Storm Wolf Read online

  “I asked Valetta to join us,” Samson said. “She has been on Ulu, and she said there may be something going on there that could be important.”

  He left the room. When he returned, he had his arm around a beautiful young woman. Although she had the coloring of an Arctic, there was an ethereal quality to her looks that immediately marked her out as unique. Valetta Lee had an otherworldly quality that made her unlike anyone Odessa had ever seen.

  Moving away from her husband’s encircling arm, she walked directly to Odessa and bent to kiss her cheek as though they were old friends.

  “Be very careful.” Valetta intoned the words as though she were in a trance. “They have already marked you.”

  * * *

  Valetta’s unconventional entrance had broken the ice, even if no one—even Valetta herself—had any idea what she was talking about.

  “I don’t know what it means.” Valetta curled up on the sofa next to Samson directing an apologetic grimace in Odessa’s direction. “What did I say exactly?”

  “You said I should be careful and that they have already marked me.”

  Despite her odd behavior, Odessa decided Valetta was the person in the room with whom she felt most comfortable. Apart from Lowell, of course. He had kept hold of her hand as they sat down, and she couldn’t help noticing that, although they made no comments, his friends had all cast glances in the direction of their entwined fingers. Her heart expanded with gratitude toward him that he was prepared to make such a public statement. It said a lot about the man he was. Lowell wouldn’t hide from a tough message. He was sitting here, surrounding by his Arctic friends, announcing very clearly his involvement with the Siberian leader. Romeo and Juliet have nothing on us. Although I actually have no idea what our involvement is.

  “I wonder what I meant?” Valetta glanced around the group as if in an appeal for help. “And who are ‘they’?”

  “Well, if you don’t know none of us are likely to.” Jenny was clearly more practical than the other woman. “You seemed to be in a trance of some sort.”

  Valetta looked bemused. “If I was, I’ve never done it before. Maybe it was because things were strange on Ulu.”

  “We need to explain to Odessa about Ulu before we continue this conversation,” Lowell said. “The rest of us have been there, but she has no idea what we are talking about.”

  “Ulu is an island in the Gulf of Alaska, close to the Tuxedni Glacier,” Valetta said. “It is small and mostly uninhabited. Its only real significance lies in its prehistoric cave drawings of werewolves. Ulu is also the place where the legend of the Shadow Wolf originated. Although it’s now known Jean Chastel twisted and exploited the legend to cause fear among werewolves, there are two known Shadow Wolves in existence. I am one and my mother is the other. She resides on Ulu.”

  “Ulu is the place where we confronted and killed Chastel,” Lowell explained. “There was a prophecy in the cave drawings that he would be killed by a giant Arctic werewolf. Chastel was so afraid of this that he tried to wipe out the entire Arctic species. The giant Arctic of the prophecy was Samson and the cave drawing foretold that he would be protected by a Shadow Wolf . . . Valetta.”

  “Although Chastel tried to use my powers against the Arctic werewolves, the prophecy came true.” Valetta turned to smile at her husband.

  “Yeah. I got my own cosmic bodyguard.” Samson’s chuckle was a rumble from somewhere deep inside his massive chest as he leaned forward to kiss her.

  “So what is going on now that makes you say things are strange on Ulu?” Wilder asked. “Surely things are always strange on Ulu? The atmosphere there is unlike anything I’ve ever known.”

  Valetta nodded. “It’s certainly a mystical place, but my mother said there has been an influx of visitors lately. And they have been paying particular attention to the ruined fortress where Chastel died. They have been congregating there.”

  “It’s not as if Ulu is the most accessible place.” Even in a roomful of strikingly handsome men, Madden was stunning. “Or the most hospitable. There’s nowhere to stay on that island. The night we spent camping there had to be the most uncomfortable of my life.”

  “And we all know how much you like your beauty sleep.” Samson tilted his beer bottle at him in mock salute. Odessa recalled what Lowell had said about the teasing Madden received over his good looks.

  Lowell ignored the interruption. “There has been a resurgence in online activity among the Hellhounds. And they are targeting Odessa.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Your photograph has been posted on their forums.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” she asked.

  “These people hunt werewolves. It means they are targeting you.”

  Odessa digested this piece of information while wishing she could turn the clock back to a time when the worst thing she had to worry about was whether she got a storyboard for the latest game completed on time.

  “Are you saying you think the Hellhounds are the ones visiting Ulu?” Wilder was frowning over Valetta’s comments about Ulu. “Why? What would they gain from going to the place where Chastel died?”

  “Maybe it has become some sort of shrine?” Valetta’s hands fluttered in a helpless gesture. “But there is more to it. The atmosphere has changed. It feels like there is more static electricity in the air, as if something momentous is about to happen.”

  Valetta’s special powers clearly entitled her to make vague comments without being subject to any questioning, Odessa decided. Static electricity and changes to the atmosphere? She stirred restlessly. Her fighters had been slaughtered and her offices bombed. Why was she listening to these vague comments when she needed to find out what was going on and take action?

  “Which brings me to why I asked you here.” As if in tune with her mood, Lowell reached for a remote control and flicked a switch, turning on the screen that filled most of one wall. On it, he played a series of videos. First he showed the scene of Odessa planting toxic waste in the Arctic tundra followed by the clip of Lowell leaving the Santin Creative offices just before the bomb went off. As the final images filled the screen and the brotherhood saw themselves approaching the Siberian headquarters, there was complete silence in the room. As the horrific scene of slaughter unfolded, Jenny covered her mouth with her hand. When Lowell finally switched off the TV Odessa glanced at each member of the brotherhood in turn. Their expressions told of their revulsion and shock. If this group of people were, as her mother had always told her, determined to wipe out the entire Siberian species, then they were very good at hiding it.

  “How . . . ?” Jenny raised a shaking hand to point at the screen.

  “Magic,” Lowell said. “There is no other explanation. Whoever is behind this is capable of a form of sorcery so powerful he or she can pull off that sort of trickery.” His glance took in each person in turn. “Which means we have to consider a very important possibility.” Seven pairs of gold-colored eyes were fixed on him and Odessa turned her head to look at him as well. He was caught in the beam of their combined stares. “Are we absolutely certain that Samson really did kill Jean Chastel twelve months ago on Ulu?”

  Lowell waited patiently for the impact of that bombshell to subside. Everyone except Odessa had something to say, and they were all determined to say it at once. The consensus was clear. Samson had ripped Chastel’s evil throat out. There was no way the bounty hunter had survived the encounter.

  When the clamor started to die down, Lowell raised a hand. “I’m not suggesting Samson didn’t kill the man he attacked.”

  “Sounded a lot like it to me.” Samson’s voice was aggrieved.

  “I know you risked your life that day, even though you had been to hell and back when Valetta was kidnapped.” The members of the brotherhood looked like they were casting their minds back to a bitter, shared memory. “Odessa doesn’t know the details of what happened, even though the rest of us do. For her sake, let me state what we know. Ulu was Chastel’s birthplace, he knew it
well and he used that knowledge to dupe us by disguising himself as an expert who could lead us to the cave drawings we sought. When Chastel captured Valetta, we tracked him—together with his devoted henchman, Jacques Denis and their Hellhound followers—across the island to his stronghold. While the rest of us fought the Hellhounds, Samson cornered Chastel. Chastel fired a silver bullet at Samson. The cave drawings foretold that Samson would be the one to kill Chastel and the superstitious bounty hunter was prepared to do all he could to prevent that prophecy coming true. Valetta escaped her captors and threw herself between them. The bullet pierced her heart. Believing her to be dead, Samson killed Chastel.”

  “But . . .” Odessa looked at Valetta. She didn’t look like someone who had been shot through the heart twelve months ago.

  “I am Shadow Born.” Valetta said it cheerfully. “My powers enabled me to survive the attack.” She rubbed her chest reminiscently. “Although I don’t recommend it. Hurt like hell.”

  “So you see why it’s so hard for anyone who was there to accept that Chastel didn’t die that day. What I’m suggesting is that perhaps someone other than Chastel died.” Lowell returned to his idea.

  “Are you saying the man who died that day might have been an impostor?” Sebastian’s hand shook slightly as he raised his beer bottle to his lips. Clearly the effects of those onscreen images were still lingering.

  “Why would anyone take Chastel’s place and pretend to be him?” Wilder asked. “We had him cornered. Why would someone place themselves at risk in that way? Even someone who was loyal to Chastel must have known there was a chance he could be killed.” He frowned. “And the guy Samson killed looked like Chastel. We saw pictures of Chastel from four hundred years ago. This guy was the image of him.”

  “We all know what Chastel is capable of,” Lowell reminded them. “His magic is incredibly strong. We know he learned his craft from one of the most powerful sorceresses ever to have lived. Remember how he took a group of young human prisoners and made it appear that they were a pack of Arctic werewolves? He’s so ruthless, he even turned Jacques Denis, his truest and most loyal friend into a werewolf because it suited him to do it. Chastel could have picked some random guy off the street and cast a spell on him that day.” He looked around at the doubting faces. “I’m not saying for sure that’s what happened. I’m asking you to consider the possibility.”

  Silence descended once more. When Vigo spoke at last, his voice was thoughtful. “How are we going to find out?”

  Lowell threw him a grateful glance. One person was prepared to listen. It was a step in the right direction.

  “I don’t know, but I know someone who might be able to advise us.”

  Odessa turned to look at him. “Who is this person?”

  “Your great-grandmother. The goddess Angrboda.”

  Odessa took a moment to digest Lowell’s words. Her family tree was a gnarled and unusual one, mostly because of one woman. Angrboda. The woman who was known as the Mother of All Wolves had a fearsome reputation. She was known to be passionate, violent, bloodthirsty, and very wise. The leader of the Wolf Clan, she had risen to become the mightiest warrior of the Nine Clans of the Iron Wood by right of the many battles she had won. A fiercely proud werewolf shape-shifter, she was also a high priestess, magician, and seer. While she was aware of everything that went on inside of the borders of the Iron Wood and within the wolf world, Angrboda rarely left her legendary palace of Jotunheim.

  It was Angrboda’s love life that provided the convoluted twists and turns in her history. Married to the trickster god, Loki, she was mother to several of his children, including the most feared werewolf of them all. The gods were so afraid of Fenrir that they kept him chained in a dungeon beneath Jotunheim. But Angrboda and Fenrir were more than mother and son. When he tricked her into becoming his lover, they had three sons, Skoll, Hati, and Santin. Odessa’s great-grandmother, Angrboda, was also her grandmother. Her great-uncle, Fenrir, the fearsome werewolf god, was also her grandfather.

  Odessa’s mother had been outraged at this evidence of depravity on her husband’s side of the family. “No child of mine will have anything to do with these people,” Emina had announced when Odessa was born.

  Santin, who was constantly clashing with his mother, had shrugged the comment aside. If Angrboda ever decided to overrule his wife and request to see Odessa, there would be no contest. The goddess would win. The request never came and Emina was able to pretend she had defied the mightiest of female werewolves. Odessa had realized from an early age that it was no use asking questions about the mysterious grandmother who lived at the edge of the world.

  Odessa’s thoughts led to an uncomfortable reminder. I need to call my mother. Emina lived in complete isolation, relying on an ancient landline and turning her nose up at such things as television, computers, and cell phones. It was likely that her reclusive lifestyle meant she had not yet heard about the attack on Santin Creative. Odessa was pinning her hopes on that. She shuddered at the thought of Emina’s reaction if she considered her daughter was in danger. The demands and pleas for Odessa to return home would be renewed.

  “I’m not ready to meet my grandmother for the first time under these circumstances,” Odessa said, in response to Lowell’s suggestion. What use could the goddess be? She lived in a remote palace so far from civilization that she might as well just drop off the edge of the world. If the accounts were to be believed, Jotunheim was a place that could only be seen by werewolves, so it didn’t show on any maps of the world or satellite images. How could a woman who hid herself away so successfully possibly offer any insights into what was happening in Odessa’s life?

  “I’m not sure that’s an option anymore,” Lowell said.

  Odessa bristled. She’d made it clear she was an equal partner in this and now he was being insufferably high-handed. Before she could speak, he pointed in the direction of the open door. The woman who stood there was so large, she filled the frame. The man at her side, who she could tell was an Arctic werewolf, was dwarfed by her presence. Her hair was the color of dried blood and her skin as white as snow. Even across the distance of several feet, Odessa caught the glitter of eyes like emeralds.

  “Ready or not, I think you should at least say hello to the goddess Angrboda. She’s traveled a long way to be here.”

  Chapter Eight

  As the other werewolves went down on one knee, bowing their heads and placing their right hands over their hearts, Lowell saw out of the corner of his eye that Odessa remained frozen to her seat in shock. He couldn’t really blame her. He could see a similar expression on the faces of his friends. He had never heard of the goddess leaving her palace before now. But that wasn’t the reason for Odessa’s astonishment, of course. For the first time, she was face-to-face with the grandmother she had never met. A living legend, close up, Angrboda was fascinating and intimidating in equal measures.

  “You may rise.” Angrboda’s deep, rumbling voice matched her large frame.

  The man who was with her stepped into the room, a broad smile lighting his features, and the atmosphere changed from one of formality to warmth and affection. “Have you missed me, my friends?”

  “The face looks familiar, but the name escapes me,” Samson joked.

  Lowell turned to Odessa, hoping to restore her to normality with an explanation. “Gunnar was our leader until the mission against Fenrir.”

  She didn’t reply, her gaze remained fixed on Angrboda’s face as if she had been hypnotized.

  The brotherhood members surged forward to greet Gunnar with hugs and wolflike nose nudges. Since all of the werewolves in the room were alphas, it was a necessary way of signaling their nonthreatening stance toward each other. Lowell was always amazed at how well the brotherhood worked as a team. In reality they should rip each other apart, especially the males of the group when in the presence of females. Because of their unique bond, they accepted they were equals and felt no need to fight for dominance.

&n
bsp; Valetta hung back slightly, waiting to be introduced to the man about whom she had heard so much. Gunnar had become something of a brotherhood legend since his departure from the team and, although he had issued an invitation to visit him at any time, traveling to Jotunheim was not easy. Ignoring the noisy group in the center of the room, Angrboda moved toward her granddaughter. Lowell kept one eye on the interaction between them. He was concerned about Odessa. She looked like a trapped animal that fears for its life.

  Angrboda took the seat that Lowell had vacated, her huge size making Odessa appear smaller than ever. “I have always wanted to meet you, my child.” Lowell couldn’t remember a time when he’d heard the fierce warrior goddess speak so gently. “It was never my intention that we should be estranged.”

  Odessa gazed up into the strong, beautiful face of her grandmother. Lowell could see the battle taking place within her. He didn’t know what she’d been told about Angrboda, but he guessed none of it was good. The outcome hung in the balance. Then, with a convulsive movement, Odessa threw herself into the other woman’s arms. Lowell watched as the two women embraced. He wondered, not for the first time, what sort of upbringing Odessa must have endured. I thought I was repressed. But there could be no comparison. Where Lowell made a conscious choice to avoid relationships and the complications they brought in their wake, Odessa actually seemed fearful of contact with other people. Yet he knew from experience that, once ignited, all the fire and passion that glowed inside her could burn so bright it threatened to engulf them both.

  “Let’s get some food.” He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. What he really wanted was to give Odessa and Angrboda a few minutes of privacy. They had a lot of catching up to do, and theirs wasn’t the sort of family history that could be discussed openly. Maybe it couldn’t be discussed at all. Either way, it was something they needed to work out in their own way.