Valkyrie's Vengeance_Loki's Wolves Read online

  "I'm sorry," she said, "but I don't think I can help you."

  "You must help me," the woman pleaded. "No one can see or hear me."

  "Do you understand why that is?"

  Approaching at a jaunty trot, Jasper skidded to a halt. His bright eyes focused on the empty spot before her, and his eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath his lank brown bangs. His tongue flickered across his lips and moistened them against the aridness of the winter air.

  "What's up?" he asked, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is a ghost here?"

  "Shhh." Victoria waved a silencing hand at him. She cast an anxious glance about, concerned their odd behavior would attract the wrong sort of attention. Neither Jasper nor any of the other humans present could see the dead woman. They lacked Victoria's gift of spirit sight.

  Fortunately, no one spared them a second glance.

  Ignoring her shushing, Jasper bounced on the balls of his feet. "What does it want? C'mon, tell me what's going on!"

  Victoria stepped closer to him and dropped her voice. "It's a woman. She says her son was kidnapped, and she needs me to help him."

  Jasper grinned. "Cool!"

  "Not so much for her." Victoria glared at him, irritated with the teen's insensitivity. Not that she really blamed the boy for craving excitement, but their lives were already dangerous enough. They didn’t need to add to it.

  "Find out what we can do for her," Jasper urged. He had a good nature and a kind heart, but he didn't take the dangers the pack faced into account. He failed to consider how assisting the ghost would sap their resources and expose them to discovery.

  Rolling her eyes, Victoria exhaled through her nostrils so her breath formed a cloud of vapor on the brisk air. Born and raised in Arizona, she found the extreme winter temperatures of the high desert familiar. The thin air left her lightheaded.

  "Come over here so we can speak privately," Victoria said, addressing both the spirit and the boy. She shook off the ghost's hand.

  Victoria grasped Jasper's forearm and moved out of the path of pedestrians. The fifteen-year-old stood a full head taller than her and outweighed her by a whole lot, but she moved him with ease. He lacked the stature of an adult male and deferred to her because she outranked him within their pack's hierarchy. They sought shelter in the natural alcove provided by the Western apparel storefront.

  The dead woman followed.

  "I'm sorry, but I don't know how I can help you," Victoria said. "I have to protect my own people."

  The spirit moaned, low and anguished.

  Jasper cut in, “Victoria, we have to help her! It's the right thing to do."

  Victoria stifled a groan. Yep. Too much testosterone, no common sense.

  The ghost mother clasped her hands together as if praying. "Please, he's going to be eaten."

  Horrified, Victoria flinched, and her reluctance crumbled. It was better to die than dishonor her calling. "Where's Michael at now?"

  The woman opened her mouth as if to offer a ready answer, but her face froze in an expression of anguish. "I... I... don't know. He's close, and it's so dark. Please, he's so scared."

  Victoria’s nostrils flared. What was it with ghosts? Never capable of providing straight, simple answers. "I’ll need more than that to help him," she said, swallowing her impatience. "If only you can give me some way to find him."

  "I-I don't know." The outline of the spirit's body wavered.

  Victoria's sense of urgency spiked. Afraid the distressed ghost would dissipate, she softened her tone. "What's your son's full name?"

  The woman's flickering form steadied. "Michael," she said. "Michael Allen Frasier."

  "Good, that'll help me find Michael," Victoria said. "What's your name?"

  The spirit blinked. "June," she answered with less conviction. "June Frasier. I'm thirty-two. I'm a court reporter."

  Victoria nodded, hoping the gestures would encourage the spirit. The conversation was progressing better. The woman had volunteered more than she’d asked. "How old is Michael?"

  June's lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears. She grabbed Victoria's hand. "He's six. Please, you have to find him. He's all alone, and he's so scared."

  "Okay, tell me where he is, and I'll look for him." Victoria glanced up and down the busy street. Her wary gaze watched to see if their odd behavior was attracting attention. Fortunately, none of the shoppers appeared to have noticed.

  June's eyes widened. She shoved a fist into her mouth and bit her knuckles. Static ran through her pattern so she flickered, indicating she might wink out at any moment.

  Ghosts were displaced souls trapped between the planes of existence. Their ability to interact with the physical realm depended on many factors. Force of personality played an instrumental role, as did the trauma associated with a person's death. Because June lacked a solid presence, Victoria suspected the only thing anchoring the mother was her love for her son.

  "Where did you die?" Victoria's sense of urgency increased with each passing second. "Is your child still near your body?"

  "What do you mean? I'm not dead!" June stared at her in open horror.

  "No, wait! Don't go!" Victoria lunged, grabbing for the ghost, but her hand passed through the spirit's arm. Within seconds, June had dissolved into a shower of gray and white sparkles.

  "Damn it!" Victoria stomped her foot on the pavement.

  "What happened?" Jasper asked, dancing with excitement.

  "She's gone." Victoria ran a hand across her scalp to the base of her braid.

  "Gone? Where'd she go?"

  Victoria exhaled a breath she’d been holding. "I don't know. Sometimes the soul crosses over once the person realizes they're dead. Other times, too much stress can disrupt the ghost for a while. She might recover and come back."

  Jasper's fists clenched. "How long will that take? We can't wait! If her son's been taken, he needs help right away."

  "We know their names. There are other ways of finding them." Reaching out psychically, she sent a wave of cooling energy over Jasper, soothing his wolf.

  The boy's rigid stance relaxed somewhat, but his tone remained anxious. "Where will we start?"

  Victoria opened her mouth but froze before an answer crossed her lips. Her gaze locked on the classic muscle car parked alongside the curb on the other side of the street, a few hundred feet down.

  Her breath hitched. Was that...? Could it be...?

  "Hey, Victoria? What's wrong? What're you looking at?" Jasper's voice buzzed in her ears, increasingly insistent. The meaning of his words failed to register.

  Heart in her throat, she walked north. Pedestrians passed her on either side, but she barely noticed them. Before she got close enough to read the Arizona plates below the rear bumper, she verified her suspicions. The 1970 Chevelle SS 454 convertible was red with black racing stripes and a buttery soft white leather interior. With as much time as she'd spent in the car with her lover, she'd know it anywhere.

  It had belonged to Daniel.

  Chapter 2

  The nearer Victoria got to the car, the louder her heart thundered in her ears and slammed against her breastbone. The top was down, and the raised hood concealed the identity of the man leaning over the engine. Only long denim clad legs and scruffy black short boots were visible. He wore a revolver strapped to his thigh.

  Vertigo spun the world, worsening the lightheadedness from the altitude. Maybe she was breathing too fast or not at all. She lost all sense of connection with her own body.

  The first time Daniel took her out on a "date," it had been under the pretext of a vampire hunt. Working in tandem, wolf and hunter slayed an entire nest, and the only difficulty they encountered happened on the way home. The Chevelle had overheated on a dirt road in the middle of the desert, miles from anywhere. When the temperature indicator climbed into the danger zone, he pulled off to the dirt shoulder. "We need to stop for a while."

  "You've got to be kidding." The convertible's top was down, so Victoria tilted her he
ad and let her long hair tumble down her back. She stared up at the clear, starry sky and then shot him a challenging grin. "This has got to be the most tired ploy in the book for getting a girl alone."

  He turned off the engine and released his seatbelt. His white teeth gleamed in a cocky smirk. "It's not a ploy."

  "Oh, it isn’t?"

  "No, I'd never risk damaging the engine like that."

  Her eyes narrowed. She flushed with mixed irritation and embarrassment. Okay, so maybe her assumption was a bit conceited. Her ego certainly stung. In her defense, the man couldn't exactly mask his attraction from her sensitive nose. His basal aroma was warm and earthy, thick with arousal, distinctively male and virile.

  Her lips thinned. What the hell was she doing out here alone with him anyway? Hunters were off-limits, not to mention completely inappropriate.

  She noticed he hadn't taken out his cell phone or made any attempt to get out of the car. She promoted him, tone impatient. "Are you calling for a tow truck?"

  "There's no service out here." He smiled. "Maybe in a bit. Let's just give it a chance to cool down first."

  "Maybe I'll shift and run home." Punching the release button on her seatbelt, she snapped the safety strap aside. She bunched her legs beneath her, intending to boost herself over the front door. "I'll let a tow truck know where to find you."

  "Victoria." Daniel caught her forearm in a firm grip.

  Her head swiveled, and she stared at his hand. "Be careful you don't lose that."

  "I think I'll take my chances." Drawing her toward him, he captured her gaze. His pupils were fully dilated. He never flinched or wavered. He radiated unshakable confidence. His strong shoulders framed a rock solid stance. Passionate red-toned hues dominated his aura.

  "You're a brave man." From beneath lowered lashes, she looked up at him. She gripped his forearm, pressing hard enough with her nails to leave half-moon indentations. She found him appealing, but she'd be damned if she'd make it easy for him.

  "I don't need to play games. I know what I want," Daniel said in a tone strong with conviction. He leaned in close so the heat of his breath caressed her lips.

  "Are you sure? This is against the rules." Over their locked arms, she dared him with her smile, invited him with the breathy rasp of her voice.

  "Fuck the rules."

  "Oh, really?" Her snicker conveyed skepticism. "I'm sorry. Are you not Jake Barrett's oldest son who does everything his daddy says?"

  His brown eyes glittered with anger, and his jaw tightened. His dangerous chuckle sent shivers coursing through her. "Not everything."

  The roomy front seat of the Chevelle suddenly seemed cramped, and the man loomed larger than life. He oozed raw charisma. Wolf shifters had higher basal body temperatures than humans, but she perceived him as toasty warm. His soul radiated intense heat that caressed her skin like sunlight.

  "No?" Victoria arched her eyebrows. Her hand settled on the base of his throat, her fingertip pressed to the jugular notch, monitoring his strong pulse.

  "No." He exhaled.

  She breathed in, learning his scent, hungry to experience his essence. She broke eye contact to stare at his defined mouth and dragged the tip of her tongue across her upper lip in a deliberate tease. "Prove it," she dared. "Show me."

  He leaned in close enough so her hand became trapped between them. His lips ghosted across hers, soft and silken. He was rich and smoky on her tongue, molten heat, a unique flavor she fancifully likened to cardamom soaked in burgundy.

  She hadn't held him, touched him, or tasted him in weeks, and she never would again. Recoiling from the bittersweet memory, Victoria forced her thoughts back to the present. Daydreams were an indulgence she couldn't afford.

  The man bent over the Chevelle's engine straightened, and his top half emerged from beneath the raised hood. She stared, expecting to see Daniel, and for a full second her imagination supplied the memory she desired. He stood before her, all six-foot-plus of him, handsome and healthy, bursting with vitality.

  Quintessentially alive.

  Except, in simple reality it couldn't be him. That would be impossible. She'd witnessed Daniel's death with her own two eyes. The vision was a lie, an illusion embodying her heart's desire. She blinked and reality asserted itself.

  Fear coursed through her body, chilling her blood to a toxic sludge.

  Daniel’s father stood on the opposite side of the street. Jake Barrett, the notorious Hunter King, the man responsible for the death of her parents and most of her pack, and a living legend in his own right. Men revered him, monsters feared him. Lots of things were said about him, often impolite, but all were in agreement on one basic point–the man was a scary, seemingly invincible badass.

  Jake stared at her in clear surprise. Squaring his broad shoulders, he adopted a wide set stance. At six-foot plus, he had a dense, muscular physique. Salt-and-pepper dappled his brown hair. Sixty years of exposure to the desert sun had weathered his skin to tanned leather. Battle scars marred his flesh. She knew a dagger tattoo covered the back of his left forearm even though she didn't have a clear view of it from her current position. According to stories, the tattoo became a physical weapon in his hand. A knife with a blade that glowed like molten steel and seared everything it touched.

  Time stopped. Reality narrowed to a microcosm. Only wolf and hunter existed. She cringed, recoiling from the accusation in Jake Barrett's eyes. A serpent coiled within her chest, constricting her lungs and crushing her heart. Outside their private bubble, the real world continued to turn. People strolled past on the sidewalks. Voices and engines combined to form a muted hum. Cars crammed the street between them.

  Blinking, Victoria tried to force her rigid body to relax. She extended her thoughts to Freya. Goddess, he seems as surprised to see me as I am to see him. This can't be a coincidence that he's here in Albuquerque, on the same street, at the exact time that I am.

  A hesitation preceded Freya's answer, and then she spoke in a voice laden with remorse. I'm sorry, Victoria. It was vitally important that he find you. You'll need his help to save the little boy.

  Shocked at the betrayal, Victoria spoke aloud, "Goddess, what have you done? He's more likely to kill me and the members of my pack than to help!"

  Beside her, trembling Jasper latched onto her elbow. "V-Victory, is that?"

  "It's okay. Don't panic." Her hand closed on the teenager's forearm, delivering a reassuring squeeze. Through the pack bond, she pushed the command to his beast. Her first and foremost instinct as Alpha was to protect the younger wolf.

  The Hunter King's unwavering gaze appraised her and then Jasper in turn. In a useless but reflexive gesture, Victoria stepped in front of the boy. Despite the background din, the hunter conveyed the scary impression of knowing what they were saying.

  "Calm?" Jasper's voice soared toward soprano. "But you just said he was going to kill us!"

  She winced. "I misspoke. If he wanted us dead, we'd already be dead."

  "Th-th-that's hardly reassuring!"

  Jake Barrett's head tilted, and his brow lifted in a silent question.

  She glanced down the street in the indicated direction toward a pedestrian crosswalk. The stoplight stood in front of the Western apparel store with the blowup Cowboy Santa. Turning, she met his gaze again and nodded her agreement.

  When he walked toward the crosswalk, the dreadful knot in her gut hardened to an aching agony. She should run, but she couldn't. Victoria always struggled with blind obedience to her mistress. Freya's will trumped hers, and the goddess had made her desires known. This confrontation needed to happen whether Victoria wanted it or not.

  In answer to her doubts, Freya touched her mind. Have faith, Victoria. I am acting in our best interests.

  Yes, Goddess. Victoria twisted to the teenager. "Jasper, listen. I need you to leave. Now."

  Rebellion flared on his face. "But–"

  "Don't argue. Please don't argue." She tightened her grip on his forearm. "Go back to
the others. Run. Don't look back, and don't stop. Tell Rand what happened."

  "What about you?" Fear skewed the young man's face. His distress traversed the empathic connection, assailing her already precarious emotional balance.

  "I'm staying." She shoved Jasper and reinforced the command, infusing power into her voice so it reverberated. "Go."

  He staggered several paces and skidded to a halt. The expression of utter hurt and confusion on his face broke her heart, but she didn't have the luxury of time. If she survived, she would explain and apologize later.

  Victoria turned her back to Jasper and walked away, hopefully making it easier for him to leave. She hoped he could overcome his young male need to prove himself just this one time.

  Half a block down, Jake waited at the corner, his finger pressed to the walk button in a telling gesture. She quickened her pace to a jog, determined to meet him midway. She refused to show fear or give him a reason to chase her down. As much as she dreaded facing him, as furious and sick as she was over the death of her parents and so many members of her pack, she owed him. The man was entitled to an explanation about how his son had died.

  Daniel's blood was on her hands. The guilt consumed her like a cancer, eating her alive.

  When she arrived at the corner, the sign indicated no walking, so she chose to wait beside the trunk of a mature ash tree. The wide branches stretched overhead were barren of leaves. Head held high, shoulders squared, she faced Jake with fierce pride and raw determination.

  Time ticked past in millennial seconds. At what had to be the world's longest light, they faced one another across the two-lane divide. Vehicles rolled through the intersection, but she barely noticed them. Jake's stone-cold gaze mirrored the smooth, slate-gray surface of his aura.

  Shrapnel exploded from the tree trunk beside her face. A sharp wooden shard gouged her cheek. She flinched from the lancing pain beside her eye. The distinctive crack of a gunshot followed the impact.

  Her heart slammed against her breast. Wide-eyed, she jerked her face toward the trunk. Hot blood gushed down her cheek before her accelerated healing kicked in and forced the splinter from her flesh. Her flared nostrils caught the toxic fumes of hot silver. Snarling, she ducked just in time to avoid the second shot. The bullet struck the inflatable Santa.