Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Teaser chapter
Raves for Christina Dodd Trouble in High Heels
‘‘A book by Christina Dodd is like a glass of champagne . . . sparkling and sinfully delicious. Trouble in High Heels is one exciting ride and an experience not to be missed. With her electric style, vibrant characters, and sly wit, Christina Dodd gives readers everything they want in a romantic suspense novel.’’
—Lisa Kleypas
‘‘Dodd will dazzle readers with this fabulously fun tale of danger, desire, and diamonds, which features yet another winning combination of the author’s trademark smart and snappy writing, delightfully original characters, and deliciously sensual romance.’’
—Booklist (starred review)
‘‘Nonstop action, sparkling dialogue, and two characters who burn up the pages. . . . Provides readers with a story that is not only unique, but has pizzazz and leaves readers wondering who the bad and good guys are until the end.’’ —Romance Reviews Today
... and her other novels
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‘‘Warm characterizations and caperlike plot make Dodd’s hot contemporary romance a delight, and the cliff-hanger ending will leave readers eager for the sequel.’’ —Booklist
‘‘Dodd brings her unique sense of plotting, character, humor, and surprise to this wonderful tale. You’ll relish every word, cherish each poignant moment and ingenious plot twist, sigh deeply, and eagerly await the sequel. Dodd is clever, witty, and sexy.’’
—Romantic Times
‘‘Dodd adds humor, sizzling sensuality, and a cast of truly delightful secondary characters to produce a story that will not disappoint.’’ —Library Journal
‘‘Strong and likable characters make this an enjoyable read. Ms. Dodd peppers the story with interesting secondary personalities, which add to the reading pleasure." —The Best Reviews
"Sexy and witty, daring and delightful.’’
—Teresa Medeiros, New York Times
bestselling author of The Vampire Who Loved Me
‘‘A master romantic storyteller.’’
—Kristin Hannah, New York Times
bestselling author of The Magic Hour
‘‘Christina Dodd keeps getting better and better.’’
—Debbie Macomber, New York Times
bestselling author of Susannah’s Garden
‘‘Treat yourself to a fabulous book—anything by Christina Dodd!’’
—Jill Barnett, New York Times
bestselling author of The Days of Summer
Novels by Christina Dodd
Trouble in High Heels
Tongue in Chic
Scent of Darkness
To come in August 2007
Touch of Darkness
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First Printing, July 2007
Copyright © Christina Dodd, 2007
All rights reserved
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For Lisa Kleypas,
my friend, my comrade-in-arms,
my sister-of-the-heart, and the person
who taught me to swear in Russian.
Za vas!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Starting a new series requires guts, imagination, and planning, which is why I’m grateful to my editor, Kara Cesare, for being my cheerleader, sounding board, and steely-eyed Keeper of the Rules. Thanks to Lindsay Nouis for being Kara’s right hand. A big thank-you to Kara Welsh and Claire Zion for their enthusiasm for Darkness Chosen, and to Anthony Ramondo and his team in the art department for inspiring and exhilarating covers.
Thank you to my friends, the ones who write and the ones who read.
Thank you to the Squawkers for their constant enthusiasm.
Thank you to Scott. For everything.
DARKNESS CHOSEN FAMILY TREE
THE VARINSKIS
1000 AD—In the Ukraine
Konstantine Varinski
makes a deal with the devil.
The Beginning
For centuries, the name of Cossack struck terror in the hearts of the peoples of central Asia, an
d the Family Varinski was the embodiment of merciless conquerors who murdered, maimed, and raped.
Even today, the Varinskis reside on the steppes of Russia. They are known for their scouting abilities, proving themselves again and again able to discover their enemies’ weakness. They leave a trail of blood, fire, and death wherever they go. Terrible rumors swirl around them, rumors that say Konstantine Varinski, the founder of the Varinski tribe, made a deal with the devil—and, in fact, that is exactly right.
A thousand years ago, Konstantine Varinski, a magnificent warrior of great cruelty, a man driven by his craving for power, roamed the steppes. In return for the ability to hunt down his enemies and kill them, he promised his soul to the devil. To seal the pact, he promised the devil the family icon, a single painting divided into four images of the Madonna.
To obtain the holy piece, the heart of his home, he killed his own mother . . . and damned his soul.
Before she died, she pulled him close and spoke in his ear.
Konstantine paid no heed to her prophecy. She was, after all, only a woman. He didn’t believe her dying words had the power to change the future— and more important, he would do nothing to jeopardize his pact with the Evil One.
But although Konstantine did not confess the prophecy his mother had made, the devil knew that Konstantine was a liar and a trickster. He suspected Konstantine’s deception, and he comprehended the power of blood and kin and a mother’s dying words. So to ensure he forever retained the Varinskis and their services, he secretly cut a small piece from the center of the icon, and gave it to a poor tribe of wanderers, promising it would bring them luck.
Then, while Konstantine drank to celebrate the deal, in a flash of fire the devil divided the Madonnas and hurled them to the four ends of the earth.
To Konstantine Varinski and to each Varinski since, the devil bequeathed the ability to change at will into a hunting animal. They could not be killed in battle except by another demon, and each man was unusually long-lived, remaining hale and hearty well into old age. Because of their battle prowess, their endurance, and their decisiveness, they became rich, respected, and feared in Russia.
Through czars, Bolsheviks, and even presidents, they retained their warrior compound, went where they were paid to go, and, with flawless ferocity, crushed uprisings and demanded obedience.
They called themselves The Darkness.
They could breed only sons, a matter of much exultation to them. They took their women cruelly, and in their sprawling home they had a turnstile equipped with a bell. There the women who had been impregnated by the Varinskis’ careless mating placed their newborn sons. Each woman rang the bell and fled, leaving the child to be taken by the Varinski men into their home. They hailed the birth of a new demon, and raised the child to be a ruthless warrior worthy of the name Varinski.
For no Varinski ever fell in love . . .
Until one did.
No Varinski ever married . . .
Until one did.
No Varinski ever fled the compound and that way of life . . .
Until one did.
For the first time, cracks appeared in the solid foundation of the deal with the devil.
Heaven took note.
So did hell.
Chapter 1
"Pass the vodka! I wish to make a toast." The Wilder children groaned, but Konstantine Wilder, descendant of a long line of demon warriors, would not be dissuaded by the bad manners of his own disreputable offspring. They might groan and his guests might grin, but everyone from the small mountain town of Blythe, Washington, expected him to give a speech during one of the Wilder family celebrations. His words were as much a part of their special occasions as the picnic tables loaded with Russian delicacies like kasha and tabaka, and American delicacies like hot dogs and corn on the cob, like the Russian music and dancing, like the poker games, like the good company.
He would not disappoint.
Striding over to the blazing bonfire, he took his place as the center of attention. His voice boomed out across the company. ‘‘My wife and I fled Mother Russia with the demons of hell on our heels. We come to this land of milk and honey.’’ He threw out his big hands to embrace the long stretch of valley— his valley. ‘‘And here we have thrived. We grow grapes, the best grapes in Washington. We have our own garden. Our own goat. Our own chickens. More important, we grow our children.’’
The people of Blythe shifted in their seats to grin at his children, standing together like three lambs to the sacrifice.
‘‘Jasha has grown strong and tall and handsome, like me.’’ More like Konstantine than any of these people could imagine or understand. A wolf. ‘‘He owns—he is leader!—of his own wine-making company in Napa, California, and he uses his papa’s grapes to make good wine.’’ Konstantine lifted a bottle from the table and showed everyone the label. ‘‘He is smart. He is wealthy. He is my oldest, my firstborn son, yet still, at the age of thirty-four—’’
‘‘Here it comes,’’ Jasha said out of the corner of his mouth.
‘‘He shows no respect for his father, whose hearing is excellent.’’
‘‘Sorry, Papa.’’ Yet Jasha planted his feet shoulder-width to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest.
Konstantine was not impressed with the apology or the posturing. He saw the flash of red at the root of Jasha’s golden eyes. ‘‘Yet still, at the age of thirty-four, he is single.’’
Rurik jabbed Jasha hard enough to make him sway sideways.
‘‘He breaks my heart. Maybe one of you young ladies would consent to marry him. Next week, talk to me. We will make arrangements.’’ Konstantine nodded, satisfied with crossing one item off his mental list. Get my eldest son married off.
He proceeded to his next victim. ‘‘Rurik is an adventurer.’’
‘‘An archaeologist, Papa,’’ Rurik said.
‘‘Archaeologist, adventurer—I saw the Indiana Jones movies. They are the same.’’ Konstantine dismissed Rurik’s objection with a wave of his beefy hand. ‘‘Rurik is smart, so smart, with many fine degrees. He is also handsome, like his papa.’’ Rurik’s eyes, the color of brandy, his smooth brown hair, and his fine muscles made him a catch for the ladies. Even a father could tell that. ‘‘He is not so wealthy as his brother. Still, when I die, he will receive his share of my land here in the beautiful Cascade Mountains, so he would bring money to a marriage. I mention this because still, at the age of thirty-three—’’
With a resounding thwack, Jasha punched Rurik in the shoulder.
‘‘—he is single. He breaks my heart. Maybe one of you young ladies would consent to marry him. Next week, talk to me. We will make arrangements.’’
The men of Blythe were laughing, but the women, they were appraising his sons. True, Blythe was a small town, only 250 people including the outlying farms, so some women were very young and some past the age of childbearing, and quite a few had legs like tree trunks and skin like old tree bark. But the boys had been out in the wide world for more than ten years and neither had yet brought home a bride, and desperate situations called for desperate measures.
Konstantine wanted to cradle a grandchild before he died.
If all had turned out as he and Zorana had planned thirty-five years ago, when they came to this country, he would now talk about Adrik. . . .
His guests grew quiet as they waited, seeing his grief, respecting his anguish.
Adrik was lost to them. Lost to the wickedness of his own soul. Lost to the lure of the pact.
Konstantine took a long, quivering breath. He squared his shoulders, and steadfastly pushed away the pain in his chest. With a broad smile, he gestured at Firebird. ‘‘And finally, we have my own baby daughter. Today we celebrate, not only Independence Day for the great United States, but also Firebird’s twenty-first birthday.’’ Even after all these years, he couldn’t believe it. For a thousand years, no one in his family had fathered a daughter. Yet he had. His own girl child, his
baby, his miracle.
Love and gratitude welled up in him so strongly, he could scarcely speak as he stood looking at her, so beautiful, with blond hair that she insisted on cutting into an unfeminine short length, and blue eyes so bright and determined. Always determined, his daughter. Determined as she toddled after her brothers, determined as she trained in her gymnastics, determined to walk again after the uneven bars broke, shattering her leg and ending her dreams.
Tonight her eyes were not so bright, though.
She had grown up during her senior year at college. She was a woman now, with a woman’s silences and a woman’s mysteries.
How had that happened?
‘‘My Firebird, she is beautiful, and she is smarter than her brothers.’’
Both boys socked Firebird’s shoulders, but gently. Her brothers were always gentle with Firebird.
‘‘She won scholarships to four colleges.’’ Konstantine held up four fingers for emphasis. ‘‘She went to Brown, a very prestigious school, and finished in only three years with a degree in software programming and one in Japanese.’’ He thumped his chest in pride. ‘‘Now, you wonder—what good is so much education to a woman?’’
His audience laughed again.
‘‘I don’t know. What man wants a wife who is smarter than he is?’’ he wondered.
‘‘Yet that’s what every man’s got,’’ Zorana said.
The crowd’s roar of laughter caught Konstantine by surprise, and he pondered his reply until the tumult had died down. Then, shaking his head sadly, he said, ‘‘You see what I suffer. Two unmarried sons, a clever daughter, and an impertinent wife. I am truly the most put-upon of men.’’
‘‘Poor guy.’’ Sharon Szarvas, wife of River Szarvas, an immigrant from Eastern Europe, showed no sympathy for the dent in Konstantine’s manly pride.
Ah, but she knew him too well. His manly pride didn’t depend on praise or support. He knew who he was. ‘‘I think my daughter should stay home now, but my wife, my Zorana, says no, that we must wish her well and release our little Firebird to flutter away. Someday she will return, her restlessness assuaged.’’ He tried to smile at Firebird, to show her he meant every word, although his heart was breaking.
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