At the Viking's Command (Warriors Unleashed Book 2) (3 page)

She laughed, although
oh look
the broken sound wasn’t fooling anyone. Pressing down on the snow, she managed to turn her head, welcoming the small bite of cold in her cheek as she swiped at the blood trickling from her mouth.

She’d protested when Leif had started laying out his plans to take down Odin. Because a flat-out assault on the god was
such
a good idea. The entire paranormal world had it in for the werewolves because of the damned prophecy predicting the wolves would kill Odin and set off Ragnarök. She didn’t have any particular feelings about Odin, but going after the man when the entire world was watching for it was suicidal. Leif’s grandiose plans would destroy her Pack. Saying as much, however, had made Tyra
persona non grata
because Leif didn’t want anything but blind obedience to his master plan and Tyra had never learned how to submit anyhow. So, okay. She’d work with what she had. Stupidity and defiance.

She shoved her palm against the snowpack, ignoring the red-hot pain in her wrist. Bone grated on bone, but got the
hold-you-upright
job done. It was barely dawn now and her kind could only shift at night, leaving her a good seventeen hours of sunlight to enjoy her injuries before her nightly shift healed the worst of her wounds. The closer they got to the summer solstice, the longer the days grew. Now in May, with the sun rising at five a.m. and setting at ten p.m., the midnight sun was her friend.

“Let’s make a deal.” Other Packs might exist out there somewhere, but this one was hers. Leaving sucked. She shoved her hair out of her face and mentally debated the feasibility of trying to stand up. She didn’t crawl in front of men. Ever. Not surprisingly, Even looked like he hoped she’d reconsider her stance on begging, but too bad, so sad. Leif had taught her that the first rule of surviving Pack life was never backing down from a battle. If she eased up now and pulled out the tears and the pleading, she’d spend the rest of her not inconsiderable life span beneath the boots of Ake and Frey. Not to mention their dicks and their bodies.
Nightmare
. A gal had to have standards. Leif’s bite might have erased most of her memories of life before the Pack, but she knew that much about herself. She had standards.

Even cursed and moved between her and the other two men. He’d always had a hero complex. If it didn’t get him killed, he’d make a damned fine Alpha. Life in the Pack might even be tolerable under his protection. Usually, he was a big, rough man who didn’t say much, although right now he had protective written all over his face. Still, she wasn’t his type and he already had a female in his keeping, breeding. He’d let her go because he couldn’t afford to take on Leif today.

“We don’t deal with outcasts.” Frey cupped his balls, massaging the package like his manly parts were some kind of prize.
Wrong.
“Unless you’re asking for a final farewell fuck.”

So, okay, there was plenty about the Pack she wouldn’t miss. In her twelve months here, she’d never learned to
submit
and it looked like today wasn’t her day to start. She waved a middle finger at them, a picture being worth a thousand words. Ake’s angry rumble started up, right on cue, reminding her that obscenity had probably not been her smartest move but sometimes a girl had to make a stand.

“Inside,” Even snapped to the Alpha’s muscle men, jerking a thumb toward the collection of turf huts and tents that made up their lair. Any passing human would take one look at the motley collection and decide
arctic research station
. More than clever cover on Leif’s part of Leif, the tents were the unexpected bonus of his violent takeover of the camp from their previous occupants. The original researchers were now polar bear food, the Pack moving into their place and barely surviving themselves, relying on subsistence hunting and the occasional burglary to get by.

Ake and Frey weren’t bright. Brawny, yes, which guaranteed them a decent place in the Pack’s hierarchy. They were Leif’s enforcers and more than happy to do his dirty work. They actually hesitated, clearly debating whether or not the two of them could take down Even. The answer to which was:
hel, no.
Even, for all his good guy outside, was a vicious fighter. Ake and Frey came to the smart conclusion, turned, and stomped back toward the tents.

Good riddance.
Her last glimpse of the unhappy duo was of their parka-covered asses disappearing into the biggest, baddest tent, where Leif had set up court. Leif wasn’t rocking a Four Seasons either, but his tent had been a relatively safe spot to lay her head. Unfortunately, she had a taste for luxuries—and Pack life meant sleeping bags, Coleman lanterns, and peeing behind a bush. The lack of furnishings made it easy to move around their territory but she’d kill for a bed.

And that was clearly out of the question tonight.

“Shit, girl.” Rough affection leaked into Even’s voice as he squatted down beside her and handed over a pack and a parka. Thanks to him she wouldn’t freeze to death before nightfall. April in Greenland was still colder than shit, even if spring had finally started making its presence known. Next time, she needed to get bitten by a tropical werewolf, one from Tahiti or Hawaii.

She rolled to her feet, allowing his big hands to guide her upright. “I meant what I said.”

Even shook his head. “Alpha won’t negotiate on this. He said
go
and that’s your only choice.”

At least he pretended it was her choice and not an ultimatum.

“Then it’s a damned shame he’s the Alpha.” When she met Even’s eyes, his brief, terse nod said he got her subtext. He’d work it out and fight for the Pack leadership, but not in time to help her today. The glaring white expanse of flat snowscape was downright pretty with the sunlight bouncing off the ice-crystals and lending the illusion of warmth, but she knew there was nothing but predators out there. If a polar bear didn’t chow down on her ass, she’d freeze or starve.

“Ragnarök’s coming, no matter what Leif does. All of the Norse Gods will be riding our asses hard, out for blood.” Ragnarök, the Norse Armageddon, had been prophesied millennia ago. The seers claimed a werewolf would kill Odin, bringing about the onset of Ragnarök. That legacy had become insta-excuse for the rest of the Norse world to enslave her people. The wolves, however, were certain they’d get the job done and they’d seen signs of an impending (and successful) assassination. Not only had Leif bitten her and changed her into a werewolf, but he’d pitchforked her into the losing side in a cosmic game of office politics.

Even looked unconcerned by what might or might not be coming down the political pipeline at the Pack. Of course, he had his own power play to effect, so he probably didn’t give piss-all about their gods. “Odin’s not dead yet, for all Leif’s scheming.”

True enough. She was still appalled that their Alpha actually believed he could take on the god and win—let alone trigger the end of the world. She chewed on that while she zipped and buttoned. “Not yet doesn’t mean
not ever
. You and I both know it’s coming. It’s going to be us or them. All
hel
’s going to break loose.”

“Pretty much.” Even tugged the hood up over her head. “You know where you’re headed?”

That was when she had her light bulb moment and realized she might actually have found herself an escape clause. “What if I brought back help?”

Even shook his head. “I fight my own battles.”

She wished Leif could witness the hard glint in Even’s eyes. There was definitely a challenge in their Alpha’s not-too-distant future.

“A second lieutenant,” she suggested, scrambling for the sell. “Not to take down Leif, but some bad ass muscle to help us stand against the gods and anyone else who thinks it’s open season on the wolves because Ragnarök must be averted at all costs and yadda yadda?”

“Who?” Even sounded downright unconvinced. He’d always preferred to work alone. “What fighters do you know in the other Packs, sweetling?”

Of course, they also both knew that her mouth tended to get the best of her. She never knew when to shut up. But…this could work. She
knew
it.

Think.

“My mate,” she said, pulling the words out of thin air and desperation.

“Uh-huh.” This time, Even didn’t bother to hide the skepticism in his voice. “And he would be?”

“A Viking. A Berserker.” She didn’t know too much about the near-immortal berserkers, but the little she
did
know from her pit-fighting days said the males were the perfect warrior breed to stand by her side and help her kick some Alpha ass. After all, her Viking neighbor had won every single pit match during their Vegas days. She didn’t remember too much of her own fights, but she’d heard that he’d been paired against the most vicious and deadly fighters. Plus, everyone knew that Odin was downright scared of the crazy fighters Loki had created. He’d been testing them, or so the grapevine claimed. He wanted to know for certain whether or not they were hot-blooded, unstoppable killers without an iota of mercy in them. She was fairly certain she knew how those tests had turned out.

The Vikings had a kill count that made the werewolves in her Pack look like lapdogs.

Even smoothed her hair away from her face and pressed his mouth against the bruise on her cheekbone. Sweet warmth followed the dull ache of pain. That was life. Everything had a price—and a side of hurt.

“The Vikings don’t work for free and I’ve never met one who’d do it for love. Who’s going to pay their price?”

“I am.” Somehow. No idea, honestly, but something would come to her. The universe owed her that much. Her Viking’s face flashed through her thoughts. He’d been helpful, with a side of surly. Maybe she could convince him to do it again…

Even stepped away from her, crunching over the snow toward the row of snowmobiles lined up on the outer edge of their camp. Keys flashed as he tossed her a set. Their Alpha would take that act of generosity out of his flesh later. She couldn’t afford to regret the ride, however, as it was her only hope of making it to the berserkers’ keep. Their particular corner of Greenland came with no roads and no public transit, which was undoubtedly why the Vikings hadn’t bothered to conceal the presence of their keep. Covering the four hundred miles between the Pack’s lair and the Vikings’ keep would have been impossible on foot.

She had no idea what she’d find at the keep. Her Viking could be dead. Or perhaps surly and unhelpful was his usual
modus operandi
and the side of sweet he’d shown her was an incarceration-induced aberration.

He could be AWOL.

Taking a vacation.

Off raiding and pillaging and unable to RSVP to her end-of-the-world free-for-all.

A thousand and one things could have happened to him in the last twelve months and it was even possible that there was more than one gang of Viking Berserkers in the world. Even if it seemed to
her
like the paranormal world simply wasn’t large enough to survive two such gangs, she could be heading toward a dead end. There was only one way to find out.

“Stay away,” Even said roughly. “Go into town and hole up there. There’s money in the jacket pocket. Give me a couple of weeks before you come back. Things will change. You don’t like the rough sex here, but whoever you find out there isn’t going to give you better.”

The bite had changed her in more ways than one. Although she had only fuzzy memories of life pre-bite, her body recognized that the rough, dominating sex of the Pack was something new. It wasn’t so bad, but it was also never
enough
for her new werewolf libido. She seemed to have an empty hole in her body that no cock had filled. So much for sexual experimentation, right? At least now she knew what she didn’t like—even if she was still looking for the right guy to help her figure out her
like
list.

You betcha
. She swung a leg over the seat, gripping the handlebars in her gloved hands. Catch a Viking. Catch a break. How hard could it be?

~~~

The bride was doing the
glowing
thing again. Calder’s brother beamed, a silly ass grin stretching his face as he leaned down to plant a kiss on Pure’s mouth and she beamed right back at him, clearly satisfied with being imprisoned in a Viking’s arms. Vikar had gone a-Viking and saved the Valkyrie a few months ago. The rescue mission had apparently then taken a turn for the better, because Vikar and Pure had been an item ever since. Now, they were permanently hitched.

Good for them and
pass
.

Calder wasn’t interested in finding a mate of his own. He had plenty of opportunities for sex and mayhem without resorting to happily ever after and a wedding band. The loony look on Pure’s face announced that Vikar would always have a home and a homecoming with her—and Calder could admit that was one hell of a promise, even if it wasn’t one he himself had any intention of making to a lover.

He was
happy
for his brother, he really was. Even if weddings made his feet itch and his eyes roll back in his head. Calder fought the urge to bang his own head against the keep wall and waved off the drinking horn headed his way. Once he got the horn in his hands, he’d be honor bound to drink the damn thing down to the bottom. Getting drunk off his ass would certainly put an end to this wedding for him personally, but driving would also be off-limits then and he had escape plans to put into motion.

Going a-Viking had never looked better.

“You plan to be the next?” Rad elbowed him hard, grabbing the horn and upending it. Apparently, getting shitfaced figured prominently on the other Viking’s agenda.

While Rad swallowed and the others chanted encouragement, Calder considered his options. He had no need of a wife. Weddings had been contracts when he was born and a means of forging alliances. Back then, a man could have two or three wives, in addition to bed slaves. And, unless he was interested in a widow, a woman’s consent to the marriage hadn’t been required, although only a fool who wanted to wake up minus his cock would be that shortsighted. Courtship was also quick, brutal, and bloody if the man took too long in making his proposal. Viking women weren’t known for their patience.

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