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.