Legendary Wolf

by Barbara J. Hancock

  The red wolf had growled at her when she’d reached for him. The emerald gown might as well have been rags. Afterward, she’d retreated to her aviary and ripped the beautiful dress from her body, as if its color was a confession she was no longer brave enough to make.

  No. She wouldn’t wear green tonight. In fact, after tonight, she would get rid of everything green that she owned. With a decisive flourish, Anna scooped up the green dresses and dropped them all onto a chair in the corner of her room. Then she turned back to the closet and riffled through its contents herself. She might be a princess, but she wasn’t used to being waited on. During the last decades of the curse, she’d been little more than a servant herself.

  She was glad she hadn’t summoned help when she dug to the back of the closet and found a long, sleek dress crafted from layers of silk. The dress looked black until she pulled it into the light of the setting sun.

  The orange glow of the sunset caused the dress to burst into iridescent shades of flame. The dark red silk had been dyed with an artistic touch that created multifaceted shimmers of color with movement and light—from nearly black to scarlet.

  It reminded her of Volkhvy blood.

  Wearing it would be an obvious statement of who and what she was, but it would also be bold in other ways. The thin, clinging fabric would hug her curves. The delicate shoulder straps and the deep V of its plunging neckline would claim her newfound sensuality.

  Anna pulled the dress over her head. The closet was scented with sachets. The fabric held the faintest hint of rose petals in its silken layers. Once it settled on her curves, Anna had to reevaluate its origins. Vasilisa had a slim build compared to her daughter.

  The dress seemed made for Anna’s figure.

  Only a little rearranging of the silk was required for the bodice to settle over her lace bra and panties. In the mirror, her legs flashed pale and smooth from the thigh-high slits in the dress that parted when she walked. Her skin was framed by silk that was ebony from this angle and scarlet from the other.

  She had been the belle of the ball for only seconds on that night six months ago when her world had crumbled around her. Tonight, she would be Anna, the Light Volkhvy princess. She would be the witch who was trying to rebuild her world without the red wolf in it.

  She dressed for Soren Romanov again, but this time, she also dressed for herself.

  * * *

  Ivan had planned to destroy the mirror. Soren was probably trapped on the island until Anna was well enough to leave. He hadn’t tested that theory. He’d visited the mirror’s exit point on every circuit he’d run of the island, but he hadn’t tried to use it. He straightened his cuff links and rolled his broad, muscled shoulders beneath the thin white poplin of his formal shirt. He wasn’t used to these modern clothes—strange fabrics and fasteners caused everything to take longer—and he was out of practice with clothing as it was.

  He was well aware that deciding he was trapped wasn’t the same as actually being trapped. He dressed for dinner all the same.

  One of the Volkhvy servants had taken pity on his fumbling and helped him with his necktie and cuff links. Most of the Volkhvy in the palace had avoided him since he arrived. Either they sensed he didn’t trust them or they didn’t trust him. He’d managed the buttons and zippers himself, including the ones on the backs of his heels, which tightened his short black leather boots on his feet. He’d worn rags for so long. His clothes had been threadbare. His boots had been rough and faded. And that was before he had worn nothing but his wolf’s pelt.

  He had to admit he liked the sharp angles of the pointed toes as the shiny boots jutted out from the lean legs of his tailored pants. The black trousers conformed to the muscles of his legs almost like the leather leggings from a much earlier age. But his dinner outfit was much more lightweight than anything he’d worn before. Even after he’d added the fitted jacket over the translucent material of the shirt, he felt almost as naked as he’d felt in the stolen banner.

  Of course, that was probably due to the haircut more than the clothes.

  He rubbed his hand over his practically bare jaw and chin. The razor had left a trim shadow of his former beard on his face, but that was all. His reflection startled with a view of the lower half of his face he hadn’t seen in a very long time. He ran his fingers over his lips but stopped when the calloused pads of his fingers made him recall the softer sensation of Anna’s mouth.

  The same servant who had helped him with his tie had cut his hair. It flopped over his forehead now with a thick bang he pushed back in a move that had become a habit an hour ago. Elsewhere, his long curls had been buzzed down almost to the skin. His neck was cold, but he had to admit his appearance was more civilized.

  He also looked younger.

  The face that stared back at him from the glass would have been more familiar to him if it hadn’t been so long since he’d seen it.

  What would Anna think?

  It bothered him that he thought about her as he dressed. Her thoughts on his appearance shouldn’t matter. And yet, he’d placed himself under the razor and the scissors for her. He had to admit it. He certainly didn’t care what Vasilisa or all her Volkhvy horde would think of him as he sat down to dine with his enemies. The palace was a sparkling showplace of fine architecture and luxurious amenities.

  It was no place for a wolf.

  If not for Anna, he would have dribbled soup in his wild beard and worn his typical forest-scented garb to the table.

  When Vasilisa’s dinner invitation had been delivered, he’d wanted to close his bedroom door in the servant’s face. But he hadn’t. Yes, Vasilisa was an evil queen. She was also Anna’s mother. He had to work with Anna until the emerald sword could be found and destroyed.

  He might as well dress for dinner.

  He’d attended many formal functions as one of the Romanov sons. He could remember them, vaguely, like some sort of distant dream. Clearer in his memories were the times he’d patrolled countless Volkhvy Gatherings as the red wolf. He remembered the many times he’d stolen sweetmeats and cakes for Anna when she’d been Bell and hiding in her aviary rather than dancing with witches.

  He’d taken her the choicest treats and best bites.

  Tonight, he would sit with her and watch her eat a feast fit for a princess in an enchanted palace that was her home. One in which he would never belong.

  She deserved the feasts she’d never had. She should have a palace after so many years in a crumbling, cursed castle. She must have been so desperate and lonely with only a wolf for a friend.

  So, yes, he shaved. Then he felt sorry that he had.

  * * *

  Anna had dined in different rooms since she’d arrived six months ago. She’d eaten from a tray in her bedroom. She’d had breakfast in her mother’s solarium many times until she’d come to enjoy the sunrise through the thousands of panels of glass. She’d also dined with the queen’s closest retinue in a formal room decorated with cherry furnishings and lined with matching wainscoting. That meal had been tense. It wasn’t until afterward that Anna had realized it was her first presentation as the future Light Volkhvy queen.

  Tonight, the palace servants had opened up a ballroom off the entry vestibule. Anna had never seen the grand double doors thrown wide or the vast room beyond. The white table that dominated the center of the room was ten times longer than the cherry table in the dining room and twice as wide. Its scrolled legs ended in the shape of gilded paws, and the wooden drapes of its edges were festooned with carvings of the Romanov wolves.

  The dinner was intended to honor Soren Romanov, but somehow Anna doubted he would feel comfortable with the display. He claimed he was no longer Vasilisa’s champion, and who could blame him?

  Above the table several chandeliers made from thousands of dewdrops of faceted glass shimmered with the reflection of the guests below. A string orchestra played
somewhere out of sight, and their quiet music was accompanied by subdued conversations and laughter...until she entered the room.

  She was heir to her mother’s throne.

  It was possible that tonight was the first time she’d ever looked the part.

  Anna stood in the open doorway as every Volkhvy turned to face her. She couldn’t help it. When the men bowed and the women curtsied, she started and reached for a blade that wasn’t there. Hopefully none of the bowed heads noticed her instinctive reaction to a people that were once her enemy. Now she knew they were her people, but old habits died hard—especially old habits that had kept her alive.

  As the men straightened and the women rose, a line of guests on the left side of the room began to part. They made way for her mother, the queen. One man paused in the center of the line. He was a tall lean witch with lank black hair that hung to his shoulders. He stood straight seconds quicker than the rest, and he boldly met Anna’s eyes. He didn’t seem to be afraid. The deference the other Volkhvy showed for Vasilisa was tinged with fear. Although she was the Light Volkhvy queen, Vasilisa had dabbled in Darkness for centuries. Her people hadn’t forgotten.

  “My daughter, Anna, the Light Volkhvy princess and your future queen,” Vasilisa announced. Approval shone from her face as she looked at Anna. The dress had been the right choice as far as Vasilisa was concerned. Her smile warmed her eyes as she reached for one of Anna’s gloved hands. She twirled and lifted Anna’s hand as if in presentation to the people, and the Volkhvy began to clap.

  Anna looked around the ballroom from face to face. The bold man had faded into the crowd. Most of the faces she saw she didn’t recognize, but she did see fear replaced by genuine warmth as they all seemed to welcome her home.

  “Thank you,” Anna said. Her mother allowed her to reclaim possession of her hand, and she used the chance to smooth her skirts. That was when she noticed that the chandelier light had set her dress on fire with even more depth and tonal differences than the sunset. Her pale skin was luminous compared to the shimmering silk that shifted from charcoal to jet to scarlet to the deepest, darkest oxblood as she moved.

  “And now we wait for the guest of honor,” Vasilisa said for Anna’s ears alone. “If he chooses to appear. I’m afraid he’ll run away instead. He’s been running since he brought you here. Soon he’ll determine that four legs are better for running than two again.”

  “He’ll be here. Soren doesn’t run away. He’s been chasing Lev for centuries, not running. He’ll never give up. I wouldn’t want him to,” Anna said.

  “But it’s acceptable if he gives up on you? Why do you deserve less loyalty than Lev?” Vasilisa asked. “Because you have Volkhvy blood?”

  Anna didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Because Soren Romanov had entered the room, and once again the guests fell silent. This time their fear was palpable, and it wasn’t in deference to the queen. The red wolf was in their midst, and he was one of the few beings who could do them harm.

  She didn’t think. She didn’t reason or plan. She simply walked toward Soren because the gravity of his soul pulled her to orbit around him. In the crowded room, his was suddenly the only face she saw. His tall, muscular form and familiar eyes would have drawn her if he’d been clothed in rags. In a tuxedo, with every care taken to groom and prepare, his presence was devastating.

  He was all man with only a hint of the wolf glittering in his amber eyes, and—this was new—he looked at her with nothing but intense, masculine appreciation.

  Anna managed to continue her approach when she noticed his approval without stumbling on her unfamiliar heels, but it took all her concentration and skill. This wasn’t the ill-fated Gathering where he’d growled at her when he’d discovered her true name. He knew who and what she was, and he didn’t turn away. The dress had been a bold choice and a rebellious one. She wore her blood as proudly as she could, and she embraced the sensuality his shift to a man had woken in her. He stood straight and unmoving. He didn’t step toward her, but his gaze tracked her steps across the floor.

  Suddenly, it seemed as if no one else was in the room.

  She reminded herself again that this time was different. This wasn’t the Gathering where she’d been nothing but a young woman longing for a wolf to become a man so that she could dance with him for the first time. She stopped several paces away from him. She took a deep breath and held it. She was the Light Volkhvy princess. She was Vasilisa’s daughter in a room full of witches.

  And he was a Romanov wolf.

  This time she was royalty and she was deigning to offer him her favor.

  She lifted her hand toward him. Unlike on the night of the final Gathering at Bronwal, it was sheathed in a long black glove. For a moment, she regretted the glove. She wished her hand were as bared as Bell’s heart had been that night six months ago. Anna stood with her hand outstretched, and it seemed as if the whole world held its breath with her.

  They’d already decided to destroy the sword. But Soren had brought her to her mother to heal anyway. He had traveled through the Ether with her in his arms, facing his worst nightmare to save her. She didn’t expect him to accept the Call of the emerald sword any more than she could.

  She only wanted him to take her hand.

  Anna looked from his hand at his side up to his face. She met his eyes. There was a silvery glint in the amber where his irises reflected the chandelier’s light. She couldn’t read his thoughts. Not in his eyes or in his lips when she dropped her gaze to the mouth she’d longed to see—and taste.

  And then he took the hand she offered.

  He clasped her gloved fingers in both of his hands. He didn’t speak, but he held her hand tightly, as if he wouldn’t allow her to pull away too soon.

  Never would be too soon. She wanted to stand with her hand in both of his for an age to negate his growl at the Gathering, but suddenly the crowd came alive again at a gesture from the queen. Seats were taken and Vasilisa swept to the head of the table. Her dress was unmitigated white, a ball gown from a bygone era with full backswept skirts and a myriad of different-textured fabrics. Her bodice was encrusted with hundreds of sparkling diamanté gems.

  Did she proclaim a truce with the Romanovs with her sudden penchant for white?

  Anna looked back up at Soren. His lids hooded his eyes once more. His appreciation for her appearance had been shuttered. But he didn’t let go of her hand. He simply dropped one of his hands so they could walk to the table together. It seemed that for this meal, at least, he would consent to be her wolf.

  Chapter 14

  Vasilisa sat at the head of the table. Soren halted when he saw that his place was set at the other end. It was a position intended to convey a gesture of respect for an honored guest. Rather than accept the gesture, Soren curved away from the chair opposite Vasilisa and toward the chair to the right of it intended for Anna. Anna stood awkwardly for only a few seconds before she took the honored chair he’d left vacant.

  Now Anna and Vasilisa sat at opposite heads of the long banquet table and Soren sat at Anna’s right elbow in a lesser position.

  If the queen felt his decision as a slight, she gave no indication. Once all the guests were seated, she rose.

  “Thank you all for visiting the palace this evening. Please enjoy your meal and this chance to welcome a Romanov back to the palace. The black wolf, the red and the white were Anna’s family while she was...away...from us. They have earned my eternal gratitude,” Vasilisa said. She raised a fluted glass that a servant had filled while she spoke. “I only hope that in time I can earn their forgiveness.”

  Anna didn’t raise her glass higher than her lips. Soren didn’t touch his glass at all. But the rest of the table joined the toast, and as the queen arranged her skirts to sit again, the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Soft conversations began up and down and across the long table as numerous servants entered the room w
ith a first course carried on large silver platters.

  Keeping with the Mediterranean style of the palace, the first course consisted of a selection of finger foods—fresh bunches of grapes, figs, olives and meats rolled with feta cheese. Anna had to force herself to copy the other guests as they chose dainty bites with silver tongs. It had been six months, but she had subsisted on the roughest of fare for so long that her mouth watered at the wide variety of textures and flavors presented for her pleasure.

  She looked up after a particularly savory bite of cheese to find that Soren was watching her. She paused midchew as heat rose in her cheeks. Okay. So maybe she wasn’t being as dainty as the other guests after all.

  “I can remember when a stale chunk of Patrice’s bread was all I could find you,” Soren said.

  “You used to stand watch while I gathered berries when we materialized in summer,” Anna said.

  “No matter what the future brings, I’m glad you’re not hungry anymore. You deserve this after all the deprivation,” Soren said.

  “Eating won’t make you a traitor to your family,” Anna said. Soren hadn’t touched his food, although he had filled his plate when the servant had paused at his elbow. Probably out of pity for the young man who waited with his heavy tray. “You’ll need your strength when we go after the sword. It’s only food. Not forgiveness.”

  “I was only distracted by your pleasure. I’ll eat. My survival instincts are too well honed to use food as a statement,” Soren said. He proved his point by making short work of the shaved meat and cheese the servant had mounded on his plate when Soren had failed to fill it adequately to the servant’s liking.