Into the Flame

by Christina Dodd

  ‘‘I need to go back on duty. My boss doesn’t like people who fake sickness so they can take leave.’’ He went into the bathroom and got his toothbrush.

  ‘‘You got out of the hospital today. Not even your boss would say you’re faking it.’’

  He opened the drawers and got the clothes she’d bought him and flung them into the duffel bag she’d also bought in the superstore in Burlington.

  ‘‘You’re packing.’’ She took a breath and said what needed to be said. ‘‘So I guess this means you don’t really want to marry me.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t say that.’’

  ‘‘No, you didn’t. In fact, you never said you did want to marry me. My father said it. You simply stood there, and I assumed Papa was speaking for you, and I agreed.’’ She was so hurt her lip was quivering, so embarrassed she wanted to run away. But this had to be finished now. ‘‘By the way you’re behaving, I would guess I was wrong.’’

  ‘‘I do want to marry you.’’ Douglas stood looking down at his duffel bag as if it held the map for pirate’s treasure. ‘‘But not for . . . not because you want to make your father happy.’’

  ‘‘Make my father happy?’’ Embarrassment turned to outrage, and she straightened up off the door frame. ‘‘What the hell do you mean, make my father happy? You think I’d get married because he wanted it?’’

  ‘‘And for Aleksandr’s sake.’’

  ‘‘Because I’m weak-minded? Is that what you think?’’ The flames were blazing again inside her, and this time, someone was going to get burned.

  ‘‘I don’t think you’re weak-minded, but I don’t know why else you’d marry me.’’ He looked up at her, his gaze steady and unflinching. ‘‘I am the guy who sold your family to the Varinskis.’’

  ‘‘Your family. They’re your family, not—’’ She took a breath and tried not to shriek at him. Or rather, not to shriek at him more. ‘‘I swear, if you tell me that you think that’s one of the reasons I agreed to marry you—so I could stay in the family—I will make you wish the Varinskis had finished you off.’’

  He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t have to. He wore that expression, the look that said he did believe it, or at least he had thought it.

  ‘‘Do you really believe that I need you to be part of this family? They love me. They love me no matter what. And you know what?’’ She paced forward and got into his face. ‘‘They love Aleksandr. They’d love Aleksandr even if his father wrote diet books and hosted a talk radio show! So don’t think you’re doing me any favors by marrying me, because I don’t need your help. I mean, my family raised me from the day I was born. What kind of people do you think they are?’’

  ‘‘Actually, you seemed a little worried that they wouldn’t love you.’’

  She took a breath to retort, and remembered—she had been worried. ‘‘I was wrong.’’ She rubbed her head. ‘‘Mama is right. Every one of you Wilder men is terminally stupid. I don’t know how you have functioned in life without me.’’

  ‘‘I haven’t. I’ve been miserable.’’ He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘‘When you disappeared from Brown and I couldn’t find you, do you know what I imagined? I thought you were a prisoner somewhere.’’

  ‘‘How dumb is that?’’

  ‘‘Did you see any of those Varinskis on the battlefield? They are my relatives.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ She subsided. ‘‘Them.’’

  ‘‘Once I figured out you were somewhere in Blythe, I watched for you.’’ Doug was sober, intense. ‘‘I’ll never forget the first time I caught a glimpse of you after so long. You were working at the Szarvas Art Studio. You were still blond, still smiling, as cheerful as you’d ever been, but you looked less like a girl and more like a woman. I saw you’d suffered grief and pain, and I knew you’d been alone, without me to care for you. That pissed me off big-time. I’d been so mad at you for leaving, but when I saw you, I became worried you’d been taken against your will.’’

  ‘‘By who— Wait. You thought my family had kidnapped me?’’

  ‘‘As far as I could see, you were healthy, but you had no life. You only went to work and then home, and when I tried to follow you, I couldn’t. Every time, I lost you on the road.’’

  ‘‘Lost me?’’

  ‘‘A fog would close in and I couldn’t follow your taillights.’’

  ‘‘Really.’’ She thought hard about that. ‘‘I always thought Mama had a way with the weather, fending off the storms. . . . I’ll bet she fixed it so no enemy could find us without an invitation.’’

  ‘‘You really have a spooky family.’’

  ‘‘No. You really have a spooky family. And I know that when I was in college, I told you I loved my family.’’

  ‘‘Yes. You did. But let’s face it—abused wives love their husbands. In college, I fell in love with you because you were the brightest, wittiest, most friendly, outgoing girl.’’

  ‘‘I thought you fell in love with me because you were horny.’’ She sat beside him on the bed.

  ‘‘It would have been easy to find other girls willing to take care of that.’’ He had a quirk in his cheek. ‘‘You weren’t easy, and you complicated my plans.’’

  Remembering how intensely he’d courted her, and how strongly she had resisted, she said, ‘‘Remember that when you want to take me for granted.’’

  ‘‘I could never do that.’’

  They sat silent, two people uncomfortably perched on the edge of the mattress and at the brink of painful revelations.

  Yet when she glanced sideways at him, he looked the same as he always had: stolid, steady, muscled, impassive . . . and alone. He was the loneliest man she’d ever seen.

  He looked at his hands as if staring into a memory. ‘‘Right before you . . . broke into my house, I was called to the scene of a single-car rollover involving a mother and her two kids. She’d been escaping her abusive husband. Turned out she didn’t have a driver’s license. He wouldn’t let her have one. She missed the curve by Shoalwater State Park and died in the crash.’’

  Firebird hurt for the family, but more than that, she hurt for Douglas. ‘‘The children? Are they okay?’’

  ‘‘They were fine. A few cuts and bruises. The bad part was the scars their father had already put on them. Their mother’s aunt is taking them in, and I’m told she and her husband are good people.’’ He looked into her eyes. ‘‘I see shit like that all the time. I know what cruelty men are capable of, so I thought that you . . . I didn’t think you’d seen me change, and I couldn’t figure out why else you would leave me like that.’

  Gently, she said, ‘‘I didn’t go out into the world because I was afraid that if I did, you’d discover the truth about Aleksandr and take him.’’

  ‘‘I know that now, but at the time, I figured your family—who were, after all, originally Varinskis— had you virtually imprisoned, probably terrified to leave. I didn’t know what to do to free you. I was actually planning a kidnapping of my own.’’

  ‘‘Cool!’’ Too revealing. ‘‘I mean . . . so how did you get ahold of the Varinskis?’’

  ‘‘Eight months ago, the Varinskis got hold of me. They were skulking around looking for the Wilders. I was skulking around looking for you. They discovered I was like them.’’

  ‘‘A predator?’’

  ‘‘Exactly. Vadim did a little research and discovered the letter I’d written so long ago telling them I was a Varinski. He contacted me with an offer of a nice check—half in advance—if I discovered exactly where the Wilders lived. It took me a lot of tries before I followed you all the way in, and your brothers—’’

  ‘‘Your brothers,’’ she reminded him.

  ‘‘And Jasha and Rurik almost caught me.’’ Douglas looked down at his hands. ‘‘I was stupid. Vadim said he wanted revenge; he wanted to hit your father . . . my father where it hurt. He was going to expose him as a criminal and get him sent back to the Ukraine, and ruin the fortune your f
amily had acquired. I figured I would swoop in, rescue you from the prison in which they kept you, and take you to my house, the house I bought with the money the Varinskis paid me, and you’d be grateful and love me forever.’’ As he told her his dreams, he was squirming with discomfort. ‘‘Stupid, huh?’’

  She put her hands over his. ‘‘It’s sweet, in an apocalyptic, end-of-the-world sort of way.’’

  ‘‘Believe me, I never dreamed they’d try to unloose all-out war. I mean, come on! This isn’t some dictatorship, or a third-world country. There are laws!’’

  ‘‘As Vadim found out, to his misfortune.’’

  ‘‘I’ve made so many mistakes. I should have trusted you the first time I met you, and told you who and what I was. I should have trusted you when you came to me again, and told you what I’d done. Most of all, I should never have given in to the evil of my soul and joined with the Varinskis.’’ Manlike, he added, ‘‘You can’t ever forgive me.’’

  Womanlike, she said, ‘‘Do not, I beg you, tell me what I can and cannot do. It’s a bad start for our married life.’’

  ‘‘Seriously. I don’t want you to marry me for your father’s peace of mind or our son. I want you to marry me for the same reason I want to marry you.’’

  The way he spoke, the way he looked . . . she was starting to get hopeful. ‘‘And what’s your reason for wanting to marry me?’’

  ‘‘I love you with all that I am.’’

  She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. Kissed his cheeks, kissed his eyes, kissed his chin, kissed his lips. ‘‘That’s exactly the reason I want to marry you.’’

  He looked at her, searching her face as if he had to see the proof. Then he stood up and rummaged through his duffel.

  She watched, feeling a little stupid, a little used, the woman who had just given her whole soul into this man’s keeping—which apparently reminded him that he needed to pack his clean underwear.

  But he pulled out a small black velvet box—a ring box—and slid to his knees beside the bed. ‘‘Firebird Wilder, you are my only chance for happiness. Will you marry me?’’ He popped the lid.

  The ring inside was platinum, the stone a diamond. Or, at least, she thought it was a diamond. It was a little hard to see.

  ‘‘I bought this when I met you the first time. I was going to give it to you that night you finished your finals, and tell you who I was—the cougar was my subtle little hint—and ask you to marry me.’’ His complexion flushed as he spoke. ‘‘I bought the ring on a policeman’s salary, so it’s smaller than I’d like, but I’ve carried it with me ever since, and I thought we could get you a bigger one later, but—’’

  ‘‘Never!’’

  He blinked in surprise.

  ‘‘We are never going to get me a bigger one.’’ Firebird was laughing and crying. She let him slide it on her finger. She looked at it from all sides. ‘‘This is exactly the ring I want. It’s perfect.’’ She cupped his face and kissed him, then kissed him again. ‘‘This is absolutely perfect.’’

  Konstantine and Zorana waved Douglas and Firebird off to Las Vegas for their first wedding—before Zorana would let them go, she made them promise to celebrate a second wedding with the family, and for all Konstantine’s grousing, he was glad of that— then stood on the porch of their rented home. ‘‘Listen to the silence,’’ Konstantine said. ‘‘Have we ever not had a child living at home?’’

  ‘‘Briefly.’’ Zorana nodded. ‘‘I seem to remember it. Do you think Jasha and Ann will know what to do with Aleksandr?’’

  ‘‘If not, they’d better learn.’’ Taking Zorana’s hand, he said, ‘‘Let’s go for a walk.’’

  ‘‘Now? I wanted to order some good cookware off the Internet. Those pans I’m using are worthless.’’ But she clasped his fingers and followed him down the steps.

  The street in Blythe was narrow and lined with trees, but it was a street, with neighbors and car noises and a loud radio next door. Konstantine missed his home. He missed the quiet, the pines, the grapes, his recliner, his toilet, and his own bed.

  ‘‘Where are we going?’’ she asked.

  But he knew she knew.

  It took an hour to walk to their valley.

  When they rounded the corner, they stopped and looked, and Zorana cried to see the ruin of the past thirty-five years, and Konstantine sighed again.

  Then they both straightened their shoulders.

  ‘‘It’s not so bad,’’ Konstantine said. ‘‘The vineyards and orchards are flooded and burned, but the Rom have done as they promised—the bodies are hauled off and the logs stacked up. Your relatives—when we rebuild, they should come and visit.’’

  ‘‘I’ll tell them.’’

  She surprised him. ‘‘You know how to reach them?’’

  The little witch looked sideways at him. ‘‘I have my ways.’’

  They walked toward the house. In the end, even the fence had caught fire and burned.

  ‘‘Gutted,’’ he said. ‘‘A total loss.’’

  ‘‘Yes, but look!’’ She hurried through the scorched grass, into the blackened square where their house had stood. Lightly, she stepped over the charcoaled beams.

  ‘‘Be careful.’’ He watched her anxiously as she bent and he lost sight of her. ‘‘What is so important that you must go in there now?’’ he rumbled in a low voice.

  She heard him, of course. Her head popped up. ‘‘Nothing much.’’ She started back toward him. ‘‘Only your heritage.’’ She arrived at his side. She held a flat, square tile covered with ash. She blew it clean, so that the white and gold and cherry red shone like new, and offered it to him with her blackened hands.

  His family’s revered icon.

  He braced himself for the pain and slowly reached out to take possession. He wrapped his fingers around the edges. . . . It did not burn him. He brushed his palm across the surface, over the four Madonnas. Each visage showed the Virgin Mary in a different aspect: joy, sorrow, pain and glory.

  His ancestor, Konstantine, had killed for these icons.

  Konstantine’s mother had died for these icons.

  The devil had been defeated by these icons. Not forever. Not on all fronts. But when the icons were reunited, he had lost his dearest servants, and for that, Konstantine gave thanks.

  He looked around at his land, still here, still rich, still fertile. He looked at the forest that surrounded it, where the wild creatures mated, flew, ran, lived. He looked at the sky, blue and warm with spring, breathed the air of freedom, and knew the joy of life reborn. ‘‘We have to plant again.’’

  ‘‘And rebuild the house, bigger this time.’’

  He turned on Zorana. ‘‘Woman, the planting will cost a fortune. We don’t have the money for a bigger house.’’

  ‘‘We have insurance, and we will borrow from our sons.’’

  ‘‘We should not borrow from our sons.’’

  ‘‘Very well, I will borrow from their wives.’’

  ‘‘You . . . you dare! Woman!’’ He towered over her.

  She stood up to him. As always, she stood up to him. ‘‘Konstantine, the troubles are over. By this time next year, we will have four new grandchildren. When they visit, where are you going to put them? We need a bigger house!’’

  Almost he smiled to hear her making her plans. Almost, but he kept his face stern. ‘‘You foresee grandchildren? Not one, not two, not three, but four?’’ He showed her four fingers and lifted his eyebrows. ‘‘Are you having a vision?’’

  ‘‘A great vision, Konstantine.’’ She placed her hand on the icon. ‘‘Of you and me in a home with the Madonnas glowing in the corner, placed on a red tablecloth. Here on our land, we will live to be very old, surrounded by grapes and babies and happiness.’’

  ‘‘Humph.’’ He lowered his fingers. ‘‘Then I must be a seer, too, for I see the same vision.’’

  And they were both right.

  Don’t miss any of Christina Dodd�
�s New York Times bestselling Darkness Chosen series. . . .

  In Scent of Darkness, we met Jasha Wilder, the first brother to attempt salvation for his cursed family. A shape-shifting wolf, Jasha introduced us to this compelling world.

  In Touch of Darkness, we met Rurik Wilder, who shape-shifts into a hawk. Rurik, a learned archeologist, traveled Asia searching for clues that would allow his family some peace.

  In Into the Flame, we met the shape-shifting cougar Doug Black, an angry young cop searching for the answers about his past. His one true love may hold the key to more than just his heart.

  And now read on for an excerpt of Into the Shadow, where we meet Adrik Wilder, a sexy shape-shifting panther, who continues his brothers’ journey to break the evil pact that has held his family in thrall for centuries—until a woman comes along who changes the course of destiny. . . .

  The dream started as it always did, with a gust of cold Himalayan air striking Karen Sonnet’s face.

  She woke with a start. Her eyes popped open.

  The darkness in her tent pressed on her eyeballs.

  Impossible. Tonight she’d left a tiny LED burning.

  Yet it was dark.

  Somehow he’d obliterated the light.

  No. No, it was a dream. Just like all those other nights.

  But she could have sworn she was awake. She heard the constant wind that blew through this narrow mountain valley, whistling through the granite stones outside and buffeting the ripstop nylon canopy that protected her—barely—from annihilation. She smelled the stale scent of tobacco, spices, and body odor her cook had left behind. She felt the menacing cold slipping its fingers into the tent. . . .

  She strained to hear his footfalls.

  Nothing.

  Still, she knew he was here. She could sense him moving across the floor toward her, and as she waited each nerve tightened, stretching. . . .

  His cool hand touched her cheek, making her gasp and jump.

  He chuckled, a low, deep sound of amusement. ‘‘You knew I would come.’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she whispered.

  Kneeling beside her cot, he kissed her, his cool lips firm, his breath warm in her mouth.