Into the Flame by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page B

day in Seattle giving blood and skin samples in the hopes of helping the doctors discover some link to her father’s mysterious disease, and had instead discovered she was not the person she’d always thought she was. But her father—or rather, the man she’d always believed was her father—would soon struggle to his feet if she didn’t respond, so she knelt by the recliner.

    He cupped her face.

    Zorana took her hand.

    ‘‘You’re our little girl,’’ he said. ‘‘The pride of my heart, and now more special to me than ever.’’

    Firebird knew he meant it, and—oh, God!—how she treasured that sentiment now!

    Bending her head, she put it against his shoulder and closed her eyes, for one moment allowing herself to sink into the familiar safety of her parents’ affection.

    Then she sat back and smiled, and pretended nothing had changed, when in fact her whole world had tilted on its axis. ‘‘Enough excitement and angst for one evening. It’s past Aleksandr’s bedtime.’’

    ‘‘No!’’ Aleksandr protested.

    No matter how tired he was, he always protested. He wanted to be with his family, part of the action, playing, singing, stacking blocks. Some people probablythought he was spoiled; the Wilder family called him well loved.

    Firebird scooped him up and carried him around so he could kiss everyone. Every aunt, every uncle, took extra care with him, showing their affection to the child, and thus to her. Konstantine reached up his arms for Aleksandr and held him close, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Aleksandr’s hair and breathing in his essence. ‘‘I would have sworn he was going to be a wolf,’’ he murmured.

    The sentiment stabbed Firebird through the heart.

    Zorana kissed Aleksandr, and hugged him as if she couldn’t bear to let him go. Firebird knew it was more than mere sentiment; Zorana was thinking of the son who’d been stolen from her.

    Firebird carried him upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her son.

    The house was small and old, with acoustics that let everything echo through the corridors.

    So Firebird paused in the doorway, waited and listened—and heard Zorana’s low, broken voice say, ‘‘Where is my baby? What did they do with my baby?’’

    Chapter Five

    Zorana’s plaintive question haunted Firebird, but as she tucked her son into his pajamas, wrapped him in his blanket, and nestled Bernie, the soft yellow duck with the bright orange bill, in beside him, she understood.

    How could she not? When Aleksandr was born, she had looked him over. She had thought he was skinny, with long toes and broad shoulders that had given her trouble during the birth, but he was hers, her son, and a fierce tide of protectiveness had risen in her. At that moment, she knew without a qualm that she would kill to protect him.

    Now Zorana had discovered her baby, the one she’d given birth to twenty-three years and eight months ago, had been stolen, and she needed to know where he was.

    As Firebird looked at her son, sleeping with his hand under his cheek, she knew she would feel exactly the same way.

    The trouble was, knowing didn’t make the sting of rejection any less painful.

    She should wonder about her birth parents, she supposed, but right now, she didn’t care about people she’d never met. She cared only about the family she knew, the battle they faced against evil, and whether she could help them . . . or whether she was nothing, superfluous, a burden.

    She couldn’t go back downstairs. She was tired, feeling sorry for herself, and embarrassed for feeling sorry for herself, because she wasn’t the only one hurting here. She ought to go to bed, but worry buzzed in her mind like a swarm of bees. So she changed into a tough, warm outfit—jeans, sweatshirt, jacket, boots. Going to the window, she raised it, leaned out, and grabbed the branch of the huge tree that grew so conveniently close.

    In her life, she’d been up and down it dozens of times—to