Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances
Page 79
Irina whined and faced the black wolf again, nudging his belly slightly with her snout.
“You want me to cut him open and see if the witch is still alive. Perhaps she can undo whatever magic she’s used on you.”
Viktor spoke with the confidence that came from serving a sorceress for nearly a lifetime. He’d been Irina’s stepmother’s personal huntsman for as long as Irina could remember—right up until Serafina had tried to force him to kill Irina and he’d chosen to disobey her. Though he’d been living with the leshii since betraying his former mistress, in his time as her huntsman, he’d no doubt witnessed enough magic to last him a lifetime. That experience was a blessing to Irina now.
She doggedly made her way around Cherny Volk’s large, sleeping form, positioning herself at his head. If he should wake up, she would bite him and hold on as best she could until Viktor could free Kirill from the beast’s belly. If he hadn’t survived, if her husband was truly dead, then whatever retribution Cherny Volk had in store for her wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t stop until he’d paid for his crimes with his life.
Viktor strode forward, heavy footsteps soft thuds against the earthen floor of the witch’s hut. He lowered his ax to rest on the wolf’s stomach, the shining blade a gleaming threat against the wolf’s dark fur. He exerted pressure on the blade and drew it down the wolf’s stomach, making an incision so fine it could hardly be seen until the flesh parted and fingertips probed through the tear from the inside.
Blood gushed from the wound and Irina barked for joy as Kirill leapt from the depths of the wolf, covered in blood and gore, but alive. His eyes shone with a red bright enough to rival the fire roaring in the hearth and he held his dagger ready in his hand. The witch’s body slumped out onto the floor, her chest barely rising and falling, her hair matted with congealing blood. The stench of ruptured intestines filled the room as the old woman weakly groped at her body, trying to keep her organs from spilling onto the dirt. Faint energy crackled in the air as the magic wielder called on her power, trying to save her own life. Kirill ignored her as he bared his fangs at Viktor.
“Who are you?”
Viktor gaped at him, his ax hanging loosely in his grip. “Your Highness?”
“Where is Irina?” Kirill demanded, an edge of desperation sharpening his voice.
Irina stepped forward as Viktor pointed to her, her tears soaking her fur as they streamed from her eyes. Kirill fell to his knees, dragging her furry body against him and holding her tightly as if afraid she’d fly apart in his arms.
“Did he hurt you?”
The words were muffled against her fur, but Irina felt them to the core of her being. The strain in her husband’s voice, the sharp break from his usual control, touched her in a way words never could. She tried to shake her head, needing to assure Kirill that she was fine, wishing she had the voice to do so.
Kirill nodded against her. For a moment he continued to hold her, his face pressed against her neck. Slowly, he pulled away and Irina could see him gathering his composure, pulling the shreds of his control around him at the same time he straightened his black cloak. The garment was darker, heavier with blood and other fluids, but otherwise unharmed. Irina had little doubt that her husband was doing a mental assessment of his weapons as he decided how to proceed. It was a calming exercise for him.
“You are Viktor.” Kirill’s voice was calm now, frosted with his usual cool tone.
Viktor nodded slowly. “I am. We met when Irina brought you to visit the leshii.”
“You are the one who saved her life—twice now it seems.” Kirill tilted his head, intense red eyes boring into Viktor’s face. “I will grant you a boon. When you have need of me, simply contact me, by whatever means at your disposal.”
Irina hadn’t thought Viktor’s jaw could fall any farther, but it did. Before the huntsman could respond, Kirill turned to the witch. He grabbed her by the front of her bloodied blouse and hauled her up until her slippered feet dangled in the air. A wheezing, strangled gasp escaped her throat, one hand clinging to his to keep from being strangled. Her other hand remained over her stomach, covering the gaping wound. The stench of death was not so strong now, so she must have managed to heal herself at least partially. The gash in her stomach, however, remained open and bleeding, still a threat to her life.
Kirill’s grip trembled and Irina knew it wasn’t from the effort of holding the woman, but rather the effort of not giving free rein to whatever dark urge had seized him. The witch had caused Kirill to lose his temper, something that her husband had done only once since Irina had known him. The last time had ended in Irina’s stepmother’s sudden death. She held her breath, waiting to see what Kirill would do.
“You will return my wife to her human form. And you will owe me, old woman. You live at my whim, your life bound to my good graces. You are mine until this debt is paid.”
Every word was whispered, carefully restrained, rough as the wind over broken glass. The witch twitched feebly in Kirill’s grasp, a fresh rush of crimson blood spilling from between the fingers of the hand pressed against her stomach.
“The antidote is beside the cauldron,” she rasped. “The emerald bottle.”
“Your oath that you will honor your debt to me,” Kirill said softly. He raised the hand not holding the witch up until it was level with her stomach. Slowly, methodically, he pressed his fingers between hers, sliding them forward until the first joint of each finger disappeared inside her body around her own bloody digits. The witch’s face twisted with pain, sweat pouring from her forehead as the vampire dug into the wound.
The witch moaned and nodded. “I am yours until my debt is paid.”
A quick jerk removed his fingers from her stomach. Kirill dropped the witch to the floor, walking away to the sounds of her cries of pain and the scrabbling of her body against the floor as she struggled to right herself and keep the pressure on her stomach. He retrieved the emerald bottle from beside the cauldron and immediately returned to Irina’s side.
“Drink this.” He pulled the cork from the bottle and raised it to Irina’s lips.
An idea slowly formed in Irina’s mind, pulling inspiration from the horror of the past hour and the scent of blood filling the air. She pulled away, shaking her head. Kirill frowned as she looked around the room, but she ignored his confusion, intent on finding a way to make her will known. Spotting a piece of parchment on a nearby table, she staggered over to it. She gripped it with her teeth, pulling it from the small table to the floor. As she grew used to moving her legs, she sniffed out some ink and clumsily followed it to a quill. She brought that to lie on the floor next to the parchment, sat, and stared at Kirill.
“What is she trying to say?” Viktor asked, breaking his silence. He scratched his head. “I do not understand.”
A slow smile pulled at the corner of Kirill’s mouth and his icy blue eyes sparkled. “I do.” He chuckled and looked at Irina. “That’s my wife.”
Chapter Seven
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“I have no doubt that you’ll be pleased to hear the wolf who’s been interfering with your messages to your dear old grandmother will no longer be a problem. He still lives, mind you, he really is quite powerful and difficult to kill. However, I’m certain that the hearth stones I sewed inside his belly will be more than sufficient to slow him down. Choose fleet-footed messengers and you should have no further problems.”
Kirill allowed himself a moment to reflect on Cherny Volk, the flare of anger inside him a soothing flame. He reached into the satchel at his side and withdrew a small leather pouch. Dizona’s eyes followed the offering as he slid it across the table to her. The demoness hesitated, but at Kirill’s gesture, opened the sack. Her nostrils flared as the scent of blood wafted up and she swallowed hard.
“The wolf will also cease to be a threat to any female in the territory,” Kirill said softly. “It is a sad day when a man cannot be trusted with what little the gods granted him at birth, but unfortunately,
Cherny Volk proved too irresponsible. Perhaps he will be more conscientious as a gelding.”
Kirill paused to sip his wine, hardly noticing the disgusting viscosity or the imperfect bouquet. The pleasure of watching Dizona’s face grow paler with every word he spoke was more than sufficient to keep his mind on more pleasant matters. The demoness clenched her jaw as she closed the sack that contained Cherny Volk’s masculine anatomy and pushed it away from her. For a moment Kirill was tempted to further describe Cherny Volk’s fate just to see how wretched he could make Dizona look, but he refrained. The vials of the wolf’s blood that he had locked up tight in his sanctuary were no one’s business but his and Irina’s. Cherny Volk had crossed a line that Kirill could not allow. His punishment would not end so quickly. There were all sorts of things that could be accomplished if one had one’s enemy’s blood.
“As for your charming grandmother,” Kirill continued, his voice still light and conversational, “I found her to be most agreeable. Indeed I must thank you. If I hadn’t delivered that delightful basket of goodies to your elderly kin, I might never have gained her as an ally. I can only imagine how terribly helpful she’ll be in the future, should I have need to call on her.”
“She’s…alive?” Dizona’s voice was hoarse, a trace of hope echoed in her raised eyebrows.
“Of course she’s alive.” Kirill waved a hand, brushing aside Dizona’s concern. “As I tried to point out during our earlier negotiations, being an ally of mine is really quite beneficial. It means more than just helping me politically, agreeing to come to my aid should you be called. It also means that you become an asset to me. And I ferociously guard my assets.”
A growl eased through the air from behind Kirill and the hope vanished from Dizona’s face. She put a hand to her slender neck, fingers dancing over her pulse there.
“Yes, so you mentioned,” she said weakly. She cleared her throat. “So, if I were to sign this contract to formalize our alliance, you would protect me?”
“I would certainly not wish to see you come to any harm,” Kirill agreed. “Mind you, the contract does stipulate that I am not responsible for getting you out of any trouble that you might have brought upon yourself. I wouldn’t want you to think you can go about starting wars with the belief that I will be there to fight them for you.”
Dizona’s glance flicked behind him again. “But your other allies… They would not harm me?”
She crossed her arms and the gesture pressed her breasts together and up. Kirill quirked an eyebrow and Dizona’s cheeks immediately lost what meager color they’d had. She dropped her arms, wide eyes fixed on a point behind Kirill.
Irina huffed behind him, another growl crawling from her canine throat. Kirill didn’t glance back. He knew Irina was staring Dizona down, her golden eyes peering at the demoness over her snout, her sharp teeth flashing now and again as she snarled. Still in the wolf form, Irina towered over Kirill where he was seated at Dizona’s table, and she was obviously using every inch of her impressive height to face down the lady of the manor.
Kirill fingered the antidote safely tucked into his belt inside his cloak. Once he had his wife in her own human form again, he would have to spend the next several evenings worshiping her body—and her devious mind. A snapping of wolfish jaws had Kirill stifling a chuckle. Dizona snatched the quill from the table and scribbled her name across the parchment.
“There, we are allies.” She dropped the quill and folded her shaking hands on the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have dinner plans that I must see to.”
“Of course,” Kirill said smoothly, carefully folding the contract and tucking it into a pocket in his cloak. “We wouldn’t want to keep you.”
Dizona stiffly rose from the table, not offering her hand for a kiss as Kirill also stood to leave. He gave her a slight bow and turned, putting his hand on Irina’s left flank as they left the sprawling mansion and made their way to the waiting carriage.
Kirill opened the carriage door and turned to Irina, the antidote potion held before him. Irina gave one last snort in the mansion’s direction before lying down and raising her open mouth for Kirill to pour the potion into.
The magic rushed over her with all the intensity of the initial change, power cracking outward like a thunderclap, rattling the edges of the carriage. The coachman never even glanced back, far too well trained to violate Kirill’s privacy by peeking. A fortunate thing, considering Irina’s wolf fur receded to reveal smooth, pale, bare skin.
Kirill pulled a cloak from the carriage and wrapped Irina in the thick crimson folds. She gasped.
“Kirill, this cloak…it’s so warm.”
“I had Isai bespell it in anticipation of your…state of undress.”
“You could have brought me a proper outfit,” Irina teased, sliding the cloak over her body and cuddling into its warmth. “I would have been fine in a thick wool dress with one of my old furs.”
“True,” Kirill agreed, sliding his heated gaze over her curves before they disappeared behind the material. “But I’ve always found your clothing rather inhibitive.”
Irina smirked, a sparkle in her brown eyes. “Oh?”
Kirill lifted her into his arms and slid into the carriage. He held her firmly on his lap as he closed the door behind them, signaling the driver to be off.
“Indeed.” He slid his hands under the cloak, his fangs aching as Irina’s pulse sped up, her blood the sweetest perfume beneath her skin. The cloak-warmed curves of her body teased his hands, urging him to slide his palms over her smooth flesh. His voice grew deeper, a slight rasp to his next words. “I’m afraid I wanted you rather bare for what I had in mind.”
Irina wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in to speak with her lips brushing his in a teasing promise of things to come. “And this color hides the blood so well…” she agreed.
The End
If you enjoyed reading about Kirill and Irina, pick up ONE BITE, book two in the Blood Prince series, and find out how they met. BEFORE MIDNIGHT, book one in the Blood Prince series, is free.
The Blood Prince series is complete, but there’s a new spin-off series coming full of more fairy tales with bestial royalty mixed in. If you want to receive an alert when this new series kicks off in 2015, join my mailing list. Members will receive a free short story.
If you’d like to participate in brainstorming sessions, give input on cover art and titles, and get an opportunity to beta read new projects before they’re released, join my Facebook group Sirens of the Black Stream.
I love reviews (good or bad, as long as they’re constructive). If you have a second, please leave a review and tell me what you thought of What Big Teeth You Have.
Other Books by Jennifer Blackstream
Under His Skin
Aphrodite’s Hunt
Blood Prince Series
Before Midnight
One Bite
Golden Stair
Divine Scales
Beautiful Salvation
Additional Books Featuring Characters From the Blood Prince Series
Dead To Begin With
What Sharp Teeth You Have
The Revenge in Vein Series:
Burned
Mastered
Bitten
Converted
Revenge in Vein: The Complete Series
About the Author
Jennifer Blackstream is a psychology enthusiast with both a B.A. and M.A. in Psychology. Her fascination with the human mind is most appeased through the study of mythology and folklore as well as any novel written by Sir Terry Pratchett.
Jennifer enjoys listening to Alice Cooper, trying new recipes (to which she will add garlic whether it calls for it or not), watching television with her family, and playing with her woefully intelligent young son. She lives in Ohio.
Jennifer spends most of her time drinking coffee from her X-Men mug and desperately trying to get all her ideas written down before her son can find that all magical button on he
r laptop to make her latest work vanish.
To learn more about Jennifer Blackstream and her novels, visit her website at www.jenniferblackstream.com.
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Snow’s Salvation
Cate Dean
A romantic retelling of Snow White – with a twist.
Snow White is running for her life.
Her stepmother wants to be Queen, and has sent the huntsman to take care of her only obstacle.
But when Snow runs into a band of thieves, will they be her salvation, or lead her straight back to the woman who wants her dead?
(This is a standalone story, so I have included links to my romantic suspense/time travel series.)
Snow’s Salvation
‡
“I want her dead, Tarek.” Hilde, rightful Queen of the kingdom of Fair, sat in the huge, golden chair, perched on a dais that forced even the tallest men to look up at her. The huntsman knelt before her, proud, humbled, and ready to do whatever she asked. “Bring her heart to me when you are done.”