Snow Wolf: Wolves of Willow Bend (Book 9) (11 page)

“One escaped,” Fluff said. She stood nude and as oblivious to the icy wind as him. They would both need to shift, but he wouldn’t leave the bodies there to be picked over. No matter how rustic a life they lived, the bodies of their dead would be honored. Other wolves had gone to retrieve sleds so they could take them in. Until then, Diesel stood watch over the fallen.

Blood shone in her white, spikey hair and an open scrape leaked on her cheek. “Shift, little sister. Go to Chowder, let him tend you.”

“It’s barely a flesh wound.” She waved off his concern. Rage radiated from her, despite her calm tone. “Grinder is still hunting, the Enforcer is with him.”

Julian hasn’t left yet
. Diesel didn’t mind his continued presence. If anything, his cousin was a sharp hunter. If the invaders turned out to be part of the Volchitsa, it might prove useful to their hunt down south. “Where are the bodies of the others?”

Fluff pointed east. “At the first turn, near the riverbed.” It was frozen this time of year, but he knew where she indicated. They’d come deep into his territory. “We left them to the scavengers.”

“I will deal with them after ours are taken care of.” The swift sound of paws racing across snow followed by runners alerted him to his pack’s arrival. The wolves had been harnessed into the sleds, so he and Fluff took care to lift the bodies of their fallen one-by-one. Once they were loaded, the wolves left. Three sleds in all, with too many bodies aboard.

“Shift,” he ordered Fluff when he saw her try to hide her shaking hands. The cold could be too much, even for them. She obeyed and he stood watch over her until she once again stood on four feet. “Go to the cabin. Watch over Chowder and Dove. See that he tends your wounds. Wait for me there.”

Her lip curled away from her teeth. She didn’t want to leave him, but she was a good Sentry. She obeyed. Once she set out across the snow, he called his own wolf. The rush of fur over his skin a bliss and an agony. On four feet, he shook once then sent up a call. His wolves answered him, breaking from their mourning song to carry his word.

Ears swiveled, he caught Grinder’s call—he’d gone west, toward Amaruq. Had the interlopers struck the base camp first? The growl in his chest thundered free. First, he would inspect the dead, and then he would run for Amaruq. His little Dove had passed through that town only a few days ago. Had she been present or even in their guest house…

Cold rage settled in his bones. He had not found his mate after so long only to lose her to foolish Volchitsa seeking war with him. His pack may have made the move generations earlier, but they were still warriors in their blood. He would hunt them all down and erase them for taking such liberties with his people.

Mind set to the hunt, he raced across the tundra. His people had responded to the threat as they should. The roaming pack had swarmed in to Tikaani. They’d surprised the interlopers. When he found the savaged remains, a fierce pride filled him. They’d taken no prisoners. It was a brutal response to an equally brutal invasion.

Hadn’t he just told Julian that the Russians wouldn’t dare test his borders? Arrogance and pride were the downfall of all men. Stalking through the bodies, he tested them for scent. They were not a family group. Most were male, though he located two females among the dead. All were full adults—battle hardy, none carried more than a passing scent of the other. So no mated pairs.

One survivor. Running for freedom or to warn of their security?

Diesel shook his head. He trusted Grinder. The man had earned his name for his fierce tenacity. He would not let them escape nor would the Chief Enforcer, if it came to that. Julian hated losing a lead more than being proven wrong. Satisfied they would handle it, he continued his inspection of those who’d come for his pack. Only one body reverted to its human state. The others would, but it could take time and the cold might even interfere.

Crouching, he studied the man’s high brow, broad face, and long nose. The faintest tilt to the corners of his eyes—perhaps an Asian parent or grandparent? Nothing about him seemed remarkable. The tattoos he bore, however, told a different story.

His clan name, his position.
He was a soldier. Not high in rank, cannon fodder, most likely. Diesel sat back on his haunches. Chances were the others were like this one. They’d been sent to attack, to create chaos—to die. What did the Volchitsa not want him to see?

Aggravation edged his consideration. A second wolf split, cracked, and then began the slow unfolding to its human state. Raising, he watched and kept his observation dispassionate. Like the first one, the man’s tattoos marked him as a foot soldier. It took more than an hour for all the bodies to resume their human states and, by then, he had the measure of them.

They were a feint.

Leaving the bodies, he circled back to Tikaani. His wolves were in full force in the town. Their mourning song peaked at his arrival then they called out. He passed by each one, nuzzling, nipping and rubbing against them. With a snap, he summoned two Sentries to follow him as he set out for Amaruq. He left the bulk of his pack there, he wanted a wall of wolves between his vulnerable and another possible feint.

An hour from Tikaani, he slowed his pace and sent up a call. Grinder answered from his north, but it was in a negative. They hadn’t caught their escapee.

Letting his rage feed his strength, Diesel ran onward. When the lights of Amaruq came into sight, he scented death on the wind.

His Sentries flanked him as they strode into the village. The Inuit who made the village their home had been loyal to his pack for countless generations. Most who stayed in Amaruq through the long dark kept to the old ways. They would care for a wolf who came to their door; they honored them.

It was how the interlopers gained access. In every home they entered, they found carnage. The strike had been swift and bloody. Neither his ears nor his nose told him of any survivors, yet he checked each building. In the last, he found his wolf, a sweet old man who loved to live with the villagers.

Deidre and Cinder would be devastated at his loss.

Fine
. If the Volchitsa wanted him distracted, they’d failed.

Shifting, he knelt by the body and closed his sightless eyes. His two wolves stared at him from the open doorway, even as the wind blew snow into the building. “Join Grinder and find the interloper. Bring him to me, alive if possible. If not? Tear him apart, organ by organ. Box them up and then head inland, so you can send a message for me.”

They barked their acknowledgement.

“I will send the details when needed. Now go.”

The wolves swiveled and raced into the darkness. The task of dealing with the dead was his. He would honor them as the tribe so honored his wolves.

Then he would avenge them all.

T
he lack
of natural light left Ranae with only her fatigue to determine the hour. Even if her internal clock was off, it had still been several hours since she followed Diesel and Chowder to the surface. Their patients slept and, in between seeing other wolves, so did Chowder. The healer had eaten everything she cobbled together. When more wolves put in an appearance, she began tearing apart the kitchen.

The food stores were sparse in options, but substantial in quantity. Her mother had fed all the men in the house Ranae grew up in for years. She’d learned to cook more out of self-defense and survival than any real joy in the activity. Thawing meat in a pot of water, she got another large pot heating with vegetables and spices.

Taking frequent breaks to check on her charges, she managed to put rolls together with some flour, yeast, eggs, and milk. The eggs were fresh, but the milk had been powdered. One thing they had in abundance was water.

Chowder appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, his rumpled appearance and tired eyes promising he had slept a little. “What are you making?”

“Not clam chowder, I promise.” She rinsed off her hands then checked the meat she had thawing. It looked like chunks of steak—elk, bison or maybe something else. It smelled fine and she could brown it then add it to the soup. Once it was all cooked, she could use some flour to thicken the sauce into gravy.

“Damn, I thought you’d run a few hundred miles south to dig up some clams for me. What kind of care for your healer is this?”

Amused, she pointed to the table. “Sit. I have fresh coffee.” She stumbled across the grounds when looking at their vegetable stores. Kept in an airtight container, it had smelled like heaven, so she put a pot on to brew. Once she set a mug in front of him and poured one for herself, she eyed the pot. They’d need another one if any of the wolves outside decided to come in again.

They can make that call for themselves.
The meat needed longer, so she left the dough to rise before she split it into rolls then picked up her mug of coffee. The kitchen had finally warmed after she got the oven going. The farther away from the fire she was, the more she wished she had her coat. Unfortunately, she had no idea where it had been placed.

“You don’t have to cook for us,” Chowder said, cradling his mug. “Montana will send food up soon enough.”

“Not really doing it for you.” She shrugged, then took another sip of the coffee. It was like manna from heaven. “I need something to do and the patients will be hungry, the other wolves might need a hot meal.” Diesel might be hungry when he returned, too.

“It’s hard to be the ones who sit and wait.” The healer sighed, stretching his long legs out and crossing one ankle over the other.

She shrugged. “I’m used to it.” Despite the changes wrought over the last couple of years, she’d spent nearly a decade in sit and wait mode. First, waiting for Ty to recover from Claire leaving. Then waiting for her brothers to recover from the loss of A.J. while also waiting for A.J. to come home.

Waiting was old hat. Annoying, but familiar.

A movement in the other room had Chowder on his feet and checking with Ranae right behind him. The front door hadn’t opened, but she could hear the wolves out there, even past the thickness of the walls. There were a lot of them.

Demon moaned again, scratching at the loose bandages they’d applied to his torn wrist. Chowder waved her back to the kitchen. “I’m just going to put him into a deeper sleep.”

Not listening to him, she followed and crouched near Demon’s head to stroke his hair. The healer gave her a wry look, then placed his fingers to the young man’s temples. Demon settled at the first brush of her hand through his thick, dark strands. Though neither said a word, she could almost feel the tension drain out of the youth as energy licked at her senses. Healers might not all be soothing people, but they knew how to soothe.

Half-expecting it, she was ready to catch Chowder when he swayed. Bracing him, she rose and helped him stand. “Now you’re going to have something more to eat, and then you’re going to sleep.”

The healer scowled at her. “You’re the guest here.”

“Except I’m also in charge of making sure the healer is still standing when this is over.” The wolf had to be wearier than he let on, because he let her guide him into the kitchen. Once he was back at the table, she turned away and put together a hot bowl of oatmeal. The stone cut oats had also been in one of cabinets. She’d set it aside with hot water before he’d entered earlier. Setting it on the table in front of him, she added a spoon next to it. “It probably tastes terrible, but eat it all then get some sleep. I can check their bandages, and you’ll be right there if they really need you.”

“You’re mean.”

“I can get meaner.” She folded her arms. “Now eat.”

She’d seen Owen do the same to his mate once. She hadn’t understood how he could stand there all fierce and scowling at what had to be one of the nicest people ever. Now, she got it.

Chowder picked up the spoon then made a face. “I hate oatmeal.”

“Pretend it’s clams.”

His grimace spoke volumes. “You’re right,” he said before he ate a spoonful. “You can be meaner.”

Ranae didn’t smile, but she liked seeing him eat. After he’d devoured four more bites, she returned to the counter, and her abandoned coffee. The wolf song beyond the walls climbed again and she sighed. The mournful notes pulled at her soul. A part of her longed to shift and join them.

“I’m done.” The healer pushed the bowl away then stood. “I’ll take your advice and sleep.”

Rubbing her lip against the edge of her mug, she kept herself from smiling. “I’ll wake you, if you’re needed.”

“See that you do.” He pointed a finger at her. “I think Pain should be your name.”

That wasn’t much better than the bird, but she’d take it. “Tell Diesel for me, would you?”

The healer grinned. “You’ll do okay with us, Ranae.”

“Thank you, Ben. But like I said, I’m only visiting.”

“Sure.” He waved off her rebuttal and wandered back into the room. She gave him a couple of minutes before checking to see him sprawled on the pallet she’d made him earlier. Once he was asleep, she’d go feed the fire.

Until then, she would pretend to be her mother and cook to fill the empty hours. Better to think about food rather than the kiss they’d shared while she waited for Diesel.

Yes, dammit, I said it. I’m waiting for him.

I
t took
Diesel most of the night to care for the bodies in Amaruq. Once he’d completed the work and cleaned the scenes, he used the radio to call it in to his wolves who worked in the Alaska Bureau of Investigations. Timer and Cork spent time as Sentries when not on their day jobs, but both wolves enjoyed the freedom their service offered while also continuing to protect the pack.

Cork answered his call almost immediately. “Sir.” His statement echoed surprise across the crackling line. “What can I do for you?”

“Trouble in Amaruq. Complete the cleanup and I’ll send a crew in to hold the base camp until we can make arrangements.” He waited patiently for the response ,which wasn’t immediately forthcoming. The wolf had to be coping with different facets of shock—his Alpha called him in the middle of winter, and the devastation in Amaruq would be felt for at least a generation. The pack took their relationship with the native people seriously.

“We’ll take care of them, sir.” Cork finally returned over the line. “Home?”

“Your family is safe.” He had not seen any of Cork’s immediate family in the dead or the wounded. “Others are injured. Find me once you’re here.”

He wouldn’t share more over the radio line.

“Understood. Cork, out.” The man signed off and Diesel shut the radio down. It was an old analog way to connect that few relied on in their digital age. It pleased him that it afforded a level of privacy they might not otherwise have.

He made one last pass through the town in his wolf form before he sent up a call and listened. Grinder answered his howl, and he set off in the direction his wolf indicated. The Sentry sent up a howl periodically as Diesel tracked him, but once he had the feel for where his wolf was, he bayed. The order kept the other wolf quiet. He doubted the Sentry would endanger his hunt, but Diesel didn’t need sound to track once he’d detected his wolf.

Every wolf in the Yukon pack was tethered to him, some so deep he knew them as he did his bones and others more fragile, but present. The Sentries were blood oathed to him. Even if Grinder hadn’t given him a direction to travel in, he would have known.

A faint light touched the horizon. A hint of the sunrise which peaked and set in the same few minutes. The daylight would soon begin to grow longer, but the night still held sway. The snow crunched beneath his feet, a fresh powder though the skies had already begun to clear. Whatever storm front assaulted them earlier, it had passed.

He ran with a careless ease of a wolf who knew his land, and he knew it well. No matter the season, he could name the landmarks, recognized the scents which belonged and those that didn’t. Had he not been preoccupied with his potential mate, he might even have detected the invaders before they spilled his pack’s blood.

Dismissing the thought as useless the moment it presented itself, his wolf focused on the task at hand and Diesel agreed. Their mate was of singular importance to them. To ignore one for the other would be a thankless war to wage within. Those who’d harmed his pack would be repaid three times as much in kind.

The last thing the Russian packs wanted was a Petrov returning. He would use the leverage to set the dogs on the Volchitsa where they slept. The reminder of blood repaid in blood had his lips peeling away from his teeth.

His Sentries silenced at his approach. They stood in a loose circle around a downed man. They’d taken him in a stone path along the frozen riverbed. Only Grinder stood in his human form, the other pair maintained their animal shape, their snarls keeping their captive contained. Julian had also shifted, and somewhere he and Grinder had found clothing—likely from one of the caches the pack kept throughout their territory.

Their prisoner had been afforded no such luxury, and his skin showed the bluish tinge from his time bare against the elements. Bruises mottled his chest and blood had frozen to his face.

He was still breathing. That affront would only last as long as he was useful. Diesel shifted, aware that he held all of their attention, save Julian. The Chief Enforcer kept his gaze on the wolf at his feet. So many shifts in such a rapid time had left his skin steaming against the cold, and his body aching. Ignoring all of that, Diesel tipped his head.

“He doesn’t seem to speak English,” Grinder said, frustration darkening every syllable. “Or he’s pretending he doesn’t. His screams are pretty clear.” He kicked the man in the face, sending blood flying and earning a yelp as though to prove his point.

“He doesn’t want to speak,” Julian added, his tone flat and unreadable.

Studying the man at their feet, Diesel examined his tattoos, the same markings worn by his dead comrades. “He’s a foot soldier. Likely he knows little else than his target. Like a good dog, he went to do his master’s bidding.”

The Russian spat blood onto the snow, his eyes nearly colorless rather than gold of most wolves or even the blue he and Julian possessed. A rare few amongst the American packs didn’t have gold-tinged eyes in their wolf form. More confirmation of the bastard’s lineage.

“Kill me and get it over with.” The wolf said, raising his chin in defiance. “I do not fear death.” His English prove impeccable, despite his heavy accent.

“No, you fear failure.” It was an old tale, one Diesel understood well. “Living would be a worse fate for you, wouldn’t it?”

His wolves said nothing. They wouldn’t challenge his ruling even if their scent radiated disagreement. Only his earlier orders to keep him alive had prevented his disembowelment.

“I drew Yukon blood,” the wolf said with a thump on his chest. “I have no failure.”

“I don’t know. We caught you…slaughtered the rest of you,” Julian mused aloud. “That sounds like a failure to me.”

The Russian scowled then lunged at the Enforcer. He didn’t make it a full step before he landed on his ass in the snow with the Enforcer’s boot at his throat.

“Don’t kill him,” Diesel said, keeping his tone mild.

“Oh, I won’t.” Julian smiled, but nothing friendly lived in his expression. For the first time since Diesel arrived, he scented fear on the captive. “He’s yours to kill.”

Yes, the wolf was. “Tell me your name,” Diesel ordered. “The name of your clan.”

“I won’t.” The wolf squeezed out the words. Although he gripped Julian’s booted foot, he couldn’t dislodge it.

“Answer.” Diesel let the order bleed into his words. He was Alpha, and his dominance saw no challenge in the foot soldier beneath him. The man squirmed, and fought to hold his gaze then lowered it repeatedly.

“I cannot…” he wheezed.

“You can.”

The wolf struggled for another heartbeat, before the fight went out of him and he sagged. “I am Yury,” the man said. “Yury Volkov.” The surname meant nothing. Many wolves in Russia adopted the last name. At one time, more than half the Alphas of those packs had the same name.

“Your clan.”

“Volchitsa.” The admission only confirmed what he’d already learned.

“What was your mission?”

Yury squirmed, and fresh blood appeared on the snow where his frozen flesh tore against the ice. “Please, Alpha…kill me.”

“Your mission, and don’t make me repeat myself.” As if of one will, Julian exerted more pressure on the man’s throat and he scrabbled against it. Despite his request to die, his need to survive still lived within him.

“Chaos—to make the Americans bleed…”
Chaos. To what end?
Diesel didn’t think the wolf knew, or he’d press him on the answer. Foot soldiers were rarely given the larger picture.

Sutter Butte and Hudson River had been attacked, now him. “What is the next target?”

“I do not know.” The stench of a lie choked him.