Into the Shadow Read Free Page A

‘‘That’s a fantastic tale.’’ He cleared his throat. ‘‘In a thousand years, I imagine it’s gathered some frills. Some story-teller spiced it up to make it more exciting in the telling . . . don’t ye suppose?’’
    A low growl rumbled out of Warlord’s hidden form. ‘‘Why else do you think men seek me out when they want their enemies tracked down? Why do you think they hire me? I can find anyone, anywhere. Do you want to know how?’’
    Magnus shook his head. He did not want to know.
    But it was too late.
    ‘‘To Konstantine Varinski and to each Varinski since, the devil bequeathed the ability to change at will into a hunting animal.’’
    ‘‘Change . . .’’ The light of the moon had reached them now, and Magnus stared at Warlord. Stared because he was afraid to take his gaze away. ‘‘So ye are a werewolf?’’
    ‘‘No, we Varinskis are not stupid beasts ruled by the phases of the moon. We are ruled by nothing but our own wills. We change when we wish, when we need to change. We live long lives, breed only sons, and nothing less than another demon can kill us. We leave a trail of blood, fire, and death wherever we go.’’ Warlord laughed, a throaty purr. ‘‘We are the Darkness.’’
    ‘‘Aye, that you are.’’ Magnus saw the darkness every time he looked into Warlord’s eyes. Still he argued, because he didn’t want it to be true. ‘‘But ye’re not Russian. Ye’re from the US.’’
    ‘‘My parents ran away, got married, moved to Washington state, changed their last name to something that sounds good, solid, and all-American, and raised my two brothers and my sister and me. They don’t approve, especially not my dad, of that Varinski blood-fire-and-death thing. He said we had to control ourselves. ’’ Warlord’s bitterness was thick and angry. ‘‘I suck at control. I like the blood, fire, and death. I can’t fight my real nature.’’
    Try. For the love of God, try . ‘‘Can the pact be broken?’’
    Warlord shrugged. ‘‘It’s held for a thousand years. I imagine it’ll hold for another thousand.’’
    Magnus’s head whirled, and the rice and lamb he’d eaten for dinner now warred with the Scotch. ‘‘But ye’re not like the other Varinskis I met. Are ye sure ye’re a Varinski?’’
    ‘‘I want you to reassure the men that they don’t have to worry. I can keep them safe from any enforcers the military has hired.’’ Warlord placed his rifle on the ground. He removed his boots, tossed aside his coat and shirt. He unbuckled his belt, dropped his jeans, stood up, and let the feeble moonlight bathe him.
    On those long winter nights when the whores visited the camp, Magnus had seen Warlord naked and in action. He was just a man, a guy who made his living fighting.
    But now, all around the edges, his form grew less . . . defined.
    Magnus lifted the bottle to his mouth. His hand shook, and the glass rim clicked against his teeth.
    ‘‘I’m going to hunt . . . and kill.’’ Warlord’s bones melted and re-formed. His dark hair spread, sprouting on his neck, his back and belly, down his legs. His face changed, grew cruelly feline. His spine shifted; he dropped onto all fours. His ears . . . and his nose . . . his hands . . . and his feet . . .
    Magnus blinked again.
    A great, sleek ebony panther stood before him with white, sharp claws and teeth, and fur as black as a shadow. And his eyes . . .
    Magnus found himself backing away, screaming and screaming, while the great hunting cat stalked toward him, his paws never making a sound, his familiar black Warlord eyes fixed on his prey . . . on Magnus.

Chapter One
    It started as it always did, with a gust of cold Himalayan air striking Karen Sonnet’s face.
    She woke with a start. Her eyes popped open.
    The darkness in her tent pressed on her eyeballs.
    Impossible. Tonight she’d left a tiny LED burning.
    Yet it was dark.
    Somehow he’d obliterated the light.
    The constant wind blew through this