Elena had to improvise a gym. She’d discovered in her standoff with the black wolf that her arms needed strengthening. Her searches throughout the castle hadn’t led her to any modern amenities when it came to weightlifting, but she remembered the training courtyard and the equipment there.
She might not have weights, but she knew how to use them, and there was a whole rack full of heavy training staffs carved from oak.
She’d go insane if she waited for Romanov to return even if she didn’t fret over how he’d return, as man or wolf. He’d been gone an entire day and night. Instead of useless worrying, she swallowed her discomfort over pilfering for clothes appropriate for the training courtyard. She passed over numerous wardrobes full of dresses until she found a long-sleeve tunic to shield her from the cold mountain air. She paired serviceable fur-lined boots with her own jeggings. She did take a long red cloak from a trunk that she knew had been meant for a formal occasion. It was lined with black velvet and embroidered along the edges of its hood and hem with thorns and roses. It was a cold day and she didn’t want to try to transport the equipment to an indoor location.
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.
“I won’t allow my needs to place you at risk,” Romanov said.
“And I’m not allowed to determine what I will risk for myself?” Elena asked.
Once again, she sacrificed much to open herself to rejection. He hadn’t asked her to be his queen. He never would. To him, she was as much an invader as the ones they’d vanquished, no matter what the sword said. She’d destroyed what little peace he’d found in his lonely duties. She’d brought all his pain to light.
“You don’t know what the Ether is like,” Romanov said. But as he spoke he stepped up the stairs of the dais, one by one. Elena rose to meet his approach. She held the Romanov blade down by her side. He stopped at her sudden movement. He stood only a few feet away.
“I know what your kisses are like. I know how your body feels between my legs. How your shoulders feel in my hands,” Elena said. “I know if Grigori captures me tomorrow I’d be happier to have the memories of your touch to sustain me through my imprisonment.”
“To join with me is to court a curse more horrible than you can understand. Ask Lev if his wife was happy to lose her baby to the Ether once Vasilisa’s judgment fell. We were her chosen champions, yet she showed no mercy. No one was spared, not even a newborn child. Madeline was a warrior who fought by Lev’s side for Vasilisa. It didn’t matter. She and her baby disappeared in the first Cycle,” Romanov said. He stepped nearer as he spoke, as if proximity would convince her. He fisted his hands.
Down on the main floor of the hall, Lev slipped away into the dark hallway beyond. Soren whined and ran after his brother. Neither had wanted to hear the tale.
“How long did he last once she was gone?” Elena asked.
“I haven’t seen Lev’s human face since the first materialization that Madeline didn’t appear. He shifted to search for her. Volkhvy use the Ether to travel the world. Lev thought Madeline and Trevor might have materialized somewhere else. In our wolf forms we’re nearly tireless. For a century of Cycles he searched the world for her. Until he forgot how to be human again,” Romanov said. “Until he seemed to forget his pain.”
“He shifted for her,” Elena whispered. “Not to run. Not to hide.”
“He used his enchantment to try to save her,” Romanov said. “But he failed.”
Elena didn’t shed tears for herself. But for Madeline and the great love Lev had felt for her and the baby, she cried. Her cheeks were scalded with hot, liquid emotion. She didn’t call attention to them by wiping them away. Besides, Romanov’s green eyes seemed brighter, as well.
“And you think it would have been better if they hadn’t been together at all,” Elena said.
“Soren lost much, but not as much as Lev,” Romanov said.
“And you? You’re so much better off because you’re determined to stand alone?” Elena said. She refused to draw closer to him even though his pain beckoned.
“I won’t share my burden with an innocent,” Romanov said.
The curse was horrible, but much of Romanov’s pain was self-inflicted. He’d lost too much to risk new connections. He was determined to suffer alone. Yet she’d been called to this place. She’d found it when others had failed. She was here for a reason.
This time Elena wouldn’t leave her sword in the throne room. She stepped forward to pass by Romanov, but she paused when she reached his side. Their hips were parallel. She didn’t face him, but she did look up to meet his eyes.
“You sell me short. The blade has spoken and I believe it’s spoken well,” Elena said. “Because I wouldn’t fade away.”
She had some pride. She didn’t completely bare her heart. She didn’t tell him she would brave the curse for him as long as she knew he would be waiting on the other side when they materialized again. She’d only just acknowledged it for herself.
She hadn’t gone for the sword in order to protect it from the Dark Volkhvy intruders. She’d gone for it in order to help Romanov and his brothers repel invaders. And not even magic had been able to stop her.
But her insides were in a tumult and her legs were numb, especially the one that had channeled the Volkhvy woman’s power into her body. That leg was a reminder that Grigori would touch her soon if she didn’t stop him.
As she paused to speak to Romanov, she swayed on her feet. His eyes widened and he reached for her. His large arm wound around her back and his warm hand braced her hip. The move placed his entire body against her side, not pressing, but supporting. Elena could have jerked away...if she wanted to prove her fortitude by falling on her face.
Something was wrong. The Dark power the Volkhvy had used to hurt her was still jolting through her body making her muscles weak.
“You’re hurt,” Romanov said.
He didn’t wait for her to confirm what he could see with his own eyes. Instead, he bent to scoop her up the way he had when she’d collapsed in the snow. She was flooded by thoughts of other times she’d been in his arms. The kisses they’d shared. The pleasure. The pain. She had a sword in one hand. She couldn’t wrap her arms around him. She had to be content with one hooked around his neck and the other held down by her side to keep the edge away from his body.
Now that he’d made his feelings clear, she should keep her distance but she preferred not to faint. The power had found its way into her head and her vision had gone blurry. Her equilibrium was gone. The room spun around them as Romanov stepped down the stairs.
“She needs to rest. Fetch Patrice,” Romanov ordered.
He seemed to speak to his brothers from a great distance. Down a long tunnel. One that spun in a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. Elena closed her eyes against the dizzying whirl. His chest was the only solid thing besides the sword in her hand in a world gone mad. She leaned her face against it. Without intention, she found his heartbeat beneath her cheek. It thumped steadily while she hoped hers did too, in spite of her detachment to its feel and sound.
The Dark Volkhvy had used great force to break through the last of her mother’s protective spell. Maybe such negative power coursing through her was more than her mortal body could take.
Elena held on to Romanov and the sword. They were all she knew as he carried her up to the tower room. She didn’t note the passage of time as he hurried on the stairs or the change of light as he laid her on the bed and turned to throw open several windows. She didn’t feel the cool rush of wintry air on her flushed skin or the soft blanket beneath her. She reeled when his hold disappeared, doubling the ferocity of her grip on the hilt of the Romanov blade. When he returned to her side, she cried out because he reached to move the sword and she thought he was trying to take it away.
“I only want to position the sapphire against you, Elena. It’s glowing. I think Vasilisa’s power might help you recover,” Romanov said. His voice was nearly a growl.
She allowed him to move the sword. He pressed the cool stone against her chest. She grasped it with both hands then. She held the hilt between her breasts. Its long shaft lay on top of her, from her lower ribs to her knees.
At first she felt no improvement. Her head swam. She was afraid to open her eyes. But then almost imperceptibly the breeze tickled across her face. The numbness that had tried to claim her began to recede. Finally, she felt her heart beat inside of her chest. There was no noticeable electric current from the sword. Not like there had been from the Dark Volkhvy’s touch. Vasilisa’s power was more of an emanation that her body soaked up. Like heat. Like the rays of the sun.
“I brought mulled wine. I thought it might fortify. Also cheese and bread,” Patrice said.
Elena recognized the housekeeper’s voice. She couldn’t speak to thank the woman for responding to her distress. She couldn’t thank Soren and Lev for obeying Romanov and going for help.
“This is my fault. The black wolf could have easily dispatched them,” Romanov said. “They hurt her because I avoid the shift.”
“Better them hurt her than him, I say. That black wolf can’t be trusted. I’ve seen the Ether in his eyes,” Patrice said. Elena wanted to protest. She wanted to say that the black wolf hadn’t hurt her. That Romanov was in control. But her lips wouldn’t open no matter how she willed herself to speak.
“I am the black wolf, Patrice. You know that,” Romanov said.
“I’m not as Ether-addled as you think. I know who and what you are. And I know it would destroy you to hurt this one. Best not risk it. Best not risk it,” Patrice replied. Her voice faded as she must have left the supplies she carried to wander back the way she’d come.
“You...wouldn’t,” Elena managed to utter. Sensation returned to her little by little. She could feel her body again. Her legs were no longer numb.
“You misplace your optimism,” Romanov replied. Elena’s lashes fluttered when she felt the slightest brush of calloused fingers on her cheek. He sat nearby. He must have pulled a chair closer to the bed. His caress was incongruous, a butterfly’s wing from a man who could crush someone with his bare hands. But it continued. She wasn’t mistaken. He outlined the whole of her face, softly, as if he memorized her repose or the color returning that signified she wasn’t near death.
“Not...optimistic. An optimist hopes,” Elena said. “I know.” She swallowed and licked her lips. It felt a triumph especially when it was followed by the ability to slit open her eyes. He was only a blur leaning over her. But he was a welcome blur. One that encouraged her to blink and try to regain her focus.
She had been afraid of the black wolf. She had even entertained the possibility that Romanov would cede control to the beast and allow it to consume her. But his fear of the same caused her to fully believe it would never happen. He had enough doubt in himself for both of them. She was suddenly fully confident that he would never harm her, even if it meant sacrificing himself.
“I am the black wolf,” Romanov said. “Its instinct and savagery are a part of me, and with every Cycle as we tire of holding on to our humanity the wolves take greater hold.”
“A wolf would never harm its mate. I’m not afraid,” Elena said. She closed her eyes again. Immediately regretting the claim. It was a groggy thing to say. Once the words were out of her mouth she wished her lips hadn’t begun working again at all.
“No,” Romanov whispered.
His voice was close. Very close. Warm lips pressed against the corner of her mouth. No, she wasn’t his mate? Or no, he would never harm her? Her head went light again at the possibility of the latter promise and also because he slid his lips from the corner of her mouth to the center. She was awake. She was alive. All sensation had returned. His slightly open tasting of her lips proved it. As did the gasp he inspired when he boldly teased her with a flick of his tongue.
Elena released the hilt of the sword. She was able to lift her hands to cup the sides of his face. Thank God, because he might have pulled back if she hadn’t stopped him. He might have moved away. She wasn’t strong enough to hold him in place, but her touch caused him to pause long enough for her lips to open and her tongue to twine with his. He responded by sinking into her and the kiss as if her taste and touch saved him from a dark abyss. As if he was the one who had been near death, but her kiss had woken him from despair.
“You won’t harm me,” Elena murmured between deep, tender delvings into the velvet recesses of his mouth. His only response was a groan of pleasure that may or may not have been conceding her argument and then the repositioning of his body on the bed beside her, which seemed like the truest concession.
The sword was between them, but it didn’t keep them apart. They merely accepted the danger of its sharp edges, carefully, as part of their embrace, its unyielding presence nothing of a deterrent when compared with greater obstacles they still had to face.
He kissed her until she was light-headed again. This time from want of his touch, not dark magic. She allowed her fingers to wind their way into his wild hair. Heat rose from his scalp in spite of the open windows. Their twining tongues stoked flames hotter than the remnants of the fire behind the grate. A raven’s hoarse cry reminded her of the birds that constantly swooped and soared around the tower, but their movements couldn’t compete with the whirl of desire Romanov caused in the pit of her stomach.
He paused when she tried to press closer. The sword had finally become too much of an impediment. Their lips separated and Elena was afraid he would pull away. She forced her fingers to loosen in case he did, but instead of breaking away he only edged back far enough to take the sword from between them. He carefully moved the blade to the other side of her body and then he stilled.
Elena watched as his green gaze tracked over her rumpled hair and her flushed face. She licked her swollen lips and a slight smile curved one corner of his sensual mouth. His lips were swollen too. Paired with the untamed black waves of his hair and his pale skin, his passion-darkened mouth was more than enticing. She allowed one hand to slip from his hair down to his lips. She extended one finger and gently traced his full lower lip. By the time she’d traveled from one edge to the other, her finger trembled in reaction.
The masculine vulnerability of his well-kissed mouth sent a delicious curl of hunger to her stomach and lower. She melted as he allowed the caress. She pressed her thighs together to keep from spreading them and begging for his touch.
But she didn’t have to.
He felt her movement. He let go of the sword to cup her hip with that hand. He gauged her tension and he kneaded her muscles to ease it. Of course the motion of his strong fingers so close to her need only made her tension worse.
“Romanov,” she said. It was nearly a moan. He looked up from his hand to her eyes. What he saw there made his gleam with appreciation. His smile hadn’t faded with her touch. It increased with her moan, tilting his lips beneath her trembling touch. “If you’re going to leave this bed, do it now. If not, prepare to be kept here till morning,” she warned.
“You need to rest and recover. If I stay, there’ll be less resting,” Romanov said. He was teasing her as if they weren’t toying with a Volkhvy curse. What had changed? Why wasn’t he leaving her here alone behind a safely locked door?
Her question must have shown in her eyes.
“I should leave. But I can’t. You were gone. Before my very eyes. First, in the Volkhvy’s grip and then in reaction to it. And the only thing I could think was that I hadn’t touched you when I could. I hadn’t appreciated every inch of you while we were together,” Romanov confessed. “I will leave this room only if you want me to leave. If not, we will steal this time together and you’ll still be free. I will never make you my wife. I’ll never chain you to my name or to the curse.”
Elena understood he was making an honorable pledge, but her newfound connection to the sword made it particularly poignant to hear his determination to set her free. Freedom was what she’d wanted above all things, but she’d wanted the freedom to make her own choices. Now, it seemed as if Romanov prevented her from fully embracing the sword’s call because he wanted to protect her. That, in addition to the idea of lying with him and then losing him, made her hands tighten on the nape of his neck.
She pulled his lips back to her so he could make no more horrible promises she didn’t want him to keep. She would take this stolen time he offered to share with her. Later would be soon enough to regret it.
He took her move as an invitation to stay. His mouth met her open lips and their tongues danced and delved again with an eagerness neither of them tried to subdue. Her whole body welcomed him, softening, opening and melting against him. He was a big man. When he half leaned over her and nudged one of her legs to the side so that his warm thigh slid between hers, she gloried in his weight. His broad chest mashed against her sensitized breasts and she hooked her leg around his waist to encourage him even closer.
But he pulled back instead. He broke their kiss and dropped his lips to trail down the side of her jaw and then farther down still to the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. His mouth was soft and firm. He kissed her skin as thoroughly as he’d kissed her lips and he teased her with occasional moist licks of his tongue.
“You’re so deliciously delicate and yet so strong. I tremble at the thought of harming you in any way, yet you have proven time and again that you aren’t afraid,” he said. The whisper of his words against her neck caused a thrill to shiver down her spine.
“I’m only afraid I’ll startle you with my hunger,” Elena said. But she hesitated for only a moment before the press of his lips along her collarbone caused her hips to rise in response. She pressed her heat against his hard, muscular leg. The sensation was even stronger than it had been before, when he’d pleasured her in the kitchen, because this time she knew there would be more.
“I want your hunger,” Romanov said.
He had continued to knead her hip, but now he lifted his hand to the neckline of her tunic. It was linen and crafted simply and loosely. It was gathered and threaded with a string that tied at the neck, and the knot had already loosened with her movements of the morning. His fingers easily flicked the tiny bow free and he slowly parted the material, which opened all the way down to the middle of her chest.
The lace of her bra and the swell of her breasts above the modern undergarment were exposed.
“Brace yourself,” Elena breathed. “Because I’m very hungry.” Her chest was rising and falling quickly with her respiration. Her hands gripped his shoulders. But even that steady anchor didn’t stop her body from jerking when he trailed the warm pads of his calloused fingers along the top of the lace he’d uncovered. She followed his intent gaze down to his caress. Her nipples had swelled and hardened. They peaked rosy and pink, begging for his touch beneath the translucent white lace.
“I can see that,” Romanov said.
In a move that made her gasp, he reached to twist her bra free. The plastic fastener in the center of the lace cups didn’t slow him down. A flick of his strong fingers caused the undergarment to part. And the elastic on either side pulled the lace off of the swell of each breast to reveal her hardened nipples. Her pale skin was flushed with pleasure as blood rushed to his touch, but that pink flush couldn’t compare to the darkening of her areolas and nipples as his teasing fingers found them.
“Oh,” she cried out as his large hand went from teasing to encompassing. His touch was hot as he weighed and lifted the globe of one breast, but its heat didn’t compare to the moist fire as he leaned to take the entire tip of her breast in his mouth.
He suckled and her hips bucked. Her hands clenched and pulled, ripping his tunic instead of bothering with his ties. She didn’t allow the sound of the rent to slow her. In fact, the sudden give and tear spurred her on. She pulled harder until the fabric came away from his torso in her hand. She threw it to the side all while he caused her to rock and toss her head back and forth with the suction of his mouth and the velvety friction of his lathing tongue.
“Elena,” he groaned, loudly, breaking his suction and moving his lips down her body.
Now that his chest was bare, his skin burned against her everywhere it brushed. He kissed and licked until he came to fabric. She muttered a protest as he stopped, but he only paused long enough to pull the tunic over her head. She lifted her back and arms to help him. He slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders as well, and tossed both garments to the side. Then he looked down at her. His eyes gleamed in appreciation.
She was suddenly reminded of the legend and the wolf. He was a man in her arms but he was also every bit the wild alpha. She reached for him, afraid he might be too wild for her to keep in the bed long enough to mate.
To remove her shirt, he’d crouched between her legs. Her hands dropped to hold either side of his hips. His supple leather pants were tighter than they’d been before. She could see the bulge of his erection. She could see where the cock she’d explored before was long and thick and curved to the side. It barely missed showing over the top of his waistband. She could see where the damp head of it pulsed, waiting to be freed.
His stomach was lean and hard. He sucked in air as her fingers reached for the crisscrossed ties that held his pants in place. This time she slowly worked the leather lacings free. Allowing him the anticipation of her obvious intent. She made sure to brush against his erection again and again as she worked the lacings free.
“Your hunger is nothing compared to mine,” Romanov said. Sure enough, his warning was a growl and his body trembled beneath her touch.
Elena was still half-reclined with her legs spread around his knees. When she had unfastened his pants and spread the leather, the white of his undergarment was loose and easy to pull down. His erection came free and jutted out toward her with a heavy bounce.
She needed him to fill her. She had gone to molten liquid, but she didn’t want to rush their time to completion. Instead of falling back and begging him to rip off her jeggings, she reached for him. She held his erection in both of her hands. He cried out at her touch. He thrust into the tight grip she made with her fists end to end. But when she urged him closer and rose up enough to tease her tongue across the swollen head of his cock, he held perfectly still.
Was she too bold? Had her hunger finally been too much?
“Elena,” Romanov moaned. She looked up to see his head thrown back. His knees had spread and braced on the bed on either side of her body. She moved one hand off his shaft to make more room for her mouth to engulf him. He wasn’t still then. His hips jerked and she enjoyed the friction of her suction and his thrust.
His hands threaded into her hair as she worked his erection with her mouth. He was hot and salty and sweet. And so hard against her tongue she couldn’t help but fantasize about how he would feel when he finally thrust inside of her. She throbbed between her legs. She was dewy with heat. But more than anything since he’d brought her to orgasm with nothing but his hard leg and a kiss, she’d wanted to pleasure him in return. Every thrust of his erection between her lips and every cry of her name gave her as much pleasure as he received until it was Romanov who stopped her.
His hands tightened. He gently pulled himself out of her mouth. She opened her eyes to protest, but he silenced her with a deep, hot kiss made even hotter by the taste of him they shared on her lips.
As he kissed her, his hands left her hair and fell to her jeggings. She was glad she wore the simplest stretchy denim. But he took her by surprise when he gripped her hips instead of pulling her pants down.
“I want you every way that a man can take a woman, but I don’t want to hurt your knee. Help me gets this off without jarring your leg?” he requested.
And this was the man who had feared he would shift into a giant wolf and devour her?
Elena lifted her hips and worked the denim down her hips. He pulled her borrowed boots off her feet, first one and then the other. Then he helped her with her pants, slowly and gently.
She was left wearing nothing but a scant lace panty when they were finished. Romanov’s eyes darkened when he saw the dampened, dark curls between her legs, but he leaned to kiss her scarred knee first. His touch as he held her leg for the gesture was softer than she could have imagined such a large man capable of. He killed with those hands. He’d defended Bronwal for centuries with them. For her, they were so careful. So considerate.
But then they scorched as both hands rose up the top of her leg without breaking contact with her skin. Elena watched his touch caress closer and closer to the juncture of her thighs. When he reached the lace that covered the curls that drew his attention so intensely, he was suddenly not slow at all. He grabbed the elastic of her bikini briefs and slid them down to her midthigh. Not slow, but still considerate of her knee. The move allowed him access to her while still keeping her from spreading her legs.
He touched her then.
Large, calloused fingers dipped into her curls and she cried out when he found the sensitive flesh he sought. She tried to spread her knees, but the lace caught and held her in place. She could only burn for more while he teased. His hooded gaze watched her frustration as it warred with enjoyment. His exploration wound her tighter and tighter. Her hips moved as he began to gently and softly thrust along her moist crevice.
“Please, please,” she begged. She’d never needed release as badly as he caused her to crave it. But it wasn’t only an orgasm she wanted. She wanted to mate with this man. She wanted him joined with her. She wanted him as close as she could possibly take him.
Instead, he gave her the teasing thrust of his middle finger, thick enough to make her cry out and jerk her hips up to meet it. She grabbed his arm and he allowed it. He allowed her to encourage a harder and deeper thrust of his hand.
“What do you want, love? I’m afraid to hurt you. You’ll have to show me,” Romanov said. He sounded as if he was teasing, but he wasn’t. He was still afraid he would hurt her even now when she bucked under his touch, crazed with desire.
She came then around his thick finger with soft, jerking sighs.
“Elena,” he breathed as her inner muscles fluttered against his touch.
But there was still hunger and his mere touch wasn’t enough.
Elena pushed his arm back and he allowed her to move him. He patiently waited for her to direct their actions even though his erection was massive. As he watched, she pulled the lace from her legs and threw it on the floor. Then she boldly pushed the legendary warrior back until he lay supine on the bed.
She wanted him in every way a woman could take a man. She wanted to show him that her knee wouldn’t prevent their joining. But she had also wanted to take him for days and she wasn’t about to let the chance pass without taking full advantage of his offer.
He was incredible. She paused to appreciate the tableau. His wild hair was spread darkly over the white linen on her pillows and his muscular body was intimidating even in repose. His erection lay curved to the side across one of his hard thighs. He was obviously more than ready. In such flagrant excitement, his control of his body was beguiling.
She’d been bewitched by Ivan Romanov long after she had been stalked and he had been bespelled by another.
“I’m not a virgin. I’ve been with others. But never with anyone who was so strong. Your control is a siren call to my body. I want to make you lose it,” Elena said.
“You test my control beyond measure,” Romanov said. “But my control is yours. I give it to you because I can give nothing more.”
A poignant tug on her heartstrings seasoned the moment. He gave her this because he couldn’t give her his name.
Elena mounted her hot warrior. His skin burned between her thighs, but she was slick with expectation and her previous orgasm. He helped her spread her legs and position his shaft. With his hand, he teased the head of his cock against her opening. But she’d had enough teasing. She was throbbing and ready once more.
She lowered her weight onto his erection. Her body stretched to take him inside. Deep inside. She rocked to heighten their mutual pleasure and also to work her folds to open wider and wider to accept his full girth and length.
Her knee did twinge. But she did it to herself with her frenzied movements as she rode him and she didn’t care. Not when his head fell back and his eyes rolled. Not when his hips jerked up to meet hers in a fury of thrusts that bounced her breasts. His skin glistened with sweat. She tasted salt drops on her upper lip when she licked them. His hands slipped on her hips.
And still she took him deeper.
Her inner recesses pulsed around his steely member.
She raised her arms high above her head and even without wings she flew.
He pulled out as he pulsed with his orgasm and even that was proof that he cared. About her. About a possible child. Even as he lost control for her, he kept it, as well.
She would never fear the alpha wolf again.
Losing Ivan Romanov was her only concern.