Legendary Shifter

by Barbara J. Hancock

When she leaned down to slowly take him in her mouth without breaking the connection of their eyes, he cried out. He grabbed for her hair, but he didn’t stop her or manipulate her movements. He simply held on softly, with trembling hands. He was salty, sweet and fiery hot against her tongue. His mouth fell open to allow heavier respiration to come and go between his swollen lips. His eyelids drooped to half mast, but he didn’t close his eyes. Neither did she. She held her breath and took him deep with a harder suction and she watched his pleasure.

  “Elena,” he breathed. It sounded like a prayer.

  She pulled back to the head of the shaft she suckled. She held its base with her hands and licked its swollen head.

  “What, my wolf? Why do you call my name?” she teased.

  “I let the wolf have my heart. I thought he would keep you out. But he is me, and we must have you,” Romanov said.

  “I’m here. I’ll always be here. The Ether won’t take me away. And neither will Grigori,” Elena vowed.

  She rose up to reach for his tunic and he reluctantly allowed it. His hands slid away pausing only briefly on her face. She pulled his shirt from his large frame, revealing his perfectly sculpted muscles, inch by impressive inch. He’d spent every waking moment over enumerable Cycles fighting Dark Volkhvy and training to keep himself sharp. He’d held the Ether madness at bay all alone for so long.

  The candlelight and the reflection from the walls painted his skin with gold.

  She leaned to press soft kisses over his hard flesh. On his shoulders. On his arms. On his chest. “I’m here,” Elena repeated against his hot skin. “I’m here.”

  He trembled beneath her lips, especially when she kissed over the planes of his lean stomach. His erection wept and she throbbed with the desire to mount him. She stood to quickly pull off her clothes, but the intense gaze that followed her movements caused her to slow down. As she had taken her time with the revelation of his chest and arms, she slowly worked her own shirt off, exposing her stomach inch by inch and then her naked breasts. They were heavy with need, and her nipples were swollen into tight buds, pink with passion against her porcelain skin. She arched her back and stretched her arms over her head to remove the shirt. Then she met his eyes again. She dropped the shirt at her feet making no effort to be modest.

  Still on his knees, he reached for her. His calloused hands wrapped around the two soft mounds she’d brazenly displayed for him. He cupped them and weighed them. He gently brushed over her nipples with his thumbs and forefingers, lightly pinching.

  It was her turn to breathe out his name like a prayer.

  He responded by tracing his hands down her sides until they got to her waist. He continued on the downward track only after he’d grabbed the waistband of her leggings. He pulled them down. Not suddenly. Not impatiently. But, following her lead, he inched them down. He exposed her skin a little at a time until she was trembling as he had done.

  Only then did he use the material he gripped to pull her closer. He tugged her to his face. Her quivering intensified when his hot breath tickled over her stomach. Then she cried out because he followed his breath not with the kiss she expected, but with the fiery heat of his moist tongue. He licked her stomach as the jeans continued to come down. When his movements had revealed her hipbones, he licked those and suckled beneath them. Arcs of heat penetrated deep and rushed lower from his teasing tongue to her throbbing mound.

  And still, slowly, slowly he worked her jeans down until he reached the top of her panties. His fingers softly gathered the edges so that his movements lowered her panties with the jeans until he revealed the curls they’d covered.

  This time when his tongue teased the trembling flesh above those curls, she cried out. But seconds later, when his tongue delved into the curls to find the moist slit at the V of her legs, she silently grabbed the back of his head to keep herself from falling.

  He teased in and out with his tongue, mimicking the thrusting she craved and her cries became cries of release. He held her hips and pressed her close to lap up her response with his hungry tongue.

  She had to crumple then. He slowed her descent, but allowed her to fall. Once her body was on the bedding, Romanov pulled her leggings off her legs one by one. She thought he would settle between them once she was naked. She tried to reach for him, but he was still on his knees. He caressed her hips and thighs as she recovered from the climax he’d given her with his tongue. Softly, gently his fingers teased.

  Elena’s hands gripped the bedding beneath her as her body began to hunger again. She arched her back and closed her eyes. Her legs opened. He rewarded the silent request with a thick penetrating finger. Her eyelids flew open and she saw that he watched her heated reaction to his touch.

  “I don’t want to frighten you. But this is only making me wilder,” Romanov said gruffly. She could feel the tension in his hand even though he kept his touch gentle. Too gentle. She wanted more.

  “Don’t mistake me for delicate, my wolf. I train to appear graceful, but there’s strength behind the grace. You know that,” Elena said.

  She thrust her hips up to increase the penetration of his finger. And her sudden impatient movement was all the encouragement he needed. He withdrew his hand, but only to place it on her hips to roll her over. A thrill of surprise washed over her, but it quickly turned to a thrill of desire when he spread her legs and teased his finger back into her from behind. She undulated against the furs and came again. Her body pulsed around his finger.

  “You’re so beautiful when you become lost in your pleasure. I could spend eternity watching you come again and again,” Romanov groaned. This time, he didn’t wait patiently for her to recover. He lifted her hips and she found herself on her hands and knees, as she’d been when he’d first stalked into the cavern.

  “I’ve never been so easy to please. You hardly have to touch me. I’m wet when you enter a room,” Elena confessed.

  “That you’re always slick for me...it makes me ache,” Romanov said. He illustrated his words by pressing behind her so she could feel the hot length of his erection against her.

  “I like to make you ache,” Elena said. “I like to drive you wild.”

  “Done,” Romanov said.

  And he claimed her with a single thrust from behind. Elena cried out his name and the cavern echoed around them. He held her hips so she didn’t collapse as waves of pleasure shook her body. And then he used his hold to rock her forward and backward for his penetrating thrusts. She had to depend on her good knee to help him, but the soft furs cushioned the other so she felt no pain.

  Even from this position, she wasn’t a passive lover. She arched her back and pressed her bottom against his stomach, again and again. Even as he thrust with powerful, frenzied strokes, he matched the rhythm she set with her athletic, muscled movements. Only then did the sword awaken and join the golden glow on the walls with its sapphire blue.

  But this time, Romanov didn’t pull away.

  And his acceptance of the sword’s glow brought her to a shuddering release. Her body pulsed around his shaft and she cried out his name. He held her hips as her body tried to collapse. He buried himself deep and hard and came at the entrance of her womb.

  * * *

  When she woke in the wee hours of the morning, Romanov was gone. But the sword still glowed faintly. She used its light instead of her flashlight to walk quietly down the tunnel. The mica shimmered on the walls as she passed. Romanov must have known when she entered the main body of the cavern, but he didn’t say a word. The light from the sword didn’t reach the high cathedral ceiling, but she saw a deeper shadow and recognized the broad shoulders of her lover.

  He stood, a silent guard at the outside entrance to the cavern.

  Elena went back to the empty bed.

  He was still determined to protect her even though he knew she could protect herself. The curse would stand betwee
n them forever if she couldn’t convince Vasilisa that it was time to forgive the Romanovs. What she must accomplish at the Gathering wasn’t humanly possible, but she had to try.

  For Lev, who was determined to die.

  For Soren and the young woman he watched over every night.

  For poor Patrice and all the other inhabitants of Bronwal.

  But mostly because Ivan Romanov could not continue to stand alone. He was the last Romanov, but he couldn’t continue to punish himself for what his father had done. He deserved peace and happiness. He deserved reprieve. Maybe she couldn’t give him those, but she could give him a partner.

  If only he would relent and accept it was her decision to brave the Ether.

  * * *

  The cool night air didn’t soothe him. He wanted to go to Elena when she slipped from their bed to check on him, but he held himself back instead. She didn’t speak. Once she saw him, she stood for only a moment, silently watching, before she went back to bed.

  The Gathering was tomorrow night.

  All the Dark and Light Volkhvy would come to dance in the power of the Ether that Bronwal radiated and to bask in the humiliation and subjugation of Vasilisa’s curse.

  Ivan fisted his hands. They were still warm from the memory of touching Elena. If he closed his eyes, he could see her pleasure, but he could also sense the intensity of his feelings for her.

  He’d denied the wolf for so long. He’d denied any and every emotion. He’d had to turn away from his heart to go on and on and on. Earlier, when he and Elena had made love, he’d let go of that control.

  The resulting connection had shaken him to his core.

  He had never been the stoic ruler of Bronwal. He’d been pretending all along. He’d always pined and longed and hungered for something more. Elena was the answer to his hunger. She fed his wolf and his human soul.

  And he could never experience that connection again, not if he was going to succeed in letting her go.

  She deserved to be free from Grigori and also free from him and the Romanov curse.

  Chapter 22

  She polished the sword until it gleamed. The stone had continued to glow, not as brightly as it had ever flared, but it was definitely not dead. Now, the scrolling silver on its hilt and the steel of its blade also shone.

  Bell had sent servants up to the tower with a formal scabbard tooled of red leather and decorated with thorny vines and roses, along with her dress and shoes. It was as if her hooded cloak had been remade into a belt for her sword. The dress had been aired outside and its chiffon held the scent of winter snow. The shoes were white leather ankle boots with solid square heels and sharp pointed toes—artfully designed and also practical. She could appreciate both.

  She’d carried her own bathwater this time. The effort dispelled her nerves and kept her busy during a day that might have dragged otherwise. She hadn’t seen Romanov since the dawn. She washed her hair early and dried it by the fire, combing out the long thick strands of pale blond until they were smooth. Then she braided the thick mass into one long plait that began on the left side of her head, curved to the right and ended over her right shoulder midway down her chest. Ringlets of loose curls extended from the bottom of the plait, where she’d bound it with an elastic band. She wanted her hair to be as artful and practical as her shoes.

  She belted on her sword and found that her hair was perfect. Her right hand was free to draw from the scabbard that hung on her left side. Only then did she open the wardrobe to use the full-length mirror in its door to check her appearance. She hadn’t packed formal makeup. Bell had loaned her the bare minimum of old-fashioned rouges and kohl. She’d managed to line her eyes and darken her lashes and lips. She hadn’t bothered to contour her cheeks. The last few weeks of power bars and stress had given them natural contours no powdery tricks could match.

  Above the soft white feathers on her breast, her skin was porcelain pale. Her sword, lips and eyes stood out vividly against the white. She was surprised how closely her eyes matched the sapphire gem’s glow. She did go back to the tiny glass pots Bell had loaned her then to add a touch of color to her cheeks. The woman reflected in the glass was too pale.

  Even with the added rouge, she looked less a warrior than a waif. She was afraid she’d miscalculated. She’d wanted to reclaim the swan princess Grigori had stolen from her, but she was afraid she would only reinforce his desire.

  But there was no time to choose another dress.

  Besides, she might look graceful and delicate in the swan gown, but the truth could be seen in her eyes. They matched the sapphire in intent as well as color. She was no waif. She would enter the ballroom as a swan, but not as Grigori’s swan. She’d make sure all who attended would see the difference.

  The enchanted castle was sprawling. Since she’d arrived, she’d searched and explored through many rooms and levels. But she’d never been to the rooms that made up the grand ballroom and its adjacent withdrawal chambers. The doors had been locked. Bell had assured her there was nothing inside but dusty chandeliers and wide-open spaces.

  Tonight, she wound down the tower staircase alone. She walked through dozens of deserted corridors until she arrived at the massive arched double doorways to the ballroom itself.

  The sun had set. The Cycle was almost over. Tomorrow Bronwal would return to the Ether and Ivan Romanov and all of his people would disappear one more time.

  Unless she could change something tonight.

  This time, when Elena tried the doors they pressed open beneath her hands. They swung inward easier than she had expected on a whoosh of displaced air. The expansive space revealed to her eyes made her pause outside the door. Her stomach tightened and her breath caught in her throat. It seemed a million candles illuminated the room, suspended from the ceiling in dozens of elaborate crystal chandeliers. The candlelight bounced off the multifaceted crystal beads, causing the very air to glimmer with reflected light.

  The whole room was empty.

  Save for the shadowed silhouette of one man.

  He turned toward the doors as they opened, and Elena was drawn toward him in spite of his silence. Even the giant, empty room didn’t make him appear smaller. If anything, he seemed even taller and more intimidating as the focal point. The sheen of his tuxedo both absorbed and reflected all of the light until he seemed a living shadow come to life when he stepped to meet her. It was the first time she’d seen him in more modern clothes. The tuxedo was still vintage, only slightly less out of time than the man who wore it, but unlike his cloak, leather and furs, the suit rode his muscles in tailored perfection as he moved.

  He hadn’t tamed his hair.

  It was a wild mass of black waves all around his face and shoulders. And she was glad. She was also glad when she was close enough to see the emerald of his eyes. He wasn’t a living shadow. He was a living legend. Her legend, whether he was fully ready to accept it or not. It didn’t matter what he wore. He wore it well. And he wore it with the same wild energy she’d been drawn to from the start.

  “They’ll arrive closer to midnight. It’s always been so. Lev and Soren stay out of sight. They would be too tempting a trophy for the Darker Volkhvy. For many Cycles I’ve watched and waited alone,” Romanov said.

  “Not tonight,” she said. Unspoken was the promise that he’d never have to wait alone again if he would relent. “I’ll wait with you.”

  “Grigori will not stay away. He’ll brave the black wolf to have you,” Romanov warned. He reached to trace the side of her face. His touch was soft; barely the pads of his fingers skimmed her skin. And still she released a quavering sigh as gooseflesh rose and her nipples tightened. “Don’t be emboldened by the sword’s glow. Let me handle Grigori. That’s why you came.”

  “I climbed the mountain for help, not for salvation. I didn’t need to be rescued. I needed to be reinforced,” Elena said. “The
legend of the Romanov wolves brought me here, but I heard the sword, as well. I answered its call.”

  “The Ether can’t have you,” Romanov vowed. He lifted his other hand to join the first. He cupped her face and her chin lifted in response. She met his eyes. She hoped he would see what she’d seen in the mirror—determination and the power of the sword beaming from some place inside of her. “Even if it means I can’t have you either.”

  “You will always have me, Ivan Romanov. Because you are mine and I am yours. We belong to each other. And nothing and no one will come between us once we’ve decided to stand together,” Elena said.

  He leaned to kiss her then. Not because he agreed. She could feel the tension in his shoulders when she moved to hold him. He kissed her because they didn’t have much time. There was desperation in the flick of his tongue. She wished he believed her. There was so much to overcome—Vasilisa, Grigori, the curse and the Ether. But she believed they could do it because she’d always believed in the stories her grandmother had told her, and her grandmother’s stories always ended well for the legendary wolves.

  Music began somewhere in the distance.

  Romanov pulled away from her lips and she allowed it, although her heart was breaking. He wouldn’t kiss her again once the night progressed. He would be too preoccupied.

  One thing was certain: he couldn’t be allowed to shift to save her.

  She had to stop Grigori before Romanov thought the black wolf was needed. He’d said Lev and Soren stayed away from the Gathering because they would be tempting trophies for the Volkhvy that came to the ball. There would be no greater trophy than the black wolf’s head.

  Luckily, tonight, the black wolf had a defender.

  Romanov broke their kiss, but he didn’t step away. He pulled her into his arms instead. Like his tuxedo, the waltz was after his natural time, but Ivan Romanov had lived through many different ages. Modern life had managed to touch Bronwal every time it appeared. It was only as the curse dragged on that Romanov had become more and more isolated. He hadn’t been truly alone until she’d found him, this Cycle, after all of his loved ones had disappeared.