Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances

by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney

  Although his personal arsenal always brought a smile to her face, it was the rest of what lay beneath his cloak that truly tempted Irina. Heat rose to her cheeks as she remembered waking up next to him earlier that evening, feeling the first hint of energy return to his body as he woke from his daily death. His mouth had found her neck before he’d even opened his eyes, lured by her warmth and the pulse of her blood racing through her veins, prompted along by the excitement that still woke her every evening as her mind anticipated her husband’s good morning “kiss.”

  “Irina…”

  Kirill’s voice was low, the slide of velvet against skin. Irina’s heart thundered against the wall of her chest, her breath catching in her throat as she met her husband’s eyes. The glittering specks of cinnamon in his pale blue gaze told her in no uncertain terms that he could hear her pulse racing and had guessed the reason.

  “We’ll be late.” Her words came out hoarse, and she occupied herself with fixing her hair, trying to distract herself from the rising swell of desire muddling her mind. Her raven locks were already beginning to grow damp, the tips sharpening into points as water pooled and began to drip. Her rusalka heritage leaked through her, summoning the water to moisten her hair as if she’d only just crawled from the river. Despite her warning to Kirill of impending tardiness, she found herself drifting toward her husband, drawn by his hungry gaze and the rising need inside her.

  “I am never late.” Kirill strode forward, every movement graceful, gliding. “I am not so foolish as not to allow time for…distractions.”

  The last word was whispered against the sensitive skin just below her ear, sending a shiver down Irina’s spine. Kirill ran a hand through her hair, curling the dripping ends around one finger. The movement was so slow and deliberate that it had the feel of a touch much more…intimate. Irina’s breath caught in her throat.

  “You’re wet,” he whispered.

  Irina grabbed a handful of Kirill’s sleek, blond hair, gripping the short strands in her fist as she dragged his mouth to hers. Kirill’s arms closed around her waist with the finality of a coffin lid, one hand pressing into her back to force her body closer to him, her breasts crushed against the stillness of his chest. The taste of a winter wind filled her mouth as she parted her lips, allowing Kirill to deepen the kiss, to slide his tongue against her own before trailing over her teeth, the silken insides of her cheeks. Need grew to a powerful ache inside her, driving her to abandon all pretense of caution, all notions of moving slowly. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, nicking herself on one of his fangs.

  Blood welled up in the midst of their kiss and Kirill’s entire body sang with a raging tension. Irina relished the vibrations of the growl coming from the depths of his chest, the sharp hiss of breath as he gave up the kiss to suck hungrily at her wound. His fingers pressed into her spine, digging in like a predator securing his prey, keeping her helpless in his increasingly passionate embrace. Liquid heat flowed down her body between her thighs and she tore her mouth from his, dropping her head back and baring her neck as a breathy moan escaped her lips.

  The smooth bite of his fangs as they slid into her skin ripped a cry from Irina’s throat, sent her head spinning down a heated tunnel of mindless pleasure. She grasped Kirill’s shoulders, grinding her lower body against his as she rode the wave of sensations. The hard length of him burned against her sensitive skin even through the thick material of her velvet skirts and she moaned, trying to get closer.

  Kirill’s muscles flexed, his biceps bunching under her hand. The world spun around her and suddenly the thick furs of their bed were pressing into Irina’s back. A blast of cool air hit her body as Kirill vanished from her arms and rolled to the side. She tried to catch her breath as she turned her head, watching as his body evaporated into dark black mist, rising from his clothes and leaving them in a perfect outline of his body on the bed beside her. A low chuckle escaped her throat as he rematerialized above her, the darkness dissipating to reveal the gloriously naked pale skin of her husband.

  She opened her mouth to tell him how beautiful he was, how edible each muscled line of his body looked, how desperately she wanted to run her lips over every shadowed curve, every carved line of sinew. The words died before they could leave her tongue, lost in the rush of desire that consumed her as Kirill’s fingers found the silky flesh of her thigh underneath her skirt. She held her breath, excitement fluttering like a living thing inside her as she waited for him to discover the new undergarments she’d only recently received from a shop in Sanguenay. The choked sound that escaped his throat heralded his discovery and she smiled.

  “Do you like them?”

  “Like what, my wife?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “There’s nothing there.”

  She laughed, low in her throat, ready to argue that there was most certainly something there, an oddly delicate—and expensive—strip of silk. Her argument was lost when the garment in question was ripped from her body in one vicious tug.

  “Kirill! That—Oh!”

  Her lips parted, eyes fluttering closed as Kirill drew his fingers along the wet heat between her legs, sending her mind scattering in a thousand directions at once. She groped blindly for his shoulders, digging her fingers into his muscles as she lifted her hips to meet his touch. After a few light, teasing strokes, his fingers left her, taking the sweet torment with them. Irina cried out, nails drawing blood as they dug into his flesh. Before she could open her mouth to object, her skirts were violently shoved higher up her body, stealing her breath. Kirill’s strong hips nestled in the cradle of her thighs and he thrust into her with all the abandon of a husband lost to his wife’s charms.

  “Please,” Irina choked, writhing on the bed beneath him. “Please, Kirill.”

  “Irina,” he growled, rocking his body harder and harder against her, pressing deeper and deeper inside her with every maddening thrust.

  Pleasure spiraled inside her, every swirl touching a new nerve, winding her body tighter. The tension built until it vibrated every sinew of her body, the drive of Kirill’s flesh against hers pushing her closer and closer to the shining edge of ecstasy she could feel hovering just a little further, burning just out of her reach…

  Pleasure broke over them both in a mind-numbing wave of heat, weaving through her muscles, wringing them of every drop of pleasure, and then flowing on, leaving everything in its path limp with spent desire. Kirill’s body went rigid, flesh turned hard as stone except for the heated length of him pulsing inside her. Irina moaned and draped her weak arms around his neck, dragging his face down to the hollow of her throat. Kirill held himself up on his arms, ducking his head just enough to lick at the closing wound on her neck from where he’d drank earlier, tongue rasping over the drying blood there. The sensation sent another round of shivers through Irina’s body as every stroke of his tongue seemed to caress more intimate parts. For a while they both just lay there, basking in the afterglow and the weight of one another’s bodies.

  “My naughty vampire,” Irina murmured, wrenching herself from the warm haze. “You’ll make us late. Now be a good boy and let me up. I need to get ready.”

  Kirill growled but reluctantly rolled onto his side. His crystal blue eyes still glittered with glowing red embers as he watched her slide from the bed, wincing at the slickness coating her thighs as she held the weight of her skirts in her arms.

  “This dress is a lost cause, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “Ah well. If we’re going to be walking through the woods, I suppose the woolen dress would be the wiser choice anyway.”

  “Indeed,” Kirill murmured, shoving himself from the bed and lifting his clothes.

  Irina’s heart pounded as she started to remove her dress. Three…two…one…

  “Wait a moment.”

  Irina kept her back to her husband, hiding her smile. She could almost picture the adorable line between his brows as he processed what she’d said, realized her intentions. His mind was a beautiful thing, all sharp points a
nd ruthlessly grinding gears. Fortunately, he shared the male trait of having two heads, and only enough blood for one at a time.

  “Irina, I don’t recall inviting you along on this particular errand.”

  “My dear husband, I’m quite certain that any lack of invitation on your part was nothing more than an understandable slip of a mind that has been working far too hard lately.” Irina let her garments slide from her body and stepped out of the pool of weighty velvet. She sauntered to her wardrobe, feeling Kirill’s heated gaze on her skin and adding a little extra sway to her hips. “Surely you wouldn’t expect me to stay at home while you run an ‘errand’ for that miserable temptress? Not after she tried so hard to seduce you?”

  “Irina.” Kirill’s tone held a note of warning. “I thought we’d reached an agreement on spying on one another.”

  “Don’t be cross with me just because my spies are superior to yours,” Irina chastised him, turning around with a new dress in her hands, but holding it low enough to flash her bare breasts at her husband. She waited for his eyes to drop to her naked chest before continuing. “After all, perhaps if you had been more polite, the piskys would still—”

  “It was hiding inside my sheath,” Kirill protested, his voice heating with annoyance. “I wasn’t trying to stab it.”

  “Him, not ‘it,’ dear,” Irina corrected him. “And you could have apologized.”

  Kirill remained silent as she continued to dress, pulling the woolen garment over her body. It was certainly not the most enticing gown she owned, but a plunging neckline would do her no good during a Dacian winter, especially not if she planned to be traveling through the dark forest. Besides, the pale blue fabric would look lovely against the stark white background of snow and the glistening icicles that were to be found everywhere in Dacia at this time of year.

  She smoothed the folds of her dress down then retrieved her cloak from the far end of the wardrobe. Behind her, she heard the rustle of Kirill’s weapons as he settled them into place, telling her that her husband was once again impeccably dressed.

  “The red cloak again?” he mused. “Earning your most recent nickname, I see.”

  Irina arched an eyebrow at him. “What nickname?”

  “I believe I heard the piskys calling you ‘Red Riding Hood.’” He nodded at the cloak. “You have been favoring that one lately, it’s easy to see why they call you that.”

  “My dear husband, not everyone is quite as fond as the color black as you are.” Irina lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “And this is the only color besides black that hides the bloodstains.”

  Chapter Three

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  “You’re absolutely certain you’re not cold?”

  Irina paused, tilting her head so Kirill could see her beautiful dark eyes and smooth pale face within the confines of her red hood. The sparkle in her eyes would have stolen his breath if he’d had any to steal. For what had to be the hundredth time, Kirill wondered how he’d been so lucky as to have this woman as his wife. Her beauty was exceeded only by her wit, and he was gratified to have both at his side.

  He paused, wishing he could see her neck and the faint red dots that would be all that remained of his earlier bite. He could still taste her, the copper of her blood, overlaid with the hint of cinnamon that always seemed to cling to her skin. His tongue tingled with the memory. Thoughts of sinking his fangs into her throat led to thoughts of sinking other parts of his body into hers. Heat flowed down his body and his clothing suddenly felt too constrictive.

  A smile lit up Irina’s face and Kirill realized he’d been caught staring—again. He resolutely tore his mind away from the carnal images threatening to deter him and resolutely examined Irina’s pale lips to be certain they weren’t turning blue. “You should have returned to the castle with the carriage.” His fingers danced over her cheeks and he wished he had enough body heat to determine if she really felt as cold as he worried she was. “It’s too cold for you to trudge through the dark forest.”

  “My love, you worry too much about me.”

  Irina looped her arm through his, careful to stay on his left side and avoid impeding any movement he would need to make to draw his weapon—another reason he adored her. She leaned over and rested her cheek on his shoulder for a moment.

  “I was trudging through snowy forests long before we met. I promise you, I’ll be fine.” She sniffed and raised her head, tugging on his arm to keep him walking. “Besides, if you can make it through all this snow, then so can I.”

  “I’m dead,” Kirill argued, still uneasily watching his wife for any signs of frostbite. Were her shoulders hunched under that cloak? Was the redness in her cheeks a flush from the exertion of walking through the forest, or was the wind stinging her skin? “Cold matters little to me.” Irina’s body trembled, a movement so slight that even staring at her as he was he nearly missed it. Cursing at the confirmation of his suspicions, he tightened his grip on her arm and tugged her to a halt. “We’re stopping to build a fire. We can continue on after you’ve had a chance to warm up.”

  Irina arched an eyebrow at him, but blessedly didn’t argue. Instead she contented herself with that secretive smile she always seemed to be wearing and obligingly followed Kirill when he led her to a section of the forest that seemed out of the wind’s path, but still bare enough to set a fire without worrying about the blaze spreading out of control.

  It took almost no time at all to gather an amount of wood appropriate for a small fire. Irina sang as he worked, her beautiful voice curling around him like a physical caress. The dark forest was littered with dead branches, large and small, shattered pieces of the towering oaks and fir trees all around them. Kirill withdrew a small vial from his pouch and sprinkled it onto the dead twigs and two good-sized logs. Frankincense perfumed the air, followed by the sharp bite of a match being lit as Kirill struck it against a stone. Moments later, the fire was burning cheerily, a dancing nest of orange and red amidst the black and white of the snowy forest.

  “How long would you like me to enjoy your lovely fire?” Irina asked wryly, gathering her cloak all around her as she settled on the log Kirill had dragged close to the fire for a makeshift bench.

  “Until you can continue our journey without your bones rattling from the cold.” Kirill sat next to her, gathering her underneath his arm and pressing his cheek to the top of her head. Her raven-black hair was as cold as silk curtains hanging from an open window and he tucked her more firmly against his body. “Why didn’t you return to the castle with the coachman?”

  “Oh, Kirill, do let it go.” Irina sighed. “I’m coming with you and that’s final.” She snuggled against him, taking some of the sting out of her words. “You are far too protective of me, you know.”

  “There’s no such thing as too protective in these woods, my lady,” a deep, gruff voice spoke from the trees.

  Kirill shot to his feet, a blur of movement too fast for most creatures to follow. By the time he faced the direction the voice had come from, he had a dagger in his right hand, still hidden beneath the cloak, and a vial of acid in the other. His mind scanned through the creatures known to frequent the dark forest, ready to process the information his senses provided him and tell him what manner of being he was dealing with as well as how to incapacitate them.

  A pair of golden eyes glowed amidst the darkness of the trees. Despite having excellent night vision, the brilliance of the fire had dimmed Kirill’s clarity somewhat. Only the light of the half-moon lit the forest where the voice was coming from, and the silver beams were not enough to show the body those golden eyes belonged to.

  “It is a dangerous path you’re walking,” the voice observed. “What is such a lovely couple doing out in the dark forest on a cursed winter night such as this?”

  A shadow detached itself from the woods, stalking out of the line of trees into the clearing. The light from the fire danced over thick black fur, highlighting a sleek, long snout and a row of shining white teeth.
The wolf was huge, easily the size of a plow horse. Its heartbeat thudded in Kirill’s ears and he tightened his grip on the dagger. Vukodlak, werewolf, volk… Given the beast’s size, it was most likely a volk. Kirill would have to hit the heart on the first thrust. Volk were nearly immortal, the spirits of hunters merged seamlessly with the lupine spirits of wolves and all packed into a body of solid muscle. An attack from lower to the ground would be best, allowing the dagger to slide underneath the wolf through its most sensitive skin and into the heart…

  “An errand of mercy,” Irina answered the wolf pleasantly. “We’re delivering a basket of goodies to our friend’s sick grandmother.” She frowned. “And I do mean goodies. Not an herb or stout stew to be found. What her granddaughter was thinking, I’m sure I don’t—”

  The wolf swung its massive head toward Irina, jaws open and eyes glittering with flecks of amber. Kirill moved without thought, without pause. One second he stood there analyzing the wolf’s anatomy, the next he was hurtling toward the beast’s underbelly.

  In a moment, the earth seemed to simultaneously move at lightning speed and stand completely still. Kirill had all the time in the world to throw himself in the wolf’s direction, draw his dagger from beneath the thick folds of his cloak, and tilt it toward the wolf’s heart. He had what felt like hours to see Irina’s dark eyes grow wide, her soft blood-red lips part as she shouted, her pale hand flying up as she dove to put herself between him and the wolf. Kirill’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of his dagger aimed straight at his wife’s chest. The wolf reared up, massive paws flailing in the air, hitting Irina in the side at the same time Kirill flew past her, wrenching his dagger aside at the last minute to avoid impaling her. Blood perfumed the air. The wolf pivoted and raced off into the forest, footsteps the size of Kirill’s hand littering his wake.