will accept that you are...that Vasilisa’s daughter...is destined to be my mate. And there’s no way I’ll work with you to retrieve the sword.”
Anna thought she’d experienced shock before, but she’d been wrong. He would turn his back on his responsibilities in order to turn his back on her. He hated her that much. Soren’s face had become pale marble behind his russet beard. His pupils were so large that his eyes looked black. The tightness in her chest suddenly released. She was hollowed out and empty. The hollowness seemed to be reflected in those bottomless pits as they stared at her.
The idea of her as his wife was repugnant to him.
Of course it was.
That should come as no surprise.
But he refused to hear her reasonable arguments because of her blood as well, and his stubborn refusal shocked her to her core.
She couldn’t reject her blood. She couldn’t reject the mother she’d found after centuries of having none. She might never trust her blood or her mother, but she couldn’t change them. She could only endure his opinion of her the same way she’d endured the curse. One foot in front of the other, for years and years and years.
She was a Volkhvy.
Soren Romanov despised Volkhvy.
And yet, the sword had chosen her, so it was only a Light Volkhvy princess who could lead him to the sword.
“I don’t want the sword or the connection between us. I only want to stop the Dark Volkhvy from using its power to do more harm. I’m not here to claim the sword. Or you,” Anna said.
The Call of the emerald sword echoed in the shell of her body as all she’d once felt for Soren Romanov evaporated like mountain mist in the rising sun.
I’m not here to claim the sword. Or you.
Her words echoed in his ears long after the silence of the forest had descended around their standoff once more. His feet were planted on firm ground. His muscles responded when he tightened his fists. His chest rose and fell. His heart beat. But none of those things negated the feeling that he stood on a jagged, dangerous precipice waiting for the suck of gravity to take him down, down, down to the floor of the canyon somewhere far below.
Bell was gone. But she was also mere feet away from where he stood waiting to fall to his death. The fall never came, of course. That would have been an escape, and there was no escape from this. The feeling of being on the edge of a cliff was only the emptiness her presence caused deep in his gut.
Because she wasn’t really here.
This wasn’t the girl he’d known. She wasn’t even the woman the girl had become as they’d endured the curse together, side by side. He’d been Bell’s protector. Her constant companion for more years than he could count. He’d been in his wolf form, but he remembered every second, every one-sided conversation, every wistful sigh and every battle. Those intimate memories scalded his already raw emotions.
The beautiful witch who faced him with wide green eyes and damp curly hair was a stranger, an enemy who was interfering with the hunt for his brother right when he was as close as he’d ever been to luring Lev home.
Soren had no time for Anna. He had to make the distinction between the girl he had known and the witch she had become clear in his heart. He had to save his brother before it was too late. Talk of swords and witches only prolonged the inevitable moment when he would have to see her leave again. Even if she only left once he had driven her away.
* * *
The howl that sounded around them was so different from the natural wolf’s howl she’d heard before that Anna jumped away from the tree. She’d have time later to mourn what she might have had with Soren Romanov if she’d actually been the foundling he loved.
For now, she swallowed her fear and chose to survive.
She had her left glove off before her feet hit the ground, and as she landed with her boots planted wide apart, the other glove fell beside its partner. Beneath her scarlet cloak—her princess garb—she wore deep green insulated leggings and a matching microfiber jacket that would have seemed at home on a cross-country skier’s body.
She’d grown used to eclectic dress as the orphaned waif of Bronwal. She saw no reason to change now. She was still Bell, even as she found her way as Anna, whether Soren understood that or not.
The veins in her hands glowed a pale green beneath her porcelain skin in the forest shadows as her cloak fell back from her shoulders to hang in a long flow of scarlet down her back.
“Don’t scare him. It’s taken me months to get him this close to the castle,” Soren ordered gruffly.
“Don’t scare him? Okay. Right. Makes perfect sense,” Anna replied. But the veins in her hands dimmed in response to Soren’s concern. She saw herself through his eyes, witchy and strange.
Another ferocious howl followed the first without pause. It was accompanied by a chorus of weaker howls that sounded from all directions around them. They stood in the center of the path. Her leap had instinctively taken her to a defensive position beside Soren. The weaker howls indicated a pack of natural wolves were following the white wolf’s lead.
“Scaring them away might be our best chance to survive,” Anna warned.
“Not an option,” Soren growled. He moved to place his back up against hers as he spoke. His rough voice vibrated against her. She ignored the pleasant thrill the vibration caused deep in her stomach. Her physical reaction to him was a distraction and his sharp words and even sharper rejection of who and what she’d become flustered her in harsher ways. She focused on the approaching howls instead.
The wolves were hunting.
And they wouldn’t be hunting one of their own.
They were coming for her, not Soren.
“They’ll tear me apart if I don’t defend myself,” Anna said. “And maybe even if I do.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Soren said.
This time she wasn’t able to ignore the thrill in response to his proclamation. These words were more like the Soren she’d known for so long. He might hate her now. He might want her to go away. But this was Soren Romanov, and he wasn’t going to throw her to the wolves—even if one of the wolves was his brother.
“I’ll take that as a promise,” Anna replied.
They were surrounded by the haze of morning mist that slowly rode the unseen drafts in the air around them. The mist’s movement made it nearly impossible to note whether or not the shadows in the undergrowth moved, as well. Anna strained her eyes to try to penetrate the mist and the shadows. A hulking canine shape detached itself from the trunk of a tree only to melt into nothingness again when she thought she’d finally focused on the shape of a wolf. It happened again and again until she finally knew there were dozens of wolves among the trees. They were in constant motion, but none of them stepped forward onto the path.
“Damn it, Lev. You don’t belong in the forest. Let this pack go and come home to Bronwal,” Soren said.
Even in his human form, Soren’s eyes were better than her own. He saw and spoke to his brother before the massive shape of the white wolf materialized out of the mist. Anna couldn’t help it—she gasped when Lev came out of the trees. He was as familiar to her as Soren, but he’d always kept his distance. For centuries he’d been a savage but ghostly presence on the periphery of her existence. She’d always known to be leery of him. She’d avoided him just as she’d avoided the other denizens of Bronwal who were Ether addled.
But his appearance now startled her so badly that her hands flared without her giving them permission. Volkhvy