“I’ll go and see where the groomsmen put it,” Patrice said.
“I’m glad Lev let them come home,” Anna said as the housekeeper headed toward the door. Patrice paused beside Soren and glared at him, but he didn’t lower his eyes. He faced her stoically, completely unaffected by her anger. The housekeeper huffed and stomped away, but not before she glanced back at Anna as if to say she had no patience with red wolves in their human form.
“Even with the gloves, you can’t stay here,” Soren said. But he looked at her pale face and the blood on her bandages again as he spoke. The pain in her shoulder and arm hadn’t faded. In fact, it was even worse now that she was wide-awake. It seemed as if every puncture and tear the white wolf’s giant teeth had caused pulsed with its own heartbeat. Not only that, but the tingling from the Ether’s energy she’d grown used to channeling over the past months was virtually nonexistent. She was probably too weak from her fever to absorb the power she could usually tap into now that her mother had taught her how.
The gloves wouldn’t be necessary. They would only be a gesture of goodwill. One that hurt her to make, because the need for the gloves was symbolic of Soren’s renewed distrust now that she had proved she was her mother’s daughter.
Did he truly hate the Ether that much?
While they waited for Patrice to return, Soren stepped into the room. Her pain would have distracted her from his movements if he hadn’t continued stepping closer and closer to her bed. When she understood that he wasn’t going to stop, Anna gripped the downy quilt in fisted handfuls on either side of her hips even though the move increased the pain in her shoulder. Soren noticed. Of course he noticed. His intense amber gaze seemed to see everything about her, but especially the emotions she tried to hide.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Soren said.
He had hurt her with every word, glance and touch since she’d returned to Bronwal. He didn’t need to know it. She was vulnerable enough as is. She couldn’t hide her physical pain from him. All she could do was hope her emotional pain was hers to experience alone.
“I’ll leave as soon as I can,” Anna said. “The emerald sword will have to wait until I’m fully recovered. I’m in no shape to confront the Dark Volkhvy right now. I can’t... I don’t feel the energy of the Ether at all,” she continued.
For years, she’d thought she was nothing but a human orphan. She hadn’t succumbed to the Ether, either physically or mentally, and that was some indication that she was special, but she’d never suspected she had Volkhvy blood. She’d been a tough survivor with an enchanted wolf companion. No more. No less. Until Vasilisa began to teach her how to summon the Ether’s energy. Now she was hurt and she felt more vulnerable than she’d ever felt. She didn’t have her red wolf or her Volkhvy abilities.
“I’m sorry he hurt you. I didn’t protect you from him as I promised I would,” Soren said. He had moved to stand directly beside her bed. She looked up at him and didn’t know how to smooth his furrowed brow.
“You didn’t know he would bite me. He never has before,” Anna said.
“But you knew. Or at least you knew you weren’t safe. You tried to warn me,” Soren said. “Now you’re hurt.” Then something changed in his face. The tightness of his jaw eased. His forehead smoothed. “You don’t feel the Ether. At all?”
His voice had dropped to a whisper. He spoke quietly, as if he feared his regular voice would wake up her Volkhvy abilities to come between them again. But she didn’t expect him to reach and smooth her rumpled brown curls back from her face. She wasn’t prepared for his warm, rough fingers to linger on her cheek or softly caress the curve of her jaw.
“I’m weak, but that doesn’t change what I am. I’m still a witch,” Anna said. Her voice was breathless. He’d stolen all the oxygen from the room with the intimate brush of his thumb on her chin. He looked deeply into her eyes and she almost succumbed to the weakness of wanting to close her lids and feel his touch. Instead, she forced herself to acknowledge the speculation in his gaze. His touch only lingered because there was no Ether-fueled spark between them.
What flared was fully human, with no effort on her part at all. For now, she was no threat to a castle protected by enchanted wolves who could eat a normal woman for breakfast.
“You’re so pale. I thought you might die. If Lev had killed you...” Soren said.
Anna couldn’t breathe. Between his words, she read more than her weakened heart could take. He revealed the possibilities that would have existed. The affection he might have felt for the regular woman she could never hope to reclaim. He had willingly touched her because there was no arc of energy sparking between his fingers and her skin. She allowed the touch to continue because she wanted to imagine what might have been.
If she hadn’t been a witch and the curse had been broken so that Bell and her red wolf turned human could be together again.
His fingers were as soft as a butterfly’s wings against her skin. She moistened her lips. She shivered as her flesh grew sensitive. First goose bumps and then a rush of heat rose in response to the masculine brush of his hand on her face. She consciously breathed, in and out, so she wouldn’t grow faint. She was already light-headed from her injuries. His touch magnified that. Even more so because he was obviously savoring this stolen moment to enjoy the skin-to-skin touch they were forbidden to indulge forever after.
Because of his brothers.
Because of her blood.
She would recover. She would reclaim her Volkhvy abilities. But, for right now, he traced the lines of her face—cheek, jaw, chin—until he came to the swell of her moistened lips. He paused and their eyes met. Oh, there was a spark there. A completely natural spark needing no help from Volkhvy enchantment at all. It didn’t repel him. In fact, he drew in a shuddering breath of his own, as if this was the spark he’d craved. One that didn’t threaten his home and family but only his heart.
The full, rough pad of his thumb caressed her lower lip. He teased from one corner to the other, and the tingling that claimed her came from the energy she and Soren created, no Ether necessary.
“Soren,” she sighed. Her pain was a constant throbbing, but it was at the edges of her consciousness now. Pleasure supplanted it. She focused on Soren’s touch. She drowned in his darkened eyes. She ached for him to kiss her before they were interrupted by Patrice or by the Ether’s return. It would return. She was an injured witch, not a human. This was no solution to their problem. His willingness to touch her now was a bittersweet opportunity at best.
But it was one she couldn’t reject.
When he slowly leaned toward her face, she didn’t take the time he gave her to protest. She used it to anticipate instead. His lips coming closer and closer. The rising hunger in his eyes as he realized she didn’t want to stop him. She gasped when his mouth replaced his thumb. His hand moved to hold her face, but it was a gentle hold, one she could have escaped if she’d wanted to.
She didn’t.
She kissed him back instead, sucking on his lips and his tongue and thrusting her own into the silky sweetness of his mouth.
He growled, deep and low in his chest, and he pressed into the kiss as if he hadn’t ordered her away from the castle only moments before. This was as close to Bell as she was going to come for him ever again. It was both tragic that he wanted her so badly without her powers and a thrill to experience how much he desired her. It was only temporary, and it was because his brother had almost killed her. But it was irresistible to senses that had craved his taste and touch for so long.
“I am Anna, the Light Volkhvy princess. This changes nothing between us. I will recover. We will destroy the sword,” she said against his lips. He pulled back enough to open his eyes and look into hers. She was immediately cold, but his eyes were still full of heat.
“I know,” Soren said. “Right now I don’t care.”
* * *
Anna had almost died. He thought he’d already dealt with the loss of Bell. It wasn’t until he carried a dying Anna with her blood soaking warm and thick into his shirt that he’d known what a lie that had been.
In his mind, he’d imagined them almost as two different women—there was the girl he’d known for centuries, his most treasured companion against the cold of the Ether and the darkness of a cursed castle home. And there was the witch, a woman who had the potential to destroy all that he had reclaimed from the Ether—including the companion he’d once held so dear.
Only they weren’t two different women. Bell had never existed. The woman he rushed to save was the only woman he’d ever known. Anna was simply more—more complicated, more dangerous, more enticing than before. It was the allure that he couldn’t understand. He might be an enchanted wolf shape-shifter cursed by the Light Volkhvy queen, but he wasn’t interested in flirting with a darkness he’d already faced down for centuries.
And yet, he’d watched Anna as she slept, a deep, unconscious sleep, and he’d wanted her to wake. He’d willed her to open her eyes with the same energy he should have reserved for willing her away, far away, where she could no longer threaten his family with powers she could barely control.
His vigil should have been for Ivan and Elena and their unborn child. He should have guarded against the witch who had come between his feral brother and salvation again and again.
Instead, he’d paced the hallway outside Anna’s door, waiting for her to wake up. He’d railed at his brother’s instinctive savagery against the Volkhvy. He’d fought the urge to hunt his brother down—not to save him, but to hurt him for hurting Anna. He’d stayed outside her door only because he’d longed to see her vivid green eyes again. He’d ached when she’d moaned or cried out as if her pain was his.
And once she’d regained consciousness, he hadn’t been able to resist touching her.
He needed to feel her awake and alive. He needed to accept that Anna was the woman he’d always known. The temporary absence of Ether energy had allowed it. He hadn’t risked encouraging the magical connection between them. He hadn’t tempted fate or the sword’s Call or the vacuum of the Ether.
He’d only tempted himself and Anna. She’d leaned into his hand when he’d touched her face. She’d trembled beneath his fingers and then, when he saw that he didn’t increase her pain or distress her, she’d hungrily returned his kiss.
Their lips had melded.
Only lips. No Ether. No enchanted sword. Just his mouth and hers.
She looked up at him now as if she was shattered by the momentary intimacy. He understood. His breath came quick and his heart pounded. His body temperature had spiked, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again.
I am Anna, the Light Volkhvy princess. This changes nothing between us. I will recover. We will destroy the sword.
Understanding slammed into his chest. She thought he had wanted to kiss her because of her absence of power. Truth was, he’d wanted to kiss her all along. He’d proved that in the forest when he hadn’t been able to resist a quick, hot taste. The absence of Ether energy only made it easier to do without his conscious interrupting.
“I wasn’t sure you’d wake up. This is me being glad that you have,” Soren confessed. “You. Anna, the Light Volkhvy princess. I have no misconceptions about who and what you are, but I’m sorry that Lev attacked you and I’m glad you survived.”
Her uninjured arm came up off the bed. She’d released the quilt in favor of touching the side of his face. He still leaned over her. She easily ran her fingers along where beard ended and cheek began. Only that. And the simple touch caused him to freeze and combust at the same time. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. The very air stilled in his lungs while she touched his cheek and looked deep into his eyes.
He closed them against her. Not to savor her touch, although with his eyes closed the feeling of her fingers on his skin intensified. He did it to hide behind his eyelids. This moment between them changed nothing. She’d said it herself and he agreed. She didn’t need to see that it pained him to kiss her and then let her go. She was the same woman he’d always known, and that changed nothing between them because she was also a dangerous witch capable of using her Volkhvy power against his family. They’d suffered too much because of the Volkhvy already.
* * *
A light step sounded in the hallway, and Patrice came into the room with Anna’s backpack in her arms. Anna dropped her hand and Soren stepped back from the bed, but not before the housekeeper noticed their intimate positioning. She arched a brow in Soren’s direction, but she didn’t mention what she might have disturbed. She simply walked around the middle Romanov and placed the backpack beside Anna on the bed.
“I thought you might like to have the whole pack with you,” Patrice said.
Anna reached with her good arm to claim the bag and looked inside it for her gloves. Patrice helped her unzip the pocket she indicated so she could easily retrieve the spare black leather accessories.
“If it will make you feel better, I’ll wear these until I can leave,” Anna said. She didn’t look at Soren as she spoke, and her cheeks were hot. Maybe he would think it was her fever and not because she hated how badly she wanted to leave her skin uncovered. Not for witchy reasons. But purely in case she might be able to touch him again.
“You’re flushed,” Patrice said. She reached to help Anna with the gloves, but when she finished with her uninjured arm and moved to the one with bandages, she stopped. Her hands felt icy on Anna’s forearm. “This arm is on fire and the bleeding hasn’t subsided. I need to change these bandages already.”
“You freshened those just before she woke up,” Soren said grimly. He reached to touch Anna’s arm, and his whole body stiffened in response. He looked from his hands on her fiery skin to her heated face. “Something is very wrong.”
Anna didn’t need to be told. The room swam before her, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
“Get back. Let me help her,” Patrice ordered. She reached for some implements she’d left in a basket on a nearby table. It resembled a sewing basket until a closer inspection revealed the kind of equipment a triage nurse might employ...if that nurse had been trained in medieval times.
Using a large pair of scissors, Patrice cut away at the bandages she’d wound so carefully only an hour ago. She cried out at the wounds she revealed. They weren’t healing. In fact, they were much worse.
“Ivan needs to send one of the Volkhvy workers to us. Now. Ordinary methods are not dealing with the white wolf’s bites,” Patrice said.
She turned to look at Soren. He’d backed several paces away from the evidence that her arm wasn’t healing.
“Elena is pregnant and he sent all the Volkhvy away,” Soren said.
The bed seemed to whirl, but Anna grabbed the quilt again to hang on. So it hadn’t been Soren who wanted her gone as soon as possible—it had been Ivan. Elena was expecting a baby. The news seemed much more important than her arm. Bronwal was healing, even if she wasn’t. A fierce joy suffused her pounding heart. Because of the baby. Not because Soren had ordered her away in obedience to the alpha wolf. She was sure he would have wanted her gone, baby or not. She couldn’t allow herself to hope that he would ever soften toward her. He might not want her dead. He might accept that she was the woman he’d always known, only more powerful.
But he would never welcome her back to Bronwal.
Besides, welcome or not, it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t survive.
“There’s nothing more I can do. These wounds aren’t infected, but they’re not healing, either. She lost a lot of blood. Volkhvy blood. It will take a Volkhvy to save her,” Patrice said. She had placed fresh bandages around Anna’s shoulder and upper arm. The pain of her manipulations combined with Anna’s dizziness was almost enough to cause her to pass out again.
He was also her only hope.
Ivan and Elena needed to focus on their baby. She couldn’t expect them to help her, and Patrice wasn’t even a real nurse. She’d done her best with the resources she had at hand, but she couldn’t heal a witch.
“There are no Volkhvy in Bronwal to come to Anna’s aid. So I’ll take Anna to the Volkhvy,” Soren said.
Soren would never seek help from witches on her behalf. Hallucination meant that she was worse off than she’d imagined. She’d survived a curse with hardly so much as a cold. It was hard to accept that the white wolf who had survived with her—if not as a friend or a brother, then at least as an ally—had killed her.
Chapter 9
Ivan had wanted to destroy the mirror Vasilisa had used to travel from her island off the coast of Scotland to Bronwal. It was a powerful portal that channeled the energy of the Ether in a concentrated manner. The whole world belonged to the Light Volkhvy queen, but with the portal, in only one step, she could leave her home and invade theirs. Elena had encouraged him to leave it functional for Bronwal’s sake after the curse was broken. The Light witches Vasilisa had sent to help them modernize and renovate the castle had used the portal to hasten their work.
Anna’s only hope was Vasilisa’s mirror. If Ivan had decided to go through with his plan to destroy it once he’d discovered Elena’s pregnancy...
Soren put all thoughts of what he was about to do out of his head. He focused on the feverish, unconscious woman in his arms and the hope that the mirror was still in the chapel. Vasilisa had claimed the abandoned room as her audience chamber during the centuries that she’d come, once every Cycle, to see the Romanovs suffer for what their father had done.
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