As she waited with Lowell in the elegant family room that overlooked the undulating gardens, Odessa decided she had never been more nervous in her life. That presentation back in Florida? Child’s play. Waiting to meet the Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun, the elite Arctic werewolf peacekeeping force who had killed her father? That was anxiety inducing. Her nervousness was trickling down her spine, cutting through every rational thought, threatening to turn her into a puddle of stuttering embarrassment before the visitors even arrived.

Lowell was doing his best to reassure her. “They are not scary.”

“You say that because you’re one of them.”

“Do I scare you?”

She turned away from her contemplation of the gardens to look at him. To study those near perfect aristocratic features and that Nordic coloring. The harsh planes of his cheekbones, narrow blade of his nose, and strong jaw might all have been carved from granite. In contrast, the sensual fullness of his lips drew her eyes and reminded her—all too powerfully—how they felt against her own. Lowell was dressed casually in torn and faded jeans and a gray T-shirt. These items did nothing to disguise the perfection of his body. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps, with a narrow waist, powerful thighs and a taut, oh-so-touchable ass.

Yes, you scare me. But not in the way you mean.

“Tell me about them.”

“Centuries ago, when the goddess Angrboda introduced the brotherhood, she decided it must comprise the seven—always seven and only seven—strongest and bravest Arctic werewolves. The bond we have is unique. We can be apart for hundreds of year, yet as soon as we get back together, it’s as if we last saw each other five minutes ago.” Lowell seemed to be looking back over the years, his mind flipping through his memories. There was no doubt his thoughts were pleasant ones. “In addition to our strength and fighting skill, each of us also brings another power to the group. Madden is a cop in his day job. He gets teased because he’s the pretty boy of the group and we have to surgically remove him from his mirror before we can get him out on a mission, but there is no one I’d rather have at my side in a fight. And the talents he brings to his police work—his perception and empathy—also help the brotherhood.” Odessa heard the genuine affection in his voice and was envious. Lowell might view himself as a loner, but he had a bond with his friends she could only envy.

“Sebastian is a maverick. He can be guaranteed to come up with wild ideas and take us off on a tangent, sometimes getting us into trouble along the way, but he knows how to get results. Vigo is a newcomer to the team, so he feels the need to prove himself. He can be intense, always striving to do more and be the best he can be. He relaxed a bit more on his second mission with us. He’s a gifted healer and is a paramedic in his human job. Then there’s Wilder.” Lowell sent her a sidelong glance. “He was our leader on the mission against your grandfather, Fenrir. Wilder is strong, quiet, and conscientious. Moving the brotherhood around the globe is a big task. Wilder is our organizer, the one who makes things happen.”

Odessa didn’t comment. If Wilder was the leader against Fenrir—the grandfather she had never known, but whose name struck fear into all who heard it—that meant he was the leader when her father was killed. She needed more time to process both those facts. It seemed her family might not be all she had once believed, but now was not the time to probe into that.

“You talked about a man called Samson.” She decided to move him on rather than dwell on Wilder.

“Samson, as his name implies, is the strong man of the brotherhood. But that’s not all he is. He led our last mission, when we took on Chastel and his Hellhounds and he did it well. Samson isn’t just strong in body, he is a man of principle, a loyal friend . . . and the joker of the pack. He’s a tracker whose skills extend beyond the physical. His intuition allows him to sense the emotion in a scene. It’s a useful skill. One that has helped us on many missions.” Lowell’s smile was warm. “That just leaves Jenny. She will tell you that her ambition is to one day turn the brotherhood into a sisterhood. Like Vigo, Jenny is a new recruit and she’s also Wilder’s wife. She joined the brotherhood when Gunnar, our long-standing leader left. Jenny is warm and caring, but she’s also tough and feisty. Her fighting ability is her special talent. I’ve seen her in action and I’d back her against any man or werewolf.” He seemed momentarily embarrassed at having said so much. “I suppose they are the closest thing I have to a family. That’s how I know so much about each of them.”

“And you? What is your special talent?”

Lowell grinned. “I’m a geek. Environmental geek, werewolf history geek . . . I’m where the others come to get information.”

“I think I’m more scared than ever now. They sound formidable.”

He crossed the room to where she stood, wrapping his arms around her. “I won’t promise they’ll love you at first sight.”

She gave a snort of derisive laughter. Love her? She’d be lucky if they didn’t rip her apart.

“I can’t wipe out centuries of history in an instant. But I’m here . . . and I’m on your side.”

As if his words were a cue, they heard tires crunching on the sweeping gravel drive outside. Odessa swallowed hard at the sound of voices and laughter. It was the sound of camaraderie. Someone pushed the front door open, someone who clearly needed no invitation. Footsteps echoed on the tiles in the hall, and a man’s voice rang out.

“He’ll have forgotten and have his nose buried in a book. You try the library while I get the beers.”

“In here, Samson.” Lowell called out to signal his presence in the family room.

Odessa slid her hand into his as she heard the direction of the footsteps change. Then they were there, crowding into the room. Five tall, muscular male Arctic werewolves. Powerful and imposing with a military stance. Alongside them, Jenny Wilder appeared almost fragile even though she was above average height and looked to have a wiry strength of her own. They were all striking with their silvery hair, pale skin, and wide-set golden eyes.

Lowell gripped her fingers tighter and the action gave Odessa an injection of courage, enabling her to lift her head a little higher and meet the stares that were directed at her.

“This is Odessa Santin.” She was grateful to Lowell for the way he said her name as though it was something to be proud of.

There was a lengthy silence before one man—the one who had to be Samson because of his size—stepped forward and held out his hand. “You look like your father.” Although the words could have been damning, his voice was courteous. For Odessa, who had been brought up to believe that all Arctic werewolves were demons, it was a relief. It didn’t drive away her nerves, but it helped to alleviate them slightly. She found her hand being held in a warm, strong grasp. “I’m Samson Lee.”

“I thought you were getting the beers?” Another man moved alongside Samson. He beckoned Jenny forward. “My name is Elliott Wilder and this is my wife, Jenny.” She sensed he was awaiting her reaction to his name with some apprehension.

She knew why. This was the man who had killed her father. She didn’t know the details of how Santin had died. She did know his death had been sanctioned by her grandmother, the goddess Angrboda. The woman who was also, because of their convoluted family tree, her great-grandmother. For now, she had to put her father’s death behind her and focus on ending this nightmare. If tolerating this man had to be part of that, then she would do it. Although she couldn’t quite summon a smile, she managed a nod.

By the time she had been introduced to the other members of the brotherhood, Odessa’s head was spinning. Although they looked alike, she was surprised to realize she would have no difficulty remembering their names. They were all unique.

Samson returned with an ice bucket loaded with beers that he set on the large coffee table in the center of the room. Everyone sat on the sofas grouped around it, except Jenny who sat on the floor at Wilder’s feet. Before Lowell could begin to tell them what had been going on, they heard another car pull up outside.

“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.”