Touch of Darkness (27 page)

Which was exactly what Rurik intended, for he walked beside her, his long stride confident and relaxed. "My parents hoped that the pact had been broken, but when Jasha passed through puberty, he changed into a wolf. Adrik changed into a panther. Firebird . . . well, my sister, Firebird, doesn't change into an animal, but she's strong and smart, and dear to us all."

"And you're a hawk." Tasya didn't want
to
go near the entrance to the cave. So she headed for the top of the hill.

Rurik joined her. "When we boys were teenagers, it was so cool. We couldn't let anyone know about us, of course, but we'd sneak off and run or fly, and we thought we were the hottest guys in town. I'm the only son who can control the transformation. My father says I'm the only male ever to be able to do that. I can turn an arm into a wing, or a foot into a claw, or change my eyes to see with the acuity and distance of a hunting hawk."

"You're swaggering." He was. Swaggering at the memory of a youth spent with a freedom and a power Tasya could never have imagined.

"Yeah. I was really hot shit. My father claimed each transformation brought us closer to the yawning

pit of hell, but I was sure I could make the shape-shifting work for me." As he spoke, his gait changed infinitesimally. "Bad things happened. When Adrik was seventeen, he got in trouble and just . . . disappeared. We traced him to Asia, but . . . nothing. Still 1 thought I could handle the hawk thing without any repercussions. Flying was just so glorious!"

She watched him and knew—these memories were bittersweet. "So you became a pilot."

"Then everyone knew I was the best pilot in the Air Force, the guy who got to fly the experimental airplanes and train the best recruits."

She heard the longing in his voice. Told herself she didn't care. And found herself asking anyway. "What happened?"

"I used my hawk vision when I was flying recon and scared my WISO so much he ejected into enemy territory. Before we could get back to him, the enemy had caught him and tortured him to death." He spoke with a low intensity that made her look at him, really look at him.

Guilt hung on him like mourning clothes. Regret choked him like a noose.

She felt . . . she felt almost sorry for him.

"My father was right. The devil's gift
can't
be used for good, and it cost a good man his life for me to learn that lesson. So I made a vow to never turn again."

She did
not
want to feel sorry for him, and she

refused
to feel an obligation because he'd broken his vow to save her life. "Did anything good come out of the flight?"

"I confirmed an enemy nuclear site, and we took it out."

He was being so stupid she couldn't stand it. "So you saved how many lives? Did you not think the devil manipulated the circumstances to stop you from using your gift for good?" she snapped. "Come on, Rurik, don't be an idiot. If you're going to battle the demons of hell, you'll need every weapon in your arsenal. Just be careful and don't change when you're around an idiot, that's all."

"Matt Clark was not an idiot."

"Any man who'll eject out of a perfectly good airplane into enemy territory for any reason is an idiot."

He laughed, a brief, violent burst. "That's what my sister said when it happened."

"Why didn't you listen to her?"

"She was seventeen, and I was ... I was pretty screwed up." He rubbed his forehead. "Maybe she had a point."

"Maybe she did." Tasya stopped beside the stone altar and looked out across the country. Her country. Right now, she needed to see the mountains, the valleys. To see as far as she could.

There was still a thread missing from his story. "You've got the ability to change into a hawk. To fly
whenever and wherever you please. Your brothers can change into animals, too. So why do you want to break the pact?"

"If I don't—if we don't—my father is condemned to burn in hell for all eternity."

He, too, stared out at the distance.

"Can you. see farther right now?" she asked.

"No. When I change, my eyes are different. Visibly different." He turned to her, and his eyes looked like Rurik's. Like those of the man she loved.

How could she? How could she love a Varinski? How could she stand on the soil of her forefathers, betray her father and her mother, forget their deaths, and abandon her revenge?

No.
No.
She would
not.
She had come too far to change her course.

The knowledge of the icon burned in her mind. If she could somehow live through this meeting with the Varinskis, she could thwart Rurik. But ... if his story was true . . .

Her mind veered away before she allowed the thought to form. "Who told you that reuniting the icons would break the pact with the devil?" "My mother had a vision."

"Your mother had a vision," she repeated, deadpan. "And we believe this because . . . ?"

"Because I was there. Because something was speaking through her, and I saw it. Heard it."

"Does she do this often?" She used that really logical voice, the kind the guy on The History Channel used when he was explaining something simple for the hundredth time.

Rurik responded with a flash of red in his eyes. She'd dissed his mother, and she'd pissed him off.

Good.

"I've never seen her have a vision before, and more to the point, the first two parts of her prophecy immediately came to fruition. My father dropped like a felled oak. And my brother's woman found the first icon."

That shook her, but she hid it beneath mockery. "That must have frustrated you, to have a mere woman find one of the icons."

He considered her coolly. "My mother said, 'Only their loves can bring the holy pieces home.'" "What the hell does that mean?" "I think it means that perhaps I can find the icon, but it's up to you to take it to my family."

Panic hit first, starting her heart beating too fast. "I am not your love!" He smiled, a slow curve of the lips. Disappointment hit next, low and in the gut. "But if you think I am, it certainly explains a lot about why you've been hanging around with me instead of going after the icon by yourself." Thank God she'd found it. Thank God she had it. And if his story had
made her waver, that little tidbit fired her resolution to diamond hardness.

"You are determined to make a difficulty where none exists. If the prophecy is true, if some greater power is working through my mother for good, do you believe that power would be fooled if I faked love for you?" He stared at her, demanding logic where all she wanted was to slip back into the old, familiar anger.

The anger was easier. So much easier. "I don't know. I don't know why I should believe you. All I know is what I've seen and heard and felt." She pointed. "My father used to pick me up and carry me to the tree down the hill, the symbol of the Dimitru family. He would climb with me to the top branches. He'd point out to the countryside—almost the same view as we see from here—and he'd say, 'This tree has grown on our mountain since the dawn of time. It symbolizes the Dimitru royal blood, and as long the tree grows and flourishes, so shall the Dimitrus.' "

Rurik tried to put his arm around her. She pushed him away. "Do you know what happened? The dictator Czajkowski hired the Varinskis to kill my family, kill us all, and he gave special instructions that the tree be burned so everyone in Ruyshvania knew their royal family would never return."

Rurik physically took her in his embrace, restrained her when she struggled. "Tasya, honey, why don't you cry?"

"Don't you think I wish I could?" She hated this. She didn't want to feel this ripping, tearing anguish in her guts, and if she had to, she really didn't want him to see it. "I still hear the screams. I still see the flames. 1 dream of my parents burning in agony, of the tortures they put my father through, of the people who died for us, and I bleed for the Ruyshvani-ans who lost a child or a parent. They curse our name, I know it, and I want to do something to bring them peace. I want to destroy the Varinskis for them."

She wanted to be as strong as she pretended to be, not this weak child who didn't dare look on the remnants of her life for fear she'd break apart.

Worse, his touch steadied her, although why it should, she didn't know.

And that was another betrayal of her parents, a betrayal so much more painful. In a rage of pain and fury, she said, "So your family can call yourself Wilders if you want, but scratch a little deeper, and you're Varinskis. You always knew what I was seeking, and you kept the truth from me. I will never forgive you for lying to me. For using me. I will never forgive you."

Chapter 27

Rurik looked at Tasya for a long time. The bones of his face seemed carved of granite. His eyes were brown, yet heated by red flames. The curve of his mouth was cruel. And his body was as still and as strong as a predator's as it waited to deal death. Tasya realized something—she had never really
feared him.

She feared him now.

In a voice as cold as the Arctic, he asked, "What is your petty damned revenge when compared to breaking a pact with the devil?"

She could scarcely catch her breath for outrage . . . and terror. "Petty?"

"If
you manage to find the icon, and if you manage to bring it to National Antiquities, and
if
they man
age to document it thoroughly enough to prove your theory about the Varinskis is the truth,
then
you'll go on the morning shows and get your publicity. You'll get your book published and maybe,
if
you can keep the world's attention for more than fifteen minutes and
if
the Varinskis don't threaten or bribe the jury, Yerik and Fdoror Varinski will go to prison." Rurik slowly closed his hands on her arms, leaned down to eye level, and stared at her so directly, she dared not blink. "Where they'll live like kings and get out in six months for good conduct."

"But the bad publicity—"

"Will do what? Give them a little black eye in the assassination business, and bring them to the attention of the world? Who will undoubtedly be fascinated by their evil." He gestured toward the east, toward the Ukraine and the Varinski home.
"Sixty Minutes
will send some old-guy reporter to interview Boris. The publishing company you've pinned your hopes on will rush to give them a contract and a ghostwriter to sensationalize their tale. Before you know it, there'll be a movie and a television mini-series about them. But it won't matter to you."

She stiffened. "Why not?"

"You won't live long enough to see any of it."

"I'm not afraid to die."

"Then you're a fool, because the Varinskis are like adolescent boys in the most successful gang in his
tory. They have no conscience. They love to torment the helpless. And they'll beat you, kill you slowly, and rape you while they do it."

"Like they did my mother?" She fought back, but she knew she was losing ground.

"Like they did your mother," he agreed. "But let's talk about the flaws in your plan. National Antiquities hasn't got the security to keep the icon safe."

"They have good security!"

"The proof will be gone before the first expert looks at it. So the rest of the plan is already a bust. Oh, except the part about you dying. They
will
kill you."

She lifted her chin. "They're going to anyway. I'm the Dimitru that got away, and the Varinskis don't leave survivors."

"That's true." Rurik straightened. "But if you can get to my family in Washington, they can protect you."

"How would I get there without leading the Varinskis to them?"

"I'll tell you how to get there, and I'll provide the distraction."

"The hell you will!"

"We've run out of options. One of us has to come out alive to find the icon."

"You're the only one who has a chance of surviving."

"I'm also the only one who can fight the Varinskis.
Listen to me. If you could find that icon and take it to my family, we have a chance of defeating the devil." He took her shoulders and shook her lightly. "Think about it. If we can put an end to the pact, the Varinskis would be nothing more than a bunch of pathetic humans who don't know how to function in the real world. No one would be afraid of them. They'd be vulnerable to prosecution. They would have lost everything. Look at the big picture, Tasya! There's your revenge!"