Touch of Darkness Page 19

  She experienced him, large, strong, and vital, inside her. His hips drove up at her; she met his thrusts with her own motion. Together they traveled a passage as ancient as the stone beneath them, and as new as the dawn.

  Her breath rasped in her throat.

  Her climax built and built within her, a mighty, feverish tidal wave waiting to crash over her. She lost track of time, of place. There was only Rurik and Tasya, a single being, joined by enchantment.

  Then it struck—a single, long spasm of joy, wracking her body. As the oldest glory in the world sang in her ears, she sank her nails into Rurik's shoulders. As he thrust and came she welcomed and embraced, and she lived this moment as she had never lived before—and would never live again.

  Lust gripped them.

  She cried out her pleasure to the skies.

  He groaned deeply, wracked with pleasure.

  And lightning ripped up from the earth, through the altar stone, through him, and into her. The sensation was a fire and a shock such as Tasya had never experienced. She screamed in pain and rapture. The jolt took their mutual orgasm and drove it beyond the bounds of the world, binding them together and sending them into one glorious, final, blissful spasm.

  "What . . . ?" She braced herself against his chest, and looked down at him, exhausted, sated, so handsome he brought her to tears. "What was that?"

  He smiled a savage smile. "Fusion."

  ***

  They dressed in silence, but Tasya could see Rurik glancing over at her.

  She pretended she didn't notice. Better not to think about what happened on the pagan stone altar in her own country with the sun shining on them like a blessing.

  She was tying her shoes when Rurik thrust something under her nose.

  The semiautomatic pistol.

  She looked at it for a long moment.

  "Take it. You'll need to get away." In quick, precise detail, he told her how to find his parents.

  She wrapped her hand around the grip. "I don't want—"

  "What you want and what I want is not important. One of us has to defeat the devil, and at least, my darling, we've shared a long good-bye."

  She looked up at him.

  He smiled at her with all the intensity that had first focused her attention and made her realize that this could be a man she could trust. "Believe me, Tasya, it's every man's dream, to share great sex with the woman he loves right before he dies in a fight."

  "With the woman he ... you . . ." He'd said it before, but she hadn't believed him. Now how could she not?

  "Of course I love you." Kneeling before her, he finished tying her shoe.

  "You do not."

  "Tasya, I'm thirty-three years old. I may never have loved before, but I recognize it when I feel it."

  She didn't know what to say, or how to say it. He'd made her trust him, shattered her dreams of revenge with a savage dose of the truth, then offered to die for her. And he was a Varinski. Her enemy, for shit's sake.

  But somehow the word had no meaning.

  "It's okay." He helped her up, helped her tug the

  pistol in her belt at the back. "I know you don't love me. But if I had time, I could change your mind, and that makes me happy, too."

  "Maybe," she mumbled. "Sure." She reached under the altar and grabbed her backpack.

  He helped her shrug into the straps.

  The bag seemed heavy, as if with each of Rurik's declarations of love, the weight of the icon grew.

  The icon was simply a holy object. It didn't have a preference for where it went or whom it served. Tasya needed to get a grip, and get it fast, or she'd be babbling the truth to Rurik . . , and maybe that was what she should do, anyway.

  "Come on." She sprang down the hill, away from the idea.

  He followed, then took the lead—and veered toward the entrance to the cave.

  He stopped beside the sinister, black gash in the earth.

  "What?" But she knew.

  "I want you to take the path through the cave."

  "No."

  "You've done it before. You can find your way out."

  "No!"

  "Two of the Varinskis are birds. They can't make it down there. But if I take Kassian out, you can get away."

  "Look. I'm not going down there again." She took a breath. "And I'm not leaving you to die. I'll take my chances with you."

  Rurik considered her. He didn't know what drove her more—her fear of the dark and the cave, or her misplaced courage. But he couldn't stuff her down the hole, and if she didn't have that courage, she wouldn't be the Tasya he loved.

  So he nodded. "All right. Come on. Let's go."

  He set off at a run, listening as Tasya panted behind him. He'd studied the terrain, figured out an escape route.

  That was what his father had trained him to do.

  He cut around the edge of the mountain, then up toward the peak.

  He could fight the boys and win.

  Kassian was another thing altogether. Kassian was experienced, deadly, and he'd already proved he was willing to fling the youngsters into the fray to soften Rurik's defenses.

  He was in every way the perfect Varinski.

  They skirted a grove of trees, ran into a clearing studded with boulders, headed for another grove of trees.

  And he heard the sounds he'd been waiting for.

  The flap of wings. The soft thud of a wolf's paws.

  Kassian must have quickly reestablished his domination.

  "They're coming." Anticipation and dread filled Tasya's voice.

  Rurik slowed to a walk. There was no need to hurry now.

  Putting Tasya in front of him, he said, "Remember, use your head. Stay out of their way. When I see an opportunity, I'll attack and you run like hell. Don't stop, and stay alive, whatever you do."

  "Listen, I have to tell you something." She turned to face him.

  He glanced up. "No time!" He shoved her out of the way.

  In a flash of gray feathers, Sergei sliced through the air, his talons extended. He swooped up, landed on a tall boulder, and changed. And looked down and laughed, a big, stupid, perfect composite of muscles and malice.

  A grinning Ilya came out of the grove of trees in front of them.

  Kassian came from behind, changing from wolf form to human. His fangs shortened, his snout narrowed, but still a froth clung around his lips.

  Kassian wasn't amused. He was furious.

  Yeah. It was going to be a long, hard fight.

  Ilya and Kassian paced toward them.

  Sergei leaped as hard as he could, grabbing for Tasya.

  She twisted, smashed her elbow into his ribs, and left him holding her backpack.

  Leaping back at Sergei, she landed on his back, grabbing for the bag. "Give it to me!"

  Rurik could have killed her himself.

  She should have run. Instead she sounded like a thwarted schoolgirl and acted like a dunce.

  Of course, Sergei responded with all the maturity of which he was capable. He dumped her in the dirt. Took her backpack by both of the bottom corners. Whirled it in a circle.

  "No! Stop that!" Tasya lunged again.

  The contents spread across the ground. Her lens case smacked against the side of a boulder. The wrapping on her granola bars sparkled silver in the sunlight. Her clothes scattered in the dirt, and her spare T-shirt unfurled. Something square, something that glittered like old gold, flew through the air and with the distinctive ring of fired ceramic, landed among the rocks.

  The icon.

  Tasya had found the icon.

  Chapter 28

  Tasya skidded to a halt. One glance at her guilty face told Rurik all he needed to know. She hadn't forgotten to tell him about finding the icon. She'd chosen to keep it for herself, so she could get her publicity, publish her book, gain her revenge—and bring the Varinskis' vengeance down on her foolish head.

  He was furious. He was betrayed. He was hurt.

  And he loved her. He'd told h
er his deepest secrets, thrown himself on her mercy, begged for her understanding.

  Loved her.

  He loved her.

  And she had lied to him.

  There was only one thing to do.

  "Damn you!" he shouted. Grabbing her shoulders.

  he shoved her against the boulder. "You little bitch, you betrayed me!" As he pulled back his fist, he whispered, "Go down hard."

  He saw comprehension flicker in her eyes.

  He pulled his punch.

  She let his fist hit her cheek. She jumped and landed on her side in the dirt. When he grabbed her and dragged her back to her feet, she cried out as if she'd been murdered.

  "That's the way," he heard Kassian say.

  Yeah, you prick, you'd know how to beat a woman, wouldn't you? "Get the icon," he shouted at his damned-to-hellcousins.

  He shook Tasya.

  She flopped around like a rag doll, her neck snapping back and forth.

  Yes, that was his Tasya. Such an actress. She'd fooled him. He'd had no idea she'd found the icon.

  Something of his real rage must have shown in his face, for she really flinched, and he saw something— regret?—in her eyes.

  A little late for that.

  He turned back in time to see Sergei grin that stupid, greedy grin of his, lean down, and pick up the icon. Sergei's eyes grew wide, panicked, surprised. With a scream, he flipped, the icon into the air. It landed in the grass.

  Sergei screamed again.

  "What the hell's the matter with him?" Rurik demanded. As if he didn't know. No Varinski male could hold the icon. The Madonna would not allow herself to be possessed by a demon.

  "Shut him up," Rurik said. "What a wimp."

  "Shut up, you dumbshit." Kassian shoved Sergei. Sergei screamed until Ilya hit him hard in the middle of the chest. Then he sank to his knees and whimpered.

  "That's better." Grabbing Tasya's hair, Rurik jerked Tasya's head back, and kissed her hard.

  Kissed her good-bye.

  At first she fought him. Then she grabbed his neck and kissed him back.

  When he pulled back, he said, "Don't rush in to save me. Don't rush in to save anybody. Save yourself."

  Perhaps in her mind, she was still fighting the inevitable, but her kiss told him the truth. She knew what she had to do. "Like I'm going to let anyone get killed for me."

  "There's a choice here. We can both die fighting them, or you can take the icon and run."

  "I don't run."

  "Then you die, and the devil takes possession of the icon once more, and the Varinskis win."

  She shook her head. Shook it and shook it.

  "Yes, Tasya."

  Slowly she nodded.

  Putting himself between her and the Varinskis, he said, "Make it look good."

  "I will."

  "Trust me."

  "I do."

  He stared at her.

  Her blue eyes were fierce and hot. "I trust you."

  "That's not love, but that's good enough." This time when he slapped at her, she flinched and cried, sobbing, "Stop it, please stop it!" Both of them made the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

  Behind them, Sergei still moaned and complained.

  As if he'd had enough, Rurik turned on the others. "For shit's sake, pick up the goddamn icon!" This time he didn't watch, but returned to beating Tasya.

  When he heard another Varinski scream, he smiled.

  Tasya smiled back, her face red from exertion.

  Pivoting to face his cousins, he saw the icon on the ground again, and Ilya holding his hand out, his wrist in his other hand, looking at the damage, screaming, and looking again.

  Kassian was the smart one in the group. He understood what had happened. "We can't hold that fucking thing." He pointed at Tasya. "Make her get it for us."

  "You finally had a good idea." Rurik started to push her toward the icon.

  She stopped him with a hand on his wrist. In a low tone, she said, "I need blood on my face, and 1 need bruises."

  He froze. For all the Air Force bar fights and all the tussles with his brothers, he'd never hit a woman in his life. Hitting Tasya would be like hitting his mother, or Firebird, or Meadow Szarvas, or his old-maid teacher, Miss Joyce.

  "C'mon," Tasya said. "I lived in some good foster homes, but lived in a couple of lousy ones, too. I've been hit before."

  His hand came up, then fell to his side. Her blue eyes were as fierce and as bright as a hot coal. "If you don't do it, I'll have to slam myself against a rock, and I'll really hurt myself."

  "Right. I'll do it." He had to steel himself. Close his eyes almost all the way. Pretend she was one of his brothers. And smack her hard enough to split her lip and leave a bruise on her cheek.

  "Crap, that hurt!" Her fist came up to hit him back, then fell to her side.

  Even now her first instinct was to defend herself. "None of that." Grabbing her by the arm, he propelled her toward the icon, and in a loud, rough tone shouted, "Pick it up. Put it in your backpack. You carry it!"

  She fell forward. She crawled to the icon. With a look of misery, she picked it up. When she did, the gilt of the Madonna's halo flashed in the sun.

  Rurik hoped that was an omen, a sign of hope that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

  She slipped the icon into her backpack, then crept along, gathering her clothes, her granola bars, her lens case, staying low, moving like an old woman scavenging her few precious belongings. She got within range of Kassian. He stepped up and kicked her in the ribs. She rolled down the hill, her backpack clutched to her stomach, and slammed into a boulder.

  Kassian was a big man, broad-shouldered, mean, and fast.

  Rurik didn't care. He'd been wanting this. He closed the distance between them, grabbed Kassian by the throat, looked full into the Varinski's red-rimmed eyes. "I didn't tell you to kick her."

  "You're not in charge." Kassian's hot breath smelled of garlic and brimstone.

  "I am now!" Rurik punched him between the legs. Kassian doubled over, then came up with a head butt to Rurik's belly.

  Rurik fell onto his back, brought his leg up, and, before Kassian could straighten, kicked him under the chin. Kassian stumbled backward.

  Sergei and Ilya jumped Rurik at once.

  Tasya dragged breath into her lungs, trying to clear the dark fog that swam before her eyes.

  With one hand on the boulder that had stopped her and the other one clutching the backpack, she climbed to her feet and stood, weaving.

  She had to focus. She had to get out of here.

  They were killing Rurik.

  First Sergei and Ilya pounded on him, and took a pounding in their turn. Rurik had told her he could fight; she saw the proof of it now as he kicked and slashed, leaping into the air, moving so quickly she couldn't follow his motions.

  It was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but without subtitles.

  A glint of metal caught her gaze. She looked—and there it was. The Varinskis' arsenal. A rifle with scope. Another semiautomatic pistol. A shotgun. And all the ammunition.

  Nothing, she discovered, cured a possible broken rib as fast as seeing the Varinskis' firearms lying there unprotected.

  She tossed the pistol and the shotgun in the stream. She checked the rifle to see if it was loaded. It was, and she tucked it under her arm. She scattered the ammunition into the dirt.

  She looked up at the fight in time to see Kassian charge back into the fray, and the dynamics changed.

  Rurik was overwhelmed, still punishing the men with his fists and his feet, but taking more and more blows to his face, his chest, his legs.

  Then it happened.

  In an action so quick she couldn't follow it, he changed. Rurik disappeared, and in his place a hawk burst forth from the group and flew straight up.

  Rurik.

  She raised her fist in triumph. Good for him! She saw the flash as his eyes focused on her. He'd given her a head start. He wanted her to use it.

/>   Flinging her backpack over one shoulcler, she ran up the hill toward the convent, and escape.

  That kick Kassian had given her didn't make it easy; she had trouble catching her breath. The cumbersome rifle weighed her down, too. But she wouldn't give it up—that, she might need.

  Yet she kept glancing over her shoulder, desperate to see Rurik's battle.

  A huge black-and-white eagle raced after the hawk.

  Ilya.

  She ran on, and glanced again.

  The birds engaged in an aerial battle, swooping and screaming. Ilya's wings beat at Rurik, but Rurik was smaller and faster, dashing in, tearing at the eagle with beak and talons.

  The combat was beautiful, and deadly.

  "Come on, Rurik," she whispered. "Come on. You can win this."

  For the first time since she'd walked out of that chapel and into the arms of the Varinskis, hope lifted her heart. Maybe the two of them could survive this attack. Maybe he could forgive her for keeping the icon for herself. Maybe . . . maybe she could live with a Varinski, as long as his name was Rurik. Maybe none of that mattered. Maybe all that mattered was surviving—

  She glanced. Halted. Turned.

  She was high on the mountain now, looking down on the tumble of rocks and groves of trees that made up the countryside. The birds of prey still wheeled and fought, but the eagle was wearying, failing.

  She couldn't see Sergei; he was hidden from her sight.

  But she could see Kassian. He stood on a boulder, holding a bow and arrow—and he was aiming at Rurik.

  Chapter 29

  The arrow flew, not in slow motion like in the movies, but so fast Tasya didn't have time to scream a protest. It stabbed the hawk in midair, ripping it from its flight path, and for one horrifying second, she saw the red flare in its eyes. Then the flare was extinguished.

  The bird plunged toward the earth and vanished in a grove of trees.

  She screamed, putting all her energy, all her anguish, all her emotion, into a protest against the life that had led her inexorably to this . . . this destiny.

  Kassian Varinski heard her. He turned to face her. He smiled, his teeth glistening. And he pursed his lips in a kiss that promised humiliation, rape, death.

  The old, familiar rage against destiny took hold of her. She took one step toward him.