Darkness Chosen 01: Scent of Darkness Page 16

  "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.

  "There's no time."

  "Jasha, please."

  He smiled at her, but his eyes were sober. "I'll heal.” He knelt beside the Varinski's body. "I don't understand it. He's not completely human. What do you suppose that means?"

  "I don't know." And she didn't care. "Maybe the pact is changing."

  Jasha pinned her with a sharp glance. "Maybe it is." He ran his hand over his own face, as if checking his features for an
omalies. "I'm going to hide the body. You pack up the camp. We're leaving in fif­teen minutes."

  "Come on in." Jasha swam into the middle of the pool, his long arms making no sound as they cut through the water.

  Ann stood shivering on the stony edge, her arms wrapped around her naked chest. "It's dark."

  "That's because it's night."

  "Yeah, thanks."

  "Come on in," he said again. "It's not cold."

  "Liar!"

  They'd climbed all afternoon and now they were high on the mountain. She'd never seen stars so huge or a sky so black—or a pool so still and deep and unfathomable. Stony cliffs surrounded it on three sides, one narrow waterfall plunged into the pool, and another plunged out, and she wavered between the embarrassment of posing nude—yes, it was dark, but he possessed that inconvenient wolf vision—and the assured agony of the icy water.

  "It's refreshing!" he called.

  She put her toe in, then pulled it out. Oh, God. It's as awful as I feared.

  "You said you'd give anything for a bath," he re­minded her. "I came here just for you."

  "You knew all along we'd end here tonight." When they arrived, he had dug into a deep, protected crack of a giant boulder and pulled out food, towels, another sleeping bag, a small tent. ... It was obvious he knew this place well.

  "Jump!" he called.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she jumped.

  Cold didn't begin to describe it. Frigid, perhaps. And glacial. She broke the surface and still couldn't get her breath to scream.

  He caught her to him, laughing. "Swim. C'mon, I'll race you."

  "I want out," she gasped.

  "You have to swim to get out."

  "You tricked me!"

  He ran his hands over her. "Yeah, I wanted to see you naked."

  So she broke away and swam. She swam from one end of the pond to the other, back and forth twice.

  The afternoon had been a horror of climbing, of cursing her oversized boots, and of being driven by a man obsessed with her safety. She hadn't had time to worry about the dead man or the wolf pack or the icon. She'd barely been able to catch her breath.

  And just when she'd caught her breath, she'd plunged into this frigid water and lost it again.

  As she started on her third lap across the pond, Jasha grabbed her. "That's enough." He pulled her to the edge and stood her on a rock. He picked up his soap, and began to wash her. "You swim pretty-fast ... for a girl."

  When she was warm, if she ever got warm again, she'd be indignant. "I swam in high school. Won the California championship." She would never have thought she'd let a man wash her with his bare hands—shampoo her hair, wash her chest, lift her arms to wash her pits, and lather her breasts—and not feel a thing. But she couldn't feel a thing. Her nerves had frozen. Her teeth were chattering.

  "Then you ought to be used to water." He turned her to wash her back.

  "Warm water!" Which she longed for right now.

  "I've been in the ocean in California. It's damned cold." He lifted her feet and scrubbed them, then turned her to face him again and started up her calves.

  "Swimming pools." As his hand left a soapy trail along her thighs and into the folds between her legs, she discovered that parts of her weren't as cold as other parts. In fact, parts of her could warm up all the other parts with no problem whatsoever.

  "Stop squirming. I'm just washing you." But his voice had that tone again, the one that made her heart beat faster.

  "You are not just washing me. You're . . . being thorough."

  "I want you as clean as can be."

  He wanted her to be as aroused as she could be.

  Before she could scoot away, he dropped the soap, picked her up, and carried her back until he stood thigh-deep in the water.

  "Nooo," she moaned.

  "You have to rinse." And he dropped her in.

  She swam again, swam hard from one end of the pool to the other—and then, like a shark cutting through the water, he caught her.

  He made no sound. She wasn't expecting him. Her startled gasp turned to something else—terror or excitement—when he turned her to face him, and she saw the red glow in his eyes. When he lifted her from the water and put his mouth on her hard nipple, it felt as if someone had lit a candle on her flesh. Every bit of her was frozen except there, and there he suckled . . . and it burned.

  Oh, God. It burned, and she caught fire.

  She wrapped her legs around him, seeking his heat.

  For he was hot. He steamed in the night air. He was a furnace between her thighs and against her belly. He walked out of the pool holding her, still sucking, and knelt with her on the nest of towels.

  Had he planned this, then?

  He wrapped one towel around her hair, then used another to dry her. He rubbed her all over, and he rubbed her hard. The blood began to circulate to her skin, to her brain, and she knew a crystal-clear mo­ment of fear.

  He knew, for he said, "No," and put his mouth to her other breast.

  Now she wasn't as cold, for his fire burned just as hot. Her back arched as she tried to throw him off, but he bit down and held her until she stilled. Then he suckled, pulling her nipple deep into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue, and the flood of heat rose in her. With his hand, he explored between her legs, and when he found her dampness, he said, "I knew it," and thrust his finger inside her. One fin­ger, two.

  He laughed. "I knew you were ready."

  "Damn you!" How dare he laugh? She tried to shove him aside.

  She might as well not have bothered.

  He kissed her.

  This kiss wasn't like the kisses they'd shared in his home, with four walls around them and a roof over their heads. This kiss reminded her that a secret part of him was wolf. This kiss tasted of the wilderness, of danger, of hot lust and cool promise. He took every­thing she would allow, then took more, his lips and tongue enticing her, and when she resisted, his teeth lightly nipped until she gave him what he wanted.

  He had a message for her.

  She had been a virgin.

  He'd waited for her to heal.

  He was done waiting.

  He got up on his knees, pulled her to him, her feet off the ground, her legs spread wide.

  She flailed, but that was worthless; he held her vulnerable to him. And he was done waiting for per­mission. Now he simply took. He seated himself, and pushed forward.

  He'd had her before, and the circumstances were the same, and yet so different.

  This time, she wasn't afraid; she was angry.

  This time, he wasn't gentle; he was demanding.

  She couldn't see him with her eyes; he was merely a dark outline against the starry sky.

  But her body recognized him. The length, the breadth, the heat ... he was the wolf. He was the man. He burned her inside as his hips drove him deeper and deeper. He touched her inner core, that place of secrets and sensation, and she cried out.

  And the son of a bitch laughed again.

  Briefly she surfaced to fight him, twisting and turn­ing, but that only heightened the sensations—for him, too, for he groaned and thrust faster, harder, wordlessly demanding all the passion she so care­fully controlled.

  She couldn't deny him. She moaned now, over and over. Overhead the stars wheeled across the heavens. All around her, earth and wind stood still, waiting.

  And climax blasted through her, imprinting her on eternity.

  He came, too, spurting into her, filling her, and desperation and need tinged his voice as he called, "Ann. My God, Ann."

  Tears of pleasure seeped from the corners of her eyes, blurring his silhouette.

  Gradually he lowered her to the ground and cov­ered her with his body. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids. He tilted her neck back and kissed her throat.

  He seemed so desperate, it almost seemed he felt more than desire, more than affection.

  Inside her, he was still hard, and he thrust again, making her shudde
r and whimper.

  "Yes, Ann." His voice was as dark as the sky and as smooth as velvet. "Come again."

  Another woman might think he needed her for more than sex.

  Madness, Ann. Madness.

  "You're going to get cold," she whispered.

  "There's not much time," he answered.

  That didn't make sense to her, but then—right now, nothing did. He'd stolen her senses and left her only love.

  Slowly, he withdrew from her body.

  She sighed as he slipped away, then whimpered when he took a damp towel and wiped her chest and her belly, and ever so gently and thoroughly cleaned between her legs.

  She squirmed at his touch, then fought back a scream when he slid down and used his tongue. Carefully he drew her clit into his mouth. He sucked, and in only a second she came again, and again, and before he was done she was exhausted and shaking.

  He rose back over the top of her, and spoke in her ear. "I thought I could wait. I thought the water would be cold enough to tame me. But nothing can keep me away from you, off of you, out of you. You're mine, Ann. No matter what happens, never forget it." He stood. He looked down at her for a long moment, then turned away.

  She heard the splash as he dived back in the water. Shivering more from his words and his tone than from the cold, she dressed quickly.

  By the time he came out of the water, she waited with towels, and she handed them to him and turned away. She waited until she heard him toss the towels down before she spoke in a low voice. "Jasha, what are you planning?"

  "I'm going to take you somewhere safe," he said, "and I'm going to go hunting Varinski."

  Chapter 23

  "Do you have to go now?" Ann asked. So soon after, she meant, while the blood still runs hot in my veins and I want nothing more than for you to hold me.

  But she didn't dare say that.

  "You know I do. This afternoon proved that to me. I never smelled the feathers until he was almost on top of us. I underestimated the whole damned family"—Jasha stroked his thumb across her cheek— "because I wanted time with you. I can't be so crimi­nally stupid again. They're hot on our trail."

  "How many more do you think there are?"

  "I'm sure we've got a wolf after us. I think that's all." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sure that's all."