She thought it was a good decision when she stepped out into the sunshine, but once she’d chosen a hefty staff that seemed the appropriate weight to begin to build her strength, her exertion and repetitions didn’t fill the courtyard as Romanov had filled it.
At one time this place had been filled with soldiers.
Elena looked around. Snow had covered much of the ground, but she could see the depressions in the dirt where Romanov and others had performed the repetitive movements necessary to build muscle and skill, dexterity and endurance.
She’d been backstage alone before. She’d been in empty halls with deserted dressing rooms. Practice studios were always a little echoing and haunted. But they filled again. Dancers and want-to-be dancers returned. Instructors and music would come. They always came. In a perpetual rhythm of practice and performance.
This was different.
The people who had trained here would never be back.
Even Romanov might be irrevocably lost.
The idea tightened her throat and dried her mouth. The area behind her eyes burned with unshed emotion. How could she care so much about a man she’d just met? The answer was in the legend. She’d always cared, but more than that...he mattered. His story mattered. His tragedy, his pain, his cause. Even if she accepted that she would never be more to him than what she was now, it mattered if the man was lost.
The heart that beat in his chest was Bronwal’s heart. Even if it would never be hers.
“I return only to find Little Red Riding Hood in place of the swan,” Romanov said.
Elena lowered the staff she’d been lifting like a hand weight with one outstretched arm. Its tip disappeared in the snow, but then it hit solid ground and it held, straight and tall. She gripped it with white knuckles, relieved that she had support to keep her from buckling in relief. Part of her had thought she’d never see him again. Another part had assumed the wolf would return rather than the man.
“I had to borrow some clothes. I packed too lightly. I’m not sure I really believed I’d find you here,” she replied. She didn’t tell him she’d had to have the cloak when she found it because it seemed fitting to have a red hood when surrounded by wolves. And then there had also been the thorns and roses, very like the ones on the tower door and its key. The cloak seemed to have been left for her, even though she knew that wasn’t possible.
“You’re welcome to it. And whatever else you need. No one will miss anything you take. They’re past the point of caring,” Romanov said.
He’d shifted from wolf form, but his hair was windblown and damp. His cheeks were flushed with cold and exertion. His clothes were much like the ones he’d worn when they’d first met. Leather pants. Tall riding boots. A long-sleeve linen shirt covered in a leather jerkin and topped with a fur-lined cloak. The fur cape on the cloak capped his shoulders and made him appear even larger than he was.
He was untouched by this century.
But even though he seemed a savage warrior she knew now that his touch was gentle and his kisses were seductively passionate, with a mix of hard and soft that she’d easily come to crave.
“We have two weeks before the Volkhvy begin to arrive. Both Dark and Light will come. Are you certain you want to wield the Romanov blade against them? If you do, they will try to kill you. You’ll have more than Grigori as your enemy,” Romanov said.
“From where I stand I see no difference between the Dark and the Light. They both torture. They both kill. I’ll gladly stand. If you’ll teach me how,” Elena said.
“It isn’t the standing I’ll need to teach you. You stand on your own. I’ll simply show you swordsmanship. I’ll show you how to use the blade. I see that you’re trying to strengthen your arms. You’re already fit. We’ll only enhance what’s there,” Romanov said.
“You’re going to help me?” Elena asked.
“We’ll help each other and then I’ll be gone. Do you understand? The Ether will take me and the Romanov blade. No matter what damage we do to the Volkhvy. The curse cannot be broken. I will disappear,” Romanov said. “Alone.”
She gripped the staff tighter. He’d already rejected her. This was simply a reiteration. One that cut her, but she wouldn’t allow the pain to consume her. There wasn’t enough time.
“Agreed,” Elena said softly. She braced her spine and jerked the staff up from the ground. She tossed it to him and turned to grab another. She would train, tirelessly. She would fight with all her heart because it wasn’t wanted elsewhere. And once Grigori was defeated, she would leave this place stronger and wiser than she’d been before.
The sword had proclaimed her a warrior. If she had to let it disappear into the Ether, she would still be the person it had called. That knowledge gave her a purpose she’d never known before. The dance had always been something she did. It hadn’t fit in her heart, only in her muscles and her mind. The sword seemed different. It fit with all of her, in and out. Where it led her after Bronwal would be up to her own feet and free will.
That she would never forget Ivan Romanov was a given. She would simply have to survive losing him the way she’d survived other losses.
* * *
The courtyard would never seem empty to her again. For an entire week, she and Romanov filled it with sweat and blood. Her tears, as usual, were stored up for nightmares that never came. When she finally collapsed at night, there was only the sleep of exhaustion.
It was more brutal than any training she’d endured. But her body responded like the fine-honed tool that it was. Oh, she had to resort to the neoprene sleeve to support her injured knee, but in every other particular she grew stronger. She was athletic and graceful. As a dancer, she was an expert in copying motion, in replicating genius. And her instructor in this was brilliant as only time and enchantment could make.
There was pain. In varying ways. Physical pain from overexertion and constant demand. Emotional pain from Romanov’s touch and his constant nearness paired with his continued rejection.
He pressed close behind her to position her arms and legs and hips in the appropriate offensive stance. His wild wintry scent engulfed her. Heat radiated from their bodies to mingle in the cold air around them in an aura just shy of steam. She held her breath. He continued explaining what she should do to disarm an opponent as if there was no attraction vibrating between them.
It was torturous. But it was a sweet torture she grew to anticipate every morning.
Her cloak’s hem grew stained. The muscles she used to dodge and parry and block grew harder and stronger. Her endurance increased from what had already been prodigious levels.
The training became a dance between them. His touch on her, professional and impersonal. Her response in perfect symmetry with his instruction. In spite of his large frame and solid build, he was incredibly graceful. The power in his muscles enabled him to easily move—to spin, to lift, to turn, to hold.
Oh, the holding.
Even as she became certain that she could stab the Romanov blade into Grigori’s heart without hesitation, she soaked up the pleasure she felt from Romanov’s touch. If she survived, the memory would have to last her for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t be welcome back in ten years’ time, and she wouldn’t be able to handle it if she came back to find him forever gone.
“You aren’t concentrating,” he said. And he was right. At least in so far as he knew. She had allowed herself to become lost in sensation rather than follow-through on the expected deflection.
She would have been dead if he hadn’t halted his own strike by dropping his sword on the ground. Instead of a strike, he jerked her forward with a ferocious hold on both of her wrists. They stood face-to-face with arms above their heads and their bodies pressed together.
They’d been breathing heavily from exertion. The friction of her breasts sliding against his chest caused her breath to catch. But holding her breath
wasn’t enough to stop the electricity that arched between them.
And, this time, Romanov didn’t fool her.
He was affected too.
She tilted her chin and met his hooded eyes. He searched her gaze and his eyes widened when he noted her desire was barely held in check. The hands on her wrists eased. His attention fell to her lips as she moistened them with a dart of her tongue.
“It doesn’t matter what our bodies want,” Romanov said quietly. His voice vibrated against her, deep and low. “The Ether can’t have you. I won’t let it happen.”
“You think if you kiss me, I’ll be drawn into the curse? You’ve kissed me before. What harm is there in another?” Elena asked. She knew the harm for herself. That she’d become even more hopelessly addicted to a man she could never have.
“You’re assuming I could stop with kisses,” Romanov said. “That’s no longer true. If I kiss you again, we’ll go further than we can go and still maintain your freedom.”
It was true in more ways than he understood. It would be hard, even now, for her to ever be free of his impact on her life. Having free will and being free from entanglements were not the same.
“And now you’ve ensured that I want your kiss more than before,” Elena said.
He jerked. His whole body was tense and hot against her. But then he held more still than she thought possible. A hair couldn’t have floated between them, but he held his position. Not coming closer or moving away. Then his eyes closed and he breathed in, long and deep. And she knew what he was doing because she’d been doing the same thing all week. He was soaking up the sensation of her body trembling in his arms. He was trying to feel all that he could allow himself to feel.
No more. But no less either.
She trembled because this with Romanov shook her more than actual lovemaking had with another man. Perhaps it was best if they couldn’t consummate their relationship. Standing with her arms held high and their bodies barely touching slayed her senses and her emotions. Especially when she watched him take what pleasure he could take in it. Actual intercourse with this man might destroy her.
A cacophony of angry barks sounded from inside the castle.
They’d been training with practice swords. The sapphire blade was in the throne room guarded by Lev and Soren.
“I hoped the burgeoning power in the stone might warn them away,” Romanov said. He let go of her hands and turned toward the castle. He left the practice sword on the ground. Instead, he walked purposefully to the entryway and reached for a much sharper blade kept on a rack sheltered from the elements just inside the door.
Elena lowered her arms and followed. She still kept the daggers in her hip pockets, but she didn’t pause for another weapon. The sapphire sword waited for her. She would use the very thing they sought to steal against the invaders who had infiltrated the throne room and disturbed the wolves.
Lev and Soren continued to bark, but now their alarmed noises were interspersed with sounds of fighting—snarls and growls and the occasional high-pitched yelp. At the sound of the first yelp, Romanov picked up speed and Elena followed suit.
They ran into the throne room, side by side, their movements already coordinated by their time spent training together.
There were two men and one woman in the throne room. They were wearing modern tactical gear, but they fought with their bare hands—the greenish glow of power emanating from their fingers seemed to be their only weapon. As the woman held Lev away from her throat, the green light flared and the white wolf fell back as if he’d been shocked by an electrical charge.
“The waking sapphire has called more powerful Volkhvy, Elena. Be careful,” Romanov warned. He waded into the battle his red brother was waging against the two men. Soren still had cagey human intelligence at his disposal. He hadn’t attacked blindly. He led the two male Volkhvy away from the thrones so Elena could get to the sword. But Lev was already back on his feet. Human intelligence or not, he was an enchanted wolf created by the Light Volkhvy queen to fight this enemy.
The female intruder cried out when the white wolf leaped on her back and drove her to the floor before she could steal her prize. Elena leaped over their writhing figures. She needed to claim the sword for herself before the Volkhvy managed to get to the blade. But as she leaped, her injured knee didn’t bring the foot on that leg far enough up and away from the woman’s glowing fingers. The Dark Volkhvy grabbed her ankle and pulled her down.
She barely managed to catch herself with outstretched arms before she landed hard. Breath was forced from her lungs as the marble ground suddenly compressed her abdomen. Yet it wasn’t the struggle to breathe that kept her down. It was the arcs of painful power flaring from the woman’s hand to her leg.
Her entire body quaked as every nerve fired and every muscle jerked out of control.
Grigori had never been able to touch her. The blood her mother had spilled fueled a protective hearth spell that kept him away. That this lesser Volkhvy physically harmed her now was evidence that the time her mother had bought her was waning. Fear of Grigori suddenly blossomed anew inside of her chest. He wasn’t here. It didn’t matter. She’d dreamed of what he would do to her when he could finally touch her. In a flash, she recalled every unwanted caress.
Lev helped her. He clamped down on the woman’s forearm and she shrieked as she was forced to let Elena go. Her body stopped quaking as suddenly as it had started. Elena collapsed and eagerly gulped air as her lungs began to work once more. She wasn’t sure if Lev’s help was intentional or not. As she struggled to her feet, she was grateful all the same.
She moved much more slowly this time. All three intruders were occupied. Their curses filled the air. Their black blood mingled with red. Too much red, but she couldn’t pause. She would be worthless without the sword. Elena limped up the stairs to the thrones. This time when she reached for it, she held the sword in an appropriate grip. Her training had been professionally absorbed and now implemented. She pivoted back around, strengthened by the power in her hands. The blue glow from the stone was pale, but unmistakably brighter in reaction to her touch.
All the Dark Volkhvy paused to look up at Elena on the dais.
“The sapphire blade is mine,” she proclaimed. “I will defend it.”
Her figure was petite. Her voice was firm, but quiet. The wolves and the man who also defended the blade should be much more intimidating, but the sapphire’s glow spoke of the sword’s opinion. She was the warrior the intruders should fear. Her touch bonded with the blade and called Vasilisa’s power inherent in the gem to life.
And there was nothing Dark Volkhvy respected more than power.
“Go. Warn all your brethren, Dark and Light, that Bronwal is defended,” Romanov ordered. He didn’t support her claim on the sapphire sword. He wouldn’t. But he didn’t deny it either. Both of the men he fought had been injured badly. Their black blood stained his sword and curls of steam rose from its sharp edge. But Romanov bled, as well. She could see scarlet slashes on his face and chest.
And that’s when she knew.
It was too late for her to choose to walk away. Not because of the blade, but because of the man. Anger rose like bile in her throat. Fury heated the blood that pumped through her heart. How dare they defile this already besieged man?
As Elena gathered her muscles beneath her to jump into the fray, the three Dark Volkhvy became hazy and indistinct in front of her eyes, then disappeared.
“Dominique wasn’t capable of Ether manipulation. These three were definitely more powerful than the usual thieves. Powerful Volkhvy can disappear and reappear at will from place to place. Possibly from time to time,” Romanov said. He cleaned his sword on the edge of his cloak, but it was a habit more than a necessity. The dark blood had already disappeared, as well as the witches it had come from.
“And they were afraid of me?” Elena said shakily.
Knowing that magic was real and seeing it manifested in front of your eyes were two very different things.
“The power in the sapphire could kill them. There’s nothing a nearly immortal creature fears more than death,” Romanov said.
“It’s frightening for a mortal creature, as well,” Elena said. Now that the adrenaline rush had fled her body, she was left shaking in reaction to her instinctive stand against the intruders. She might have been called to wield the sapphire blade, but that didn’t mean becoming a warrior was easy. Her legs shook, and without thinking she sat on the nearest seat available.
The room grew quiet.
Lev and Soren stopped smoothing their ruffled fur and licking their injuries. They stared at her instead. And Romanov walked forward slowly one steady step at a time.
She was on the smaller throne. The one with the alpha wolf carved onto its back. The wolf carving was above her head. She didn’t have to turn and look up at it to remember every tooth, every hair.
“You brought me here that first night. I couldn’t see the thrones. There was no fire. The alcove was invisible in the darkness. You stood with me in your arms rather than set me down,” Elena said.
“No one has sat on that throne since my mother died,” Romanov said. His intense gaze was trained on her with some unwavering emotion she couldn’t name.
“The larger one was your father’s,” Elena said. She looked beside her where the larger throne stood. “It’s yours now.”
“I’m the last Romanov. The throne is mine, but there’s nothing to rule here. Bronwal is an abandoned place. We do nothing but linger and languish at Vasilisa’s pleasure,” Romanov said.
Elena placed the Romanov blade across her knees. The sapphire had dimmed, but they’d all seen it glow. She settled more fully into the throne.
“Perhaps that’s our problem. You’re prisoner to Vasilisa’s pleasure and I’ve been prisoner to Grigori’s. We have existed to serve their needs instead of our own,” Elena said.
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