attempts to exterminate her kind. If he died in the fire he had set, it would be poetic justice.
When she contemplated abandoning him, her mind conjured a memory of soulful brown eyes and a mischievous grin, endless nights beneath starry skies, a passion that burned hotter than the desert sun. Her conscience shunned her rage, refusing to sanction her bloodthirsty desire for vengeance. She swallowed hard and sheathed her dagger.
"I'm bringing the hunter. Don't wait. Go."
Paul settled Rand across his shoulders in a firefighter's carry. Always the loyal soldier, he did not question or criticize his leader's decisions. "Don't be long. The roof is going to give."
She nodded, and Paul departed with their injured friend. Victoria watched them go, and then she cast a glance at the fallen hunter. Holding a protective arm before her face, she made her way to Sawyer. She ducked beneath a tumbled column to kneel beside him.
Rubble pinned his lower body and legs, so only his booted feet were visible. He retained consciousness and stared at her with bright eyes. Soot blackened his exposed skin. He stank of aggression and testosterone. Stubborn. Proud. Defiant. Typical Barrett man: like his big brother, exactly like his father.
"Why are you helping me?" Sawyer asked.
"I'm a sucker for a pretty face. Hold on. I'm going to lift this off you," she said. She wrapped her arms around the pillar and dug in with all her strength. Victoria pulled upward on the column.
Sawyer cried out in pain.
The fire breathed in and out like angry bellows. Cinder and smoke filled the air until it was all she could smell, taste, or see. Sawyer used his arms to shelter his face from burning embers and took refuge beneath his heavy leather trench coat.
Embers fell on Victoria's exposed face and hands and seared her flesh. The column would not budge.
She released her hold. "Damn, this is heavy."
The entire building quaked, groaned, and threatened to come down. Sawyer stared up at her with an expression full of despair and resignation.
"You can't do it," he said.
His doubt fueled her determination. "I have to shift."
Victoria placed her hands on either side of the column to brace herself and initiated the physical transformation from woman to wolf. Her hands turned to claws, and her ears grew points. Bones cracked and changed, including the elongation of her jaw to accommodate canine teeth. She braced against the pain and endured the terrible crunch of bone and cartilage. Skin distended over her protruding bones while her body pushed and pulled into the shape of a wolf. Ropes of sinew stood out upon her arms and legs while she acquired height and weight, splitting the seams of her soft cotton shirt and denim jeans. Victoria halted the change midway, enabling her to retain use of her human hands but gain wolf strength. Partial transformations required enormous discipline.
Her claws chipped chunks of concrete from the pillar when she tightened her grip. Taut muscles beneath snowy white fur bunched and gathered. She heaved the concrete column from atop the hunter and rolled it to the side. The shifting heap of rubble brought down more ceiling, burying them in a shower of burning debris. She crouched over Sawyer, protecting him from the worst of it, fully expecting a silver knife in the gut for her foolishness.
Rising, Victoria seized his arms and hauled him to his feet. He staggered, leaned on her, and stood with support.
"This way." A mouthful of sharp canine teeth slurred her enunciation.
She tugged on his arm, and the hunter flinched. His survival instincts trumped his innate revulsion, and he cooperated with her efforts to move them toward the hole Paul had created. She could have carried him, but the Barrett men were stubborn and independent. She doubted Sawyer would have allowed it without a fight.
Above them, the ceiling cracked.
"Watch out!" Victoria dropped her shoulder and tackled Sawyer from behind, propelling him forward. Flames descended on their heels and sent a wave of searing heat across their flank. A sharp spear struck her shoulder, and she howled in agony. The acrid smell of burnt fur and flesh filled her nostrils. She wrapped her arm about his waist and made a blind charge toward freedom through the billowing smoke.
Like a fire giant, the warehouse inhaled, sucking in a deep draught of air, and exhaled, causing the entire structure to split. It exploded outward in a fiery burst.
Outside the burning building, the force of the blast propelled them forward until Victoria landed face down in the hard-packed dirt, Sawyer pinned beneath her. She surged to her feet, grabbed his arm, and dragged him behind her, fearing part of the warehouse might topple onto them at any moment.
Racking coughs doubled the hunter over, but he staggered forward without resistance.
A pair of strong hands seized hold of her arms, providing support, and one of her pack took Sawyer. Victoria peered through stinging eyes and found Sylvie at her side.
"Hold still, sweetie. You've got a chunk of wood sticking out of your back." Sylvie moved to stand behind Victoria.
Victoria gritted her teeth and nodded. "Do it."
She removed it with a fast tug, causing Victoria to cry out.
"Thank you."
"Victory, you scared us to death. I thought you were a goner for sure," Sylvie said, scolding to cover her worry. She lowered Victoria to the ground.
Well into her sixties, Sylvie Thornton possessed the build of a warrior woman: tall and muscular, straight spine and long limbs. She had high cheekbones, a narrow face, and a sharp chin. Her silvered hair, once midnight black, hung straight and contrasted with her golden-brown skin and hazel eyes. Her heritage was a mix of Native American and Norse blood.
"I'm okay, Sylvie," Victoria said, though she gasped for fresh air. While she crouched in the dirt, Victoria spat a vile gob of mucus and soot to clear her throat of ash. She coughed to expel more contaminants.
The sun shone at the midday arc, hidden behind dark clouds in the stormy Montana sky. Victoria breathed in deep and drank in the crisp winter air, wonderful on her skin after the heat of the fire. She initiated the transformation from her in-between form to human. Bones broke and knit and her ears and muzzle retracted; her fur vanished. The majority of her burns and cuts healed. When it was over, she knelt naked on the ground. A bitter-cold northeasterly wind scalded her skin. Victoria straightened and winced when it produced pain from her collection of bruises and burns.
"Did everyone get out okay?" she asked.
"All heads accounted for," Sylvie said. "Take my coat, sweetie."
"Thanks." Victoria pulled on the jacket and fastened the front. "Any sign of other hunters?"
"Not yet."
Victoria craned her head to survey her surroundings and take her own headcount. Sawyer remained on the ground beside the fire hydrant. The human continued to cough up tar but otherwise seemed unharmed. Sylvie's mate, Paul, stood guard over the hunter. He stared at the man with barely-veiled hostility. A short distance away, Rand rested supine in a pool of his own blood, his head in Morena's lap. The whip-thin teenaged girl sat cross legged, her dark head bent so her hair fell over Rand's face. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.
Soft fur brushed Victoria's skin when Sophia, the pack's only non-shifter member, pressed against her leg. Victoria stooped to pet the pregnant gray wolf and inspect her for injuries. To her immense relief, she found nothing out of the ordinary. Sophia still carried her pups high under the ribcage.
"She's not due for another two weeks yet," Sylvie said.
Victoria nodded. Even though she held a nursing degree, she deferred to Sylvie's expertise on the wolf. The older woman was pack midwife and nanny, with decades of experience.
"Victory, Rand needs you." Sylvie frowned and wrung her hands. "I'm not sure he's going to make it. He's hurt bad."
"Keep watch," Victoria said, indicating Sawyer. The hunter might have been disabled, but Victoria didn't harbor any delusions. Given the chance, he would murder them all.
"Like a hawk," Sylvie responded. She moved to stand beside her mate. Her gaze held no kindness for the hunter.
Victoria coughed. "Don't kill him unless you have to, Sylvie. I went through a lot to save his hide."
"I won't kill him as long as he doesn't cause any trouble."
"Good enough." Victoria hurried to Rand's side and dropped to her knees. She struggled to attain a clinical detachment and regard him as a nurse would a patient, but her professional training failed. She saw only her friend.
"He's weak. He's lost so much blood, and they used silver shot so he's not healing." Morena turned a tear-streaked face to Victoria. The teenager stroked the singed remnant of Rand's bangs from his face.
His eyes opened, but he stared blank into the distance.
"Let me see." Victoria's fingers sought and found his weak pulse. Rand struggled for every breath, gasping for air. He coughed blood and it trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Rand reached for her, but his hands failed to complete the gesture. His lips formed words.
"The pack?" he asked.
She mustered a smile and took his hand. "Safe, thanks to you."
Understanding lit his face, and he tried to nod. His expression contorted into a grimace. She freed her hands, seized his shirt, and ripped the fabric to reveal his chest, riddled with holes, the scatter pattern of a shotgun blast. Her eyes filled with tears. With her healing magic, she sensed the extent of the damage to Rand's body and knew it was too severe to repair. Still, she had to try.
"Freya, help me." Tears trekked down her cheeks. She marshaled all her strength. "I'm going to try and heal you."
"No! You'll weaken the pack," Rand said. "This is the glorious death I desire."
Red fluid oozed from his mouth. A red spit-bubble formed on his lips and swelled until it burst when he exhaled his dying breath. His hands fell limp to his sides. The light in his eyes extinguished.
Grief closed her throat and caused her to choke. Defeat tasted bitter, but honor bound her to obey his final request. She felt the last of Rand's life slip away. When his soul rose from his body, she caught hold of his ghost. The other members of her pack could no longer see Rand, but spirits were solid to her.
A mournful wail rose from the pack, a plaintive and yearning cry. The collective howl of the wolves lacked the body and volume it had once possessed. Since the war with the hunters had begun months before, their losses had been staggering.
"Stay with me, Rand." Victoria clung to him, tethering his spirit to her so he would not depart. Her duty dictated she attend to his fate. As expected, his spirit appeared confused. The first moments following physical death were disorienting.
"Where else am I to go?" Rand had a bewildered expression on his face. He reached for the injuries that had killed him and examined his chest. "Hell, I'm shot full o' holes. I still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch."
"Your spiritual body will heal. Your pain will cease in Valhalla."