Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology

by Michelle Diener

  She waited and waited, but he didn't appear, and even when she sent her magic out questing for him, she found no bears at all. Perhaps he'd gone down to the river to catch some fish, for he was most skilled at that, if her Yule gift was anything to go by.

  She'd never seen a bear fish. It would surely be fun to watch.

  So Rossa left the pigeons in the cave and set out for the river. She found the river easily enough, but still she didn't see a bear. Rossa had hunted all her life, but she'd never bothered to catch fish, so she hadn't the slightest idea where a good fishing spot might be. She followed the river upstream a way, until the banks grew too high and impassable, before heading down, toward the lake. The river grew deeper as streams joined it, widening as the banks became easier to traverse.

  She fancied she heard a cry for help, then dismissed it.

  Wait, there it was again.

  She barrelled along the river bank, praying she'd be in time.

  Then stopped and swore when she realised it was the beggar boy. This time, he was chest deep in the river, howling as something pulled him under, before he popped back up again, coughing and spluttering, before calling for help.

  She knew she'd sworn not to help him, after the last time, but she could hardly leave a boy to drown, no matter how ungrateful he was. Swearing, she stripped off her cloak and boots and waded into the water. It only came to her waist, but she was numb within moments – the boy was surely freezing. It was a wonder he was even alive.

  It wasn't until she stood beside him that she saw the problem. A monster of a fish, easily twice as long as she was tall, had taken hold of his belt, and wasn't letting go. Every time it gave a mighty tug, the boy slipped under the surface, and had to fight his way up for another breath before the beast dragged him under again.

  She tried to unfasten his belt, but it had swollen in the water, and her numb fingers could scarcely feel the belt, let alone work the knot free. Rossa pulled out her knife, and began sawing at the boy's belt. He was too busy fighting to breathe to notice, until she managed to cut through the belt and it floated free, dragged away in the maw of the monstrous fish.

  Only then did the boy look down and let out a wail: "You horrible witch! Now I have no belt to stop my tunic flapping in the wind…and you lost me my dinner! That fish would have fed me for a month!"

  He spat in the water, then struggled to shore. When he climbed up the bank, he stopped long enough to make a rude gesture in her direction.

  Rossa barely noticed, for the riverbed was slippery, and she struggled against the current on her numb feet. More than once, she slipped and landed face-first in the water, so she was soaking wet from head to toe by the time she reached the bank.

  Only then did she realise that her cloak was gone – likely taken by the beggar boy turned thief, who was now nowhere to be seen.

  Swearing and shivering, she did the only thing she could – head back to the bear's cave, to light a fire and hope it would be enough to warm her up and dry her wet clothes.

  Chapter 33

  He heard her voice on the wind, and he thought he'd imagined it at first. But when he heard her call his name, he listened in earnest.

  "So cold, Snow. So cold in the cave…"

  He didn't think – he just reacted, breaking into a run, then a gallop, as four paws were faster than two.

  He didn't stop until he reached the clearing.

  Only then did he realise he'd been tricked, because it wasn't Rossa he saw, but Igor, holding the sack of treasures.

  The last rays of the sun glinted on the squire's dagger as he raised it, a mad grin on his face. "Now, all I need is your head and I'll be free!"

  The boy berserker charged at him, slashing wildly.

  For the first time in Boris's life, he let rage wash over him, until he felt almost as reckless as a berserker, too. How dare this boy try to trick him with Rossa's voice, that she was in danger. And stealing the crown jewels from him?

  No. Boris was done running. This ended here and now.

  He rose up to his full height. His first swipe sent the dagger spinning into the pond, to vanish beneath the icy waters. His second ripped out the boy's throat.

  Gasping and choking, clutching at the bloody remains of his neck, the boy went down.

  Boris dipped his paw in the pool to wash off the blood, before snatching up the sack of treasures to take it back to his cave.

  Only then did he hear her voice again: "So cold, Snow…"

  She was here.

  Lying on her side in the cave, her clothes soaking wet, curled up and shivering in front of his empty fire pit.

  She blinked and managed a weary smile. "Snow…"

  He wished he could ask her what had happened. How she'd ended up all wet, without a cloak, out here in the forest.

  Once again, she seemed to read his mind. "So…silly. A boy…pulled into the river…"

  Igor had done this to her. Boris would have his head for this.

  He pointed at the few sticks left in the woodpile, then outside, in an effort to tell her he was getting wood for the fire to help her get warm.

  Rossa nodded.

  Boris had never gathered wood so fast in his life. He pulverised two dead trees, then brought them, piece by piece, into the cave. He laid a fire in the fire pit, then looked for his flint. Had the boy stolen that, too?

  Wishing he could curse aloud, Boris didn't know what to do. He had to get her warm, and without a fire…

  Hesitantly, he lifted her in his arms, cradling her to his chest as he tried to wrap as much of his fur around her as possible.

  "Why did you let the fire go out, Snow?" she asked sleepily.

  She was too cold. If she slept…she might never wake.

  Boris took her hand and stretched it toward the fire. He'd seen her throw balls of magic – could she do the same thing with fire?

  "Silly bear," she said, then bit her lip. Fire spurted from her fingers, snaking around the branches in the firepit until they burst into flame.

  Boris added more wood, willing it to burn.

  "Cold. So cold and…draughty." She did something with her hands, and a small sphere appeared, growing larger. It passed through him with barely a tingle, and still it grew until it pushed against the cave walls. "Shield. Warm and…safe," she said. She nuzzled against his chest.

  Boris didn't dare move. He just held her, and watched the flames, as her breathing grew even and the cold cave started to grow comfortably warm.

  He'd give almost anything to be a man again. To hold Rossa in his arms, just the two of them…

  When he was certain she was asleep, he leaned back, and tried to get some sleep of his own.

  Because to sleep was to dream, and in his dreams he could kiss her as he held her, caress her with hands instead of claws, and she looked at him as a woman does a man, instead of a beast who deserved this fate, because he'd let his family die.

  Chapter 34

  Somewhere in that foggy limbo between waking and sleep, she dreamed Snow returned, his warm arms encircling her as they had on Christmas Eve, his fur so soft she wanted nothing more than to stroke it, stroke him, all night.

  She knew she'd slipped into a dream when he began to stroke her, too, and kiss her, but she didn't want to open her eyes, for that would end the dream. He peeled off her wet clothes, so that she was naked in his arms, but he didn't stop stroking, didn't stop kissing, leaving fire trails across her skin where he touched her, even with the warm, soft fur at her back telling her this was only a dream.

  And then he placed the softest kiss on her thigh, higher than anyone else had ever touched, and her eyes flew open in surprise.

  A white head sat between her thighs, her legs lifted over his shoulders, and then he kissed her again, higher still, before his fingers stroked her and she cried out, "Snow!"

  He lifted his head and grinned at her, those same eyes in a human face, beneath hair so fair she'd thought it was white. "My sweet, sweet Rose. My true name is Boris
, and you don't know how long I've dreamed of hearing your voice say it." His fingers stroked her again, slipping inside her.

  A white bearskin cloak lay beneath her, as the man who'd worn it did the most delicious things with his hands and his tongue. She wanted this, more than anything she'd ever wanted in her life.

  She wet her lips. "Boris." A spark of something shot deep inside her from where he touched her, setting her nerves afire, and she arched her back in pleasure. "Oh, Boris! My prince."

  Dark soulful eyes regarded her, as his fingers never stopped moving, accompanied by the occasional kiss. Pleasure built and built, until it overflowed in an explosion of light.

  "You don't know how long I've dreamed of you, like this," he said, his fingers already stroking her again.

  Rossa did not want to admit it, but she'd dreamed of him, too, though she'd never been able to see his face. Now…

  She tangled her hands in his hair – human hair, not fur – and dared to ask, "Was it this good in your dreams?"

  He laughed softly, kissing her thigh again. "Nothing could compare to the wonder that is you, right here and now."

  And as she screamed his name, she found herself without the breath to tell him she felt the same. But from the look in his eyes, she suspected he knew.

  Chapter 35

  When the ache in his own loins proved almost too much to bear, Boris had to force himself to release her. If he pleasured her any more, he'd surely surrender to his own desires, and Rossa was a maiden still. Though whoever she married would be a very lucky man indeed.

  He reached for her tunic. "This should be dry enough to wear now." He didn't dare meet her eyes as he handed it over. Couldn't even bring himself to watch her dress, though the image of her naked body, writhing with pleasure, would be one of his most treasured memories.

  Rossa dressed silently, while he busied himself stoking the fire. He didn't want her getting cold again. He had to tell her, could not waste this opportunity when he had no idea how long he'd remain a man. The last time he'd been himself was the day Vica and Lida died.

  "I was once a prince. My father's favourite son, though I had many brothers and sisters, and when he grew too old to defend our borders, he sent me out at the head of our army instead to fight back the raiders who invaded our villages. Then my father died, and my brother…"

  He told her everything. How Vica and Lida had died, the potion he'd drunk, before taking the crown jewels. How he'd woken up in a cave, chased by the squire who'd betrayed him…

  "I don't deserve any of what I lost, not any more. My family, the throne…even the crown now gathering dust in that bag of things. But I am a man, if only for a night, and I dream of what I do not deserve. A beautiful lady, who permitted me to save her, if only a little, and to love her, as much as I am able, but I am…nothing now. A usurper sits upon the throne that should have been mine, and instead of seeking vengeance for my family, for my father, I fled with the crown jewels, becoming the beast you called Snow. And though I might look like a man now, I am a beast still."

  She frowned, then laid her hand on his arm and closed her eyes. Magic tingled at her touch, or maybe it was just because it was her, and then it was gone.

  "The spell is still there. I feel it. I…" Her cheeks reddened, and she withdrew her hand.

  Ah, she felt guilt for the intimacy they'd shared. Boris knew he should feel it, too, but if anything, he was already damned, so steeped in guilt he barely felt it any more.

  "Forgive me. It was my passion, the heat of it that overwhelmed us both. The fault is mine," he said. If he could take her sins from her, he would. Heaven knew a few more wouldn't hurt him.

  "No, it's…all through your tale, you kept talking about your squire. The squire who is always watching you, hunting you. Did he see us…?" Her cheeks flamed as red as her name.

  Boris shook his head. "No, he could not have seen us. Here, I'll show you." He held out his hand to help her to his feet, then wrapped his white bear skin cloak about her shoulders. He could not allow her to catch a chill. Only when she was properly dressed for the cold did he lead the way outside.

  The moon sat high in the sky, casting its light down on the traitorous squire. The body lay beside the pool, but some night-time scavenger had dragged the boy's head several yards away, almost into the bushes.

  "He will not bother you again," Boris tried to say, but no words came out. The only sound he could make was a growl.

  He'd turned back into a bear.

  Rossa stared in horror, her eyes darting from him to Igor and back to Igor again. "You did this? Slaughtered a starving boy I risked my life to save? He was a child – just a child! How could you, Boris? I trusted you – let you into my home, when all the while it was only a matter of time before you killed someone? You're wrong, you know. You're not a beast. A mindless beast, a creature of instinct, only kills for food, for survival. This…is the work of a monster, with the mind of a man. A monster who is not welcome in my mother's lands. If you are still here on the morrow, I give you fair warning, I will hunt you down and slaughter you like the monster you are. And then I will burn your body, for you do not even deserve a decent burial. Goodbye, Boris."

  She turned on her heel and marched off into the dark night.

  Boris raised a paw, wishing he could beg her to come back, but he no longer had the words. Even if he were a man again, he suspected there were no words he could say that would make her forgive him for what he had done. Even if he'd done it for her.

  He wished he could weep, for what he had lost tonight. He'd touched heaven, only to be thrown into the pit for it. But even tears were denied him. It was what he deserved.

  Chapter 36

  When Rossa woke the next morning, she was still simmering over the prince. He didn't even deserve a name, for he was no one to her. That she'd very nearly given him her maidenhead last night…was a kind of foolishness she didn't dare contemplate now in the light of the morning.

  He was a monster who deserved to die. And, without her father here to dispatch him, she would do the deed. With relish.

  Thick, woollen hose encased her legs, rough against her skin, in contrast to his soft caresses. A thick linen tunic, topped by one of wool, before she buckled a leather breastplate over the breasts she'd let him kiss last night. Never again.

  Her warmest cloak had vanished from the riverbank yesterday, likely stolen by the boy he'd slaughtered, but in its place hung a far superior one in unblemished, snowy white. She reached out to stroke the fur – as soft as she remembered it last night, for he'd laid her down upon it before making love to her. As a man, and not a bear, yet he'd been a bear again in the clearing with the body, so this fur had not been taken from him.

  Maybe she should skin his corpse, and make a cloak from it, if only to remind herself of how close she'd come to disaster…

  Or keep this one, so finely made, with fur on one side and thick lambswool on the other, for it would remind her of last night as well.

  She would wear it while she hunted him, and while she killed him, so that she would remember his end as well as why he deserved it, she told herself, as she fastened the fur with the ruby brooch he'd given her on the day they first met.

  The thick leather belt she slung around her hips would not cut as easily as the one she'd sliced off that poor beggar boy…was it only yesterday? Better for him to have drowned than the violent end he'd met at the end of Boris's claws.

  Bloody bear. She'd seen him kill, but she'd wilfully forgotten how brutal he could be when he was with her. When he'd sat at her hearth, in her home. All so he could lull her into a false sense of security so…what? He could seduce her? She'd been so stupid…

  But she'd found wisdom at last, even if it was too late for that boy. It was a lesson the bear would pay for with his lifeblood, she swore.

  She pulled on her heavy boots, so that he would hear her coming and know he could not avoid her. That she would bring him down, place her boot on his neck, and list his
crimes before delivering his death blow. Justice.

  Her sword and her bow she left behind. If she found she needed them, magic would take the place of blade or arrow. She was a witch, born of a line of powerful magic users who were more than a match for any monster, magical or otherwise.

  She dragged a comb through her hair, braiding it back tightly before coiling it on the back of her head. There would be no free curls for him to wrap around his finger as he kissed her, looking for all the world like he loved her, telling her she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen…

  Enough! She screamed it silently at herself, for the traitorous thoughts invading her own head. Yes, the prince had made a tolerable lover for a night. That didn't change the fact that he was a murderer, and that he deserved to die.

  She marched down the spiral stair, ignoring the grumble of her belly as the aroma of baking bread wafted up from the kitchens. She could break her fast when the deed was done, and not before. Lest she vomit up her breakfast on the snow, beside the bear's severed head.

  Out the side door, through the gates, out to the…

  Oh.

  Outside the castle gate stood the monstrous white bear, carrying the corpse, the boy's head cradled in its lap.

  He threw the body at her feet, then knelt down beside it to seize the head. He set it on top of the corpse's neck, as if the body were a puzzle that would come back to life, if he but pieced it together correctly.

  "Have you come to turn yourself in? To confess your crime, so that my mother's guards will execute you, instead of me?" she demanded. Her heart ached as she hardened it against him, but she had no choice. She would not let him kill anyone else.

  The bear shook its head violently, pointing at the corpse.