Legendary Shifter

by Barbara J. Hancock

  “Oh,” she cried out as his large hand went from teasing to encompassing. His touch was hot as he weighed and lifted the globe of one breast, but its heat didn’t compare to the moist fire as he leaned to take the entire tip of her breast in his mouth.

  He suckled and her hips bucked. Her hands clenched and pulled, ripping his tunic instead of bothering with his ties. She didn’t allow the sound of the rent to slow her. In fact, the sudden give and tear spurred her on. She pulled harder until the fabric came away from his torso in her hand. She threw it to the side all while he caused her to rock and toss her head back and forth with the suction of his mouth and the velvety friction of his lathing tongue.

  “Elena,” he groaned, loudly, breaking his suction and moving his lips down her body.

  Now that his chest was bare, his skin burned against her everywhere it brushed. He kissed and licked until he came to fabric. She muttered a protest as he stopped, but he only paused long enough to pull the tunic over her head. She lifted her back and arms to help him. He slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders as well, and tossed both garments to the side. Then he looked down at her. His eyes gleamed in appreciation.

  She was suddenly reminded of the legend and the wolf. He was a man in her arms but he was also every bit the wild alpha. She reached for him, afraid he might be too wild for her to keep in the bed long enough to mate.

  To remove her shirt, he’d crouched between her legs. Her hands dropped to hold either side of his hips. His supple leather pants were tighter than they’d been before. She could see the bulge of his erection. She could see where the cock she’d explored before was long and thick and curved to the side. It barely missed showing over the top of his waistband. She could see where the damp head of it pulsed, waiting to be freed.

  His stomach was lean and hard. He sucked in air as her fingers reached for the crisscrossed ties that held his pants in place. This time she slowly worked the leather lacings free. Allowing him the anticipation of her obvious intent. She made sure to brush against his erection again and again as she worked the lacings free.

  “Your hunger is nothing compared to mine,” Romanov said. Sure enough, his warning was a growl and his body trembled beneath her touch.

  Elena was still half-reclined with her legs spread around his knees. When she had unfastened his pants and spread the leather, the white of his undergarment was loose and easy to pull down. His erection came free and jutted out toward her with a heavy bounce.

  She needed him to fill her. She had gone to molten liquid, but she didn’t want to rush their time to completion. Instead of falling back and begging him to rip off her jeggings, she reached for him. She held his erection in both of her hands. He cried out at her touch. He thrust into the tight grip she made with her fists end to end. But when she urged him closer and rose up enough to tease her tongue across the swollen head of his cock, he held perfectly still.

  Was she too bold? Had her hunger finally been too much?

  “Elena,” Romanov moaned. She looked up to see his head thrown back. His knees had spread and braced on the bed on either side of her body. She moved one hand off his shaft to make more room for her mouth to engulf him. He wasn’t still then. His hips jerked and she enjoyed the friction of her suction and his thrust.

  His hands threaded into her hair as she worked his erection with her mouth. He was hot and salty and sweet. And so hard against her tongue she couldn’t help but fantasize about how he would feel when he finally thrust inside of her. She throbbed between her legs. She was dewy with heat. But more than anything since he’d brought her to orgasm with nothing but his hard leg and a kiss, she’d wanted to pleasure him in return. Every thrust of his erection between her lips and every cry of her name gave her as much pleasure as he received until it was Romanov who stopped her.

  His hands tightened. He gently pulled himself out of her mouth. She opened her eyes to protest, but he silenced her with a deep, hot kiss made even hotter by the taste of him they shared on her lips.

  As he kissed her, his hands left her hair and fell to her jeggings. She was glad she wore the simplest stretchy denim. But he took her by surprise when he gripped her hips instead of pulling her pants down.

  “I want you every way that a man can take a woman, but I don’t want to hurt your knee. Help me gets this off without jarring your leg?” he requested.

  And this was the man who had feared he would shift into a giant wolf and devour her?

  Elena lifted her hips and worked the denim down her hips. He pulled her borrowed boots off her feet, first one and then the other. Then he helped her with her pants, slowly and gently.

  She was left wearing nothing but a scant lace panty when they were finished. Romanov’s eyes darkened when he saw the dampened, dark curls between her legs, but he leaned to kiss her scarred knee first. His touch as he held her leg for the gesture was softer than she could have imagined such a large man capable of. He killed with those hands. He’d defended Bronwal for centuries with them. For her, they were so careful. So considerate.

  But then they scorched as both hands rose up the top of her leg without breaking contact with her skin. Elena watched his touch caress closer and closer to the juncture of her thighs. When he reached the lace that covered the curls that drew his attention so intensely, he was suddenly not slow at all. He grabbed the elastic of her bikini briefs and slid them down to her midthigh. Not slow, but still considerate of her knee. The move allowed him access to her while still keeping her from spreading her legs.

  He touched her then.

  Large, calloused fingers dipped into her curls and she cried out when he found the sensitive flesh he sought. She tried to spread her knees, but the lace caught and held her in place. She could only burn for more while he teased. His hooded gaze watched her frustration as it warred with enjoyment. His exploration wound her tighter and tighter. Her hips moved as he began to gently and softly thrust along her moist crevice.

  “Please, please,” she begged. She’d never needed release as badly as he caused her to crave it. But it wasn’t only an orgasm she wanted. She wanted to mate with this man. She wanted him joined with her. She wanted him as close as she could possibly take him.

  Instead, he gave her the teasing thrust of his middle finger, thick enough to make her cry out and jerk her hips up to meet it. She grabbed his arm and he allowed it. He allowed her to encourage a harder and deeper thrust of his hand.

  “What do you want, love? I’m afraid to hurt you. You’ll have to show me,” Romanov said. He sounded as if he was teasing, but he wasn’t. He was still afraid he would hurt her even now when she bucked under his touch, crazed with desire.

  She came then around his thick finger with soft, jerking sighs.

  “Elena,” he breathed as her inner muscles fluttered against his touch.

  But there was still hunger and his mere touch wasn’t enough.

  Elena pushed his arm back and he allowed her to move him. He patiently waited for her to direct their actions even though his erection was massive. As he watched, she pulled the lace from her legs and threw it on the floor. Then she boldly pushed the legendary warrior back until he lay supine on the bed.

  She wanted him in every way a woman could take a man. She wanted to show him that her knee wouldn’t prevent their joining. But she had also wanted to take him for days and she wasn’t about to let the chance pass without taking full advantage of his offer.

  He was incredible. She paused to appreciate the tableau. His wild hair was spread darkly over the white linen on her pillows and his muscular body was intimidating even in repose. His erection lay curved to the side across one of his hard thighs. He was obviously more than ready. In such flagrant excitement, his control of his body was beguiling.

  She’d been bewitched by Ivan Romanov long after she had been stalked and he had been bespelled by another.

  “I’m not a virgin.
I’ve been with others. But never with anyone who was so strong. Your control is a siren call to my body. I want to make you lose it,” Elena said.

  “You test my control beyond measure,” Romanov said. “But my control is yours. I give it to you because I can give nothing more.”

  A poignant tug on her heartstrings seasoned the moment. He gave her this because he couldn’t give her his name.

  Elena mounted her hot warrior. His skin burned between her thighs, but she was slick with expectation and her previous orgasm. He helped her spread her legs and position his shaft. With his hand, he teased the head of his cock against her opening. But she’d had enough teasing. She was throbbing and ready once more.

  She lowered her weight onto his erection. Her body stretched to take him inside. Deep inside. She rocked to heighten their mutual pleasure and also to work her folds to open wider and wider to accept his full girth and length.

  Her knee did twinge. But she did it to herself with her frenzied movements as she rode him and she didn’t care. Not when his head fell back and his eyes rolled. Not when his hips jerked up to meet hers in a fury of thrusts that bounced her breasts. His skin glistened with sweat. She tasted salt drops on her upper lip when she licked them. His hands slipped on her hips.

  And still she took him deeper.

  Her inner recesses pulsed around his steely member.

  She raised her arms high above her head and even without wings she flew.

  He pulled out as he pulsed with his orgasm and even that was proof that he cared. About her. About a possible child. Even as he lost control for her, he kept it, as well.

  She would never fear the alpha wolf again.

  Losing Ivan Romanov was her only concern.

  Chapter 11

  He navigated the Ether with ease, as did many of his kind. He loved the chill of it against his skin and the vacuum of its hunger as it tried to take his soul. Many said his family was addicted to its constant pull. After all, his ancestral home had been built on the very edge of the world where the veil was most thin, and, even when they weren’t traveling, the hunger of the void was a constant thrill they all experienced from infancy.

  Grigori never stayed long away from the rush. He had been the witchblood prince of the Dark Volkhvy since his conception, but he’d been free to come and go as he pleased. He pleased often. Living on the edge of the Ether was nothing compared to traveling through it from place to place all over the globe.

  As the son of the Dark Volkhvy king, it was fitting that he rose to prominence as the darkest, most Ether-influenced of all who had come before him. He was too busy taking to worry about the weaker witches who warned him to be careful. He had gloried in every depravity his power would allow until a Russian peasant woman had stood him down.

  She’d used love as power. And none of his travels had prepared him for the strength of the shield she bought for her daughter with her blood. Every moment since had felt diminished.

  Except the time he’d spent delivering his special promises in Elena Pavlova’s nightmares. More thrilling than challenging the Ether’s inexorable pull, his time with his swan soothed him. The visualization and manifestation of what he wanted to do to her when she was finally in his power had eased his impatience.

  She’d taken that away from him.

  Grigori paced the length of his quarters. His rooms had been built on the top floor of a complex that almost seemed to be a part of the cliff from which it jutted, an architectural masterpiece of steel and glass and stone. One entire wall of his loft-like space had been made of glass. It faced toward a canyon abyss that no human could have traversed. No human could have seen the shimmer of Ether either, though Grigori stared at it often. It bisected the canyon in a sheet of nearly imperceptible power. At times, when the light and weather provided the exact conditions, the Ether wavered like the northern lights before his rapt attention.

  The Ether’s vacuum was the greatest when it was most visible. He’d often been brought to his knees by the pleasure of its hunger. There were times when he’d imagined its hunger had somehow transferred itself to him.

  His hunger for Elena was as powerful as the Ether itself. He’d had no way to ease it for weeks. The connection that he’d established to her through her dreams had been severed.

  Only now had he discovered why.

  Grigori was tall and lean. His muscles wrapped around his bones in corded perfection. The dark power that continually coursed through him burned away all but what was necessary. He had to keep it at a fever pitch to fight the Ether’s pull, especially when he was at home. He looked like a devoted athlete. One addicted to Pilates and the ketosis craze.

  And right now his spare frame shook with fury.

  The witch who had brought him the message from Ivan Romanov was on his knees. His blood poured onto the polished marble floor, black puddles on white. Steam rose all around him. It proclaimed his weakness. If Grigori’s blood had spilled, it would have ignited into blue-tinged flames.

  Two Dark Volkhvy servants held Dominique by the arms. It wasn’t necessary. He had nowhere to go and no power left to take him there. But it was more convenient to Grigori to have him lifted and displayed rather than wilted on the ground. The better to lash out at him again and again. Dominique had failed the witchblood prince. He wouldn’t do so again.

  “She is protected,” he whimpered. “She doesn’t stand alone.”

  He had repeated the same phrase even after Grigori had reacted with slicing jolts of power that flayed the skin from his back and chest.

  Elena had taken a few lovers before. Grigori hadn’t cared. She’d still been his, night after night. His claim had been unchallenged by momentary pleasure taken with mortal men.

  But the Light Volkhvy’s dishonored champion was no mortal man.

  The name of Romanov was still spoken in hushed tones of anger and fear among the Dark Volkhvy. There was no creature capable of threatening a powerful witch...except the Romanov alpha wolf and his brothers. The rising of the Dark had occurred in direct correlation to the fall of the Romanov family. And Vasilisa, the Light Volkhvy queen, was too wrapped up in her vengeful punishment to care.

  “He still stands. Bronwal is defended. And Elena has sought shelter there to seek his help against you,” Dominique said.

  Grigori didn’t wait for his servants to act. He leaped forward and grabbed the bleeding witch. He used Dominique’s slashed and bloody body to push open the glass doors that led onto the platform outside. The observation deck had been built to take in the spectacular view. Its edges and its flooring were more glass than steel. Dominique began to scream long before Grigori easily hoisted his body over the rail. His rapidly falling form was soon a tiny speck, but the witchblood prince watched until it hit the Ether and winked out of sight.

  Eaten by Ether was too good for the worthless witch.

  But at least now Grigori knew.

  He’d been to the Bronwal Gathering often as a young man. The power expended to fuel the curse was an incredible lure even for Volkhvy who had power to spare. The Dark and the Light were drawn to the mountain every ten years for a decadent ball. What wasn’t to love? He’d even enjoyed the dangerous element of being close to the one being who could kill him. They all did. They bated the wolf, knowing full well the wolf was almost gone.

  He stands.

  Did he though? Did he stand with Elena? Or was he a broken creature barely holding out against the Ether’s pull?

  Grigori’s fury eased. His servants had backed away from him with their heads down and their hands grasped behind their backs. He might have thrown them to the Ether as well, but he didn’t. He now knew where to go to collect Elena Pavlova once the power of her mother’s blood ran out.

  Chapter 12

  She bathed by firelight. The water was pleasantly warm against her sensitive skin. This time, rose petals floated aro
und her. Romanov had closed the windows before he went to fetch the bath. He hadn’t reappeared, but servants carrying the tub and the pitchers and buckets had. They didn’t seem to mind the extra work she’d added to their nonroutine. In fact, more of them seemed to meet her eyes and speak to her and each other as they worked. Maybe their faculties improved the longer they were materialized. Maybe it helped to have something ordinary to do.

  Bell made an appearance. She brought rose water in one of Patrice’s vials. It sloshed fragrantly into the tub when she opened it and filled the room with its light scent.

  “Where is Patrice?” Elena asked. She had wrapped herself in a 1950s-style smoking jacket she’d found in the wardrobe. It was crafted of thick, quilted ebony velvet and it served very well as a modest bathrobe while servants came and went. She was no longer surprised by the evidence of the passage of time she found each time she opened a cabinet or drawer.

  “She’s around. Don’t worry. She isn’t going anywhere as long as she’s needed,” Bell said. “And we make sure she’s needed, don’t we?” Her hazel eyes flashed from the shadows of her ever-present cap. Elena had reached out to touch Bell’s arm and the other woman had responded by hugging her, as if the contact had startled but pleased her.

  “Some of us hold on. Some of us don’t. It gets harder every time,” Bell said into her hair. And then she ran out the door and down the stairs.

  Now, Elena bathed and tried to imagine what it was like to fight the Ether the rest of your days. The Ether must be like Grigori. Hungry. Always lurking. Eager to pull you away from the world and everyone you loved. She’d been startled by Bell’s sudden hug, but the other girl must crave human interaction from a person who wasn’t addled by Ether.