Into the Shadow (21 page)

‘‘Yeah. Congratulations, and welcome to twenty-hour days.’’ She looked up at him. ‘‘This morning, before I even stepped onto the job, Dad called to let me know we’re behind schedule, and he chewed my ass for it. So while I walk the project, you get these guys to work. Then come find me; we’ll talk about your pay raise and go over the plans to figure out where we can make up some time.’’ She started to walk into the half-framed hotel, then looked back at the stunned Alden. ‘‘I mean . . . if you want the job.’’

Warlord’s voice startled her out of her trance. ‘‘Did he take it?’’

‘‘Yes.’’ Then she realized what she’d admitted. ‘‘Don’t.’’

‘‘So you got your one chance to make good. Did your father ever notice?’’

‘‘Please. Don’t.’’ She couldn’t have him know all her secrets.

He tilted her head up and brushed his lips across hers, over and over, until her eyes closed. ‘‘My blood in you gave me a window into your mind.’’

‘‘No.’’ His touch, his kiss dulled the sharp edge of reality, but she knew the truth.

Over the last few days she had seen his weaknesses. She had witnessed his pain.

She had lived in his skin. She had sinned his sins. She had killed men. She had exulted in battle. She reveled in sex with a thousand women. . . .

With his eyes she had seen her own face for the first time.

She had gloried in her capture, in the hours and days and weeks of unrelenting pleasure. She had been determined to win the sensual battle between them.

She’d survived, barely, the battle that put him in the mines. There she had dwelled in hell with him, known his remorse as he watched his men die, felt the pain of his beatings, and suffered the slow dwindling of his spirit. And she had seen that no matter how oppressive the darkness and the heat and smells, no matter how deadly the work, Warlord had never given up. Not for his sake, but for his men’s, he had been determined to gain their freedom.

Warlord had redeemed himself. Warlord had proved he had strength and a soul of honor.

Karen had no such strength, no such honor. Her life was small, her fears exaggerated. She had never wanted him to witness her anguish at her mother’s death, the lonely days of her childhood, the futile attempts to please her father, the difficulty of her construction work . . . the anguish and joy of living as Warlord’s slave.

Yet he had. At some point in the last few days he had been in her mind and witnessed it all.

"Marry me," he said.

She turned her head away. ‘‘Why would you want to marry me?’’

‘‘The sight of you, the scent of you, the heat of you go right through to my bones. You warm me, the hard, cold core of me, and when I saw you across the foyer at the spa, for the first time in two years I was alive and healed.’’ Swiftly he added, ‘‘I will never hold you against your will.’’

She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes.

‘‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t try to convince you. I didn’t say I would ever give up. But I will not ever again hold you against your will. I have been held against my will. It was a hard lesson, but I learned it.’’ He bowed his head to her. ‘‘Please forgive me.’’

They were trapped in a small tent, in a sleeping bag, in clothes they’d worn for five days. Yet he begged her like a courtier before Queen Elizabeth.

She didn’t want to marry him. But she enjoyed the begging. She enjoyed it even more because she knew—she
knew
—that although he meant what he said, he’d had to fight his own possessive nature to make that promise.

‘‘Please?’’ he said again.

She put her hand on his head, mostly because the pure black silk of his hair enticed her. ‘‘I forgive you.’’

‘‘Will you marry me?’’

That was Warlord. Always swift to follow up an advantage. ‘‘No.’’

‘‘I would be a good husband to you. Karen, I love you.’’

‘‘But I don’t know if I . . .’’

‘‘Love me?’’

‘‘I don’t know if I love you.’’ Her father had taught her she couldn’t depend on any man for the truth, and Warlord had confirmed that lesson. ‘‘I do know I don’t trust you.’’

Yet she watched him with troubled eyes. Was she unfairly burdening him with the wrong baggage?

‘‘Shh.’’ He lifted her, stripped her T-shirt off. ‘‘You worry too much.’’

She ought to stop him. Tell him that she could never forgive him for the time she spent as his captive. Tell him that she knew even the long year he’d passed in hell hadn’t vanquished the devil in him. She’d seen it at work in the last week, when he had hunted her down, lied to her about his identity, tried to seduce her.

Warlord removed his clothes, then held her with a hand on either hip, pressed himself against her, and closed his eyes, as if the mere touch of her body on his skin moved him to ecstasy. His erection strained against her belly. His chest, beautifully decorated with the blazing thunderbolt, rose and fell with his breaths. She held his arms in her hands and coiled her legs around his . . . because the ecstasy enveloped her, too.

He lifted himself. He wrapped his thumbs under the elastic of her panties and slid them down her legs. ‘‘Kick them off,’’ he whispered. ‘‘Please get rid of them.’’

Like a fool, she responded to his pleading.

In reward he slid deep into the bag to kiss her shoulders, the tender inside of her elbow, her palm, her fingertips.

How she had missed the way he worshiped her body, every limb, every inch of skin, with his touch and his mouth!

No matter what, she was now bound to Warlord, for while she was in his mind she had learned that he loved her. Loved her with all the passion of a man who had lived in hell and now saw a chance for heaven.

That was why she allowed him to caress her belly and between her legs.

That was why she stroked the deep scars across his shoulders.

That was why she would let him make love to her, and would make love to him in return.

He ran his palms down the sides of her body, learning her curves once more.

Outside, the wind peeled the dry snow off the tent layer by layer, letting the daylight seep through the nylon structure. The tree boughs sang as they swayed, and the rich odor of pine mixed with the scents of their bodies.

They had almost died of the venom. They had been through hell together.

His warm, soft lips kissed her nipples, tasted them, made her realize how sweet this affirmation of life could be.

Wrapping her fingers around his head, she held him, reveling in his breath on her skin, then pulled him up onto her. ‘‘Please,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I want.’’

‘‘What do you want?’’ He smiled and kissed her lightly, over and over. ‘‘Tell me.’’

She showed him. She dragged her hands down his chest, down his belly, and enfolded his penis in her fingers.

His breath hissed between his teeth. He arched his back. His eyes closed in agonized gratification.

In mockery and delight, she said, ‘‘Before I am done with you, every time you think of pleasure, you’ll think of me.’’

He opened his eyes, looked down at her, and said, ‘‘I do. My darling, I do.’’

Then they moved together until the snow blew off the tent, and the bright sunshine leaked through the thin nylon, and the light illuminated his gorgeously sculpted and dearly beloved face.

After three days of unending snow and wind and blizzard conditions, the weather cleared, and the Civil Air Patrol and the mountain rescue team went out to find the Cessna Citation X. It took them two days of hard searching to locate the wreckage, but when they did, Innokenti and a dozen of his handpicked men were with them as civilian rescue experts.

Innokenti stood watching as the rescuers combed the wreckage for any sign of survivors, and shook their heads pityingly. They thought every person aboard had been killed.

Innokenti withheld judgment. He was waiting for a report from his best spotter. When Pyotr was on the wing, nothing got past his sharp eyes.

Some of the Americans murmured in amazement when a brown hawk circled Innokenti’s head, then flew into the trees. Innokenti followed.

There was Pyotr, jumping up and down with excitement. ‘‘They’re here,’’ he said. ‘‘I saw the proof. A new broken branch on a cedar.’’

‘‘Maybe it was wind damage.’’

‘‘Something hooked on it. The bark is broken in the middle, and the needles are stripped off the end.’’

‘‘Good work.’’

Innokenti’s other men gathered around.

‘‘We’re going after them.’’ He sternly viewed their anticipatory faces. ‘‘You can have the girl, but leave Wilder for me.’’

‘‘What about the Americans?’’ Lev jerked his head toward the rescuers.

Innokenti started down the hill, changing as he went. ‘‘Kill them all.’’

The day was perfect, high, wispy clouds against a bright blue sky, a brisk wind, and a temperature that hovered around ten degrees. Or perhaps the day wasn’t so much perfect as he felt perfect. Wonderful. Better than he had in two years. No—better than he had in his whole life. Karen wasn’t his yet, but he had gained ground.

Of course, she’d had to view his complete castration first—and that didn’t make any sense at all. When he had realized she was in his brain, living with him the dark days of his imprisonment, he had wanted to shout out his refusal.

He had died every day in the mines, and every time Innokenti Varinski beat him he’d screamed in agony. Worse, the last time, when he heard Innokenti was coming, he had cried. Cried like the titty-baby the guard had called him.

But Karen didn’t seem to care that he’d broken down, that he’d whined and whimpered. She almost liked him better for acting like a girl.

He didn’t understand women. He never would. But he thanked God for putting them— especially Karen—on this earth.

Karen stepped out of the tent and stretched, and didn’t look at him. Because she was shy about the passion she’d been unable to hide, or embarrassed that he’d been in her mind, or pissed that she’d surrendered.

Not that she’d completely surrendered, but she would. She would. She couldn’t fight him
and
her own desires, and when she realized that, he would get his ring on her finger as swiftly as possible. Then he’d spend the next hundred years teaching her to love him, and showing her she could trust him.

‘‘You look beautiful.’’ He took her in his arms.

‘‘No, I don’t.’’ She managed to make him sound as if he were an idiot. ‘‘I haven’t had a bath in five days.’’

‘‘Absolutely beautiful,’’ he repeated, and kissed her, and kissed her again.

She kissed him back, then pushed away as if she’d betrayed too much.

He pretended not to notice. ‘‘I wish I had a cell phone so I could call Jasha and see if he’s at the rendezvous.’’

‘‘He didn’t sound too enthused,’’ she warned.

‘‘Jasha is the oldest. He may not be enthused, but he’s the most responsible human being you’ll ever—’’

A thin, sharp sound sliced through the air.

He shoved her back against a tree and, holding her there, scanned the sky.

‘‘What was that?’’ she asked.

‘‘We’re going now.’’ He reached in the tent and brought out his backpack and her bag. ‘‘I should never have let us linger here.’’

‘‘That was a gunshot.’’

‘‘Right.’’ He’d packed two Glocks and a hundred rounds of ammunition. When he’d loaded the bag, he’d thought that if he didn’t kill the Varinskis with a hundred rounds, he never would. But with Karen with him, one hundred rounds seemed pitifully few. With Karen here he wished he had an M16 machine gun. Or a tank. Anything to keep her safe.

‘‘You think it was the Varinskis.’’ She helped him load the weapons. ‘‘But couldn’t it be a hunter?’’

He strapped one pistol around his chest under his coat, and all the while he worked the possible scenarios for attack and defense. ‘‘Anything’s possible.’’

‘‘You’re right.’’ She acknowledged the words he hadn’t spoken. ‘‘But not probable.’’

‘‘You’re a marksman, right?’’

‘‘My father made sure of that.’’

As Warlord strapped a pistol around her, under her coat, he smiled into her face. ‘‘Your father had his good points.’’

‘‘He prepared me for survival, that’s for sure. The old son of a bitch.’’ She sounded wistful.

He understood why. He’d seen the conflicting emotions that roiled in her. She hated Jackson Sonnet for raising her without sentiment or softness. Yet at the same time he’d been her only parent, the constant in her life, and although she didn’t want to admit it, she understood what a blow to his pride her mother’s infidelity had been . . . and his best friend’s betrayal. ‘‘You miss him.’’

She nodded. ‘‘I guess I do.’’

‘‘When this is over we’ll go see him.’’ He put his knife up his sleeve. He hung the ropes on his belt by the snap links. Opening her bag, he said, ‘‘Get the icon.’’ He wouldn’t touch it. He still had the burns from the first time.

‘‘We’re not taking the rest of our stuff?’’ She sorted through her clothes.

‘‘We’ve got to move fast.’’ He laid out their snowshoes.

She didn’t argue. She didn’t complain. She didn’t lecture him on the environmental impact of leaving their equipment. She brought out the icon, then the picture frame. With swift motions she stripped out her mother’s picture. She tucked them both in an inner pocket with a Velcro catch. Her skinning knife went in a pocket; her camping ax hung on her belt.

He strapped on his snowshoes.

She followed suit. ‘‘I’m ready.’’

‘‘You’re a woman in a million.’’ He glanced at his portable GPS, and they moved out.

The going was downhill, but rugged. He kept them under cover where he could, avoiding deep snowbanks, watching the skies, and listening for pursuit.

‘‘Where are we headed?’’ she asked.

‘‘The rendezvous with Jasha.’’

‘‘If he’s not there?’’

‘‘That spot is the best defensive high ground I could find. That’s why I chose it.’’

‘‘How did you foresee all this?’’

‘‘I prepared for every scenario.’’ He glanced back at her. ‘‘When you meet my father, you’ll understand.’’

‘‘Am I meeting your father?’’

‘‘He’ll want to meet my bride.’’

‘‘I haven’t said yes.’’

‘‘I’m hopeful.’’ He grinned at her mulish expression, and faced front.

‘‘How far do we have to go?’’

‘‘Are you tired?’’ The exercise was burning off the last effects of the venom. He felt good, yet the high altitude made his lungs fight for enough air. For all Karen’s stoicism, she was completely human, and a girl.

‘‘I’m fine.’’

‘‘I can carry you.’’

She caught up with him. ‘‘Look. I grew up hiking around the Rockies, and they make the Sierra Nevadas look like an overpass.’’ She fell back. ‘‘So don’t patronize me, mister.’’

‘‘Touchy.’’ He grinned as he felt the blast of her fury warm his back. ‘‘We’re probably twenty miles from the wreckage. The bird hasn’t found us yet.’’

‘‘The bird? You mean the falcon? I thought you killed it?’’

‘‘There are more. When they’re tracking they’ll always bring at least one bird. Once it locates us we’re prey, and it’s just a matter of time before the pack arrives to finish the job. If we can get to the rendezvous first, and Jasha is there, we’ll have a chance. If he’s brought reinforcements, that would be better.’’

‘‘How many reinforcements?’’ She began to sound hopeful.

‘‘My brother Rurik.’’

‘‘Oh.’’ She was deflated.

‘‘Don’t discount my brothers. My father coached them. Coached us all. They’re smart and vicious fighters.’’

‘‘So we’ve got a chance?’’

‘‘Sure. There’s always a chance.’’ Not much of one, but the prospect of the fight cheered Warlord. He wanted that icon safely with his family. He wanted Karen where he could protect her. Most of all, he wanted to finish Innokenti. It was time to free himself of the fear that haunted his every footstep. ‘‘Depends on how many men Innokenti brought. More than eight and we’re in trouble.’’

‘‘Great,’’ she muttered.

‘‘Remember—
you
can’t kill a Varinski. They’re part of the pact, essentially demons from hell.’’

‘‘Then what am I doing with a gun?’’

‘‘You can hurt them. You can protect yourself. ’’ They were making good time, but the next stretch was an old rock slide, clear of cover, with barely a tree to protect them from watching eyes, and a great, sheer pack of snow.

Warlord stopped at the top. ‘‘No way around.’’

‘‘But a great way to make speed.’’ She pointed at a great old downed cedar. The bark was loose, and with a few swipes of her ax she held a piece as tall as she was and half as wide. She put it on the snow, pointing downhill, and took off her snowshoes.

‘‘A sled.’’ He couldn’t believe his clever girl.

‘‘Get on,’’ she said.

He almost took the front, then realized it was her idea. He took the back. ‘‘How did you think to do this?’’ He tucked his snowshoes under his arm.

‘‘You’ve never built one?’’

‘‘No. We always bought them at Wally-world. ’’

She got on the front. ‘‘My dad didn’t see the sense in play, so my toys always had a practical purpose.’’

The old son of a bitch, indeed.

She continued, ‘‘That meant I had to get innovative. I got pretty good at picking out the appropriate tree and—’’

They pushed off. The bark was rough on the bottom, and at first it was slow, but as the snow packed on underneath they moved faster and faster. And, Warlord quickly realized, they couldn’t steer. By the time they reached the bottom they were flying—flying toward the pile of boulders and downed trees left by a rockfall. He was horrified, terrified, wondering what maggot had suggested he do the gentlemanly thing and let Karen sit in front . . . when a splinter flew past his cheek. Another, and then half the sled. The whole thing disintegrated beneath them and they came to a skidding stop.

While he sat there in shock in the snow, Karen stood and dusted off her seat. ‘‘I was starting to wonder if that would break apart in time.’’ She offered her hand. ‘‘We should get out of here.’’

He jerked his gaze toward the sky.

A single brown hawk circled high above them. Another joined him.

‘‘They’ve nailed us. Let’s go.’’

The next two miles were a hell of haste and worry. The wind blew in their faces, freezing their exposed skin and making the going hard. Their trip on the sled had cracked one of Karen’s snowshoes. They abandoned them. Every fifteen minutes he made her drink water and eat a few bites, but they never slowed. Every moment he strained to hear the sound of paws racing across the snow. ‘‘We’re getting close,’’ he said.

Before she could answer, a wolf howled half a mile behind them.

The color drained from her face.

He pointed. ‘‘Run straight ahead.’’

She watched him shed his coat, his hat, every bulky bit of clothing, stripping down until he should be shivering. Yet he burned with the heat of battle. ‘‘What are you going to do?’’

‘‘Fight the back guard. When you get to the top of the cliff—’’

‘‘A cliff?’’ Her eyes accused him. ‘‘That’s your defensible ground?’’

He handed her her rappelling equipment. ‘‘There’s a cave two-thirds of the way down. Get in it.’’ Grabbing her, he kissed her with all the love and desperation in his heart. ‘‘Whatever you do, stay safe. I can’t bear the thought of a world without you.’’