1. Chapter 1
Gunnar
After the destruction of our village and family, Wulfric had led us on a sea voyage in search of a new home. We brought only what we could carry. For me, that was the ashes of my family, kept safe in a box I’d made just for them, and nothing else but the clothes on my back.
Our pack was broken. Father was dead, gone to join Mother in Valhalla, as was the calling of all fallen warriors. Bjorn and Leif were nothing but ash. Soren, the man my brother had wed only a week ago, had been exiled.
The gods-cursed bastard had betrayed us all. The hunters who’d burned our village and killed so many had been there for him. Soren’s own father, once presumed dead, had led the craven assault on our homes while we slept.
We’d taken Soren in after an attack left him the sole survivor of his village.
We fed him, clothed him, and trained with him.
I called him brother. But he was no kin of mine.
All that time, he’d lied to our faces, to Lyall, and as soon as he was done using my pack for protection, he turned on us all.
It made no sense.
Wulfric led the survivors to an island we came to call Ulfheim. He’d told us this would be the fresh start we needed. We could rebuild, heal.
How do you heal wounds that have cut soul-deep? What’s the point of rebuilding a home if there’s no one to share it with?
There’s not a healer in all the nine realms who can heal a broken heart.
Years passed. A human came to our island for the first time in a long time.
Kieran Grove, a man from a place in the future he called New York.
I was shocked when Wulfric told us Kieran was his mate and allowed him to join our pack.
Lyall remained alone. For as much as I had come to hate Soren, I would never blame Lyall for remaining steadfast in his devotion.
As for Anders, only the gods know what became of him.
The fool challenged Wulfric and got himself exiled.
He’d changed over the years, becoming cruel and bitter.
I wish I could say I missed him, that I felt his absence like a blade between my ribs.
But things were quieter without him, more peaceful.
Until the day he returned.
Anders’s roars of fury echo into the sky, scaring birds from the trees and up into the clouds.
The cold air burns my lungs; snow sprays behind me as I run.
I must hurry. Whatever happened to him has caused Anders to go berserk.
Before his wolf took control, he’d told me to find a witch, one he’d left outside of town.
Gods above, can we ever have a peaceful day in this pack?
Buildings blur around me. “Out of the way!” My shout echoes through the streets, startling villagers out of my path.
A herd of goats is oblivious to my warning, taking their time to nibble and graze on anything edible on the muddy road.
I leap over them, just barely clearing the herd, and don’t stop until I’ve passed the borders of the village.
Gulping down air, I brace myself against my knees. “Where… the bloody fuck… is this damned witch?” I hoist my head up, looking left and right. Not a witch to be seen.
“Right over here, darling.” The voice comes from behind me.
My claws lengthen as I spin around, pressing my hand to a pale, soft neck. The wind rustles a cloak of raven feathers that spills down his back. He’s tall, slender, and snow gathers in hair that shines like polished gold.
Witches usually smell off, like the air before a storm. Heavy, expectant. This witch is scentless. Why? What is he hiding?
The witch’s lips curl into a crooked smile, and he holds his palms up. “Easy there, stud. I’m assuming you’re Anders’s brother? Gunthard, I take it?”
“Gunnar,” I snap, the hair on my arms standing up. That was too close a guess. How?
He slaps his forehead. “Ugh, that’s right. My apologies. Arlo Tenanbaum, agent of the Time Traveler Agency.”
A TTA witch. Here in my home. A growl rumbles in my throat, and I’d like nothing more than to put my claws in his neck.
Agents of the TTA are no friends of ulfhednar.
They may help preserve the secrets of our world, but they target any wolf who goes berserk and ensure they’re never seen or heard from again.
I don’t know why this witch brought Anders to us, but it doesn’t matter, not right now.
Though he can’t be trusted, he’s our only hope.
“If my brother weren’t losing his mind, I’d take your head off for daring to set foot here.
” As soon as the words leave my mouth, my claws retract and my fangs become blunt.
My wolf can’t stomach the idea of hurting him.
Why? He’s never hesitated to defend the pack before.
“You’re going to make yourself useful and help him. ”
The witch frowns. “I’m sorry but only his mate’s presence can soothe him now.”
Despair makes my heart sink like an anchor. No, Anders may have been a bastard for years, but he’s still my family! I can’t lose any more of my pack.
I grab hold of his cloak and wrench him close. “Quiet. Turn around and walk. Try any fancy magic tricks, and you’ll regret it.”
“Arlo!” a voice echoes from up the road. A man races toward us, blond hair mussed from the wind. He smells like another wolf. How does he know the witch?
“Goodness,” Arlo says, eyes widening, “Looks like Ulfheim is open for tourists, huh?”
Panting, the man stumbles to a halt before us. My claws come out, prepared to defend our territory from this unknown wolf. “You’re ulfhednar. I can smell it. But I don’t recognize you,” I say.
He raises his hands, armed with neither claw nor blade. “I’m Anders’s mate. Is he here? I need to speak with him.”
A shock ripples through me. If this is true, then he could help soothe my brother’s berserker rage and save him. When I glance at his neck for a mark and find only pale, un-marred skin, the tentative hope inside me dies. “You do not bear his mark! You will not have entry.”
Arlo says, “Hold on, Guthark.”
“Gunnar,” I growl, more irked than I should be that he can’t remember my name given the circumstances.
Arlo gives me a soft smile that threatens to defang my frustration. “Sorry. I’m a bit distracted by your rugged good looks. This is Anders’s mate.”
Heat runs down the back of my neck. What’s this fool going on about? Rugged good looks, my tail. This could all be a trap by the TTA, and I must protect what remains of my pack. Yet as I stare down into ash-brown eyes holding mine with unwavering sincerity, my hesitation fades.
Trust him, my wolf whispers.
I can’t remember when he last uttered words of guidance and not rage.
There’s no time. Anders needs help, or else he will be lost to us.
Gods, do not take another family member from me.
For what feels like the first time in ages, the gods hear my prayers.
Jamie manages to soothe Anders’s rage. As I watch my brother shift from his monstrous wolf form and fall into Jamie’s arms as a man, I can finally draw in a breath. Anders will be okay. Jamie got to him just in time. I close my eyes tight as they sting.
Thank you.
Wulfric hides a grin behind his fist. Lyall’s smiling broadly despite the blood on his clothes from where Anders chomped on him like a hunk of venison. I avert my gaze from my brother and his mate, scuffing my boot in the snow. It feels as if I’m intruding on an intimate moment.
Beside me, Arlo exhales and smiles. “Thank Freya. I really didn’t want to have to do anything drastic like we usually do with berserkers.”
His shoulders sag, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He’d used some of his own blood for the ritual to contain Anders during his rampage. Though he’d assured me with infuriating confidence, and flirting, that he wasn’t in pain, he looks as if he could collapse at any moment.
“Welcome back, Anders!” Arlo staggers, swaying on his feet. “Whoa. Feeling a bit dizzy… all of a sudden…” Every muscle in my body tightens like a bowstring, ready to catch him. His eyes roll back, his knees buckling.
Those brown eyes have barely closed before I’ve got him in my arms, shielding him from the impact with the hard, cold ground. Carefully, I lower myself to one knee, fingers buried in soft golden hair. He’s so still, lips parted, every muscle limp. He’s vulnerable, defenseless. I must protect him.
Strangely, the sting of saltwater caresses my nose, as if I’m out at sea watching the waves churn and the gulls chase the horizon. What is that? How can the ocean smell so close?
Unless… is this smell coming from Arlo?
It is.
He was hiding his scent, but when he collapsed, the spell must have worn off.
Why does he smell like this? Like childhood memories, fishing at sea with my father.
Days under the sun, rowing until my arms ached as I raced my brothers.
Salt on Leif’s lips when I kissed him for the first time.
Somehow, Arlo’s brought all my happiest memories to life when I thought grief and loss had buried them.
He’s…
Gods, he’s my—
“I can take him.” It’s Wulfric’s voice. He’s close by. Too close. “He should lie down inside.”
No. No one is taking him from me.
He is—
He’s—
A snarl tears from my throat. Fangs slice into my lower lip. In this moment, Wulfric is not my brother. He’s another wolf, come to take away what is mine.
I hear Lyall say, “Gunnar, what’s gotten into you?”
“Stay away from my mate.”
“Mate? The witch is his—” says Anders.
Wulfric’s eyes widen, and he freezes, one hand raised to urge me to stay put.
Pack or not, I will rip into him if he thinks he can—
Arlo’s body thrums with a low laugh. “My, my. What big, strong arms you have, stud. I’m all right.” The relief that hits me when I look into alert brown eyes leaves me breathless. Tension seeps from my shoulders. He’s all right.
Wait. Why does it matter?
Did I truly bare my teeth at my brother? My Alpha?
Gods! What has come over me?
“I… What happened?” I look from one brother to another. They don’t answer, but the shock on their faces makes my stomach twist painfully.