CHAPTER
2
Vasilisa raced through the larch forest going up the mountain toward the area she had always known as Drifter’s Point. It was a rocky, cavernous, treacherous overhang that dropped steeply into a deep gorge. She was fairly certain the man she had connected with was somewhere near Drifter’s Point. She had the impression of that terrain. She ran fast, her feet skimming the snow, making ten- and fifteen-foot leaps to save time.
Urgency was on her now. That whisper of conspiracy. She tasted a hint of betrayal in her mouth as she raced up the mountain. She was connected to all her people through her bloodline. If one fell, she was aware. If one turned, she knew. But which one, that was always the question.
A trap had been set, and she was running straight toward it. Vasilisa swerved off the trail, slowing to consider what to do. She needed to get to her destination, but she had to find those lying in wait for her and dispose of them first. She didn’t dare have them at her back.
Removing her boots, she plunged her bare feet into the snow, driving down as far as she could go, seeking a connection with the earth. She felt a disturbance approximately three miles up the mountain, close to the point. She took her time, letting the connection grow. Four men. All four were her kind. Her people.
For a moment, she felt anger flare, hot and bright, the rage that could take hold and destroy all discipline, destroy all thinking, reducing her from intellect to animal in one flash of fire. Her hands hurt, knuckles popping and fingernails burning. Her toenails sizzled in the snow, fiery, scorching, and she knew if she looked at them, they would be bright red.
She had a choice. She could annihilate her enemy—perhaps—or she could stay in control and know for certain she could do it by using her brain. They could simply shoot her if she threw herself at them like an animal, and she would never know whether or not she could have defeated them had she kept her wits about her. With effort, she pushed down the animalistic temper and regained control of herself.
Vasilisa shoved her boots into the larger inside pockets of her coat and once more began the approach to Drifter’s Point. This time, she stayed off the accepted path, using the cover of the trees. She called softly to the owls in the area to spy for her. There were several red squirrels in trees near the site where the conspirators waited to ambush her. The squirrels eagerly accepted her orders.
She couldn’t call in the wolf pack. That would be too dangerous, considering there were four betrayers waiting, but there was a vicious little wolverine skulking close to the icy stream not too far from where the four men waited somewhat impatiently for her arrival. She touched it. Wolverines were tricky. This one was female. Sometimes they were cooperative; other times, not so much. Mind-to-mind images with animals didn’t always work, but she was adept at it, and wolverines were intelligent. This creature had no problem helping her. Vasilisa cautioned her to be careful of any weapons the men might have.
She was within striking distance of the four Lycans now. One betrayer was close. She recognized him and her heart sank. Her twin brothers, Garald and Grigor, had grown up with him, gone to school with him, served with him. They counted him as a friend. In the evenings, they often met with him at the inn to talk and drink and have a good time. She couldn’t imagine what would have convinced Alik Bykov to betray her family and their people. She knew her brothers, as tough as they were, would be brokenhearted.
“I thought you said she would be here any minute, Alik,” one of the men groused, lying prone in the snow covered in a white snowsuit.
“You need to keep your voice down, Gav Sobol,” Alik hissed. “She has very good hearing.”
“She’s a woman. It isn’t like she’s going to give us much trouble,” a third man said. He was also dressed in snow gear. He had the air of a man in charge and looked bored out of his mind. He sat in the snow with a large knife cradled in his hands.
Alik sent him a pitying look. “Brody Portnov, you know this family is no ordinary family. They have skills. All of them, including Vasilisa. Just because she’s a woman, you shouldn’t underestimate her. She is very experienced with weapons, and she’ll try to fight her way free.”
“You say she will come on a mercy run in order to try to save a stranger trapped and hurt in the gorge,” said the fourth man. “Why would she have weapons on her? She would bring bandages. Blankets. Aid for him, not weapons.” He stood just off the trail, his hands on his weapons.
“She has an affinity with the mountains, Arman Botnik,” Alik proclaimed. “She always knows when someone is hurt, and she goes to help them. She’ll come this way. It’s the only safe way to get down to the gorge. And she’ll have weapons on her because no one is safe traveling in this wild place alone.”
“I’ve heard rumors that she is as good as her brothers,” Arman admitted, “but I’ve never seen her in action.”
Vasilisa didn’t know the other three men at all. They clearly came from another area, outside the territory of the royals. In some ways, she was grateful. It was difficult enough knowing Alik had betrayed them. Having four of her kind that she knew personally would make this battle all the more sorrowful.
A red squirrel raced across the ground, nearly running over the top of Gav Sobol, the man lying in the snow just to the left of the trail. A great gray owl came out of the night like a phantom and swooped low silently, stealthily, huge talons outstretched in an effort to reach its prey. It missed but tore straight into Gav’s face, raking his eyes nearly out of his head before the wings beat hard, taking the bird into the air and out of sight into the trees. Gav screamed, dropped his gun, covered his face and rolled over.
At the same time, the red squirrel had backtracked, spinning around as if frightened by the presence of all the men and scurrying straight at Brody Portnov. The squirrel landed in Portnov’s lap, looked up at him and then burrowed down between his legs. Portnov tried to shove at the little squirrel, first with his hand, and then he stabbed at it with the knife. The squirrel retaliated by biting down viciously and holding the bite between his legs.
Brody roared with rage, let go of the knife and tried to catch the small animal to tear it away and fling it off of him. Just as he put both hands around it, the wolverine rushed out of the trees straight at him, seemingly intent on claiming the squirrel for a meal. The dripping fangs closed around Brody’s upper thigh close to his groin as he flung off the squirrel. The wolverine shook Brody’s thigh and then retreated fast, leaving behind blood, a ring of bite marks and Brody swearing in Russian.
Vasilisa came out of the snow, a blur of movement, so fast that even Alik, who was expecting her, was unprepared for her speed. She slit the throat of Arman Botnik as she raced by, not even slowing to watch him fall. As she leapt over Brody Portnov, who was still sitting on the ground, she leaned down and stabbed his jugular. Her next step took her to Gav Sobol. He was lying faceup, still covering his eyes. She cut his throat and then was standing in front of Alik, looking beautiful. Serene. Without a single drop of blood on her. She had disposed of three armed men in less than three seconds.