Scent of Darkness

Ann Smith loves her handsome, dynamic boss, Jasha Wilder, but her daring plan to seduce him goes awry when she encounters a powerful wolf who - before her horrified eyes - changes into the man she adores. She soon discovers she can’t escape her destiny, for she is the woman fated to break the curse that binds his soul.

"Dodd brings her unique sense of plotting, character, humor, and surprise to this wonderful tale. You'll relish every word, cherish each poignant moment and ingenious plot twist, sigh deeply, and eagerly await the sequel. Dodd is clever, witty, and sexy."

—
Romantic Times

"Dodd adds humor, sizzling sensuality, and a cast of truly delightful secondary characters to produce a story that will not disappoint."
       
—
Library Journal

"Strong and likable characters make this an enjoyable read. Ms. Dodd peppers the story with interesting secondary personalities, which add to the reading pleasure."
                               
—The Best Reviews

"Sexy and witty, daring and delightful."

—Teresa Medeiros,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Vampire Who Loved Me

"A master romantic storyteller."

—
Kristin Hannah
,
New York
Times
bestselling author of
The Magic Hour

"Christina Dodd keeps getting better and better."

—
Debbie Macomber
,
New York
Times
bestselling author of
Susannah's Garden

"Treat yourself to a fabulous book—anything by Christina Dodd!"

—
Jill Bamett
,
New York
Times
bestselling author of
The Days of Summer

For Lisa Kleypas,

my friend, my comrade-in-arms,

my sister-of-the-heart, and the person

who taught me to swear in Russian.

Za vas

SIGNET

Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, July 2007

10
  
987654321

Copyright © Christina Dodd, 2007 All rights reserved

 
REGISTEREDTRADEMARK—MARCA REGBTRADA

Printed in the
United States of America

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Starting a new series requires guts, imagination, and planning, which is why I'm grateful to my editor, Kara Cesare, for being my cheerleader, sounding board, and steely-eyed Keeper of the Rules. Thanks to Lindsay Nouis for being Kara's right hand. A big thank-you to Kara Welsh and Claire Zion for their enthusiasm for Darkness Chosen, and to Anthony Ra-mondo and his team in the art department for inspiring and exhilarating covers.

Thank you to my friends, the ones who write and the ones who read.

Thank you to the Squawkers for their constant enthusiasm.

Thank you to Scott. For everything.

The Beginning

For centuries, the name of Cossack struck terror in the hearts of the people of
Central Asia
, and the Family Varinski was the embodiment of merciless conquerors who murdered, maimed, and raped.

Even today, the Varinskis reside on the steppes of
Russia
. They are known for their scouting abilities, proving themselves again and again able to discover their enemies’ weaknesses. They leave a trail of blood, fire, and death wherever they go. Terrible rumors swirl around them, rumors that say Konstantine Varinski, the founder of the Varinski tribe, made a deal with the devil –and, in fact, that is exactly right.

A thousand years ago, Konstantine Varinski, a magnificent warrior of great cruelty, a man driven by his craving of power, roamed the steppes. In return for his ability to hunt down his enemies and kill them, he promised his soul to the devil. To seal the pact, he promised the devil the family icon, a single painting divided into four images of the Madonna.

To obtain the holy piece, the heart of his home, he killed his own mother . . . and damned his soul.

Before she died, she pulled him close and spoke in his ear.

Konstantine paid no heed to her prophecy. She was, after all, only a woman. He didn't believe her dying words had the power to change the future— and more important, he would do nothing to jeopardize his pact with the Evil One.

But although Konstantine did not confess the prophecy his mother had made, the devil knew that Konstantine was a liar and a trickster. He suspected Konstantine's deception, and he comprehended the power of blood and kin and a mother's dying words. So to ensure he forever retained the Varinskis and their services, he secretly cut a small piece from the center of the icon, and gave it to a poor tribe of wanderers, promising it would bring them luck.

Then, while Konstantine drank to celebrate the deal, in a flash of fire the devil divided the Madonnas and hurled them to the four ends of the earth.

To Konstantine Varinski and to each Varinski since, the devil bequeathed the ability to change at will into a hunting animal. They could not be killed in battle except by another demon, and each man was unusually long-lived, remaining hale and hearty well into old age. Because of their battle; prowess, their endurance, and their decisiveness, they became rich, respected, and feared in
Russia
.

Through czars, Bolsheviks, and even presidents, "they retained their warrior compound, went where they were paid to go, and, with flawless ferocity, crushed uprisings arid demanded obedience.

They called themselves The Darkness.

They could breed only sons, a matter of much exultation to them. They took their women cruelly, and in their sprawling home they had a turnstile equipped with a bell. There the women who had been impregnated by the Varinskis' careless mating placed their newborn sons. Each woman rang the bell and fled, leaving the child to be taken by the Varinski men into their home. They hailed the birth of a new demon, and raised me child to be a ruthless warrior worthy of the name Varinski.

For no Varinski ever fell in love...

Until one did.

No Varinski ever married...

Until one did.

No Variriski ever fled the compound and that way of life...

Until one did.

For the first time, cracks appeared in the solid foundation of the deal with the devil.

Heaven took note.

So did hell.

Chapter 1

“Pass the vodka! I wish to make a toast." The Wilder children groaned, but Konstantine Wilder, descendant of a long line of demon warriors, would not be dissuaded by the bad manners of his own disreputable offspring. They might groan and his guests might grin, but everyone from the small mountain town of
Blythe
, Washington, expected him to give a speech during one of the Wilder family celebrations. His words were as much a part of their special occasions as the picnic tables loaded with Russian delicacies like
kasha
and
tabaka
, and American delicacies like hot dogs and corn on the cob, like the Russian music and dancing, like the poker games, like the good company.

He would not disappoint.

Striding over to the blazing bonfire, he took his place as the center of attention. His voice boomed out across the company. "My wife and I fled Mother Russia with the demons of hell on our heels. We come to this land of milk and honey." He threw out his big hands to embrace the long stretch of valley— his valley. "And here we have thrived. We grow grapes, the best grapes in
Washington
. We have our own garden. Our own goat. Our own chickens. More important, we grow our children."

The people of Blythe shifted in their seats to grin at his children,, standing together like three lambs to the sacrifice.

"Jasha has grown strong and tall and handsome, like me," More like Konstantine than any of these people could imagine or understand. A wolf. "He owns—he is leader!—of his own wine-making company in
Napa
,
California
, and he uses his papa's grapes to make good wine." Konstantine lifted a bottle from the table and showed everyone the label. "He is smart. He is wealthy. He is my oldest, my firstborn son, yet still, at the age of thirty-four—"

"Here it comes," Jasha said out of the corner of his mouth.

"He shows no respect for his father, whose hearing is excellent."

"Sorry, Papa." Yet Jasha planted his feet shoulder-width to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest.

Konstantine was not impressed with the apology or the posturing. He saw the flash of red at the root of Jasha's golden eyes. "Yet still, at the age of thirty-four, he is single."

Rurik jabbed Jasha hard enough to make him sway sideways.

"He breaks my heart. Maybe one of you young ladies would consent to marry him. Next week, talk to me. We will make arrangements." Konstantine nodded, satisfied with crossing one item off his mental list.
Get my eldest son married off.

He proceeded to his next victim. "Rurik is an adventurer."

"An
archaeologist,
Papa," Rurik said.

"Archaeologist, adventurer—I saw the Indiana Jones movies. They are the same." Konstantine dismissed Rurik's objection with a wave of his beefy hand. "Rurik is smart, so smart, with many fine degrees. He is also handsome, like his papa." Rurik's eyes, the color of brandy, his smooth brown hair, and his fine muscles made him a catch for the ladies. Even a father could tell that. "He is not so wealthy as his brother. Still, when I die, he will receive his share of my land here in the beautiful
Cascade Mountains
, so he would bring money to a marriage. I mention this because still, at the age of thirty-three—"