Wilder

  “Christina Dodd has a knack for tense,

  heart-pounding action.”

  —Errant Dreams Reviews

  PRAISE FOR CHRISTINA DODD’S

  CHOSEN ONES NOVELS

  Chains of Fire

  “Unique—and edge-of-seat thrilling.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Exhilarating.”

  —Romantic Times (4½ stars)

  Chains of Ice

  “High-stakes action and high-adrenaline adventure provide the literary fuel for the latest addictive addition to Dodd’s scorchingly sensual the Chosen Ones series.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  Storm of Shadows

  “Something for everyone who enjoys paranormal romance.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “A riveting new series. . . . The action and romance are hot! I have no idea what is next in this series, but . . . the suspense is killing me.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “Fabulous urban romantic fantasy . . . a stupendous thriller.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Storm of Visions

  “Taut, suspenseful. . . . Dodd has earned her place on the bestseller list.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fast-paced . . . deliciously steamy.”—Darque Reviews

  “Quirky, unusual, fun, tense, surprising, sexy, and wild!”

  —Errant Dreams Reviews

  FURTHER PRAISE FOR

  CHRISTINA DODD’S NOVELS

  Revenge at Bella Terra

  “Christina Dodd is thrilling readers. . . . Her heroes are to die for.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  Secrets of Bella Terra

  “Sinfully good. . . . Ms. Dodd wows me.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Grabbed me from the first few pages and never let go.”

  —The Romance Dish

  Taken by the Prince

  “Delivers sensual sizzle.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Witty, adventurous, and unexpected.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  In Bed with the Duke

  “A wonderful tale of love and intrigue . . . a story to be savored.”

  —TwoLips Reviews

  “An adventurous romantic fairy tale.”

  —The Romance Dish

  Into the Flame

  “Once again Christina Dodd weaves her spell.”

  —Fallen Angel Reviews

  “[A] stunning tale.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  Into the Shadow

  “Another stellar book from a most talented author!”

  —Romantic Times

  “Sexy and . . . darkly appealing.”,

  —Rendezvous

  Thigh High

  “A joy to experience!”

  —Romantic Times (4½ stars, top pick)

  “[C]harming and likable characters . . . an enjoyable read.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Christina Dodd is a master. . . . Thigh High is a winner.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  Touch of Darkness

  “A sweeping saga of good and evil.”

  —Library Journal

  “Enthralling, intense.”

  —The State (Columbia, SC)

  “Readers will be riveted until the final page.”

  —A Romance Review

  Scent of Darkness

  “The first in a devilishly clever, scintillatingly sexy new paranormal series by Christina Dodd.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “[A] fast-paced . . . paranormal with a full, engaging mythology.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A scintillating and superb novel!”

  —Romantic Times (4½ stars, top pick)

  Novels by Christina Dodd

  The Fortune Hunter Series

  Danger in a Red Dress

  Thigh High

  Tongue in Chic

  Trouble in High Heels

  In Bed with the Duke

  Taken by the Prince

  The Bella Terra Deception Series

  Secrets of Bella Terra

  Revenge at Bella Terra

  Betrayal

  The Darkness Chosen Series

  Scent of Darkness

  Touch of Darkness

  Into the Shadow

  Into the Flame

  The Chosen Ones Series

  Storm of Visions

  Storm of Shadows

  Chains of Ice

  Chains of Fire

  CHRISTINA DODD

  WILDER

  THE CHOSEN ONES

  A SIGNET SELECT BOOK

  SIGNET SELECT

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Copyright © Christina Dodd, 2012

  Excerpt from Scent of Darkness copyright © Christina Dodd, 2007

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  SIGNET SELECT and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  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.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Leslie Gelbman, Kara Welsh, and Kerry Donovan, my appreciation for your support. Thanks to New American Library’s art department led by Anthony Ramondo. To Rick Pascocello, head of marketing, and the publicity department with my special people, Craig Burke and Jodi Rosoff, thank you. My thanks to the production department and a special thank-you to the spectacular Penguin sales department: Norman Lidofsky, Don Redpath, Sharon Gamboa, Don Rieck, and Trish Weyenberg. It’s been a great run—you all are the best!

  Thank you to Roger Bell for critiquing Wilder. I hope Joyce would have approved of the story.

  Thank you to my daughters,

  Shannon and Arwen,

  for making me watch Beauty and the Beast

  so many times and in so many versions

  that the story is imprinted on my
heart.

  Contents

  Praise

  Novels by Christina Dodd

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Excerpt from Scent of Darkness

  Also by Christina Dodd

  Chapter 1

  Blythe, Washington

  Present Day

  Konstantine Wilder sat at the head of one of the long picnic tables located among the grapevines in a valley in the Cascade Mountains, the finest land jewel in all of Washington State, smiling with benevolent goodwill at the wealth of interesting friends and beloved relatives he had amassed in these United States of America.

  Some knew who he was.

  Some knew what he was.

  Most were neighbors.

  Some had traveled far to celebrate Independence Day with the Wilder family.

  Sprinkled in among the crowd were people who wandered through town during the summer season, got invited to the annual celebration, and came for the food, companionship, and vodka.

  Konstantine flattered himself that they had all made a good choice. The picnic invariably boasted warm, sunny weather—Zorana might have had a hand in that, but he thought it best never to ask—boisterous laughter, interesting conversation, and easy camaraderie.

  Konstantine owned more than one kind of jewel.

  He gazed at the diamond in his crown, his Zorana, his wife, bustling around the tables, ensuring that everyone abandoned their cares on this American day of national celebration. He gazed at his sons and his daughters and his grandsons and his granddaughters, overflowing with welcome as they moved among the guests with platters of food; they were his rubies and emeralds and pearls.

  Zorana and the family they had made loved him, supported him, fought for him and with him.

  Together he and Zorana and his offspring had saved the world.

  Now their home nestled into the edges of the lush green conifer forest. Their tables groaned with traditional American dishes like hot dogs, as well as more international fare, like spaghetti and fajitas, and with traditional Ukrainian dishes like patychky, cabbage rolls, and potato varenyky. His grandsons grilled meat on barbecues, and heavenly smells wafted into the clear, warm summer air. Children’s voices shouted and sang as they climbed trees, swung on swings, clung to the playground merry-go-round. They fell, got up, and played again.

  Life in these United States was good.

  Every year on this day Konstantine affirmed that belief, loudly and with much vigor, in a speech that all respected and enjoyed, even his children and grandchildren. He could always see through the eye rolling and elbow nudges to the pride that they so carefully hid.

  And now . . . it was time.

  Placing his big hands on the table, he slowly hefted himself to his feet. He nodded at Jasha, at Rurik, at Adrik, at Douglas. His sons rose, vodka bottles in hand. Their wives rose with them, gathered the trays of shot glasses, and, as the boys filled them, all laughed and waited for the moment when they would pass out the glasses for the toast.

  In the meantime, Zorana turned to face Konstantine, and the friends who knew what to expect focused their attention on him.

  He grinned. “I remember when I had to shout to make you pay attention. Now I am old, and you listen out of respect.”

  “You’ve been old for years, Konstantine.” The Catholic priest had never had any respect for Konstantine’s dignity.

  That was all right. Father Ambrose knew Konstantine better than anyone (except Zorana), and he had always kept his mouth shut.

  “I am not really old. Maybe ninety. Maybe a hundred.” Konstantine shrugged. “Who knows? In the Ukraine, where I come from, we don’t worry about formalities like birth dates.”

  Uncertain laughter rippled through the crowd. They didn’t know whether he was serious.

  He was. In his Ukrainian family, they didn’t celebrate birthdays.

  They celebrated transformations.

  “Some of you listen with respect. Some listen because I give you vodka.” He gestured to his daughter-in-law Karen, who delivered a shot to the priest.

  Father Ambrose lifted his glass in salute and downed it, then took another.

  Konstantine’s voice swelled. “On this Independence Day for the United States of America, I thank God for the country that welcomed Zorana and me and allowed us to build our home and bear our children in peace. They are all successful. They are all married now.” He patted his chest. “I take credit for that.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Adrik, his third son, sighed.

  “You wish to argue?” Konstantine demanded.

  Adrik, the father to four children with his wife, Karen, shook his head. “No, Papa. I do not argue with the old wolf.”

  “Good. You show wisdom at last.”

  Laughter rippled over the crowd.

  “Ah.” Konstantine nodded his understanding. “When you look at Adrik, you see a successful man who pays his taxes and speaks with authority on many subjects. I see the rebellious, snot-faced boy I raised. We both survived. So I am proud.” He opened his arms.

  Adrik walked to his father. They hugged each other, kissed cheeks, as was traditional in their family, and both men had tears in their eyes.

  They had almost lost each other, Konstantine and Adrik, and although most of these people did not realize it, their survival had been a close thing.

  With a final pat, Adrik backed away. “Go on, Papa.”

  Once again Konstantine commanded the crowd. “The Wilder land rests cradled in the best valley in the Cascade Mountains—not that I am prejudiced—”

  More laughter.

  “—near our most excellent town called Blythe. You ask, Why is my land the best?” He smiled benevolently. “Because the temperatures are mild in the winter and warm in the summer. I raise grapes, and my wife, Zorana, plants a garden every year. I tell her she is too old for such labor. She tells me to shut up and plow the ground for her. Of course, I do as I am told.”

  “You show wisdom at last.” Zorana mocked him with his own words.

  By now his guests were receiving their shots of vodka and rocking with laughter.

  “To demonstrate to you how fruitful our land is . . . my four sons and their wives have given Zorana and me seventeen grandchildren, and in the last year we have been blessed with not one, not two, but five great-grandchildren.” Konstantine beamed and lifted five fingers.
“And we have two more on the way.”

  A burst of applause.

  “All are sons. We Wilders . . . we always have sons. Sons are good. They are hellions as they grow, but eventually they bring their beautiful wives home to us, and they make more Wilder sons who run wild.” Konstantine remembered a time when his sons had been more than merely hellions—they had been shape-shifters, bound to the devil in a pact that had stretched back a thousand years. His sons, his daughters-in-law, he, and Zorana had broken that pact.

  Sometimes, even now, he missed the ability to change into a wolf. But for the sake of his soul, he gladly paid the price.

  Konstantine grew serious. Very serious. “Zorana and I are proud, for all our children are healthy. All are well. Except . . . in the past few years, evil has spread tentacles far and wide throughout the world, and the battle for peace has begun.”

  The crowd grew quiet, respectful, and some of them, who had traveled abroad, looked grim.

  “At this time, we remember our oldest grandson, Aleksandr, who left us to go to college in New York City and then join the fight against evil. He has disappeared.” Konstantine’s voice quavered. “Almost three years he’s been gone.”

  Zorana moved to stand beside Aleksandr’s mother, Firebird, and the two women hugged while Aleksandr’s father, Douglas, wrapped his arms around their shoulders. The rest of the family gathered close, too, protective of one another.

  Konstantine’s voice grew in strength. “As long as we hear nothing about Aleksandr’s death, we have hope, and we ask that you keep hope alive as well.”

  Nods all around. Murmurs of reassurance.

  These guests were good people. They would hope for Aleksandr’s return, and they would pray.

  Except . . . toward the end of the table . . . Konstantine had noticed that one man sat sour faced and shifty eyed, watching the family from beneath lowered lashes.