Barbara Hancock - Legendary Wolf

“Your mother’s evil enchantments are no longer my concern. I left the sword hidden in a deep ravine on a battlefield long ago when I abandoned my human form during the curse,” Soren said. “But if you haven’t noticed, I’m a man, not a wolf now, and your mother is no longer my queen.”

His voice was a threatening growl, low and angry. He looked ready to tear the forest apart rather than finish their conversation.

“I see you,” Anna said. This time her reply came out as a whisper. She couldn’t help it. She’d waited to see his human face for so long. It was torturous to see it now that she knew Volkhvy blood coursed through her veins. Soren didn’t trust witches. He certainly wouldn’t trust the daughter of Vasilisa. How could she blame him when she didn’t yet trust herself?

Her eyes tracked hungrily over his features. She couldn’t stop the perusal. Yes, she was a witch who, as yet, had no idea what that might mean for her future. Yes, he was angry and wild, a man with an enchanted wolf barely beneath the surface of his skin. But he was also beloved to her memories. She couldn’t help the desire to compare and contrast and seek whatever familiarity she could find.

His damp, dark lashes blinked beneath her appraisal as if he was startled by her penetrating stare. His eyes glowed golden as a stray sunbeam managed to find its way through the forest canopy over their heads. In spite of his anger and his bitter words, she wanted to brush his unkempt hair back from his angular face. She wanted to smooth his beard and mustache to reveal the sculpted lips she could barely see.

Her carefully controlled hands didn’t betray her desire with any movement whatsoever.

He was Soren, but he wasn’t her Soren. The reminder hurt, but not as much as forgetting would hurt. He wouldn’t want her touch. He wouldn’t lean into her glove-covered fingers. She should be glad of that. How could she trust herself to touch him, knowing the potential for power that pulsed beneath her skin? Because that potential for power also came with the potential for its abuse. She’d seen what her mother had done. She’d barely lived through it.

“You come here dressed like a Volkhvy princess. I well remember your mother’s preference for red silk before she turned to the mourning color of purple,” Soren said.

“Should I keep wearing mismatched rags like I wore before? I am a Volkhvy princess. I am a witch. I am Vasilisa’s daughter. There’s no point in denying the truth. Just as there’s no point in refusing my offer to help you retrieve the sword,” Anna replied. It hurt to say it out loud. That she was no longer human. That she’d never 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.