Legendary Wolf. Barbara J. Hancock
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been human. How long would it take for her to get used to being a witch? His rejection hurt all the more because she couldn’t walk away from herself. She was stuck with what she’d become, come what may. Her mother had danced with the Darkness when she’d thought she’d lost her child. Who was to say that Anna would do better if she was ever challenged in the same way?
“The emerald sword was forged by an evil queen for her champions. I’m no longer her champion, therefore, I don’t give a damn about the sword,” Soren said. “Let them have it.”
He edged closer as he spoke, and Anna’s pulse sped up, giving lie to the idea that her heart was ruined and unable to pound. Her back came up against the tree trunk again, even though she hadn’t meant to move.
She watched his eyes widen slightly. Either he was surprised by her sudden retreat or he was taking in the change of perspective. When he was in his wolf form, he was much larger than a natural wolf. The red wolf had come to her chest in height so she leaned over him to speak and he pointed his nose to the sky in order to meet her eyes.
As a man, he dwarfed her in height and breadth.
The difference was stunning.
He loomed large and intimidating, but also...something more. Her reaction wasn’t entirely one of shock. There was a more pleasurable thrill pulsing beneath her skin, as well.
Attraction.
Her retreat had been spurred in part because she wanted to step forward to meet his advance and she knew she shouldn’t. He wouldn’t welcome her. And she had to maintain control of the powers she didn’t trust. The nearer she came to him, the less control she had...in all things.
He was so close now. Only inches away. When she inhaled, a woodsy scent rose from his skin warmed by his body heat into something more human and masculine than spruce, fresh air and autumn leaves. She’d been angry at the red wolf’s rejection. In part because she had no way to reject herself. Her reaction to his human form was much more complicated.
She reached to hold the tree at her back, one hand on either side of her hips.
Her mother had begun the process of teaching her how to channel and control the power that Volkhvy drew from the atmosphere of the invisible Ether that surrounded them all. She was a novice. Her mother had already been a queen when she’d lost control and fomented a curse that plagued the Romanovs and, inadvertently, her own daughter for centuries.
The tightness in Anna’s chest was magnified as Soren paused and his amber gaze tracked over her features. He had tilted his head closely over hers and his hair fell on either side of her face, a russet curtain against the darker surroundings. She held her breath rather than trying to force air into her stubborn lungs.
And, heaven help her, she closed her eyes.
Even curse tempered, her bravery had its limits.
“You are a stranger to me,” Soren said softly. “One I do not wish to know.”
Perhaps she could blame the sword’s Call to the power in her blood for her attraction to this man who obviously despised her. Or perhaps not. The years that had passed didn’t prevent her from remembering the way she’d felt about him when she’d been a girl. He’d been boyishly handsome then and princely to her Cinderella.
Now he was hardened and scarred and angry.
And, still, she yearned.
Her eyelids opened. She couldn’t hide from this meeting by closing her eyes. His gaze locked onto hers and she was caught by the swirl of emotions behind the golden brown.
If there was only anger and distrust left between them, why did she want to touch his frowning face?
“If you care about your family, then you have to care about the sword. The Dark Volkhvy will use it against Bronwal if they have it long enough for one of them to discover how to connect with its power. Ivan and Elena and all the Romanov people will be endangered by a Dark witch connected to the emerald sword,” Anna said. Her lips moved to persuade him of desperate practicalities, but she held the rest of herself still beneath his harsh stare. It was far worse than she’d expected to stand nearly toe-to-toe with him. He despised Volkhvy. She didn’t trust her own blood or the connection the sword tried to forge between them. And yet, her desire to reach out to him wasn’t quelled.
“Why do you care? About any of us?” Soren asked. “Bell is gone. She died with the breaking of the curse and you’ve been reborn as someone we hate.” The growl was still in his voice, but it was accompanied by a new emotion he’d hidden until now. She recognized grief. He mourned for who she had been as if she’d died. As if Bell and Anna weren’t the same person.
The idea that she was dead to him was worse than rejection. She felt more abandoned to her Volkhvy blood and adrift in its power than before. For the first time since he’d stepped out of the woods, an ember of anger rekindled beneath her breast.
“My blood doesn’t negate who I was before,” Anna said. Although she wondered. She’d wondered from the moment her parentage had been revealed. “Of course I care...about Bronwal and all the people in it.” Not about him in particular. Not anymore. It wasn’t wise and it wasn’t safe. It wasn’t controlled, and she wouldn’t allow it.
“Witches only care for themselves. Your mother manipulated our genes with magic before we were born. She made us monsters and then she cursed us when our father proved too monstrous for her to handle. You can’t expect me to trust her daughter,” Soren said.
He whirled away as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. He paced several steps in the direction from which they’d come, but then he stopped in the middle of the path. His hair fell down his back in tangled waves. It created a halo around his head where the sunbeams fell. His clothes were still the mismatched, poorly mended type of garments that denizens of Bronwal had pieced together during the curse. He wore scuffed leather breeches and a long woolen cloak. His boots had seen better days.
There was something about his manly size and shape paired with the poor quality of his clothing that made her tight chest ache. His castle was on the mend, but he, himself, was still in the midst of the curse. It had been broken. But it didn’t matter. Lev was still a feral wolf. She was the daughter of his worst enemy. Soren’s nightmare wasn’t over.
“You don’t have to trust me. I’m not here to gain your trust,” Anna said. She couldn’t protect her secret and help him at the same time. Self-preservation and pride gave way, because her pain mattered less than keeping the people of Bronwal safe. “I’m here because the emerald sword Calls to me, Soren. Vasilisa sent me to help you find it.”
Soren’s entire body stiffened. It was as if his spine turned to steel as she watched him harden from his head to his shoes. She waited as he slowly turned back around. It seemed to take an eternity. Her breath caught in her throat as she both dreaded and anticipated seeing his face again.
No. No. No. No. No.
“No,” he said. His eyes met hers, and his amber irises no longer needed the sunbeam. They blazed with his emotion alone. “No.”
His words still sliced through her, even though they only echoed her own rejection of the sword’s Call.
“There’s nothing I can do to change it. I tried to ignore its Call. The enchantment is too strong. It can’t be ignored. My destiny and yours were forged into its blade and burned into the heart of the emerald in its hilt,” Anna said. “The two of us have to work together to prevent the Dark Volkhvy from using the emerald sword’s power to hurt the people of Bronwal. Only we can stop them. We have to prevent the emergence of a new Dark prince.”
“Or princess,” Soren added.
Her cheeks were heated. She could feel the flush flaming there against the cool morning mist. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, but she saw no other way to convince him that he needed her. He couldn’t ignore the enchantment without exposing his family and his people to further