by Kate Pearce
Until he killed her.
He stalled for time, because maybe, even in his berserker form, he wasn’t completely lost to all decency. When he killed her, she’d shift back to her human form. He didn’t want to see her lying there, broken and bloody.
Wrong. Evil.
Danger.
Mine.
She came at him again, driven by instincts she didn’t understand or ask for. In slow motion, he watched his paw-hand swipe at her, knocking her back down again. He’d pulled his punch. She slammed into the sawdust, but bounced back up. The crowd roared in disappointment.
“Tyra.” Her name came out guttural, more raw sound than actual word because of his shift. There would be no reasoning with her now, but he thought she was in there. He saw the flicker of something in her eyes. She was fighting, trying to make sense of what was happening to her. Fighting the instincts that told her to kill him. Part of him wanted to let her do it.
He danced around her, playing with her because he was too much of a coward to kill her. The crowd loved it. Fucking bunch of sadists, they thought he was playing with her.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, when he was weighing a mad dash for the gates with her, the sun came up. Fuck. Leave it to the guards to come up with a new twist. Like someone had flipped a light switch, Tyra shifted, bones cracking and reforming as her fur retreated. He roared with outrage, but she lay there naked and panting on the bloody sawdust. The whole damn arena stared at her and he wanted to scoop her up, to stand between her and the world, but he was a bear and a berserker. Hardly a man worthy of being a fucking hero.
She rolled over, pushing up onto her hands and knees. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at the smooth expanse of skin that was her back. Faint white marks from a bikini top crisscrossed her shoulders and ribs. And lower, Odin help him, the sweet pale curve of her ass drew his gaze. She hadn’t been a prisoner—or a werewolf—long enough for the tan lines to fade from her skin.
“Got to stop meeting like this,” she muttered to the sawdust and looked up. And up. He knew the minute she recognized him. He was hard to miss, seeing as how he topped out at ten feet, but it was more than that. He’d never shifted. Never gone berserk in his cell. And yet she knew him.
“Wow. Talk about a cluster fuck.” She got to her feet and he did nothing. He couldn’t go to her. She wouldn’t want him to and it would tip the guards off as to his vulnerability. Her assessment was dead on, however. They were both really and truly fucked.
“Tyra.” He forced her name out and she sighed, a small huff of air that only he could hear.
“You bet,” she said. She didn’t beg or plead. Just stood there waiting for him to make a decision that was shockingly easy. Slowly, he forced the rage down. He let go of the desire to fight and shifted back into his human form, dropping onto the sand at her feet.
He couldn’t kill her.
He wouldn’t.
And yet he’d still failed to protect her.
***
Calder woke up, teeth bared, heart pumping. Fuck. He hated the dreams. Loathing, however, hadn’t stopped them from screwing with his head on an all too regular basis and tonight had been no exception. He looked down. Tyra lay curled up against him like a small heat-seeking missile, one hand twisted in the front of his shirt. It must have been barely dawn because she was human. She didn’t have any problems sleeping but, then again, she hadn’t been the one who’d thought about killing him. The wolf’s instincts didn’t count. He stared up at the tent, willing the memories away, but sleep wasn’t happening for him.
Carefully, he untangled her fingers from his shirt and slipped out of their sleeping bag. When she’d argued for separate tents, he’d overruled her. His job. His rules. When they reached her Pack, he’d take input from her. She’d gotten all pissy at that declaration and he might have kissed her, just because he loved doing that and she was hot as hell when she was mad at him.
The smile slipped away. She’d never mentioned that last night in the pit. He didn’t think she was really part of the forgive and forget crowd, but he had no idea why she hadn’t brought it up. Rubbed his face in his weakness or used it for leverage. Hel. If he’d been her, he’d have gone for the balls and not in a good way. Of course, she wasn’t him. Not only did she lack the equipment and the gene pool, but she was way better. A better person. A better friend. Better all round.
Introspection sucked. He grabbed his parka and shoved his feet into his boots, lacing like a madman. When he stepped outside the tent, it was definitely barely dawn. Northern lights streaked across the sky, the otherworldly green like mist painting the star-studded blackness. They’d pitched domed tents on the rocky edge of a lake filled with jagged chunks of ice. Var had joked that it was like they were running some kind of glamping experiment. Tyra had mentioned a preference for the Four Seasons when they’d been loading the gear before they left the keep and he kind of agreed with her there. There was nothing wrong with a good mattress and running water. He debated going back inside and waking her up to tell her so—and to do other things—but she had to be tired. They’d have to ride hard today to reach her Pack by nightfall.
In the hopes of cooling down, he unzipped his jacket and crunched over the snow to the Viking standing watch on the north side of the camp.
Var looked around when Calder got close, although Calder would have bet the other man had known the minute Calder stepped outside of the tent. Not much got past Var, despite his laidback attitude. “You’re early, my man. Your watch ended two hours ago.”
No shit. They’d stopped for six hours, because after twelve hours of hard riding, they were all ready for a break. While he’d rather jump straight to the fighting, that wasn’t an option. Tyra had shifted before their pit stop, running along side the snowmobiles for hours. His brothers hadn’t said anything. He didn’t deserve that kind of unilateral support, not when he didn’t know what he was doing.
Or what he was even hoping for here.
“Catch some zzzzs.” He nodded toward Var’s tent. “I got this.”
Naturally, Var didn’t move from his post. The man did an excellent imitation of a brick wall when he’d made up his mind about something. “You need to sleep. You look like shit.”
“Thanks for the beauty tip. I got this. You sleep.”
Var shook his head. “No can do. You know how Vikar feels about our fucking with his watch schedule. He seems to think every man needs sleep.”
“He needs to save his mother hen act for his mate.”
Var grinned. “You hear the fight when he told her she was staying behind?”
Hard not to, since Pure had a pair of lungs on her and she had no problem yelling her head off. Ordinarily, he’d have been happy to hear his alpha taking some shit from a tiny female, but since it was his fault they were headed out over the ice pack at the ass crack of dawn...yeah. Totally his fault.
“Hell of a way to end the wedding,” he muttered, trying not to feel guilty.
Var shrugged. “They’ve got that whole happily-ever-after thing going on for them. Luuurve,” he crooned.
Left foot. Right. Calder focused on the way their shit kickers crunched over the snow pack. That funny gray early morning light that made everything look unfamiliar. The camp would be waking up soon.
“You don’t believe in love?” Fuck. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation—and with Var, of all people. He’d fought alongside the other Viking for centuries. Var was a brutal fighter. After he left the battlefield, he liked to let loose in other ways. Women saw the tawny hair and ropey muscles and they dropped their panties on the spot. Var didn’t spend a night alone unless he chose to.
“Not for me,” Var said, and Calder had no clue if that was a “Sorry, I’m not personally into loving another person” or a “Hell, no one’s going to want my sorry ass that way.” The closed-off look on his brother’s face was enough of a deterrent to stop his 4-1-1.
Var turned, completing hi
s circuit of the camp. “You planning on falling for your werewolf?”
There was no planning involved. This love shit seemed to be more along the lines of an act of the gods than a well thought-out battle strategy. He halted. So what if he’d fallen for a werewolf? She was a worthy female and one hell of a fighter. He liked pretty much everything about her, except for the family she came with, and they all knew that family wasn’t something you could pick.
Calder eyed Var. “You don’t want to talk about your love life. Why should we discuss mine?”
Var eyed a particularly dense patch of shadows by a lichen-covered rock. Calder followed his gaze, but he didn’t see anything life-threatening in that direction. A juvenile arctic hare, its fur still brownish-white, hightailed it away, ears waving. Good thing for bunny there that Tyra was sleep, or her wolf would have been scenting breakfast.
“I’m not the guy who’s toting a werewolf around with him,” Var pointed out. “Or the guy who bartered away his services to fight a vaguely specified Pack battle.”
“Nope. You’re the guy who promised Pure that you’d go find her missing sister and bring her back.”
“True, but I didn’t say when I’d do that.”
They both knew that Var wouldn’t make Pure wait. Var talked a tough game, but he had a soft spot for Vikar’s mate, and not just because he’d shared a bed with her. Var liked the woman, even though he likely wouldn’t admit it out loud.
“They sent her into the pit against me, back in Vegas,” he said quickly, before he could change his mind.”
“Hel. That sucks.”
That pretty much covered it.
“They sent her in as a werewolf. The sun rose while we were fighting.”
“She shifted back.”
“Yeah.” He’d never forget the look of horror and what-the-fuck on Tyra’s pretty face when she looked up and saw him standing over her in his bear form. He might have been trying not to hurt her, but she didn’t know that. All she knew was that he had outweighed her three to one and came with a matched set of canines and claws that could shred her in seconds.
“Bet you scared the piss out of her. Definitely not the best dating move.”
“We’re not dating.”
Var shot him a look. “I agree that your strategy needs work. You want to start with flowers. Roses are always a safe bet. I’ll make you a list, but you think lilies, tulips, and daisies. If it’s got petals, it’ll get the job done. Going furry on a first date isn’t going to have the same effect.”
Calder snorted before he could help himself. “I got that.”
“She’s talking to you now,” Var pointed out. “She must not be the type to hold a grudge.”
“I tried to kill her.”
“You sure about that?”
Calder opened his mouth—although fuck if he knew how to respond—but Var kept right on talking.
“Because you’re a Viking, I’m a Viking…if you’d tried to kill a newly made werewolf, she’d be dead and we’d be having a totally different conversation. You volunteered to go kick some ass for her—that’s better than diamonds any day.”
7
Early evening didn’t do the Pack’s camp any favors. Even the fading light couldn’t mask the ragtag, rundown tents and dugouts. Tyra had promised herself she wouldn’t feel ashamed. Some folks had more. Some had less. It sucked for her Pack that they were in the less camp, but a lack of material shit didn’t make them less as people.
Her head had the message. Her heart? Yeah. Not so much.
She ached to give her wolves everything they deserved, to lead them away from Leif and let them live.
Calder didn’t bother with a stealthy approach. Being a six-foot-plus Viking had its advantages. He roared toward the camp on the snowmobile, bellowing Leif’s name when he swept past the two sentries posted on the outskirts. By the time they’d reached the heart of the camp, Leif came sauntering out of his latest hidey-hole. Tyra didn’t want to know what he’d been doing inside the dugout cabin because the man was still zipping up his pants, smelling like sex and whiskey. His body, however, radiated pure aggression.
He glared at his visitors. “Get your Viking ass off my property.”
Ake and Frey lounged up behind him, carrying rifles. Apparently, Leif had moved beyond pure fist power and had implemented a back-up protection plan. Calder was off the snowmobile and between her and the guns lightning fast. He didn’t take his eyes off the three wolves.
“Vikar. Watch Tyra.”
She didn’t need babysitting. She opened her mouth to protest, but Vikar simply wrapped his big arms around her and lifted. He might have squeezed just a little, because finding oxygen got a little scarcer to yell her feelings at Calder. Shit. Five seconds later, she was breathing again—and surrounded by a wall of Vikings.
“Tyra’s not welcome here.” Leif didn’t sound like he gave a shit, unless it gave him an opportunity to discipline her. He liked that plenty because the man was an open sadist.
Which was why she’d brought reinforcements. Determined to see for herself what was going on, she rammed an elbow into the nearest Viking side. Without success. Rad wrapped his fingers around her elbow and carefully removed it from his shirt.
“You should try using your words,” he said mildly. To her surprise, he budged up an inch or two, making just enough room for her to peak out. It wasn’t particularly dignified, but she’d take it. Her spyhole through the wall of Viking chests revealed that the Pack had come out, forming a quiet, hesitant circle around them.
Calder didn’t waste time. He stepped toward the trio. “I challenge you.”
Leif laughed, a mean, low sound that brought back plenty of unhappy memories. “You can’t do that. You’re no wolf.”
Her Alpha snapped his fingers and Ake and Frey turned their rifles on Calder. Idiots. Her Viking moved in a blur of cracking bones and flying bodies. Then Leif was standing alone as Calder tossed the rifles to Vikar. Ake and Frey were a limp pile on the ground. Part of her hoped those bastards were dead. It wasn’t nice, but she’d discovered twelve months ago that nothing about the paranormal world was nice. Still, she was pretty sure she saw chests rising and falling, so Calder must have limited the damage.
Even strode up. “He can challenge you.”
A quick, whispered discussion of Pack law broke out. Leif had never given a damn about rules, but clearly he could do the math. Calder wasn’t going anywhere until he’d gotten his piece of Leif. If Leif wanted to continue to lead the Pack, he had to take out Calder to do so.
“Goddamn it.” Leif spat on the ground. “Okay. If Viking boy wants a fight, I’ll give him one.”
Even started calling out the rules, but Leif wasn’t interested. To be honest, Tyra didn’t think Calder was either. Challenge fights were as basic as the pit matches had been. Two males.
One ring.
One victor.
One dead body.
Leif shifted without warning, his massive wolf’s body tearing through denim and cotton. Calder stepped forward to meet him bare-handed. The fight was brutal and primal—and unstoppable. The two males slammed together, blows landing with sickening force.
Frantically, Tyra tried to remember what she knew about wolf fights. The problem was, no one had challenged Leif while she’d been part of the Pack. There were many reasons for that, not the least of which was the undisputable fact that Leif was a savage fighter. He also fought dirty and was completely without mercy.
“Give him a weapon.” She slammed her palm into Rad’s arm.
Rad didn’t take his eyes off the fight and the circle of wolves, scanning the crowd for signs of further trouble. “Our boy’s good. No worries.”
Okay. So she hadn’t thought this through. She’d wanted Leif taken out and, since she couldn’t do it herself, she’d orchestrated it. She hadn’t considered how she would feel when Leif slammed into her Viking and Calder went down beneath a snarling, toothy mass of angry wolf. Her heart thundered in her
chest, threatening to jump right out of her chest and hunt Leif down. Please let Calder be okay.
Steel flashed as he rolled beneath the wolf. He had a knife. He just wasn’t using it.
She pulled on Vikar’s arm. “He doesn’t have to play by the rules. He knows that, right?”
Vikar grinned down at her. “Sometimes, it’s more fun to play by the rules.”
Calder charged the wolf and then he went berserk. Thankgodthankgod. She scented the wolves’ uneasiness and she got it. Because Calder was all kinds of huge and pissed off. She remembered this from their fight in the pit. His berserker form was a massive, feral bear superimposed over the man. He shot up, his shoulders growing broader to match the huge paws and lethal canines. Then he got down to business. Two hard swipes and Leif flew across the clearing.
Bleeding from the gaping slashes in his side, Leif didn’t move. Calder roared and followed relentlessly, standing over the fallen wolf. Leif’s wolf form wavered, then he shifted back. The man lay there on his back, bleeding. It was hard to feel any sympathy for him, knowing what an asshole he’d been.
Leif dragged himself up on an elbow. “We can negotiate. I’m going to take down Odin. I could use a fighter like you.”
Wrong move. Calder wasn’t an assassin and he and his brothers were loyal to Odin in their own way. The berserker shifted and Calder stood there. He planted a booted foot on Leif’s chest and pressed down.
Leif shut the hell up, his oxygen cut off.
Calder looked over at Even. “You all fight to the death?”
Even nodded. “Yeah. When it’s a challenge.”
Calder reached down and snapped Leif’s neck with one quick, hard twist.
***
Mission. Accomplished.
Calder looked around the circle, not certain what came next. His brothers lounged on sidelines, forming a human shield around Tyra and watching. He half-expected them to break out the beer and the popcorn. The audience reminded him of the pit, except that this time he was fighting for Tyra and not against her. That was better. Much, much better.
