Legendary Shifter

by Barbara J. Hancock

  “I won’t allow my needs to place you at risk,” Romanov said.

  “And I’m not allowed to determine what I will risk for myself?” Elena asked.

  Once again, she sacrificed much to open herself to rejection. He hadn’t asked her to be his queen. He never would. To him, she was as much an invader as the ones they’d vanquished, no matter what the sword said. She’d destroyed what little peace he’d found in his lonely duties. She’d brought all his pain to light.

  “You don’t know what the Ether is like,” Romanov said. But as he spoke he stepped up the stairs of the dais, one by one. Elena rose to meet his approach. She held the Romanov blade down by her side. He stopped at her sudden movement. He stood only a few feet away.

  “I know what your kisses are like. I know how your body feels between my legs. How your shoulders feel in my hands,” Elena said. “I know if Grigori captures me tomorrow I’d be happier to have the memories of your touch to sustain me through my imprisonment.”

  “To join with me is to court a curse more horrible than you can understand. Ask Lev if his wife was happy to lose her baby to the Ether once Vasilisa’s judgment fell. We were her chosen champions, yet she showed no mercy. No one was spared, not even a newborn child. Madeline was a warrior who fought by Lev’s side for Vasilisa. It didn’t matter. She and her baby disappeared in the first Cycle,” Romanov said. He stepped nearer as he spoke, as if proximity would convince her. He fisted his hands.

  Down on the main floor of the hall, Lev slipped away into the dark hallway beyond. Soren whined and ran after his brother. Neither had wanted to hear the tale.

  “How long did he last once she was gone?” Elena asked.

  “I haven’t seen Lev’s human face since the first materialization that Madeline didn’t appear. He shifted to search for her. Volkhvy use the Ether to travel the world. Lev thought Madeline and Trevor might have materialized somewhere else. In our wolf forms we’re nearly tireless. For a century of Cycles he searched the world for her. Until he forgot how to be human again,” Romanov said. “Until he seemed to forget his pain.”

  “He shifted for her,” Elena whispered. “Not to run. Not to hide.”

  “He used his enchantment to try to save her,” Romanov said. “But he failed.”

  Elena didn’t shed tears for herself. But for Madeline and the great love Lev had felt for her and the baby, she cried. Her cheeks were scalded with hot, liquid emotion. She didn’t call attention to them by wiping them away. Besides, Romanov’s green eyes seemed brighter, as well.

  “And you think it would have been better if they hadn’t been together at all,” Elena said.

  “Soren lost much, but not as much as Lev,” Romanov said.

  “And you? You’re so much better off because you’re determined to stand alone?” Elena said. She refused to draw closer to him even though his pain beckoned.

  “I won’t share my burden with an innocent,” Romanov said.

  The curse was horrible, but much of Romanov’s pain was self-inflicted. He’d lost too much to risk new connections. He was determined to suffer alone. Yet she’d been called to this place. She’d found it when others had failed. She was here for a reason.

  This time Elena wouldn’t leave her sword in the throne room. She stepped forward to pass by Romanov, but she paused when she reached his side. Their hips were parallel. She didn’t face him, but she did look up to meet his eyes.

  “You sell me short. The blade has spoken and I believe it’s spoken well,” Elena said. “Because I wouldn’t fade away.”

  She had some pride. She didn’t completely bare her heart. She didn’t tell him she would brave the curse for him as long as she knew he would be waiting on the other side when they materialized again. She’d only just acknowledged it for herself.

  She hadn’t gone for the sword in order to protect it from the Dark Volkhvy intruders. She’d gone for it in order to help Romanov and his brothers repel invaders. And not even magic had been able to stop her.

  But her insides were in a tumult and her legs were numb, especially the one that had channeled the Volkhvy woman’s power into her body. That leg was a reminder that Grigori would touch her soon if she didn’t stop him.

  As she paused to speak to Romanov, she swayed on her feet. His eyes widened and he reached for her. His large arm wound around her back and his warm hand braced her hip. The move placed his entire body against her side, not pressing, but supporting. Elena could have jerked away...if she wanted to prove her fortitude by falling on her face.

  Something was wrong. The Dark power the Volkhvy had used to hurt her was still jolting through her body making her muscles weak.

  “You’re hurt,” Romanov said.

  He didn’t wait for her to confirm what he could see with his own eyes. Instead, he bent to scoop her up the way he had when she’d collapsed in the snow. She was flooded by thoughts of other times she’d been in his arms. The kisses they’d shared. The pleasure. The pain. She had a sword in one hand. She couldn’t wrap her arms around him. She had to be content with one hooked around his neck and the other held down by her side to keep the edge away from his body.

  Now that he’d made his feelings clear, she should keep her distance but she preferred not to faint. The power had found its way into her head and her vision had gone blurry. Her equilibrium was gone. The room spun around them as Romanov stepped down the stairs.

  “She needs to rest. Fetch Patrice,” Romanov ordered.

  He seemed to speak to his brothers from a great distance. Down a long tunnel. One that spun in a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. Elena closed her eyes against the dizzying whirl. His chest was the only solid thing besides the sword in her hand in a world gone mad. She leaned her face against it. Without intention, she found his heartbeat beneath her cheek. It thumped steadily while she hoped hers did too, in spite of her detachment to its feel and sound.

  The Dark Volkhvy had used great force to break through the last of her mother’s protective spell. Maybe such negative power coursing through her was more than her mortal body could take.

  Elena held on to Romanov and the sword. They were all she knew as he carried her up to the tower room. She didn’t note the passage of time as he hurried on the stairs or the change of light as he laid her on the bed and turned to throw open several windows. She didn’t feel the cool rush of wintry air on her flushed skin or the soft blanket beneath her. She reeled when his hold disappeared, doubling the ferocity of her grip on the hilt of the Romanov blade. When he returned to her side, she cried out because he reached to move the sword and she thought he was trying to take it away.

  “I only want to position the sapphire against you, Elena. It’s glowing. I think Vasilisa’s power might help you recover,” Romanov said. His voice was nearly a growl.

  She allowed him to move the sword. He pressed the cool stone against her chest. She grasped it with both hands then. She held the hilt between her breasts. Its long shaft lay on top of her, from her lower ribs to her knees.

  At first she felt no improvement. Her head swam. She was afraid to open her eyes. But then almost imperceptibly the breeze tickled across her face. The numbness that had tried to claim her began to recede. Finally, she felt her heart beat inside of her chest. There was no noticeable electric current from the sword. Not like there had been from the Dark Volkhvy’s touch. Vasilisa’s power was more of an emanation that her body soaked up. Like heat. Like the rays of the sun.

  “I brought mulled wine. I thought it might fortify. Also cheese and bread,” Patrice said.

  Elena recognized the housekeeper’s voice. She couldn’t speak to thank the woman for responding to her distress. She couldn’t thank Soren and Lev for obeying Romanov and going for help.

  “This is my fault. The black wolf could have easily dispatched them,” Romanov said. “They hurt her because I avoid the shift.”

&nb
sp; “Better them hurt her than him, I say. That black wolf can’t be trusted. I’ve seen the Ether in his eyes,” Patrice said. Elena wanted to protest. She wanted to say that the black wolf hadn’t hurt her. That Romanov was in control. But her lips wouldn’t open no matter how she willed herself to speak.

  “I am the black wolf, Patrice. You know that,” Romanov said.

  “I’m not as Ether-addled as you think. I know who and what you are. And I know it would destroy you to hurt this one. Best not risk it. Best not risk it,” Patrice replied. Her voice faded as she must have left the supplies she carried to wander back the way she’d come.

  “You...wouldn’t,” Elena managed to utter. Sensation returned to her little by little. She could feel her body again. Her legs were no longer numb.

  “You misplace your optimism,” Romanov replied. Elena’s lashes fluttered when she felt the slightest brush of calloused fingers on her cheek. He sat nearby. He must have pulled a chair closer to the bed. His caress was incongruous, a butterfly’s wing from a man who could crush someone with his bare hands. But it continued. She wasn’t mistaken. He outlined the whole of her face, softly, as if he memorized her repose or the color returning that signified she wasn’t near death.

  “Not...optimistic. An optimist hopes,” Elena said. “I know.” She swallowed and licked her lips. It felt a triumph especially when it was followed by the ability to slit open her eyes. He was only a blur leaning over her. But he was a welcome blur. One that encouraged her to blink and try to regain her focus.

  She had been afraid of the black wolf. She had even entertained the possibility that Romanov would cede control to the beast and allow it to consume her. But his fear of the same caused her to fully believe it would never happen. He had enough doubt in himself for both of them. She was suddenly fully confident that he would never harm her, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

  “I am the black wolf,” Romanov said. “Its instinct and savagery are a part of me, and with every Cycle as we tire of holding on to our humanity the wolves take greater hold.”

  “A wolf would never harm its mate. I’m not afraid,” Elena said. She closed her eyes again. Immediately regretting the claim. It was a groggy thing to say. Once the words were out of her mouth she wished her lips hadn’t begun working again at all.

  “No,” Romanov whispered.

  His voice was close. Very close. Warm lips pressed against the corner of her mouth. No, she wasn’t his mate? Or no, he would never harm her? Her head went light again at the possibility of the latter promise and also because he slid his lips from the corner of her mouth to the center. She was awake. She was alive. All sensation had returned. His slightly open tasting of her lips proved it. As did the gasp he inspired when he boldly teased her with a flick of his tongue.

  Elena released the hilt of the sword. She was able to lift her hands to cup the sides of his face. Thank God, because he might have pulled back if she hadn’t stopped him. He might have moved away. She wasn’t strong enough to hold him in place, but her touch caused him to pause long enough for her lips to open and her tongue to twine with his. He responded by sinking into her and the kiss as if her taste and touch saved him from a dark abyss. As if he was the one who had been near death, but her kiss had woken him from despair.

  “You won’t harm me,” Elena murmured between deep, tender delvings into the velvet recesses of his mouth. His only response was a groan of pleasure that may or may not have been conceding her argument and then the repositioning of his body on the bed beside her, which seemed like the truest concession.

  The sword was between them, but it didn’t keep them apart. They merely accepted the danger of its sharp edges, carefully, as part of their embrace, its unyielding presence nothing of a deterrent when compared with greater obstacles they still had to face.

  He kissed her until she was light-headed again. This time from want of his touch, not dark magic. She allowed her fingers to wind their way into his wild hair. Heat rose from his scalp in spite of the open windows. Their twining tongues stoked flames hotter than the remnants of the fire behind the grate. A raven’s hoarse cry reminded her of the birds that constantly swooped and soared around the tower, but their movements couldn’t compete with the whirl of desire Romanov caused in the pit of her stomach.

  He paused when she tried to press closer. The sword had finally become too much of an impediment. Their lips separated and Elena was afraid he would pull away. She forced her fingers to loosen in case he did, but instead of breaking away he only edged back far enough to take the sword from between them. He carefully moved the blade to the other side of her body and then he stilled.

  Elena watched as his green gaze tracked over her rumpled hair and her flushed face. She licked her swollen lips and a slight smile curved one corner of his sensual mouth. His lips were swollen too. Paired with the untamed black waves of his hair and his pale skin, his passion-darkened mouth was more than enticing. She allowed one hand to slip from his hair down to his lips. She extended one finger and gently traced his full lower lip. By the time she’d traveled from one edge to the other, her finger trembled in reaction.

  The masculine vulnerability of his well-kissed mouth sent a delicious curl of hunger to her stomach and lower. She melted as he allowed the caress. She pressed her thighs together to keep from spreading them and begging for his touch.

  But she didn’t have to.

  He felt her movement. He let go of the sword to cup her hip with that hand. He gauged her tension and he kneaded her muscles to ease it. Of course the motion of his strong fingers so close to her need only made her tension worse.

  “Romanov,” she said. It was nearly a moan. He looked up from his hand to her eyes. What he saw there made his gleam with appreciation. His smile hadn’t faded with her touch. It increased with her moan, tilting his lips beneath her trembling touch. “If you’re going to leave this bed, do it now. If not, prepare to be kept here till morning,” she warned.

  “You need to rest and recover. If I stay, there’ll be less resting,” Romanov said. He was teasing her as if they weren’t toying with a Volkhvy curse. What had changed? Why wasn’t he leaving her here alone behind a safely locked door?

  Her question must have shown in her eyes.

  “I should leave. But I can’t. You were gone. Before my very eyes. First, in the Volkhvy’s grip and then in reaction to it. And the only thing I could think was that I hadn’t touched you when I could. I hadn’t appreciated every inch of you while we were together,” Romanov confessed. “I will leave this room only if you want me to leave. If not, we will steal this time together and you’ll still be free. I will never make you my wife. I’ll never chain you to my name or to the curse.”

  Elena understood he was making an honorable pledge, but her newfound connection to the sword made it particularly poignant to hear his determination to set her free. Freedom was what she’d wanted above all things, but she’d wanted the freedom to make her own choices. Now, it seemed as if Romanov prevented her from fully embracing the sword’s call because he wanted to protect her. That, in addition to the idea of lying with him and then losing him, made her hands tighten on the nape of his neck.

  She pulled his lips back to her so he could make no more horrible promises she didn’t want him to keep. She would take this stolen time he offered to share with her. Later would be soon enough to regret it.

  He took her move as an invitation to stay. His mouth met her open lips and their tongues danced and delved again with an eagerness neither of them tried to subdue. Her whole body welcomed him, softening, opening and melting against him. He was a big man. When he half leaned over her and nudged one of her legs to the side so that his warm thigh slid between hers, she gloried in his weight. His broad chest mashed against her sensitized breasts and she hooked her leg around his waist to encourage him even closer.

  But he pulled back instead. He broke their kiss
and dropped his lips to trail down the side of her jaw and then farther down still to the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. His mouth was soft and firm. He kissed her skin as thoroughly as he’d kissed her lips and he teased her with occasional moist licks of his tongue.

  “You’re so deliciously delicate and yet so strong. I tremble at the thought of harming you in any way, yet you have proven time and again that you aren’t afraid,” he said. The whisper of his words against her neck caused a thrill to shiver down her spine.

  “I’m only afraid I’ll startle you with my hunger,” Elena said. But she hesitated for only a moment before the press of his lips along her collarbone caused her hips to rise in response. She pressed her heat against his hard, muscular leg. The sensation was even stronger than it had been before, when he’d pleasured her in the kitchen, because this time she knew there would be more.

  “I want your hunger,” Romanov said.

  He had continued to knead her hip, but now he lifted his hand to the neckline of her tunic. It was linen and crafted simply and loosely. It was gathered and threaded with a string that tied at the neck, and the knot had already loosened with her movements of the morning. His fingers easily flicked the tiny bow free and he slowly parted the material, which opened all the way down to the middle of her chest.

  The lace of her bra and the swell of her breasts above the modern undergarment were exposed.

  “Brace yourself,” Elena breathed. “Because I’m very hungry.” Her chest was rising and falling quickly with her respiration. Her hands gripped his shoulders. But even that steady anchor didn’t stop her body from jerking when he trailed the warm pads of his calloused fingers along the top of the lace he’d uncovered. She followed his intent gaze down to his caress. Her nipples had swelled and hardened. They peaked rosy and pink, begging for his touch beneath the translucent white lace.

  “I can see that,” Romanov said.

  In a move that made her gasp, he reached to twist her bra free. The plastic fastener in the center of the lace cups didn’t slow him down. A flick of his strong fingers caused the undergarment to part. And the elastic on either side pulled the lace off of the swell of each breast to reveal her hardened nipples. Her pale skin was flushed with pleasure as blood rushed to his touch, but that pink flush couldn’t compare to the darkening of her areolas and nipples as his teasing fingers found them.