A Guardians Passion (2 page)

Fenris sighed. “Come. Have breakfast.”

“I’ll be there in a few.” She could practically hear her lover gnashing his teeth, yet despite the ache Freya felt in her back, pride wouldn’t allow her to give in to his command.

Gaea stood up. “I’ll be right there,” she said, moving to the door with a sympathetic gaze over her shoulder to Freya.

Fenris held the door open for his mother, staring at Freya for a long moment before finally disappearing back into the lodge.

Freya considered her victory, remaining in the cold Icelandic air with only her resolve. For twenty minutes, she occupied herself by shoveling off the path to the outdoor hothouse. Only once she was finished did she decide to go inside, both her back and the hunger of her child motivating her.

At the long wooden table inside the kitchen, her pack had started in on their meal as heartily as werewolves should. Gaea was seated at the end of the table, flanked by her two other sons. Fenris’s brothers, Rafe and Gunner, were younger by ten and eleven years respectively and were gammas through and through. If their elder brother looked at them, they asked how high before he could even utter the command to jump.

Gunner reminded her of an oil drum with oil drums for arms and legs. He was a big bruiser of a Nordic god with a beard and his mother’s cornflower-blue eyes. He kept his head shaved, but occasionally dark blond fuzz would appear. According to Fenris, Gunner resembled their father.

Rafe took completely after Gaea—tall, lean, and muscular, with his long, pale hair done in single braid, which was always coiled around his throat. Neither of Fenris’s siblings were Lunas, although Rafe was at times suspect.

Two cousins, who refused to believe they had actual homes outside of the lodge, were in attendance as well.

At the head of the table, framing an empty chair, were her mates—her beautiful, gentle, and faux-effeminate beta, Rayne, whose eyes were still at half-mast with sleep, and Fenris, doing his best to appear as if he weren’t in a mood.

There were platters of sausages rolled in thick, fluffy pancakes, and syrup, eggs, fried potatoes, fruit, and oatmeal set out across the table. Freya saw that her plate had already been filled. Orange juice was poured and waiting for her as well.

Freya went to her seat, pretending not to be offended by what was surely Rayne’s doing. She would have loved to scrape half her meal onto Fenris’s plate, but after the first bite of a sausage roll, Freya couldn’t deny that she wanted every last morsel. Fenris’s concern lessened only when she began to help herself to seconds. Rayne sat upright, having brushed off exhaustion and attempted to aid her. Both of her mates seemed delighted by her appetite.

The fuckers.

Chapter One

The Ulfur Lodge contained ten bedrooms and an enormous kitchen that could seat sixteen at a time. It had a spacious lobby, a decent gym, two Jacuzzi rooms, and an entertainment room, in addition to a bar religiously attended to by Gaea. One of the indoor heated pools could hold nearly thirty men comfortably; the other had a more modest capacity of four. The wooden hothouse in the back accommodated five men at a time. Yet with so much space, the lodge always seemed crowded. Fenris was supposed to be constructing the enlargement of the hothouse, expanding it to fit the higher number of visitors, but between socializing, serving as security, and all the other repairs needed from rowdy guests, he had his hands full.

As with everything in the lodge, the theme was communal. Wolves ate together, bathed together, exercised together, and relaxed together. Freya wasn’t entirely keen on the notion as every night meant a party or a brawl, and hardly any downtime.

She noted the clock upon the wall of the gift shop, the one place in the lodge that wasn’t filled with rambunctious, endorphin-amped beasts. She was in a state of envy. It was two o’clock in the morning, and the lodge was still alive with laughter, snarls, and clinking glassware, although much quieter than it had been. While she used to consider two in the morning early, her body throbbed with the need for rest that she knew was nowhere near coming.

As she moved into the small shopping space allotted to the Ulfur Lodge’s latest acquisition, Freya wasn’t surprised to find the ever-diligent manager worrying over boxes of what appeared to be new products. When the chipper, tiny werewolf arrived three months before with a proposition for merchandising, Freya had laughed.
“Brutes and bruisers don’t shop,”
she had said. Yet Benna Sohon with her bundles of copper curls and her creamy, freckled complexion sat before her in Louis Vuitton snow boots. Even without revealing her surname, Freya had known to which pack the child belonged and doubted Benna would last the week among the bravado and curses, crassness and drunken behavior that ran rampant in the Ulfur Lodge.

But then she should have known better. Although no older than twenty, Benna was as resolute as any of her pack, working out a business deal that would unite Ulfur to the Sohon empire: merchandise to and for brutes. In the beginning, there had been a measure of trouble with a few of the guests who took the shapely redhead as a part of the lodge’s entertainment. Freya had worried over the pup initially, but Benna had a gift that kept nearly every testosterone-amped male at bay. Aloofness. No wolf could charm, impress, or threaten Benna. Propositions fell flat, and seductions turned into comedy as Benna simply didn’t acknowledge anything other than good sales, quality products, and numbers. A Sohon through and through!

Gaea had taken to the girl as well, noting her penchant for numbers. Ulfur rarely lacked for incoming profit; however, the lodge didn’t seem to retain a lot either. When Benna offered help with the books, Gaea had agreed. The first place to experience her scrutiny had been the bar.
“No free pours. Don’t forget to use those stoppers on every bottle, and throw as much ice as you can in every drink, okay?”
she’d suggested with a wry grin.

Fucking Sohons, Freya thought. But then being with Benna was invariably one of the safest places that she could have gone to, as neither Fenris or Rayne would bother her in front of the girl.

The tiny redhead was sitting on the floor, going through a box of plastic-wrapped clothing. Freya crouched down, careful of her belly. She lifted a clear package labeled XXXL, recognizing the wolf-and-crossbones insignia that had come to represent Ulfur. “I can’t believe that this shit sells,” she muttered.

Benna gave a self-contented little grin, eyes still upon her work. “I told you it would. Macho or no, all folk love a little merchandising now and then. Something for the mate and cubs, for the pack omega, and ah—our best seller.” She gazed over at the item that Freya held and pointed. “The wifebeater is good for everyone. You guys are a brand.”

“We had a brand before, and that wasn’t yours.”

“Rayne’s balms and moisturizers sell faster than he can produce them…in Paris, in London, and in New York. Not here. In return, I’ve been turning quite a profit with the simplest of souvenirs. Not to worry. Trust me. I know business.”

Freya tossed the shirt down upon a pile of similar products. She had to give the girl credit. Because of Benna, money was coming in left and right. “Of course you do. You’re an aristocrat.”

Benna threw her head back, curls bouncing. “My skin is gonna be so thick between my fighting lessons from Rafe, drinking lessons from Gunner and Gaea, and your scathing commentaries. I’m learning more by the day. I knew this venture would be beneficial.”

Freya eased down into a seated position and examined another open box. She rummaged through it but wasn’t really interested in the contents of beer steins, key chains, and towels. As Benna rambled on about plans to grow the profits and the lodge, Freya’s only thought was of sleep.

Occasionally if she returned to the bedroom that she shared with her mates, looking drawn and exhausted, they would allow her to rest. But more often than not, both Fen and Rayne would be eagerly awaiting her return. It would start out well-meaning—Rayne trying to ensure that she was comfortable, Fenris eagerly waiting to embrace her—but invariably most nights descended into Freya tending to them, getting her mates exhausted enough to fall into slumber first.

Well, fuck if she was in the mood tonight.

Using her time browsing through items, Freya tried to formulate a plan of defense. Benna had instructed her as to what items belonged in which piles as she inventoried each. Freya did as directed until her fingers coursed over a small plastic package. She lifted it out of the box and gaped in wonder. “Benna? What is this?”

Warm amber eyes grew wide as Benna swiftly reaching for the packaged set of newborn onesies with Ulfur and Proud written on them. “Oh shit,” she snapped with a wince. “You weren’t supposed to see that…yet.”

Freya moved the package out of the reach of grasping hands. “Really? Really, Benna?”

“Test items. That’s all they are.” Benna sighed. She was horrible at lying. “A lot of the clients who come here want to bring something home, so I thought why not try stuff for the newborns. You never know. They might sell.”

Might sell, your ass
. Freya wasn’t fooled. “Right. Okay.” Given the amount of time Benna and Gaea had been spending together, Freya suspected a baby shower might be in the works. Freya wasn’t opposed to the idea of getting gifts; the dread that a Sohon might have been involved really irked her. But then it was a kick-ass little outfit, black with a wolf gnawing on two bones. Handing the item back, Freya relented. Her battles weren’t with Ms. Coppertop, not when getting a good night’s sleep was more pertinent.

Benna moved over and inspected Freya’s box before wincing and pulling it aside. Freya could only assume that there were other newborn items within.

“You know, really, Freya,” Benna uttered finally. “I can finish these up. I mean, I’m glad for the visit and all, but—”

“If you tell me I need rest, then I will choke the shit outta you.”

Benna scowled but quickly recovered from Freya’s threat. “Oh no. Wouldn’t dare. Besides, I know you’re just trying to wait out your mates.”

Was it really that obvious? Probably. The entire lodge invariably knew, but then no one had mentioned it or even made fun of it. Either reaction would have been preferable; she realized then the apparent lack of pity being shown. Even Benna had shrugged matter-of-factly.

Benna thrust a handheld mechanical device toward her. “Here. Can you price-stamp these for me? Forty-nine ninety-nine. You just program the price in on the keypad and then press the trigger. Bam,” she exclaimed, apparently mimicking the sound of the device.

Freya snapped out of her personal well of self-pity, taking hold of the pricing gun and then the stack of plastic-covered shirts that Benna gave over. She set the shirts down and considered Benna’s words. “Fifty fucking dollars for a T-shirt?”

“No. Forty-nine ninety-nine,” Benna corrected, “for an Ulfur Lodge T-shirt. Yup. For everything it stands for, it’s really worth more than that. It says a lot about a beast that he can a) afford to come here, b) manage to survive staying here, and c) challenge anyone for the badassness that the shirt represents. That and, well, you can’t buy it anywhere but here,” Benna exclaimed with a wink. “That is what you call marketing!”

Freya set the price on the gun and pulled the first shirt onto her lap. One pull of the trigger affixed an adhesive stamp that read Ulfur Gift Shop $49.99. She made her way through her stack as well as a pile of sweatshirts and boxers that Benna handed over to her, all the while her exhaustion growing. Her eyelids eventually became so heavy she gave a yawn. “Hmph. If
you
know, it must be really obvious, huh?”

Benna gazed at her, eyes slit with scrutiny. “Again with the insults?” She added another stack of clothing beside Freya’s growing to-do piles. She had also taken to writing the prices on small pieces of paper, which sat atop the separate stacks. “It’s okay, though. You’re about to be a new mother, so I kinda get the whole anxiety thing. That and you rarely visit me in here.

“Fenris and Rayne are probably all over you. Males go crazy when their mates are…fertile. You’re probably not able to get a good night’s rest, and hell, you’re growing by the day, so that cub is probably sapping your energy and dancing on your pelvis to boot. So go ahead, insult away.”

“What do you know, pup?” Freya groaned, more out of frustration that Benna seemed to have nailed the seed of her irritation.

“Um. This is a lodge. Not the Waldorf Astoria. Oh, and um…we’re werewolves. And between Fenris and Rayne bitching about how skittish and moody you are around them, looking at them scowling all the time, and catching a whiff of
all
of your scents, I know it must be chaotic. Hot but chaotic. They are in constant heat, Machismo City, which all added together undoubtedly is the reason why you roam around trying not to sleep but still manage to get up at dawn. But that too is normal.”

Freya considered the little entrepreneur and what she seemed to be so sure about. There was no way that Benna had given birth; a Sohon would never have a child unmated. Maybe Benna’s mother had been a frank female; a sibling or friend might have needed to vent. Either way, Benna’s complete nonchalance surely dictated experience, and while not one to take advice from babes, Freya couldn’t deny her curiosity. “It is? Normal?”

“Y-yeah. I mean, with one mate, it’s hectic. With two…whoa. It’s gotta be hard for you. You definitely have my respect.”

“I don’t need respect. I need a fucking— I need a good night’s sleep,” Freya grumbled, letting loose her pent-up frustrations. “I need to chill. Hell, I need bourbon, but I can’t even have that! No, all I get is ‘Let me make you comfortable,’ ‘I made your favorite this or that,’ and worse, ‘You’re so beautiful,’ which is usually just a plot to get a squeeze, to get milk, and then—”

“Freya, wait. Hold that thought.” Benna sprang to her feet and walked over behind the sales counter. She returned to stand before Freya, holding a pamphlet in her hand. “Here. Have a look at this.”

Freya’s gaze drifted over the image of a pregnant female silhouetted by the moon. The pamphlet advertised numerous panels and seminars for new mothers during a weeklong retreat. “What the fuck? You have to be kidding me. Fucking Sohons. Your pack makes everything into a fucking production, I see.”