She had wings again. They were large and white and beautiful in the moonlight...until they were covered in her own blood. The cage was too small. Smaller than it had ever been. It constricted her movements including her ability to draw breath into her plump, feathered breast. Elena frantically beat against the bars of the cage. It was useless. She didn’t care. After weeks of freedom, the confinement was worse. Much worse.
Because Grigori was there.
He wasn’t with her in the nightmare as he usually was. He was with her body where it slept in the tower.
“Your wolves won’t save you,” he said. His voice was sultry and low and so close to her that she realized he was bending close to her ear in real life. She felt his heated breath against skin, not feathers. In this nightmare, she was a swan in a cage. In real life, she had fallen asleep and Grigori had found her. He was there. Leaning over her helpless, sleeping form. “I’m only here to remind you that you’re mine. You can’t escape me. Your wolves are an inconvenience. No more. No less. And no matter what he’s done to you, it hasn’t erased my mark.”
She stilled in her cage. Her tiny swan heart fluttered in distress. She needed to take to the sky. She needed to flee. But she was helpless. When the press of his hot lips came against her cheek, she could only react as the swan. She erupted in a furious, frantic explosion of bloody feathers. She flapped her wings even though they caught against the bars of the cage. She struggled even as she bled. She fought. She screamed as a swan with wordless cackles and cries. And Grigori laughed. He enjoyed her anger and her pain.
But it wasn’t his laugh that woke her from the nightmare.
Romanov called her name as Grigori’s soft and silky touch began to slide along her helpless arms. Romanov’s familiar voice rang out and delivered her from her sleep paralysis.
She sat up. She struggled against a tangle of sheets.
Thud.
The scent of ozone filled the air, but it was dissipating through an open casement window. She had checked all the latches before she got in bed. It was pitch-black outside.
Thud.
Once she was free of the sheets, she ran to the window to latch it again, but that’s when she saw the shadowy form of a large raven distinct against the grayer black of the night sky. It circled around the tower, calling and calling.
Thud.
Its call sounded like Grigori’s laughter. It hadn’t been a dream. The witchblood prince had been in her room. He had touched her. Only Romanov had stopped him from continuing to molest her as she slept, trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape from by waking.
“Elena!”
The tower room door splintered in a loud crash as Romanov came into the room. He’d used his shoulder against it. She’d heard the thuds, but hadn’t processed what was happening. She’d only heard her name.
“He was here. Physically here. He kissed my cheek,” Elena said. “He touched my arm.” Her insides were hollow. Her heart barely seemed to beat. “He was never able to do that before. My mother’s protection has faded away.”
It was like losing her mother all over again. The shield had been powered by blood, but it had been love that had strengthened it and made it hold against Grigori. Her mother was gone.
Romanov came to her. He reached for the sword in her hand that she hadn’t even realized she’d carried with her to the window. Its stone responded to his touch when his hand closed over hers. The pale blue light rose up and illuminated his face.
Elena stepped forward to press against him. She needed his solidity and his strength.
The stone’s glow increased. But Romanov didn’t pull away. His hand tightened over hers on the sword’s hilt, and his other arm came up to wrap around her back. He held her. He pressed her against his chest. Only then did she feel the trembling that racked her body. It wasn’t fear. It was anger. Pure fury that Grigori had dared to touch her. He’d done much worse in her nightmares for years. She’d experienced every depravity he could think of in her dreams. But nothing was worse than the actual violation of his lips on her skin.
“I will kill him. I’ll spill every drop of his black blood,” Elena swore.
Romanov didn’t argue. He held her while his brothers paced around the room. The large wolves were obviously shaken by the invading presence they could sense had been there.
“I was just outside the door. We thought you were safe. Until you cried out in your sleep. The window should have made a noise. Lev and Soren should have smelled him,” Romanov said into her hair.
“They’re used to the scent of ravens. And Ether. I’ve smelled it in the hallways. It’s like ozone after a storm. Grigori had never been able to get close enough to me for me to smell it before,” Elena said. “But he reeked of it.” Suddenly, she buried her face against Romanov’s chest. Long locks of his hair hung down. She snuggled into them, breathing deeply of his wintry, masculine scent. His scent drove Grigori’s away.
The glow of the stone responded to his reaction to her nuzzling. It grew brighter, bathing both of them in its light. The entire room was lit by the softest haze of blue now. It couldn’t be ignored.
“The stone knows what you try to deny,” Elena said softly. She pulled back to look up at his face. His eyes held hers in the low light; they seemed a darker green in the shadows.
“I’m not ruled by Vasilisa’s blade,” Romanov said.
“You’ll die if I can’t wield the sword,” Elena said.
“You’ll die if Vasilisa thinks that I care for you,” Romanov replied.
He leaned down to kiss her and her lips opened eagerly beneath his. The kiss wasn’t tender. It was bruising and angry and all the more sweet because he lost control for a few seconds before he regained it and pulled away.
Elena looked over his shoulder at the crushed tower door. It had come halfway off its iron hinges. The latch hung busted to the side. More evidence of the powerful feelings he wouldn’t share.
“This was never a refuge, but it’s even less of one now that Grigori has tainted it. I can’t sleep here again,” she said. She reached for the key around her neck with her free hand. She lifted its chain from around her neck. The key dangled from the silver chain, more useless than it had ever been. She’d never been willing to use it against Romanov. While he watched, she dropped it on the floor at their feet. There would never be bars between them again.
“You can’t be alone. This happened even with me and my brothers outside the door,” Romanov said. He held her too tightly but she didn’t pull away. If his ferocious grip was all he could offer, she wouldn’t push him away. “Come with me. The sword will light our way.”
He didn’t let go of the hand that held the sword. It ended up gripped between them by both of their hands as they walked down the stairs. The faint blue glow spilled over the steps in front of them and they followed it away from the ravens, the key, and the wrought-iron bars made of thorns and roses.