by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney
“Let me go,” she growled. “He’s waiting for me!”
“Who?” Kirill demanded, blue eyes swallowed by crimson fire.
“Me.”
The gravelly voice came from the direction of the cottage. Irina’s heart leapt in her chest when she saw the wolf, her wolf. He was as enormous as she remembered, nearly filling the doorway with powerful muscle and thick black fur. His eyes shone like pools of molten gold and he bared his teeth in a feral smile. Beside him on the stoop stood an old woman, grey hair in a bun at the back of her neck, blue eyes set in a face like wrinkled parchment. She wore a pale blue sleeping gown with pink flowers embroidered all over it. The old woman rested a hand on the wolf’s side, her blue eyes sparkling from behind small wire-rimmed spectacles.
“My,” she said, gazing intently at Irina. “What big eyes you have.”
Chapter Five
‡
Kirill tightened his grip on Irina’s shoulder, ignoring the blood that poured faster from the wounds she’d inflicted with her bite. She strained against him, trying to get closer to the wolf, the beast who managed a mocking smile even with a snout full of teeth. Kirill’s temper heated and he carefully stoked the flames, holding it in check, waiting for the right moment.
“What have you done to my wife?”
“My, Irina,” the old woman said softly, “what big claws you have.”
Irina screamed. Kirill’s heart nearly burst, every nerve in his body spasming with fear as Irina fell to the ground. He moved with her, unwilling to let go. Her arms stretched out in front of her, fingers digging into the snow as she scrabbled at the earth. Black claws erupted from her fingertips, wicked and curved, flinging chunks of frozen dirt into the air. Kirill’s rage grew, eating at his insides, demanding he reach into his cloak for a weapon that would destroy those responsible for his wife’s pain.
“I will see you both dead,” he breathed, the heat of his anger burning his lips as he spoke.
The old woman ignored him, bespectacled gaze still focused intently on Irina. Irina’s hood had fallen over her head, the thick blanket of crimson material hiding all of her body except for her clawed fingers still raking through the snow. Kirill hissed as fur erupted along the backs of her hands, her entire body thrashing and heaving. The figure beneath the cloak began to grow larger.
“My, Irina…what big teeth you have!”
That last word cracked into the air like a whip, power exploding over Irina with enough force to break Kirill’s hold on her shoulder and send him flying back into the snow. Shredded clothing flew into the air, cast off by the giant wolf panting and snarling where Irina had once been. The black wolf standing beside the witch threw back his head and howled, a deep, bone rattling sound that seemed to echo forever into the forest. Irina raised her canine head, echoing the howl.
Unlike the black wolf, Irina’s mournful cry was a rich, pure tone, the song of the rusalka coming from the mouth of a wolf. The familiarity of the tone pulled at Kirill, reminding him of all the songs she’d sung for him, all the times she’d soothed him with her beautiful melodies. Hearing that heavenly voice singing for the beast beside the witch made Kirill’s skin crawl and his blood heat with unfathomable fury.
Irina finished the howl and lowered her head. Pale silver fur covered her body like a thick, silken coat. Kirill’s voice caught in his throat as she whirled to face him, golden eyes glowing over a long snout, black lips pulled back to reveal glistening teeth. A growl trickled from her lips.
“Do forgive me, Your Highness.”
Kirill didn’t look at the witch when she spoke, didn’t take his eyes off Irina. His heart tried to tear itself from his chest as Irina turned her back on him and trotted toward the cottage, coming to stand beside the giant black wolf at the witch’s side. The beast didn’t look at her, didn’t react as she nuzzled her head against his neck. He merely watched Kirill, his gaze intent, expectant. Waiting.
“I believe you asked me a question earlier,” the witch continued. “You’ll forgive me for not answering right away, but this was not an easy spell, even with your pretty wife’s blood to aid its working. A rusalka is no human, her transformation required a great deal of power.” She patted the black wolf, gnarled old fingers combing through his thick pelt. “Anyway, to answer your question, I’ve turned your wife into the perfect mate for Cherny Volk.” She nodded at the wolf. “He was gracious enough to aid my mistress when she called on him for help. Irina will make a lovely reward.”
“What does Dizona want?” Kirill didn’t bother to dress up his tone, or to rearrange his face into anything but the thunderous rage that churned inside him. This was no longer a political negotiation, this was blackmail. The masks had been dropped, social niceties now a meaningless waste of time.
“So astute, Your Majesty.” The witch stepped forward, her grace belying the glamour she wore to make herself appear as an old woman. “My mistress wants only what you promised and failed to deliver.”
“I promised nothing.” Kirill withdrew one hand into his cloak, closing his fingers around the blade of his dagger. He’d cut the witch’s heart out given half a chance. It was unlikely he would get such an opportunity, but the thought comforted him, helped him regain some semblance of control.
“Oh, but promises can be made with more than just words,” the old woman chastised him. “Your flattery, your body language, your…insinuations. My mistress is an earthly woman with all of a woman’s needs. She wants only for you to satisfy those hungers you raised, to treat her as the woman she is. In return, she will sign your contract.”
Kirill didn’t bother to smother the shiver of revulsion that slithered down his spine at the witch’s proposal. “Dizona is a demon, a dark spirit that exists to make more demons, to spread her filth through the world. I have no living essence to offer her, no hope of producing children. What does she want with me?”
“Putting aside your delightfully naïve assumption that carnal relations are strictly for bearing children,” the witch said wryly, “I would venture to say that your hopes of producing an heir are not quite as hopeless as you suggest. A bit of magic might go a long way toward overcoming your…deficiencies in that area. Especially with a woman as fertile as my mistress. Your chances are actually quite good.”
“Reproduce with that…” Kirill couldn’t even finish the sentence, the words too sickening on his tongue. “She’s mad.”
“For a man as intent on power as you are, Your Highness, you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit confused? It seems to me that spreading your progeny throughout the kingdom would be something of significant interest to you. Especially knowing that the mother of those children would be someone as powerful as my mistress.”
A wolfish whine tore Kirill’s attention from the witch. Irina shook her head, alien eyes glittering as if fighting off tears. She stumbled to the side, whining again and shaking her massive head.
“Is she in pain?” Kirill demanded, his chest feeling as though a vise had been closed around it, the pressure threatening to crush his heart.
“No, she is just out of sorts,” the witch assured him. “I had to use a great deal of magic to force her transformation and the strain is not without its consequences.” She cleared her throat. “Of course, I can’t speak for her state of well-being if you refuse my mistress’ offer…”
Irina whimpered again and Kirill nearly choked with the need to go to her, to comfort her even as she leaned heavily against the black wolf beside her. Cherny Volk snorted at Kirill, derision in his golden eyes. He kept his gaze on Kirill as he leaned down and licked at Irina’s head, smoothing the fur away from her face.
Anger tightened Kirill’s skin until he feared it would split and spill his molten ire like lava, enough to bury his own kingdom. “And Irina?” he rasped. “If I concede to Dizona’s demands, what is to become of my wife?”
“She’ll be returned to her lovely rusalka self,” the witch assured him, her tone sweet and comforting. “As long as she�
�s willing to abide by the terms of the new arrangement and doesn’t get greedy with Your Highness’ physical attentions, she’ll—”
“No!”
Kirill and the witch both jerked their attention to Cherny Volk. The black wolf had raised his hackles and pulled away from the witch, her hand no longer in contact with his side. He shook his head, flashing his teeth.
“I will not give her up,” the beast growled. “She is mine now.”
“Cherny, do not be a fool.” The witch rubbed her fingers in small circles against her temple. “This was the bargain you struck. If the vampire agrees to my mistress’ terms, your reward will be gold and whatever mate you choose from the village women. Irina—”
“Irina is all the reward I desire,” the wolf snarled. He backed up, standing beside Irina and pressing his body against hers. “Did you hear her song? A rusalka’s voice. Our children will have more power than any volk in the kingdom. We will rule.”
“The woman will have nothing to do with you.” The witch drew herself up, abandoning the stoop of her old woman’s guise. “She is disoriented now with the magic, the stress of the transformation, but that will not last. When she comes to her senses, she will reject you, and without my magic to help you, there will be nothing you can do to keep her from her husband.”
“She will forget him when I take her back with me,” Cherny argued, golden eyes flickering with shades of amber. “She is a beast now, a living creature of the land, one with the forest. The stench of death will make her stomach roll, the thought of being near a walking corpse will make her cry out for the warmth only I can give her. I do not need your magic to keep her with me.”
“You are an ignorant dog, and you know nothing of the woman who stands as a wolf beside you,” the witch snapped. “She is bonded to the vampire, connected in a way you cannot break. You need my magic or she will turn on you. She’ll eat the meat from your bones before she lies with you and you truly will be one with the earth when she’s through—if she leaves that much behind.” She glared at Kirill. “Mind you, Your Highness, I will use every ounce of magic at my disposal to help Cherny Volk keep your wife happy and with pups unless you—”
A red haze so thick Kirill couldn’t see fell over his vision. The dagger’s familiar weight appeared in his hand. He was no longer standing on the path to the cottage. He was at the doorway, his blade buried in the witch’s stomach. Warm blood flooded over his hands, but for once, his hunger remained dormant. He didn’t want to drink her blood. He wanted to watch it seep from her body, watch her die and all her promises to Cherny Volk with her.
“I will use every ounce of magic at my disposal to help Cherny Volk keep your wife happy and with pups…”
Her words echoed in his head, filling his mind with images no husband should carry of his wife. She would violate Irina. She would help Cherny Volk violate her, force his brood on her, pervert that which should only ever be a gift.
For the first time in his life or death, Kirill allowed himself to be swept up in emotion. For the first time, his vision tunneled, closing him off to his surroundings.
A snarl behind him was the only warning he had and it wasn’t enough.
He had a vision of an open mouth, a maw stretching far beyond what a mortal wolf should ever be capable of. White teeth stretching from the ground and sky like glistening stalagmites and stalactites in some monstrous cave.
His world went black.
Chapter Six
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Irina screamed. Deep inside the wolf pelt that covered her body, she screamed loud and long, all her terror and loss echoing in that one mournful cry. The sound that came out of her canine throat was a howl, screeching piteously, lacking the smooth tones of her earlier song. Cherny Volk turned his golden eyes on her, his black muzzle lacking any sign of blood or flesh. He’d swallowed Kirill and the witch whole.
“Stop carrying on and get in the cottage,” he said calmly, his voice gruff but human even coming from his canine throat. “It is over—done. You will move on.”
Tears trickled from Irina’s eyes. She tried to talk, tried to tell the wolf all the horrible things she was going to do to him when she got her chance. No words survived the path out of her mouth, all of them shredded on her sharp teeth as they passed. She was voiceless.
Cherny Volk shook his shaggy head and walked behind her, his movements slow and clumsy—no doubt a result of his recent actions. Irina’s stomach rolled at the memory and she closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of her husband being swallowed alive. The black wolf nudged her from behind, shoving her through the doorway. She scrabbled at the doorframe, trying to stop herself, but unable to make her new body work as she wanted it to. It was like being intoxicated, knowing what she wanted to do, but stuck inside flesh that moved too sluggishly. It seemed that the more clearly she was able to think, the more aware of herself as separate from the wolf she was, the harder it was to move. It had been so easy to walk when the change had first come on her, as natural as breathing, yet now each step seemed complicated. She staggered forward as the black wolf propelled her from behind, crashing to the floor in a furry heap.
“Control will come with time.” Cherny Volk walked in and lay beside her, settling his distended belly on the floor. His eyelids drooped heavily, his movements sluggish as if he were fighting to stay awake. “I will teach you everything you need to know. You will forget all about the vampire.” He settled his head on his paws, meeting her eyes as he did so. “I am the only one who can help you now. I am more powerful than you can fathom, do not attempt to betray me or you will suffer as you’ve never imagined.”
His eyes drifted closed, his breathing evening out. Irina stared in shock as he went to sleep, so confident in his own power that any threat she might offer him was written off. Hot anger flooded her veins and a low growl trickled from her throat. She forced herself to stand, her cumbersome four-legged body slow to obey her commands. She stood there, staring down at Cherny Volk. Her mouth watered, tongue hanging out as she imagined sinking her teeth into his neck, biting down until his blood covered the floor in a sticky red lake, still warm from the last vestiges of his life.
Kirill.
Thinking of blood made her think of her husband, his beautiful body trapped in the belly of the wolf. He’d been swallowed whole. Was he truly gone yet? He was already dead, he had no need for oxygen. Could he have survived?
Irina half-collapsed on the floor, her head near Cherny Volk’s belly. She lifted her muzzle and howled, once more sending a song into the air that was more rusalka than beast. After a few long notes, she stopped and pressed her head against the wolf’s belly, listening for any sign that Kirill had heard her.
A lump the size of her fist pressed out, outlined in the downy soft fur of the wolf’s grotesquely bulging body. Irina’s heart leapt into her throat. Kirill. He was alive?
She glanced at Cherny Volk’s face, watching for signs that he might be waking. He slept on, not even a hitch in his breathing to indicate his sleep had been disturbed. As big a meal as the wolf had had, he’d probably sleep through the night. That much digestion would take a great deal of energy. If he was anything like the larger beasts she knew, dragons and sea monsters and the like, his sleep would be a near-coma, his body useless until the meal had been digested. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed, blinking away a fresh rush of tears. Kirill’s second death would not be a quick one.
“Hello? Is anyone in there?”
Viktor! Irina shot to her feet so fast she lurched to the side and fell over, her breath leaving her in a whoosh as she hit the dirt floor. A familiar figure appeared in the doorway, dressed in the rough garb of a huntsman, wicked ax held firmly in his grip. His weathered face was pinched in concentration, his broad shoulders tense. Piercing brown eyes bored into her, the blade hovering ominously in front of the newcomer.
Never in Irina’s life had she been so grateful to see her friend. Irina tried to speak, tried to make her voice work, but
all that would come from her canine mouth were whimpers and wolfish whines. Viktor frowned and searched the room slowly, hawk-eyed gaze not missing a detail.
“Irina?” he called out carefully. His stare fell on the wolves and he narrowed his eyes. “I heard my friend’s song. If you’ve brought her harm, your hides will cover my floor before the morrow.”
“I heard my friend’s song.”
Inspired, Irina lifted her muzzle again, letting her song trickle out on the long howling notes of the wolf. She sang, putting all her emotion into it, every piece of her that was still alive and well in the pelt the witch had cursed her with. Viktor’s eyes widened, his lips parting.
“Irina? Is that you?”
Irina bobbed her head in an awkward nod, so relieved she could hardly think straight. If only she could make her voice work to speak.
“I thought I heard you singing earlier, then I heard that song…” Viktor stopped and shook his head, blinking as he looked more closely at her. Then he glanced around the cottage again, as if only just realizing where he was. “This cottage belongs to Gorynka. Did the witch do this to you?”
Another awkward nod. Irina shoved herself to all fours, steadying herself as she drew in deep breaths.
“Where is she?” Viktor asked, tightening his grip on his ax.
Irina lowered her head and nudged at the bulge in the wolf’s belly. She looked back at Viktor, trying to tell him with her eyes what she couldn’t manage with her voice.
“The wolf swallowed her, eh?” Viktor stepped closer, a dark look tightening the lines of his face. “I’ve been hunting this volk for some time now.” He cast a glance back at Irina, his face becoming guarded for a moment. “With all due respect to your husband, Irina, his ban on killing wolves was not his wisest decision. I understand that his alliance with Prince Etienne of Sanguenay is important, but surely even a werewolf understands that sometimes a wolf is too dangerous to live?” He shifted his ax in his grip, the blade catching the light of the fire and reflecting it back in a brilliant golden line. “Especially one as evil as Cherny Volk.”