Scent of Darkness (22 page)

Ann tried to remember when pronouncements like this had begun to be commonplace.

"She also has the Sight," Jasha said.

Which made weather working sound positively benign. "The Sight? As in, she has visions?"

"I didn't know that until very recently." His expression became severe. "Very recently."

"What did she see?" Whatever it was, he didn't like it.

He looked around at the trees, the stones, the clear blue sky, and shook his head. "That's not a story for out here. Not even in the daylight."

"All right. When is it a story for?" Tearing up the bread, she popped a chunk in her mouth and challenged him with a lift of her chin.

"When we're safe inside with warriors all around."

"And when do you project that will be?"

"When we are at my parents' house. In no more than a week, Ann. Give me patience for no more than seven days, and I swear, your questions will all be answered."

She liked the way he appealed to her, as if she had the right to reject his terms.

But she was a fool in love. She would always do what he wanted. "So your parents ran off and got married, and both families ran after them to break it up."

"You must understand, for my mother's people, who are wanderers and who make their living as peddlers and farmworkers, to have someone who can see the future, who can control the weather—that's invaluable."

"It's
Romeo and Juliet
as written by Stephen King.”

He leaned back and looked her over. Then looked her over again, his gaze lingering on the curve of her mouth until she, self-conscious, bit her lower lip. "You have a way of seeing right to the heart of the matter and summing it up in a few words. I've always admired that about you."

"It's my job."

"No, it's your genius."

He had tossed her compliments before, but he'd never really looked at her before. Now he saw her, his gaze so warm, appreciative ... lustful.

After all that had happened, how could she still love him so much?

In a steady voice, she asked, "What happened next?"

"Everybody—the Varinskis, the Romanies—was in a rage. Unfortunately, the Varinskis' idea was to kill my mother and drag my father back home and beat him until he renounced his madness. Papa's brother Oleg was number two in the pecking order. He was the leader of the expedition—and my father killed him."

"He killed his brother. Like the first Konstantine killed his mother."

"Yeah, the Varinskis are all into keeping that assassination thing in the family."

With every word, with every step, Ann moved further into a world of death and blood, of magic and wonder. She'd fought so hard . . . but always she'd feared that this was her destiny.

"So Oleg's sons vowed to exterminate my father and all of his line. My parents fled to the United States, changed their last name to Wilder, and disappeared into the mountains in Washington." Jasha waved his hand around. "Which gets us to our current situation."

"Not . . . quite."

"Do you know, I used to admire your ability to see the details? Now—"

"Now?" She lifted her eyebrows.

"Now I admire you more."

Smart man.
"What did the Romanies do to your parents?" She nibbled the salami and wished for a carrot stick.

"The old woman of the tribe cursed my father."

"With what?"

"His conscience."

"That's brilliant." Ann thought about the ramifications. "That's diabolical."

"He never says anything, but no matter what hour I come home, he's always awake."

"He's afraid to sleep." She knew. "His dreams are like memories, and they haunt him."

"Yes, but why do you say that?" Jasha sounded as if he was accusing her of something.

"I'm a woman. I'm perceptive about stuff like that." She smiled easily.

"Hm." Again, as he watched her, she caught a glimpse of the wolf within him.

Weren't men supposed to be insensitive? Why wasn't he? Did he smell the truth about her?

Had he seen the ghost of Sister Catherine?

Had he seen the mark on her back?

She reviewed the past few days. When would he have? Not in the woods that first time—they'd been covered with mud. Not in the tub—she'd been very careful. Not when she'd dressed for this trip . . . no. She had to stop worrying about the mark. For all Sister Mary Magdalene's dire warnings, Ann was no different from any other woman.

"What about your sister?" she asked. "How is it possible for a Varinski to produce a girl?"

Jasha smiled, and all sign of the wolf disappeared and slid into a fond expression. "Firebird is our miracle. Mama had the three of us boys, one year after another. Then nothing for ten years—and she delivered Firebird at home in the middle of a storm, the first Varinski girl in a thousand years. We named her Firebird, the symbol of rebirth in Russia."

"That's beautiful!"

"My father hoped it meant the devil's pact has been broken, but that same week ... I turned into a wolf."

If she hadn't been watching him, she wouldn't have noticed his hungry glance and the slight narrowing of his pupils.

She was sharing a meal with this man, and suddenly, she felt a lot more respect for Little Red Riding Hood.

"I'm done!" She scrambled to her feet.

"You didn't eat." His voice had that deep, resonant tone that made her nervous.

"I was too fascinated by the story," she said brightly. "Let me just wash up and we'll be on our way." She went to the stream. Here the sunshine splashed through the trees, turning the water a dazzling blue. Some long-distant storm had sent a huge tree crashing to earth, and the trunk rested on the rocks on either bank, providing a home for the squirrels and a footbridge for Ann ... if she chose to cross it.

Rolling up her sleeves, she dipped her hands into the brook. It rippled and sang, never hinting at its icy nature. Perhaps she should take a clue from its deception, and run across that bridge and never look back. ...

A warning sizzled along her nerves.
Something
was behind her. In a flurry, she leaped to her feet and turned, fists up, ready to fight.

Jasha. It was Jasha. He stood directly behind her, watching with brooding need and very little patience.

Stepping backward, she almost overbalanced into the water.

He caught her and held her a moment too long, a quick, intense reminder of desire.

Her pulse leaped. Her breath caught. She didn't know if he was going to let her go.

She didn't know if she wanted him to.

Then he did.

She blotted her sweaty palms on her pants and pretended not to notice the flare of animal heat from his body. "I would give anything for a bath."

He slowly nodded. "I'll remember you said that."

"In the meantime, I need to finish cleaning up." Calm down. Cool down. Prepare to walk all afternoon beside a man who wanted her .. . and intended to have her.

Why did that make her so nervous? The first time, he hadn't been cruel.

But he hadn't been denied, either. Last night she had held him off, because as he'd explained exactly how ancient and immense was the legend that held them in thrall, each word had been like the rattle of pebbles on her coffin. She was being buried alive by the weight of history and expectation.

"Are we going to live through this?" Her voice quavered with trepidation.

"I promise. I will die before you."

That didn't answer the question, and his nanrow-eyed gaze and soft tone did not comfort her.

"Let me finish here." She gestured at the stream. 'Til only be a minute."

He backed away so reluctantly she could almost feel the tendril of his desire slip away. His gaze clung to hers, dragging at her—

From overhead, she heard a shriek of fury. She glanced up, saw a blur of black feathers and two cruel, black eyes diving at her. From the side, Jasha slammed into her. They rolled along the bank. She found herself flat on her face, her nose buried in the earth, with Jasha on top of her, while that banshee screamed behind her head.

"Don't move!" Then Jasha was gone, on his feet.

She rolled over in time to see a giant black bird plunging toward Jasha, long talons extended.

He slammed the raptor with his arm, but it dodged, flipped in the air, and swirled like a fighter pilot to attack him from behind.

Ann found herself on her feet, a fallen branch in her hands, swatting at the bird like a maddened pro-baseball batter. She actually made contact, slapping the bird away as it went for the back of Jasha's head. As Jasha turned and she followed through, the branch smacked the side of his head. He staggered back.

The raptor recovered first.

She saw beady black eyes fix on her. The great black wings spread wide. With malevolent intent, with talons outstretched, the bird dived for her.

She ducked, closed her eyes, raised her arms to protect her face—and heard a scream of fury. Something solid, warm, and strong brushed past her and sent her staggering.

She fell on her rear, and looked up in time to see a giant gray wolf seize the bird in his jaws.

Not Jasha. This wolf wasn't Jasha.

While the bird struggled, flapping its strong wings and ripping with its beak and talons, the wolf violently swung its head back and forth. Black feathers and drops of blood flew.

Before her horrified eyes, the bird changed, growing larger, bare-skinned . . . human.

The wolf lost his grip on the bird/man.

The creature's features weren't quite human—the eyes were still empty, black and shiny. Feathers shaped his neck, his mouth was a cruel beak, and he was huge—taller and more muscular than Jasha. Grabbing the wolf by the nape of the neck, he lifted him off the ground.

Frantically, the wolf snapped at the arms that held him.

The bird/human prepared to dash him on the rocks, and as he did, he smiled directly into her eyes.

She was next.

"Jasha!" she screamed.

Jasha rose up behind them. He caught the bird/

human's head in either hand and, in one quick movement, snapped his neck.

Ann would never forget the sound of the bone and sinew cracking, of that life coming to an end.

But before she could get sick, the big, gray wolf sank to the ground, panting, exhausted, bleeding. "Oh, no." She hurried to his side. ''Oh, no." She laid her hand on his heaving side.

"No!" Jasha yelled.

She looked up.

A furious brown wolf broke out of the trees and charged toward her.

Ann found herself flat on her back, nose to nose with the huge beast straddling her chest. The wolf snarled, its breath hot on her face, its orange eyes threatening. Even the wolf's scent exuded hostility.

Ann had been here before, but this time there was a difference—and she recognized what it was.

This was a female, the other wolf's mate. And Ann had pissed her off.

Chapter 22

Dimly Ann heard Jasha talking to her, telling her to be calm.

She heard the wounded wolf bark.

The female wolf on top of Ann paid no heed to either of the males. This was between her and Ann, the upstart bitch.

"I'm sorry I touched him.” Ann whispered. "He's hurt, and I wanted to help."

The male nudged his mate with his head, and gave a whimper.

The female looked at him, at his wounds, and Ann saw her menacing gaze soften. She looked back at Ann, and snarled again. Then she leaped off and nuzzled the male affectionately.

"Stay down, and be quiet," Jasha said.

He didn't have to tell Ann twice.

The male allowed the female to sniff him and lick his wounds; then together they trotted off into the forest.

Jasha stood looking after them. "That was Leader and his mate. She's upset because Leader was shot, and the run here, and now the bird. That's why she attacked."

Slowly Ann sat up. She was filthy, covered with dirt, scared to death—and like the alpha female, all she wanted was to know her mate was all right. "Are you hurt?" she asked.

Jasha showed her his forearms. Long, bloody slashes bit deeply into his flesh. "They'll heal." He offered his hand. "Are
you
hurt?"

"No." She was bruised and shaken, and a week ago she would have been complaining, but hard lessons had taught her what was worth worrying about.

"Good. Because we've got to move." Jasha scanned the skies. "This isn't the same Varinski who was with the hunter, which means I was wrong. There's one left to come after us. I can't afford to make those mistakes."

He blamed himself. Naturally, he did. This was Jasha, Mr. Responsibility.

Ann took his hands. "Let me wash your wounds." She wasn't so different from the female wolf, after all. She wanted nothing more than to comfort her mate.