Scent of Darkness (25 page)

She lifted her head and swatted his hands away. "You've had your turns. This is
my
time."

His hands hovered as if the temptation to take over could not be fought.

She glared. "My time," she repeated.

He fell back. "You're going to kill me.”

"I hope so," she said fervently, and took him in her mouth again.

He writhed as she stroked his thighs, ran her hands over his hips, laid her palms flat on his belly. And she loved the power, loved having him at her mercy.

But she couldn't restrain herself forever; the stored-up adrenaline compelled her, and pleasuring him made her flush with warmth and damp with passion. Lifting her head with a gasp, she climbed onto the stone, her knees on either side of his hips, and slowly took him into herself, possessing him as he had possessed her. She was still tight, and he was still large, but he was wet from her ministrations, and the tug of flesh against flesh sent sensation in sharp jolts along her nerves. She had no patience; she wanted him all the way inside right now, and sharp cries broke from her as her body opened to him.

He cupped his big palms around her thighs, supporting her, massaging her, while beneath her he held himself perfectly, desperately still. He didn't take over, but she saw his eyes, and he wanted to. Oh, my God, he wanted to.

Where were the soft and delicate desires she used to imagine?

Perhaps someday . . . but now passion was savage, sharp, demanding. She had him contained, but that wasn't enough. She danced the primitive, desperate dance with him, rising and falling over the top of his prone body, her knees pressed into the rough, warm stone. The sun beat down on her head, and lit every glorious ripple of his chest and belly, his stubbled chin, the dark fall of his damp hair against the pale granite.

He was alive. She was alive. Only that mattered.

"Please, Ann." His hands hovered above her chest, almost touching.

Placing her palms over the backs of his hands, she pressed them to her breasts.

He cupped them, kneaded them, taking pleasure, giving pleasure.

In return, she stroked her hands across his chest and over his shoulders, until both moaned in unison. They came together, a great cataclysm that shook the mountains and toppled the last of her resistance.

She wilted down on him, exhausted with passion and the joy that pulsed through her veins.

She loved Jasha; she longed for the moment when he would Jove her, but even if that day never came, she would always love him.

That afternoon, Jasha led Ann over a rise—and spread out before them lay Puget Sound, with islands dotting the dark blue water and a bank of fog backing out toward the ocean.

He watched as she took a deep breath of delight, and he smiled. He had led her safely through the forest. He had killed the bastard who tried to kill them. And today she'd proved to them both she loved him.

When she had looked her fill, he asked, "Do you have your phone?"

She found it in her pocket and showed him.

"Call Rurik's number. Tell him twenty-one at eight. That's all. He'll know."

She stared at him inquiringly.

That was how at eight that evening, Jasha and Ann found themselves on the corner of Fifth and Union in downtown Seattle climbing into the backseat of a faded 1980s Buick LeSabre.

From the front seat, his brother Rurik turned around and flashed her a gleaming smile. "Hang in there, Miss Smith. In three hours, we'll be home."

Chapter 25

“Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, fourteen hundred square feet in two stories," Rurik said as he parked the car in front of the Craftsman-style home.

Ann peered through the windshield at the simple old house that sat alone in the dark, lights shining from every window and on the porch.

"It was built in the 1920s, and when our parents bought the place, I guess it was pretty ramshackle. Mice in the kitchen, rotting floorboards on the stairs, peeling paint, and apparently some god-awful wallpaper in the dining room." Jasha was in the backseat, Ann was now in the front, and he sat forward, resting his hands on Ann's shoulders. "Papa thought it was just fine, because—"

"You know you're a Russian redneck when your Cossack hat is made of a possum," Rurik said.

The guys chortled.

"You know you're a Russian redneck when you have a dancing bear
and
a coonhound.” Ann said. "You know you're a Russian redneck when you can't imagine eating your borscht without corn bread."

The two men stopped talking and turned to look at her in blank astonishment.

Oh, no. Had she offended them?

Then Rurik burst into laughter. "Wow, Jasha, you told me your Miss Smith had great legs, but you
never
told me she had a sense of humor."

Jasha had told his brother she had great legs?

"That's because you're too simpleminded to appreciate her humor," Jasha said.

"No, it's because you're afraid she'll fall for my looks and charm."

"Not a problem. She also has good taste in men."

"But she's with you, so we know her
vision's
lousy."

Ann glanced between the two of them, following the repartee like a spectator at a tennis match. The brothers were so ... normal. So much like the families she'd seen on the sitcoms, like the brothers she'd seen in real life. They gave each other crap and grinned. Watching them made her feel like an outsider desperately wanting to get in.

Families always did that to her. "I see really well.” she said primly.

Jasha smacked Rurik hard on the arm. "See?"

"It's going to be a long night for you, then, isn't it?" Rurik smirked and rubbed his bruise, then turned to Ann. "My parents are old-fashioned. Jasha and I have one bedroom. You'll have to sleep in Firebird's room."

"That's okay. I don't mind." Was every woman Jasha brought home having sex with him?

"Does he snore?" Rurik asked solicitously. "Does he crowd? He's a lousy lover, isn't he? I've always suspected it."

Her cheeks flamed, but in the dim light Rurik couldn't see that, so she risked a daring retort. "He's the best lover I've ever had."

"So she was a virgin?" Rurik laughed.

Jasha squeezed her shoulders. "Yes."

Rurik laughed again. Clearly he didn't believe a word of it.

"Anyway"—
Jasha glared malevolently at his brother—"Mama and Papa had huge fights about the house. Papa wanted to concentrate on growing the grapes, and told her to stop fussing, woman. So she started cooking for people to pay for the lumber and paint to fix stuff up. He caved—"

"Of course," the brothers said together.

"
—and ever since, she's run the house as she likes," Jasha finished.

The front door opened, and a tiny, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman stepped out.

"There she is," Jasha said affectionately.

She gestured impatiently toward the car, then started toward them.

"You're in trouble now, man," Rurik said. "You didn't tell her what you were doing and she's been worried. Worse, you didn't bring your guest right in. Better go take your medicine."

Jasha leaped out of the backseat and headed for his mother.

Uncertainly, Ann turned to Rurik. "Should I. . . ?"

"Give them a minute." Rurik watched his mother, hugging Jasha, then shaking her finger up at him—he was more than a foot taller—then hugging him again.

On the drive up here, Rurik had been lighthearted, teasing, and he'd looked much younger than Jasha. He was handsome, with reddish brown eyes, smooth brown hair, and a height to match his brother's. Except for the sculpted bone structure, he looked nothing like Jasha. Jasha had introduced his brother as the lead archaeologist on a dig in Scotland.

Now she saw the attributes that made Rurik a leader. His expression was serious, almost grim; worry shaded his eyes, and Ann caught a flash of the steel in him.

"With Papa's illness and the vision and stuff," he said, "having Jasha disappear just about sent Mama over the edge."

Ann was assailed by instant guilt. "I'm sorry. I never thought anyone would be upset."

Rurik flicked her a glance. "From what you two told me, there wasn't a lot of choice. Mama knew that if Jasha disappeared, there had to be sufficient reason. Jasha's as responsible as hell, never acting on impulse, always setting a good example." At that, he pulled a long face. "But with the prophecy, we were afraid sufficient reason might be big trouble. Like death."

What vision? What prophecy? But before Ann could ask, Mrs. Wilder started toward the car.

She was talking before she even opened Ann's door. "—can't believe these boys didn't bring you right in. You must be exhausted and starving." She offered Ann her hand.

Ann took it and was surprised by Mrs. Wilder's strength as she helped her out. "No, really, Jasha and Rurik have taken good care of me."

"They'd better have. Men aren't good for much"— she shot a glare at Jasha—"but I raised these boys and I expect them to honor my training. Now, I'm Zorana." She led Ann up the steps to the porch, still holding Ann's hand. "This is our home. Make it your own."

Ann had expected a large home with a simple flavor that reflected the country surroundings. Instead, she found herself drawn rapidly through the comfortable living room, where the television played to no one and a computer ran an eye-popping screen saver, and into a cramped kitchen with a large wooden table. The countertops were brown Formica, the refrigerator was huge and stainless steel, the gas range held a stockpot with steam rising, and the whole place smelled like fresh bread and roasted garlic—in other words, like heaven.

A pretty blonde about Ann's age leaped to her feet and ran to Jasha. "You idiot! You couldn't have called?" But she hugged him mightily.

"Hey, squirt, you're positively glowing!" Jasha hugged her back. She'd gained weight, too, but he knew better than to mention that. "Let me introduce you to my administrative assistant, Ann Smith."

Ann stuck out her hand. "It's good to meet you."

"I'm Firebird." She shook Ann's hand and grinned. "Love the outfit. Is that what they're wearing in California these days?"

"In all the fashionable survivalist cults," Ann snapped back, then realized what she'd said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Firebird laughed out loud. "Don't apologize! I'm just glad Jasha finally found someone who knows how to walk and chew gum at the same time.”

Zorana stood at the counter, chopping things with a knife half again her size, but she paused to survey her children with a keen eye.

"He didn't exactly . . . that is, we're not . . ." Ann didn't dare glance at him, because Firebird was making assumptions about their relationship, and so was Zorana, and all the way here, Rurik had been teasing them, and she knew Jasha would hate being tied to her like that. "That is, I simply work for him."

"Yeah, right." Firebird grinned. "It's true love if he let you wear his camouflage."

"That's enough, Firebird. You're embarrassing Ann." Jasha put his hand on Ann's back at her waist.

Ann found herself stepping into him, as if he would protect her from his own family.

Firebird looked her over. "She doesn't look embarrassed—she looks like she wants to wear real clothes again."

Ann wondered whether that was Firebird's gift—a discerning eye—or whether she just had interpolated Ann's wishes by her own.

"Where is she going to get clothes?" Rurik lounged against the counter next to Zorana. "You and Mama are midgets compared to her."

"Five-six is not a midget," Firebird retorted. "Mama, on the other hand . . ."

Everyone turned to look at the petite Zorana. Ann knew she had to be at least fifty, but her skin was unlined and taut across her glorious cheekbones. She'd rimmed her eyes with liner, emphasizing the slant and the deep brown color. For a moment, Ann caught a hint of merriment, well suppressed.

Zorana waved them off as if they were as unimportant as gnats. "I am big enough to birth giant overgrown obnoxious children who don't know how to offer our guest hospitality." She turned to face them, a full plate in her hand.

"No, really, please, Rurik stopped at a Starbucks so we could grab a scone and a cup of coffee. . . ." No one paid any heed to Ann's protestations.

Zorana's children scrambled into action, and in less than a minute, Ann found herself in the cushioned chair at the head of the table, a shot of clear vodka and a plate of appetizers before her.

Jasha pointed at each thing and named it. "Pickled mushrooms. Chopped herring. Rye bread. Cheeses—" He grabbed a piece and popped it into his mouth.

Without turning around from her chopping, Zor-ana said, "Don't steal from our guest. I'm filling more plates right now."

Firebird and Rurik grinned at him.

Ann was astonished. "How does she—"

"We don't know, but we suspect the worst," Jasha answered.