And suddenly Anna’s mouth went dry.
She completely understood how her pleasure in the food had distracted Soren from his own meal. There was a sensuality to the rich flavors and aromas after years of doing without. She was transfixed by Soren’s pure physical enjoyment of the feast. When he lifted his eyes from his plate as he swallowed the last bite, their gazes locked.
His lips were moist from his wine. His amber eyes were warm. And as he held her gaze, he lifted one finger to his mouth and sucked the juice of a dark red grape from it.
The noise of the other guests seemed to go distant and hollow in her ears. The room hazed at the corner of her eyes. Her entire world narrowed to Soren’s finger wrapped gently by his lips.
“You need to follow your own advice. What’s wrong? I know you haven’t eaten your fill,” Soren said.
Anna’s face grew hotter. She had forgotten her plate because she’d been distracted by him. Had he been distracted in the same way? Her face wasn’t the only place that heated. A hot coil of awareness wound tight, low in her stomach.
And that hot knot of fire radiated outward to more intimate regions.
This wasn’t a sexy, romantic dinner.
The room was filled with the Light Volkhvy. A dangerous mission loomed before them, one that would sever their connection forever. Vasilisa was her mother and, as far as Soren was concerned, his greatest enemy.
But the tension only heightened the feeling that they shared an intimate secret in a crowded room.
He had taken her hand even though she’d worn the bloodred dress to boldly proclaim her heritage. He teased her now even though the chemistry between them shouldn’t be encouraged.
“Perhaps this is torture for you, as well? We’re bound to be torn apart, and all I want is to taste the wine on your tongue,” Soren said. “And the worst part is I can tell you’d like to do the same with mine.”
His tone was casual. The second course was carried into the room, and he sat back to allow his first plate to be removed. It was replaced by a bowl of soup. Fragrant steam rose from the creamy liquid. A servant crumbled a pinch of fresh green herbs over the soup with a flourish.
Through the entire process, Anna sat, electrified by the images his words had brought to life. She licked her lips as her soup was placed and garnished. Her thank-you was rough and smoky as desire tightened her throat.
Soren looked deep in her eyes as he leaned over his bowl to dip up a spoonful of soup and bring it to his lips. Her gaze tracked from his eyes to his mouth as he opened to gently savor the steaming broth.
The steam rising from her own bowl felt cool against her heated skin.
“Cruel is an understatement,” Anna breathed. She broke eye contact and looked around the table. Her mother was busy with the important dignitaries to her left and her right. Everyone else pretended not to be watching the queen or her daughter or the wolf of honor in their midst.
Pretended.
All eyes were on them. In between sips of wine and soup, glances flickered their way continually, as if eyelashes were insects on fluttering wings drawn to their flame.
“Oh, you see that, too? I’m more than the guest of honor. I’m the dinner show,” Soren said. He sat back in his chair and drained his wine. “I have to decide if it’s curiosity or caution. Or something more nefarious that should put me on my guard.”
Although he’d been playing with the chemistry between them, Anna had no doubt that Soren was already on his guard and had been since he’d first stepped foot on the island. Certainly since he’d found his brother’s wife and baby encased in glass. Vasilisa might have the best intentions to reform, but she was a powerful witch who exhibited questionable judgment...still.
“These are my mother’s closest advisers and friends,” Anna argued. And yet she suddenly remembered the witch with lank hair who had seemed to challenge her before he’d disappeared.
“Exactly,” Soren said. He placed his empty glass on the table. Even in his tuxedo with his hair cut and his beard trimmed, he looked edgy, as if wildness was only a breath away. “I would be foolish to trust any of them and so would you. Vasilisa dabbled in Darkness for a long time. These are the people that stayed by her side during the curse. What does that tell you about them?”
Anna barely noticed the servant who took away her untouched bowl of soup. It had grown cold while Soren repainted the picture of the dinner party with a suspicious brush.
Surviving was their greatest commonality. She couldn’t pretend he was wrong. Suddenly, the guests’ glances their way seemed more intrusive. Were they being sized up by an enemy who bided their time to strike? There had to be some who regretted that the Romanovs had regained favor. Were there Volkhvy preparing to enjoy the main course who resented that the heir to her mother’s throne hadn’t been destroyed?
Anna surreptitiously looked from the corner of her eye until she found a shiny black head. Once she saw the bold witch, she couldn’t believe he’d faded from her view and attention so soon. He barely touched his food and drink. He didn’t speak to the witches around him. He stared at her. She had to force herself not to stand to face the threat his attention conveyed.
“As much as I resent Volkhvy enchantment, I see the warrior in your eyes right now. The emerald sword isn’t wrong. If there is a witch in this room who would come against us, he or she has no idea that their beautiful princess is as much a danger to them as the red Romanov wolf,” Soren said. His voice was pitched low, for her ears alone, and its roughness seemed to vibrate intimately along her skin. Although he spoke in warning, his admiration warmed as the soup never could.
Anna looked back at the man who sat beside her. He still watched over her, no matter how he might deny it. Why else would he warn her about a possible danger around them? He might intend to sever all ties with her once they destroyed the sword, but he had saved her life by bringing her here, and he tried to protect her still.
The main course arrived. The servers presented dark purple eggplant stuffed with spicy minced meat. The scents of cinnamon and black pepper rose enticingly from a colorful dish ringed by bright red sundried tomatoes.
But Anna had to force herself to pick up her fork and take a bite. She did it. As the whole room watched, she ate as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She hadn’t touched her soup, but she had to go through the motions of enjoying her dinner. She wasn’t free to stare down the witch with the lank hair or glance suspiciously from guest to guest, trying to decide which ones had embraced the Darkness.
Vasilisa laughed and talked as if she wasn’t worried. Perhaps she’d been a lonely, isolated queen too long. Perhaps the return of her daughter was too great a distraction for even her wisdom and power to overcome.
The Dark Volkhvy had claimed the emerald sword. Was it possible that they also wanted to claim the Light Volkhvy throne?
* * *
Anna had stunned him when he walked into the room. He’d paused to stare as she’d approached him in a dress that shimmered and silkily conformed to her curves as she walked. Her skin had shone like porcelain, perfection against the black red of her gown. The silk parted in two high slits well above her knees to allow her to move easily and gracefully across the ballroom floor. He’d been transfixed by her transformation from practical to glamorous. Her upswept hair fell in a waterfall of curls down her back that rivaled only the dress and her skin with its shine.
She’d reached for him.
There was no way he could miss the parallel to another ballroom six months ago.
She’d worn green that night. Emerald green. A color that matched the highlights in her green eyes and another emerald gleam he’d seen in a sword hilt years before.
The red wolf had rejected the daughter of the Light Volkhvy queen. It had been a visceral reaction to a betrayal that hadn’t been a choice, but a chance of birth. Bell had always been loyal to him, and h
e’d repaid that loyalty by turning his back and running after Lev.
What other choice had he had? His family needed him. He had to keep trying to reach the white wolf. Lev needed to know that Madeline and Trevor were alive. And Soren had to help Ivan protect his unborn child.
But he took her hand. He held on to her warmth as if he was grasping at a lifeline dangling on the edge of a cliff. Her cheeks had flushed at his touch. Her eyes had moistened with emotion. And then Vasilisa had spoken. She brought him back from the edge onto solid ground. His foundation had been built by the queen’s true dangerous nature. It had been built by Darkness.
He was fine then. He’d rejected the queen’s overtures. He’d refused the place of honor. His spine had been stiff and his course clear...until Anna had started to nibble her food. Her pleasure had undone his best intentions. The room had disappeared to his senses. He’d focused on her mouth and her throat as she’d chewed and swallowed and suddenly he was on that cliff again, ready to jump off without any lifeline at all.
He could only thank his wolf’s instincts for warning him that the dinner party wasn’t the happy gathering that it seemed. If he’d been a simple man, he would have been completely consumed with his and Anna’s obvious attraction and desire for each other. He wasn’t. He was a man with the heart of a wolf, and while that wildness increased his passion, it also increased his awareness of threat.
There was a tension in the air that went beyond the physical and emotional tensions he and Anna battled together. It went beyond his conflict with Vasilisa. The hair on the back of his neck rose to attention. His shoulders tightened as if he prepared for attack.
He’d warned Anna.
And her reaction had proved that her dress wasn’t what stunned him about her.
As he’d watched, she’d gone from a glamorous princess to a womanly warrior in the blink of an eye. He doubted anyone else could tell the difference. On the surface, she’d still glittered and shone. Her lips had curled into frequent smiles. Her hands had gracefully managed her utensils and her glass.
It had been her eyes that gave her away, and the tightening of her shoulders and her jaw. Imperceptible except to a man who had known her for centuries and a wolf that had joined her in battle many times.
He’d been stunned once more because of what her transformation did to him.
The emerald sword Called to her, and as much as he hated to admit it, the sword wasn’t wrong—Anna was a warrior fit for a Romanov wolf. His body had reacted to the fire in her eyes that only he could see.
And he was still struggling to control his body’s reaction now that dinner was over and the guests were mingling in withdrawing rooms filled with string music and quiet conversations.
He mostly stood alone.
Few of the Light Volkhvy were brave enough to approach him, and those that tried were quickly rebuffed by his gruff demeanor and his unwillingness to engage in meaningless conversation about the weather—for God’s sake, it was enchanted—or the meal. He had barely done it justice.
He stood with his glass and he watched over Anna as he always had. Unfortunately, he couldn’t rely on habit, because they’d both changed more in six months than they had in all the centuries they’d shared before.
She was a witch and a princess. He was a wolf. And a Romanov. But as much as he tried to tell himself that those things mattered, his body insisted that only the warrior in her eyes mattered tonight.
Anna laughed and talked and met anyone and everyone Vasilisa presented to her. But he could tell by her movements that she was on guard. Her dress was slinky and the way it clung to her skin made him ache, but she might as well have been wearing armor. He could see that she was prepared. He could also feel her gaze over and over as she sought him out. The constant need to affirm that he was there to back her up should someone decide to attack made adrenaline course beneath his skin. It joined the desire that already flowed there.
The mingling of cold with flame caused him to tremble with the need to release one or the other.
No one attacked.
One by one and then in bunches and groups, the guests began to take their leave. Many floated by him with bows and nods...and assessing gazes. More than once a handshake sparked, as if the witch who offered their hand did it to remind him of the power he faced.
He wasn’t worried. Not for himself. He stood in his tuxedo knowing his shift was only a heartbeat away should he need it, and he watched the woman he would face down the entire Volkhvy horde for, Dark and Light, should it come to that.
Acknowledging that didn’t change what he intended to do to the emerald sword. His feelings for Anna only made it that much more imperative that the sword was destroyed as soon as possible.
He would die for her, but he couldn’t ask his brothers or his brothers’ families to do the same.
Chapter 15
Soren’s intensity made her nervous, as did the disappearance of the lank-haired witch who had boldly watched her throughout dinner only to vanish afterward. Anna handled all the duties of her position, but she was ever conscious of the red wolf’s amber glare. She smiled and laughed twice as much to try to cover for his obvious antagonism. He was right—there was no way to be certain which Volkhvy they could trust. But his default of not trusting any of them put her in an untenable position.
Especially when his penetrating glare was trained on her and she could tell that distrust wasn’t the only thing he felt for her.
Because nervous wasn’t the only thing Soren made her.
The bold witch was gone, but she met so many new witches that names and faces blurred in her memory. Only one name and face were constantly with her throughout the whole night—Soren Romanov. He was the wolf in the room that everyone tried to ignore. Except there was no ignoring a six-foot-four-inch medieval Russian royal with a broad, powerful build and muscles that made his tailored tuxedo strain at the seams.
He stood with his arms crossed over his impressive chest, and he glared. But he also watched over her in a room full of possible enemies, and the fire in his eyes wasn’t only for a fight. He desired her. He’d told her so matter-of-factly at dinner as he casually ate his soup.
All I want is to taste the wine on your tongue.
Her head grew light with the memory, even though she’d been careful not to overimbibe. Soren was impressive in his defensive mode, but there was something about him confessing a vulnerability that stunned her. She had to concentrate in her heels to keep from stumbling on the carpet-strewed marble floors.
He didn’t trust her witch blood. He fully intended to find and destroy the emerald sword that tried to bind them together, a warrior and her wolf. But he would protect her still, and he desired her. He craved her taste and her touch.
Anna straightened her long black gloves again and again. She’d chosen velvet gloves banded in deep red silk for tonight to complement her dress. No one seemed to think her eccentric accessories were odd. After all, she was the daughter of a woman who was known for her anachronistic clothing choices—gloves were nothing compared to hoops and horned hats.
The electricity caused by her interactions with Soren—from glances to outright sensual promise—almost seemed to outdo the charge of the Ether’s power. Her heartbeat was quick. Her breathing more labored than it should be. But it wasn’t because she was having a hard time controlling her abilities. It was because Soren stared and protected and shattered her defenses with his defensive posturing.
He had always backed her up. She’d been braver than she would have been as a teen girl in a cursed castle with an enchanted red wolf by her side.
She wanted to be braver still with the man.
* * *
More guests began to take their leave at midnight. Anna stood beside her mother and bade each and every one safe travels, never knowing which ones might wish her harm. Finally, the rooms were silent, sav
e for servants using the Ether’s energy to set things right after the crowd. Jewel tones of light flared here and there like brilliant fireflies trapped indoors, seeking each other in the night.
“Some of the guests have chosen to sleep in the palace. Servants are showing them to their rooms. Perhaps Soren could escort you to your room,” Vasilisa suggested.
“He thinks some of the guests might be your enemies now that the curse has been lifted. He says some of them might still prefer the Darkness,” Anna said. “There was one particular witch—a tall man with black hair. He seemed to have an intent focus on me.”
“I thought I detected more than the usual edge of battle readiness in Soren. I appreciate his concern for you,” Vasilisa said. “It doesn’t seem to be the concern of someone who is ready and willing to let you go. Quite a few of the male Volkhvy were watching you this evening—perhaps he’s afraid one of them will step forward to take his place?”
“Stop. You make light of serious things. I know you say that your enchanted swords only reveal the truth, but the truth is Soren will never trust Volkhvy manipulations. We will part. And soon,” Anna said.
“You’ll never part. Destroy the sword if you must. You’ll only discover that you’re bound without it. Partnership binds. Your partnership with the red wolf has been obvious to anyone with eyes all night long,” Vasilisa said. “I have eyes and experience. You will be lost without each other as soon as you take the first steps away.”
Anna turned her back on her mother and walked toward Soren. He met her in several strides before she could cross the room, as if he’d been waiting to join her all night.
“Some of the guests are staying the night. They’ve been given rooms in the palace,” Anna said. She didn’t reach for him. There was no acceptable reason to take his hand other than that she’d wanted to touch him again for hours. He didn’t touch her either, although the air between them crackled with tension.
“I’ll take you to your room when you’re ready. You shouldn’t be alone. Any one of them might wait for an opportunity to hurt you as your mother’s heir,” Soren said.
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