Twilight Hunter (The Execution Underground) (24 page)

Another wave of energy shot from Jace’s body. He jerked forward and rose onto his knees. Even in wolf form, Frankie stopped breathing.

A replica of the symbol they’d seen in Manhattan Square Park glowed between Jace’s shoulder blades. Frankie howled as recognition washed over her.

She knew that mark. She had blocked the memory for the last three years, but now, God help her, she remembered.

* * *

J
ACE
’
S
EYELIDS
FLICKERED
open onto a haze of shining blue. Slowly he pushed himself off the ground, drinking in his surroundings. It was as if the world had been engulfed in a cerulean haze. He stared and could faintly decipher the outlines around him.

A forest. He was in the middle of a damn forest.

He wracked his brain to remember how he’d gotten there but came up with nothing. What had happened? And why was everything like an amorphous blue shadow?

He listened for some sign of life, but heard nothing except silence.

Where the hell was he?

He stood and scanned the area. A flash of what looked like an animal’s tail rounded a nearby tree. Inching forward, he moved toward the elm and stared into the blue forest. A large wolf was peering around a bush, its eyes beckoning him forward. Like everything else, it looked like nothing but a shadow, an outline of what a real wolf would have been.

Shit. This was all wrong. Either he was dead or dreaming, or he’d swallowed one hell of a dose of LSD.

The animal turned and ducked behind the bush again. An invisible string tugged at Jace’s chest, and though his mind briefly protested, he soon found himself trailing behind the wolf. Weaving in and out of the twilight trees, he followed it through the forest.

After what felt like an eternity, the wolf disappeared. Jace stepped forward into the edge of a clearing. He tried to call out, but he couldn’t hear his own voice.

No need to use words here. Thoughts are far more valuable on this plane.
The voice sounded as if it were coming from inside Jace’s head. He spun around. A man stood engulfed in the shadows. He stepped out from the trees and stared Jace in the eyes.

Jace moved his lips, but the words refused to come.
What are you?

A smile curved the shadow man’s lips.
A Skinwalker—a Berserker—as are you.

The words sounded oddly familiar, but Jace couldn’t place where he’d heard them.
A Skinwalker?

The shadow man stepped forward, and Jace stepped back.
You have no reason to fear me, though your thoughts are right. I
am
more powerful than you.

Jace dropped into a fighting stance.
What do you want with me?

The shadow man continued to move forward.
My job is to direct you to the right path. I’m your spirit guide.

If this had been real life, Jace’s jaw would have dropped. Instead, he just stared at the man in front of him.
Spirit guide? You’ve gotta be fucking with me. What sort of drugs did I take?

The man frowned, the first human expression Jace had seen him make.
I assure you that I am not “fucking” with you.

Jace straightened to his full height again.
Then who and what are you?

The Norse called me Heimdallr, guardian of Bifröst—the gateway to what you call heaven—and I’m exactly what you are.

What the hell was going on? Jace closed his eyes, hoping he would wake up. When he reopened them, he found himself still stuck in the blue haze.
I’m not following your thoughts here. What is this place?

The man beckoned him closer.
Come. Follow me.
The shadow man turned and disappeared into the trees. The same pull Jace had felt with the wolf tugged at his chest again, and he walked forward involuntarily.

The shadow man moved through the forest with ease, as if he knew every tree, every branch.
I’m your spirit guide, Jace—the spirit of the wolf.

Jace regained control of himself and stopped walking.
Wait, so you
are
the wolf?

The shadow man turned around and met Jace’s gaze. The wolf’s eyes stared back at him.
Yes. The wolf and I are one.
Then the man turned into the forest again and wandered deeper into its depths.

Jace never took his eyes off the man in front of him.
Why am I here? What is this place?

You’re in the spirit realm. We are past Midgard, or what you know as Earth. We are near Bifröst, the bridge between your world and the realm of the gods, the holy Asgard, where I make my home.

Jace wanted to curse, but still no words would come out of his mouth.
So I’m dead?

The shadow man ran his hand down a nearby tree, almost caressing the redwood bark.
No, you still reside among the living, though few are capable of entering our world. You are one of the elite.

Jace could have scoffed. Elite?
I’ve never been elite at anything, except maybe killing werewolves.

The man spun to face him and stepped forward. As tall as Jace was, his spirit guide towered over him.
You are elite in your birthright, not in your profession. Killing werewolves is a travesty. You’ve dishonored your bloodline for many years.

Goose bumps prickled over Jace’s skin, but he ignored them.
If you think I have an elite bloodline, you obviously never met my father.

The shadow man stepped over the shadow of a fallen tree and continued.
Your father chose a dark path and used his gift for his own twisted enjoyment. He was not worthy of the Berserker name.

The questions flooding into Jace’s mind were overwhelming. His thoughts raced. The trees and brush of the forest thinned as they continued forward. Another clearing lay ahead.

When they stepped through the curtain of the trees, Jace’s eyes widened. Before him stood seven stone statues, each one three times his height. Each depicted a Viking-like warrior dressed in animal skins. The warrior in the center stood tallest—a spear in his hand, and the pelt of a wolf covering his body and head.

The Berserkers,
the shadow man said.

Jace couldn’t tear his eyes from the stones. These statues were ancient.
What is a Berserker?

The shadow man moved closer to the stone replicas.
We are Norse gods—Skinwalkers.

We?
Jace pointed to himself.
No, you’re wrong. I’m no god.

The shadow man stared up at the face of the wolf-skin warrior statue.
You are a Skinwalker by birthright, a Berserker by fate. A remarkable creation.

Jace couldn’t wrap his head around any of this.
What do you mean? There’s nothing remarkable about me. I’m a half-breed werewolf. I’m not good enough for either side.
He remembered what had led up to this. The brawl with his fellow hunters, the fight with Alejandro.
Now both sides are against me.

Walking toward him, the shadow man examined him carefully.
You are no ordinary werewolf. You are a Skinwalker. You have the ability to shift like the werewolves you hunt, but you are set apart from them. They are wolves at heart, but you are a man, a man with the power of a wolf.
He gestured to the statues, before he continued.

We Skinwalkers can shape-shift, but we’re not limited in our choices as the werewolves are. When you come into your full power, you will be capable of channeling the power of any spirit animal you choose.
He pointed to the statues again, each man covered in a different animal: the pelts of a wolf, a bear, and a wild dog; the mane of a horse, the skin of a serpent, the feathers of an eagle and finally, the tusks of a boar.

Jace shook his head. This was so messed up.
But why do I have the characteristics of a werewolf?

You can shift into a wolf because that is where your lineage lies. Your family’s spirit guide has always been the spirit of the wolf.
The creature swept his arm out toward the wolf-man, the head warrior.
It’s time you learned.

Strolling between the statues, the man ran his shadow fingers over the stone surfaces.
In the time of the Vikings, the Berserkers were an elite group of Norse warriors who devoted themselves to nature. It was their belief that by wearing the pelt of an animal, they could harness the power of the beast they imitated.

As generations passed, their belief became a reality. They became Skinwalkers. The male descendants of the original bloodlines were capable of shifting form to match their family’s heritage, to match their spirit guide. For you, that is the wolf.

Jace glanced at the statue of...his ancestor?

The shadow man continued.
But an even more select group rose above the other Skinwalkers. They became the true descendants of the Berserker warriors, not simply by blood but by merit. You are a Skinwalker, Jace, and it is your fate to become a true Berserker, a god of the ancient Norse people. Someday you will assume your rightful place in Valhalla, the heaven of the fallen warriors.

Jace wasn’t sure how to react. The foundations of everything he knew began to shake and crumble. His full power? He thought of Robert, of the women the bastard had murdered. He had to find a way to beat him.
What do I have to do?

The shadow man’s expression turned even more serious, almost sad.
In exchange for power, a sacrifice must be made.

Jace glanced down at himself. A large hole formed where the shadow of his body had once been. His panic rose, but he had to beat Robert.
What kind of sacrifice?
he thought.

You must kill one of the male members of your family. His blood must be shed as a sacrifice to the spirit animals before you can gain your full power.

The shadow man faded into the cerulean shadows, which melted together, blurring until the man’s image disappeared into the twilight. But his voice echoed inside Jace’s head.
This is your fate, Jace McCannon. Embrace your abilities and you will conquer your enemies.

* * *

F
RANKIE
’
S
HEART
POUNDED
in her chest, and all her fur stood on end. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

A loud howl of pain tore from her throat.

David’s gaze snapped toward her. “Frankie, are you okay? Frankie?”

His words barely registered in her mind.

Focusing on the symbol glowing between Jace’s shoulder blades, she found herself back
there
again.

The smell of blood permeated the house, and the stench hit Frankie’s nose with the force of a freight train. She ran up the stairs and bolted into her parents’ bedroom.

There was blood everywhere. So much blood.

The red liquid had splattered across the walls. Frankie dropped to her knees and screamed. Her mother and father lay across their mattress, their bodies limp and tangled in the bedsheets, which were stained garnet from their blood. Their throats... Someone had slit their throats.

Faintly, she heard the sounds of sirens in the distance. Hot tears poured down her face, but her vision didn’t blur. Rocking back and forth on her knees, she wrapped her arms around her body and tried to hold herself together. The only sound she heard was her screams, and even when she closed her eyes, the only thing she saw was their dead bodies.

All she could see was the way her mother’s arm dangled off the side of the bed, her eyes wide open and her other arm reaching for Frankie’s father. Her father hadn’t seen it coming. He lay propped on his side, his face staring at the ceiling as if he’d only seen his attacker seconds before his death.

A loud sob tore from her throat as she found herself hoping they’d died quickly, without feeling the pain.

Frankie was too engulfed in her shock and mourning that night to take in the whole scene. She’d been paralyzed with grief. Her parents, their blood and their bodies were all she could remember, and she cursed herself every day for it, for not being able to recall more details for the authorities.

But how many times had she seen the police photos? The pictures of the blood smeared on the walls by human hands. No, not human, someone subhuman and sadistic.

Her eyes refocused, and she stared at the symbol on the skin of the man she loved. The same symbol painted on the wall by her parents’ killer.

* * *

J
ACE
WAS
WRENCHED
back into reality with a gasp. He toppled forward, his torso hitting the platform. A pair of large hands gripped his shoulders and lifted him back to his knees.

“Jace, are you okay? Jace?”

Jace’s eyes darted around the room. There were wolves everywhere.

David leaned into Jace’s line of vision and stared him straight in the face. “J, wake up. Jace, listen to me. Damn it.” He mumbled Yiddish curses as he repeatedly shook Jace to rouse him.

Jace clamped his hands onto David’s shoulders, still dazed. “Stop shaking me, David.”

David stopped, but he kept his hold tight. “Jace, are you okay?” he repeated.

Jace tried to steady himself, using David for balance. Swaying, he leaned on his friend. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, J. Alejandro was running for you, and the air started vibrating around you. I thought you were going to shift, but then you fell to your knees. It was like a pulse of energy shot out of you, and it kept coming in shock waves. It stopped Alejandro in his tracks and forced all the pack members to shift into wolf form, even Frankie.

Frankie? Where was she?

“Where is she?”

Jace shot to his feet. The world spun, and David caught him. He slung Jace’s arm around his shoulders and acted as his support. As Jace searched the crowd, David lowered him onto the platform again. Jace didn’t see her anywhere.