Legendary Beast

by Barbara J. Hancock

Lev stepped toward her. He was bleeding. His clothing was not only torn, but was also stained with his blood. Suddenly, he looked all too human. The white wolf seemed like nothing but a savage dream, one that they couldn’t count on to materialize and save them. For once, Madeline wasn’t as certain as she had been that the white wolf’s continued elusiveness was a good thing.

  If Lev shifted, the white wolf might not distinguish between witch and warrior. There was always the danger that he would shift into a savage beast that would tear them all apart. But with his human body injured and exhausted, if Lev didn’t shift, he might fall beneath the next wolf attack.

  Madeline fisted her hands. Trevor wasn’t with them. As for herself, she would gladly risk the white wolf in order to save the man.

  Lev had to be hurting, but his injuries didn’t stop him from scooping her into his arms. This time he held her tight against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but he supported her weight with no help from her at all. He didn’t look down at her face.

  “It’s too dark to travel,” Madeline warned, although the moonlight seemed brighter than usual, as if the night hovered in perpetual gloaming around them. “And you’re hurt,” she continued.

  “I can see,” Lev said. “And I’m used to the pain.”

  * * *

  He was closer to the shift than he’d been since he became human on the cliffs of Krajina. The night was no impediment. He could see a crystal-clear black-and-white world. The edges of the trees and their needles and budding leaves were sharp against the sky, as if they’d been cut from paper. The shadows receded and the path was clear. Every pebble beneath his feet was defined in spite of the absence of light.

  Madeline’s features were also starkly revealed to his near-wolf eyes.

  He had to look away.

  He couldn’t bear the sympathy and concern that furrowed her porcelain brow. Or the confusion she confessed to by the way she bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t remember. So why would she listen to a man she’d seen fight Ether-mad wolves with his bare hands? To her, he must seem nearly as mad himself, driven wild by his time as the white wolf.

  Only he knew it had been the wolf that had kept him sane.

  One way or another, the Ether was going to claim him, whether he sought its oblivion as the white wolf or as a man.

  He had found her. He would find Trevor. Then he would free them.

  From the Volkhvy threat and from himself.

  His booted feet pounded against the ground, but he didn’t feel the impact. His body responded to the demands placed upon it as it always had. His blood dried. His wounds knit. And the pain of the wolf bites was nothing compared to the pain he had lived with for years.

  He had failed to save his family when they needed him most. He could only save them now. Save them as a last act of defiance against the Dark before he gave himself to the hungry vacuum that had taken so much of him. He already felt as if he had a black hole of Ether where his heart should be. What did it matter if his body followed?

  Lev concentrated on the warmth of the woman in his arms. He liked that the sword pressed between her back and the crook of his arm was a reminder of her strength. He had watched her kill the witch. Like him, she’d used only muscle, blood and bone—no enchantment.

  He would go into the Dark to spare his family from the beast he’d become. Not the white wolf, but the perpetually tortured man. When he disappeared, he’d know that he was leaving a warrior behind to love and protect Trevor forever.

  Madeline didn’t need him or the enchanted gem. When she plunged the blade into the evil witch, her red hair had been highlighted by the moon’s rise. He’d almost allowed an attacking wolf to reach his throat because he’d been so startled by the vision of Madeline with an entirely natural scarlet aura.

  He held her close now, but in that moment he’d remembered hundreds of times when he’d seen his beautiful, powerful wife defeat a Dark foe. She was the ruby warrior. He could never again be the champion who deserved her love. He could only—finally—let her go.

  Chapter 15

  She’d thought Lev had run fast before. She’d been wrong; he’d given her a chance to hold on. This time, he had only himself to consider. She was safe in his arms, and his feet flew. Her body responded to the pace with a swooping stomach, and it seemed as if the breeze his speed caused got inside her head. Late-night terrain sped by in a gray blur. She had to focus on his bearded chin to keep the motion sickness away, but better his chin than the pounding pulse at the base of his throat.

  When she looked at that vulnerable spot, her fingers itched to press against it. The move would be far too intimate. Especially because it was driven by visions of the wolves he’d managed to knock away. She wanted to feel his pulse. Needed to confirm that he was alive and well. What if any of the wolves’ fangs had met that mark? There were deep grooves on either side of his neck. His shoulders were dark with dried blood. She tried to be careful with her hands so she wouldn’t disturb his wounds, even though she was fairly certain he would ignore the pain if she did.

  She didn’t need her memories to know she didn’t want Lev to die. She’d seen enough to know they could never be together. But she’d also felt enough to know she’d always regret the necessity of saying goodbye.

  He’d fought the wolves off with his bare hands. He’d promised to do the same if he had to with the marked Volkhvy. He’d been glorious in the moonlight. But he had also been completely wild. There were times when he was so driven by his rage that there was nothing civil left in the man.

  If his tale was true, the fault was all Queen Vasilisa’s. Madeline’s hands tightened on the hard muscles she held, but Lev didn’t flinch. He only sped on. Vasilisa had manipulated the Romanovs’ blood. She had enchanted their muscles and bones. She had created the Romanov shifters. Even Trevor would one day be both human and wolf. Volkhvy channeled the power of the Ether. The Light Volkhvy were careful and controlled...usually. Vasilisa had created her champions, and then she’d punished them unmercifully when she thought Vladimir Romanov had killed her only child. There had been no control in her curse. It had been a mother’s vengeance. Pure and terrible, but even more terrible because it had been based on a mistake.

  Madeline held on to Lev as he carried her closer and closer to the portal that would take them to Queen Vasilisa, and she remembered his words.

  Your “illness” was of her making, Madeline. Queen Vasilisa caused your enchanted sleep. It was part of the curse. She took you from your home and family. She stole everything from Trevor. She stole your past from you.

  If what Lev said was true, Madeline’s vengeance would be pure and terrible, too. She could feel a hot, hard knot of heavy anger in her chest. It was made of iron, but the iron glowed red, as if it had been heated over a forge.

  She had woken ready for battle but had found a confusing world she didn’t fully understand. Without memories to guide her, she was left with only instinct and desire. She’d automatically trusted her queen, but how much of that had been inspired by Vasilisa’s Volkhvy abilities to manipulate her? Hadn’t she felt the queen’s cool touch in her mind, soothing and calming? What if Lev was right, and the Light Volkhvy queen wasn’t so Light after all?

  Since she’d found Lev in the tower, instinct and desire had drawn her closer and closer to him. How could she trust a story that claimed her heart and imagination with its poignancy? She couldn’t even trust her deepest drives now, because they all led her straight into Lev’s arms.

  She could only hold on and try to remember. She could only prepare herself to fight, and hope when it was time for battle, she would know which was her enemy—the witch or the wolf.

  * * *

  Aleksandr was finally ready to face Queen Vasilisa. He could feel the black power of the Ether pulsing inside him. His veins bulged with it. They gleamed darkly in a visible network of lines that branched infinitely to cover his entire body, barely contained beneath his skin. He was covered like
a tattooed man, except his art was on the inside, drawn by the Ether when he’d welcomed it into his soul.

  Walking was difficult, he had to admit. Every step seemed just shy of falling into a hole he could feel but not see. The vacuum was painful, but the feedback of energy was orgasmic. The pleasure helped him endure the fear of falling. The euphoric pulse of Ether in his blood turned the fear into exhilaration.

  What was a witchblood prince by birth when compared to one who had claimed his place with strategy and daring?

  Gregori and his family had been complacent fools. Spoiled royals who hadn’t deserved the place of honor the Darkness had allowed them. A true king must win his throne. Aleksandr would never suffer the fate of Gregori. He wasn’t spoiled and complacent. He’d worked hard to rise in the ranks of the Light Volkhvy. And now he’d worked hard to lead his followers in an uprising against Vasilisa that would succeed.

  Ether was a tool.

  Only a tool.

  Once he had defeated the white wolf and prevented him from reclaiming his mate, he would also destroy the other Romanov wolves and their mates. He would decimate the entire Romanov clan. Then he would release the Ether energy he’d absorbed.

  He would be the only king and champion the world needed.

  But he might allow Vasilisa and her former warriors to live, if they agreed to serve him well.

  When he laughed, he could feel the Ether energy bubble up like a thick liquid in his throat. The marked witch beside him startled at the gurgling sounds and shied away. It did take some getting used to—his appearance, his power and the Dark sounds his body made.

  Not everyone could handle the transformation the way a witch meant to be king could. Aleksandr had always had to suffer fools and weaklings. The witch beside him was making silly noises of continuous distress as they continued down the hall. Aleksandr ignored the whimpers of his follower. He was intent on his prize—the throne—and Vasilisa’s warriors on their knees. He added to those visions the picture of an entire family of wolves’ heads on display. Vasilisa had doomed the Romanovs when she favored them.

  But surely the Romanovs had known that truth for a very long time.

  Chapter 16

  She and Lev had met every morning and every evening for weeks. Only on rare occasions did he touch her again, but always with fingers that shook as if he strained to remain distant and gentle. If the attraction he felt for her throbbed inside him the same way hers for him did, then his control was legendary.

  Madeline ached.

  And she worked all her frustrations out onto the tapestry with needle and thread.

  On those rare occasions when Lev brushed her hair back from her face, or reached for her hand to steady her on a stair, she sewed into the wee hours of the morning as she burned on the inside.

  The tapestry was almost finished, and he had yet to kiss her. She’d had to remain dissatisfied with merely the heat of his gaze on her mouth. She could only imagine what it would be like to suckle the full swell of his sensual lower lip between hers.

  The worst times were when he was summoned to the battlefield and she was left to walk alone. Once, he’d come to her as the white wolf before leaving. She hadn’t been afraid. Not really. She’d trembled because of the extreme display of his power. It was the first time she’d reached for him. Madeline had looked up at the giant wolf looming over her, and she’d raised her hand to his snout. The white wolf had allowed her to cup his ferocious jaw. He’d held himself still while she smoothed her hand down his neck to his barrel chest. She’d pressed her palm into his fur until she found his mighty heartbeat.

  Only then had she truly understood the forces at work in their lives.

  “Come back to me,” she’d said. But her voice had startled the massive creature and he’d whirled away from her touch. She’d watched him run from Bronwal toward a fight with the Dark Volkhvy.

  Her time with Lev Romanov was precious. Her longing for his kiss grew supreme.

  The next time she saw him, Madeline didn’t wait for his touch. It was only the second time he’d come to her inside the castle. He’d returned from battle to find her in a drawing room sewing by the fire. Her tapestry was almost complete. It was held stretched by a large wooden hoop she could move from section to section on the large work of art. She was currently working on the hilt of the sword in her fingers. She’d never held anything but toy blades, clumsy wooden practice swords made for young boys. Yet she knew how each finger made of thread should be placed.

  Lev came into the room. He’d seen the tapestry once before. They hadn’t spoken of what it meant. Or how it revealed the Call of the sword that throbbed in her breast. But this time, when he approached the fireplace near where she sat, Madeline stood, allowing the hoop to slide off her lap to the floor.

  “I want to run with you,” Madeline said. “Into battle. Into our future together.”

  “I know,” Lev replied. He stopped only when her body prevented him from pressing closer, but his hands were at his sides. He pulsed with energy and hunger and desire, but he waited as the white wolf had waited—for her touch. His fists were clenched. His jaw was hardened. Only the fact that he had come looking for her and his slightly parted lips revealed his desire.

  Madeline reached up to grasp the back of Lev’s head. He gasped at the first brush of her fingers beneath his hair. She burrowed them intimately against his warm skin and held his strong neck beneath her palms. Their eyes met, and she saw the white wolf in his, contained. She appreciated his control. He’d allowed her innocence the time to give way beneath her longing to be free. Free with him. Free to taste and touch.

  Madeline pulled his face down to hers, and he followed her urging like a drowning man diving into a refreshing pool. When their lips met and merged, Madeline cried his name into his mouth. Only with that obvious sign of her arousal did he hungrily take what she offered. And he did it so ferociously that Madeline’s knees gave out and Lev’s strong arms coming around her were the only thing that kept her on her feet.

  Lev’s tongue plunged against hers. Rough, moist velvet twisted and twined in a dance that caused her heart to race as fast as the white wolf could run.

  Their first kiss caused the ruby’s glow to shine from their eyes, and the sitting room was lit more brightly than the fire by enchanted light.

  * * *

  Madeline had slept for so long encased in a crystal coffin on the island of Krajina. This wasn’t like that. Birdsong echoed in her ears. Warm sun caressed her cheek. And the sharp, sweet scent of flowers filled her nose. Not the cloyingly sweet scent of roses from Vasilisa’s garden. But a scent both fresher and more familiar.

  Yet what could be more familiar than the scent of a garden in which you’d spent over a thousand years?

  Madeline opened her eyes and then closed them right away when a bright blue sky dazzled above her and caused moisture to well up. She sat and blinked the tears away as she opened her eyes again. This time, instead of a prismatic fantasy world glimpsed through salty water, Madeline saw the sloped curve of a mountainside. The slope was awash in a deep violet color that appeared almost crimson by the light of the setting sun.

  Spring blossoms painted an entire field of wildflower bushes. The woody stems of the bushes clung hardily to the uneven craggy terrain, and their dark green leaves trembled in the breeze.

  “We’re almost there. I wasn’t sure if you’d passed out or if you were only sleeping. I thought I’d better stop for water to make sure it was the latter,” Lev said.

  “You don’t like when I sleep,” Madeline said. She didn’t know how she knew it. Maybe it was in the tightness of his face. Maybe even several feet away, she could still see the pulse in his throat.

  “Every time you open your eyes it’s miraculous,” Lev said. “Like I’m waking from a nightmare.”

  Madeline took the water he offered. She didn’t ask where he’d found the dented container he held out to her. It was a strange cylinder of metal she’d seen before, on Kra
jina and the train, but instead of being filled with a sweet, sparkling beverage called a “soda,” the empty can had been rinsed out and filled with fresh, cold liquid from a nearby stream.

  “Even Vasilisa’s enchantments couldn’t keep humans and their trash completely away,” Lev said.

  She drained every drop, ignoring that much of the liquid spilled from holes in the container to dribble onto her cheeks as she drank.

  But once her thirst was quenched, she noticed the scent of the flowers again. And then she knew.

  She’d been on this mountainside surrounded by these wildflowers before.

  The empty container fell from her fingers as Madeline reached for the nearest bush. She plucked a blossom from it and brought the petals to her nose, then stood as a rush of recognition flowed over her. This place was a memory. She whirled around to share her discovery with her companion, but he already knew.

  Because he’d been here with her.

  They’d been here together.

  It wasn’t only the wildflowers she remembered.

  He must have washed in the stream. He was wet. His hair dripped into his eyes and his bloody, shredded shirt was gone. Cleansed, his injuries didn’t look as bad as they had the night before. He healed quicker than an ordinary man. She didn’t just intuit that knowledge; she remembered it. Her mind flooded with images of times when Lev had been hurt and she’d seen him heal. The memories were indistinct and foggy. But they were there.

  Other memories were clearer. Probably because they were inspired and rooted in the place where they stood.

  His taste. His touch. Their bodies entwined. She’d inhaled the scent of the flowers deep into her lungs, making their sweetness a part of her, as she’d found an orgasmic release beneath him.

  She remembered.

  Lev’s eyes darkened in the sunset’s glow. He remembered, too. Had he laid her here in the hope that the memory might come back to her?