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

  Irina’s cry of pain ended time’s games and reality crashed around Kirill like a thousand pots and pans falling to clatter against a stone floor. He stared in horror at the red droplets that fell to the snow, marring the perfect white surface.

  “Irina,” he gasped, falling to his knees beside her. The scent of her blood overwhelmed him, stoking his desire with the memories it inspired, even as it horrified him. He held out his hands, wanting to probe her side to examine the wound, but afraid to touch her, afraid to hurt her further. “Irina, are you—”

  “Damn your eyes,” Irina hissed. She clutched her side, a trickle of blood seeping through her fingers. “Always with the weapons, always attacking. Would it truly kill you try speaking first? To try and see a side of the matter other than your own?”

  She probed her side, wincing and gritting her teeth against the pain. Every line in her face, every pain-filled sound dug into Kirill’s heart like shards of broken glass.

  “Irina, forgive me. I didn’t mean—”

  “If only I hadn’t gotten in the way, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt, is that it? Perhaps if I’d only listened to you and remained behind with the coachman—not invited myself along on your precious mission of political mercy—perhaps I’d be safe and sound at home?”

  Kirill flinched at the frost in her voice. Irina never spoke to him like that—hadn’t since he’d saved her life before they’d been married. Anger, certainly, they argued now almost as much as they had before their marriage. But the anger before had always been warm, spoken from passion. Now… Kirill pulled his cloak around him, the air seeming to have dropped several degrees. Even the undead weren’t immune to every type of cold.

  Irina turned her body away from him, tearing the fabric of her dress and peering down. Her cloak blocked Kirill’s view and his heart hardened into a block of ice as he tormented himself with images of how bad her wound might be, how much damage the wolf might have inflicted on her. He never should have attacked the beast while it was so close to Irina, he should have made certain she was clear first. It wasn’t like him to be so careless, but, dammit, there hadn’t been time. The wolf had been about to leap… He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down, to think rationally. Bit by bit, he gathered the shreds of his sanity and smoothed his voice into some semblance of control.

  “The wolf meant to attack you. The scent of blood was on his breath, he had his mouth open and was moving toward you.” As he spoke, the memory replayed itself in vivid detail. The image of the monstrous wolf’s gaping jaws had him groping around in the snow to retrieve his dagger, his attention on the forest around him. Had the wolf truly gone? Or was he still there… Still watching… Why in the name of all that was unholy couldn’t he think?

  “Oh, for the Goddess’ sake, Kirill, he was smiling.”

  Irina fumbled with something at her waist, probably her first aid materials. The scent of fresh gauze reached Kirill’s nose along with the stinging scent of witchhazel. She was wrong about the wolf, wrong about what his intentions had been, but Kirill couldn’t bring himself to argue his point, not while his wife was attending to wounds inflicted on her because of his carelessness. She finished her ministrations and turned, her face softening when she looked at him.

  “Kirill, I’m all right.” Her voice was gentle, a soothing balm after the sharp tones of her earlier words. She took his arm, pulling him to his feet. “I just wish you didn’t always see the worst in people.”

  The warmth of her body when she pressed herself against him, laying her head on his chest, did more to chase away the winter’s chill than any fire could have ever hoped to do. Kirill sighed and leaned his cheek against the top of her head, resisting the urge to close his eyes and bask in his wife’s embrace lest he miss some sign of returning danger. He’d let his emotions bring her to harm once tonight, there would not be a second time.

  “I could never give anything the benefit of the doubt when your safety is at stake.” Kirill nuzzled her hair, drawing her scent deep into his senses. Irina smelled of cinnamon and apple, the potpourri she was always spreading about the castle this time of year. She insisted it brought warmth into the dreary stone fortress and he didn’t have the heart to deny her. Besides, it seemed to make his father the king sneeze, and anything that brought the old corpse misery was a bonus in Kirill’s estimation.

  Irina’s body tensed slightly in his arms, not enough to worry him, but just enough that he noticed there’d been a change in her mood. His senses spasmed, an almost painful alertness seizing him as his attention zeroed in on the woods, searching for signs of danger.

  “Yes,” she murmured, “I’m sure that was it. Your unprovoked attack was all about some overwhelming threat. It had nothing to do with Dizona’s insistence that a wolf was eating her messengers. You weren’t just trying to curry favor with her by presenting that poor beast’s carcass to Dizona’s dear old granny as a trophy to usher in a fresh signature on your precious contract collection.”

  Kirill stiffened, the tone in Irina’s voice setting off alarms in his head. There was a danger lurking all right, but it wasn’t coming from the forest. Irina was angry with him. Truly angry.

  He eased away from her, leaning down to search her face. She stared peacefully back at him, but the smile on her face was…tilted, in the oddest way. He couldn’t see her heart in her eyes as he usually could, didn’t see the shine that was usually present when she gazed at him. She was angry with him, he knew she was, but she wasn’t letting it out. She was holding back. The thought disturbed him more than any tirade.

  “You know firsthand what I would do to a possible political ally if ever I believed they posed a threat to you.” He kept his voice quiet and calm, but inside he wanted to shout, wanted to shake Irina until she believed him, until she looked at him the way she’d looked at him this morning. Irina was the one person he’d allowed to get close to him, really close. She knew him for what he was, loved him not in spite of it, but because of it. He hadn’t realized until this moment just how much that had meant to him. “No contract is worth more to me than your well-being. And I would never think of such things as contracts when your life was in danger.”

  “Again.”

  Kirill froze. Irina gazed up at him, that same nerve-twisting peace in her eyes.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “You would never think of such things as contracts when my life was in danger again. If you will recall, husband, there was a time when I lay on the floor gasping for life while you took the opportunity afforded by the attack on my person to negotiate a contract with the trolls.”

  Kirill’s mouth opened and closed, a sickening feeling rolling through his stomach. The incident Irina spoke of had happened shortly after they’d first met, had happened before he’d gotten to know her, before he… But she was right. Kirill dropped his arms, letting Irina step away from him. No words would come to him. What could he say? He stood there feeling like he was suffocating, as if he’d suddenly come back to life only to find himself trapped in an airless tomb.

  Irina patted his shoulder then straightened her cloak, tucking her body into the thick, crimson folds and seeming for all the world as if nothing was wrong. “Put out the fire, Kirill. We have a long walk ahead of us.”

  Chapter Four

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  Stone. The musty cold smell of stone and…parchment. The sharp, strangely sweet scent of the ink smeared over the tip of an old quill. The acrid, coppery odor of blood.

  “Irina?”

  Kirill’s voice slid over Irina’s skin like a caress, the rough, surprised timbre taking her mind back to earlier that morning when she’d lured him into bed. Her body responded to the memory of pleasure, warming beneath her cloak despite the sharp chill in the air. Irina blinked, realizing she was practically on top of Kirill, her body pressing against his as she leaned in, sniffing at his skin and clothes. A heated blush filled her cheeks and she stumbled back.

  “I’m sorry, I…” Irina shook her
head, taking a deep breath of the crisp, cold winter air to clear her mind. A wry smile quirked up the corner of her mouth as she glanced sideways at her husband. “You smell good.”

  One blond eyebrow quirked upward. “Indeed?”

  A new scent crept toward her through the air, tendrils of heat and musk. Kirill’s arousal flooded Irina’s senses, stoking the fire that burned inside her, the desire that was her rusalka heritage. Kirill’s pace slowed and she didn’t need to see her eyes to know they’d bled to black, the whites swallowed up as her power flared. Heat powerful enough to melt the snow around them billowed inside her, tempting her to wrap herself around her husband until he fell with her to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Her senses screamed with an awareness she’d never felt before, and she yearned to find out just what that would mean for the carnality that was already so pleasurable at her husband’s hands.

  The stiff mask that had been hiding Kirill’s face for the last hour shattered, revealing hunger and a vulnerability that was gone before Irina could examine it too closely.

  “To follow that look in your eye,” Kirill said softly, his voice so low it was almost a growl, “I would turn back and drag you to our bedroom—contract be burned.”

  Irina halted in the snow, her senses tingling with the awareness of Kirill’s arousal, with all the scents that were so unique to him. She stepped closer, pressing her body against his, relishing the contrast of hard and soft. “And to follow the promise in your voice,” she whispered, tilting her head up to him, “I would almost let you.”

  Taste exploded on Irina’s tongue as Kirill covered her mouth with his own. Blood was there, her blood, tingeing the vampire’s fangs with the memory of their earlier time together. There was another flavor too, something clean and fresh, like a perfectly formed icicle hanging from a frozen fruit tree. She moaned and melted against him, sliding her hands under the folds of his cloak, fingers probing for the flesh beneath his travelling armory.

  Kirill twitched, but didn’t move to stop her fingers from dancing over the myriad of weapons and pouches strapped to his belt beneath the cloak. The trust in that one gesture made Irina’s heart swell, made her eat more hungrily at his mouth, uncaring if she nicked herself on one of his fangs. Kirill groaned, hands clasping the swells of her hips, fingers digging in with bruising force and sending a thrill down her spine. Her hands slipped, brushing against a soft bit of cloth hanging from his belt.

  Blood. Not her own blood, but something heavier, something more primal. Wolf blood. An image of the wolf roared up behind her eyelids, filling her mind with the black furred face and long snout full of sharp, jagged teeth. Golden eyes bored into hers through her memory, seeming to see deep into her very soul. The wolf… Kirill had cut him, hurt him. His blood was on the cloth the vampire had used to clean his sword, it poisoned the air between them with accusations, reminders of what he’d done. He’d hurt the wolf, hurt…

  Irina gasped and pulled away, stumbling back a few steps in the snow. Her heart pounded, her pulse thundering in her ears. The wolf’s face still hovered before her, golden eyes still looking into hers with such intensity. It was as though he was right there, right in front of her. Trying to tell her something…

  “Irina, what’s wrong?”

  The arousal was gone from the air, replaced by the sickening stench of fear. Irina closed her eyes, trying to block the scent from her mind, trying to concentrate on something else. Kirill’s hand touched her shoulder and she jerked away, his nearness bringing the scent of the wolf’s blood with it, making the beast’s visage in her mind even stronger. The wolf seemed to grow larger, his aura throbbing against her, rhythmic and insistent.

  “Nothing, I’m fine!” Her voice was too loud, even in her own ears. She couldn’t wipe the wolf’s face from her mind, couldn’t get those glowing gold eyes to clear from her vision. It… No. Not it. He. He was trying to tell her something. A hand closed on her shoulder, pulling her upright and forcing her to open her eyes.

  “Irina, please—By the gods…”

  Kirill’s icy blue eyes widened, glistening like frozen ponds, his lips parted enough to flash fang. His hand tightened on her shoulder even as his other one danced around his waist, an outward sign that he was fighting not to go for a weapon. Irina would have laughed if the look on his face didn’t terrify her.

  “What?” Irina demanded, panic and anger sharpening her voice.

  “Your eyes… Irina, your eyes are gold. Like Etienne’s, or…” His face hardened into sharp, chiseled lines, flecks of scarlet burning to life in his eyes. “The volk.”

  The accusation hung heavy in the air between them, an unspoken threat in the way Kirill spat the creature’s name. Something inside Irina screamed in outrage, rushing forward to defend the wolf whose image still flickered like a ghost before her mind’s eye.

  “Always so quick to leap to conclusions,” she hissed. “You tried to kill him and he escaped you, so now you seek some reason to pursue him, to finish the barbarism you started.”

  “Irina, he has infected you,” Kirill growled, his eyes now shining with crimson light.

  “I am a rusalka!” Irina straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, giving the vampire the most scathing glare she could manage. “I cannot be infected by a werewolf.”

  “The evidence is in the golden orbs staring back at me from your face.” Kirill matched her posture, trying to use his superior height to intimidate her. “Whether he infected you or possessed you somehow, that beast has laid some claim to your body. He scratched you, drew your blood. That would be enough to—”

  “To what? Share his gifts with me?”

  Kirill’s jaw dropped and Irina relished his shock, the way he flinched away from her. The conniving prince of Dacia, master strategist, always knowing everything about everyone. But she knew him better than anyone else. And she knew what was really frightening him.

  “My senses are alive for the first time in my life,” she whispered. She raised her hands, staring at her palms. “I feel…stronger. Powerful.” She raised her arms to the sky, letting her red cloak fall back until it hung like a cape behind her. “The cold doesn’t reach me now, doesn’t gnaw at my bones. I am more than I was.” She lowered her gaze, fixating on Kirill’s stony countenance. The vampire was staring at her from behind the mask he wore for others, the one he almost never showed her when they were alone. Her euphoria wavered, struck by the sudden withdrawal. It stung, her heart clenching in pain to see him hide from her. She needed no further proof of her suspicions.

  “It bothers you that I’m more powerful now,” she said quietly. “You wanted me when I was just powerful enough to be useful to you, but now that I’m powerful enough to be a threat, you don’t want me anymore. You never wanted me, never loved—”

  Her voice broke on the last word and she closed her eyes against the threat of tears. The wind seized on the burgeoning saltwater, threatening to freeze her eyelids shut. It didn’t matter. The cold didn’t matter. All that mattered was that her husband didn’t want her. All she had left was the wolf staring at her from the darkness of her closed eyes.

  “Irina.”

  Kirill’s voice crept past her defenses, too soft to be a threat, too close to be ignored. Irina opened her eyes, watching with her emotions tightly locked away as the vampire looked at her from a few feet away. Cracks had appeared in his mask and his blue eyes held a deep sadness.

  “Once again, I have brought harm to you,” he said quietly. “I wanted this alliance with Dizona, and I pursued it even when you insisted on coming along on this inane task, even when I knew there was a chance you could be hurt. I’ve failed you.”

  He straightened himself up as if pulling himself together, his body taking on the rigid determination of a statue. “We’re going home now. Dizona can tie her precious basket to a flock of hawks and fly it to her grandmother for all I care. Right now, I’m taking you home. Isai will know what’s happened to you and if he values his life, he will find
a way to fix it.” He stepped closer to her, slowly, tentatively. His eyes met hers, boring into her with all the solemn intensity of the grave. “No one will sleep until this whole miserable journey is nothing but a memory.”

  Irina sniffed and tried to swallow past the lump of emotion in her throat. Kirill’s promise to bend everyone to his will, to make everyone’s life miserable until she was restored to her former self, was a sweet declaration of love unique to her vampire. Even if he had managed to avoid addressing her claim that he didn’t want her to be more powerful…

  Doubts crawled over her skin like creeping insects, but Irina shook them off, her skin twitching. She forced a smile to her face. “No, I don’t want to go home. I’m the one who insisted on coming along, I put myself in a vulnerable position. I won’t let this be for nothing.”

  Kirill shook his head, his jaw set. “No. I won’t risk anything more happening to you. We must get you to Isai immediately.”

  “But we’re nearly there.” Irina turned in the direction they’d been walking, instinctively raising her face to the wind and breathing deeply. Drying herbs, musk, old stone. “The cottage is so close. I can smell…”

  Wolf. Wolf, wolf, my wolf. He’s there, he’s waiting for me. My wolf is waiting for me, he’s there, just ahead, just a little farther!

  “Irina!”

  Hands closed over Irina’s shoulders, jerking her back against a solid chest. She blinked, realizing she’d started to run toward the cottage, that she’d made it far enough that she could see the squatting hut where it sat nestled against a giant, sprawling oak. The thatched roof was slanting dangerously to one side, the front door was half-rotted, and the stones of the walkway put whoever approached at significant risk of a twisted ankle. But none of that mattered, not when her wolf was there, was waiting for her.

  She snarled and turned her head. Sinking her teeth into the hand holding her shoulder, she waited for the vampire’s grip to loosen, to let her go so she could run to her wolf. Blood seeped into her mouth, sickening, the taste of death. Tears burned her eyes and saliva rushed through her mouth, trying to wash the vampire’s foul flavor from her palate. The miserable corpse kept his grip, refusing to release her. She tore her mouth from his hand, baring bloody teeth at him.