Legendary Wolf
Autorzy
Barbara J. Hancock
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19,5K
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Chapter 1
The thick evergreen wood was nearly impenetrable save for the hollowed-out paths that wound through the snarled low-hanging branches and twisted tree trunks. Wild animals had made the paths—the deer headed for clearings where grass and water could be found, and the predators, who naturally followed in the deer’s footsteps, hungry for hot blood.
Anna was neither predator nor prey, although she was on the hunt.
It was dawn and a cool, damp mist rose around her and the gnarled spruce trunks as the sunrise heated the mountain air. The white fog curling down the same pathways she tried to traverse contributed to the forest’s shadows. It would disperse eventually. It was autumn and the temperature would rise high enough to dry the air, even in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania, where the chill of winter settled in earlier than elsewhere.
But it wasn’t warm yet.
Her breath, quickened by the uncertainty of low visibility, came from her parted lips in visible puffs. The hood of her scarlet cloak protected her hair from the damp, but the cool misty air still managed to brush her face and encroach with fingerlike tendrils on her neck and chest. Her hands were encased in long black leather gloves. They kept her fingers warm...although that was merely a side benefit.
She might be forced to take them off.
She dreaded taking them off here, of all places, but she would if she had to.
There were wolves in these woods. Natural ones that posed a certain amount of danger and the deadly unnatural ones she sought. Those were the ones that made her dread taking off her gloves while possibly making their removal necessary all at the same time.
She clenched her hands into fists at the thought of using her newfound Volkhvy abilities at all, but against one legendary wolf in particular.
The forest was silent around her.
No birds called. No breeze stirred the evergreen needles. Only the silent mist swirled and eddied as if it was caught in the maze created by massive trees and winding pathways. Anna felt trapped, too, but it was a familiar feeling. One she was well used to accepting and persisting through. She’d been trapped in a cursed castle for centuries. This ancient wood was nothing in comparison.
Or, at least, it would be nothing in comparison, if she weren’t here to find Soren Romanov.
Her connection to the Romanov wolves—and the red Romanov wolf in particular—was a decidedly tortuous entrapment. She’d wanted to avoid Soren for the rest of her life after they’d discovered that her mother was the Light Volkhvy queen, Vasilisa, who had cursed the Romanovs for centuries.
The Volkhvy were a race of witches that drew their power from the Ether, an invisible plane that surrounded the earth with energy. But the Ether was like a black hole. Its vacuum expelled energy and, at the same time, it took. Light witches managed this hunger carefully, most of the time. Dark witches...didn’t. And sometimes even a Light Volkhvy could be consumed by the Ether’s Darkness.
Her mother was a powerful witch who had made Dark decisions and her actions had cost Anna and the Romanovs tremendous pain and sacrifice. Elena Pavlova and Ivan Romanov’s love had defied the Light Volkhvy queen’s rage. They had broken Vasilisa’s curse six months ago.
But all was not forgiven.
Soren’s rejection of Anna following the revelation of her blood when the curse was broken would haunt her forever—and witches, like legendary wolves, lived a very long time.
She had embraced her new name and accepted her position as the Light Volkhvy princess because this was her life now. There was no place for her with the Romanovs.
If she could stay far away from the red wolf who had once been her most loyal companion, she might be able to recover. She might be able to come to grips with the power in her blood and maybe even learn to control it. She might forget Soren...eventually.
But the emerald sword had other ideas.
Even now, with her chest rising and falling too quickly in almost-panicked respiration, the sword’s Call couldn’t be ignored.
Her mother had created the legendary Romanov shifters as champions of the Light Volkhvy. With her magic, she had crafted three enchanted swords for the warrior women who would eventually become the enchanted shifters’ wives. The sapphire sword had Called Soren’s brother’s mate from across impossible time and distance to fight by his side. Elena was a human, but she had risked her life to find Bronwal and the legendary black wolf so he could help her defeat an evil witchblood prince who stalked her. She and Ivan had then worked together to break Vasilisa’s curse.
It was cruel irony that the red wolf’s sword would decide to Call the one woman who would prefer to stay as far away from the Romanovs as possible.
Her.
They had been her friends and companions. The red wolf had helped her survive a curse that had trapped her at Bronwal. The curse had threatened her life and her sanity for hundreds of years. Waiting to see Soren Romanov’s human face again had helped her endure.
Only to have him turn away from her in his wolf form and desert her once the curse was broken—because as the curse broke, it was revealed that Vasilisa was her mother.
Anna was a witch.
She’d had to deal with the red wolf’s desertion, and at the same time she’d nearly been overcome by the horror of her true parentage. He had run. But, she’d had nowhere to run from the horrible truth and no one to run away with.
Anna had come to a place in the forest where the path widened because it intersected with several other paths. Those trails led off in different directions, then disappeared as if the thick woods they tried to penetrate swallowed them.
She flexed her leather-encased fingers. The gloves on her hands helped to focus and contain the fledgling powers she was only beginning to understand. She hadn’t had the luxury of rejecting who and what she truly was. Her Volkhvy heritage was in her blood. Once she knew, it couldn’t be ignored.
She’d thought herself an orphan for too long.
Soren’s father, Vladimir Romanov, had kidnapped her and kept her as insurance against the queen he planned to overthrow. Anna had grown up alongside his children as a foundling they called “Bell.” She’d been ignorant of her witch heritage. When her mother had learned of Vladimir’s part in destroying the village where her baby daughter had been hidden from the threat of the Dark Volkhvy, she had cursed Bronwal to punish Vladimir for “killing” her daughter. Anna had been caught up in the curse, as well.
The knowledge that she was loved so much that her mother would weave a horrible curse as punishment for her supposed murder was a hot knot in her chest that was composed as much out of relief as it was of guilt.
But she was also filled with fear. She wasn’t just any witch; she was the daughter of the most powerful witch in existence. How could she trust herself to use the power her own mother had abused?
She forced the tingling in her fingers to ease off. She willed away the energy she inadvertently tried to channel because of her nerves. Before she’d discovered her identity, her powers had been dormant. Once her mother had begun her training, the power was always there, just beneath the surface of her skin, waiting to be released. It was entirely up to her to keep the energy she could channel in check. As she focused on control, the silence in the forest screamed a warning that roared deep in her ears along with the pounding of her heart.
There were wolves in the quiet wood.
She carefully picked her way down the path, heeding the warning that flared at the edges of her perceptions. She wasn’t alone. Ivan was busy at Bronwal. He and his new wife, Elena, were helping all the people who had survived the curse reclaim a modern life. She’d been there first and witnessed the construction, education and modernization that Vasilisa herself was helping to bring about as she tried to make amends.
That left Anna alone in the woods with Ivan’s brothers, the red wolf...and the white.
Coming back here was a mistake.
Her pounding heart most dreaded seeing Soren again, but her head knew that Lev—the white wolf—posed the greatest danger. He was feral. Completely out of touch with the man he’d once been. If it wasn’t for Soren, she would already have her gloves off and her hands would be free in case the white wolf decided to go from stalking to attack.
She could feel hungry eyes on her back. She’d tried to dismiss the feeling as imagination, but it persisted. Gooseflesh rose on the back of her neck, and it wasn’t the damp air that made her shiver. While she hunted for Soren, she was being stalked herself. Something was definitely out there, hiding in the trees and shadows. It might be the white wolf. Watching and waiting for the perfect moment to attack.
At the castle, they had told her that Soren was out looking for Lev. That he spent every waking moment trying to catch his wild twin brother and bring him back home. Coming into the woods after Soren Romanov had felt like a risk she had to take, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Suddenly, a long ululating cry broke the silence.
The howl came from far away, rising and falling in a weak, thready tone that she immediately pegged as coming from a natural wolf’s throat. She’d heard the Romanov wolves howl. Their shift from human form to wolf could shake the earth. Their vocalizations were much more powerful than this one. The weak howl fell away to nothing, and silence reigned once more.
Mist swirled. Shadows lurked. Her ears strained to pick up the slightest sound.
Every instinct she possessed screamed that she wasn’t alone, even as the hush deepened around her.
The sudden howl had caused her to freeze. Adrenaline rushed to her extremities and, in spite of her cloak, she shivered again against its cool, familiar flow beneath her skin. Her fear had helped her survive Bronwal during the curse. Now it caused her to stand motionless for only a moment before she reached to remove a glove. She couldn’t afford to be frozen by fear. She had to be fueled by it.
The long shafts of her leather gloves reached almost to her elbows. She pushed the left glove down to her wrist, but then another noise interrupted its removal.
A step sounded behind her.
A twig snapped.
She registered the quality of the sound before she whirled to face her stalker.
The snap had been caused by the tread of a boot, not a paw.
Her fingers fell away from the loosened glove. She hadn’t fully removed it. It was abandoned in a bunch around her wrist. She forgot her intention to free her magic as her hands dropped to her sides. They fisted in response to a strange yet hauntingly familiar face as a man materialized from the shadowy path behind her.
She should be glad it wasn’t Lev.
She should be relieved she wasn’t facing the feral white wolf.
As her chest tightened until she could hardly breathe, it wasn’t relief that claimed her. The large man who stepped toward her seemed as feral as the wolf she’d expected, and his altered appearance stabbed through her with a jolt of shocked recognition that pinned her in place.
She’d last seen Soren as her beloved companion, the red wolf. Before that, she remembered him as the handsome teenager who had been her loyal friend. They’d grown up together at Bronwal before the curse fell. She’d been an orphan. He’d been one of the legendary Romanov wolves, practically royal but somehow also hers.
The man who stalked her now had a heavy thundercloud brow and a mane of wild red hair around his bearded face. He was well over six feet tall with a muscular build and broad shoulders. He was Soren, but he wasn’t her Soren. He was changed. She backed up several paces until her spine came up against a tree. Its old, solid trunk wouldn’t allow her to retreat any farther.
This man was different, but as he approached she could see the giant wolf she’d known so well in his coloring and his movements. He was large but graceful. He was furious, but his fury was contained. She’d seen the red wolf stand against the Dark Volkhvy in just this way hundreds of times before. She had gloried in this moment, again and again. She had seen him confront and drive off countless marauders intent on stealing his brother’s enchanted blade.
The difference was that she had been by his side then and not the object of his fury.
“You aren’t welcome here, Volkhvy. Why have you come back?” Soren asked.
His voice. His human voice. When she’d heard it last, the world had been so much younger. There hadn’t been airplanes or automobiles. There hadn’t been blue jeans or cell phones. She had believed in loyalty and friendship. They had survived the passage of centuries together until his reaction to the truth had torn them apart. And now he sounded like an angry stranger. His voice was hard and rough. He spoke as if he’d howled alone at the moon far too many times.
“I had to come. There’s something you need to know,” Anna said. Her voice didn’t waver. Her whole body trembled from the shock of seeing him as her adversary, but her voice was as firm as it had to be. So much had changed, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be comfortable with the power in her blood, but she had faced down a curse without cowering. She wouldn’t be timid now when she most needed to stand.
“There’s nothing you have to say that I need to hear,” Soren said. Shock had stabbed her, but it was his sharp words that penetrated the tightness in her chest. With every harsh syllable, he found the tenderness she hid, and the arrows kept coming. Her heart was pierced a thousand times, but she didn’t sink to the ground. In fact, she straightened away from the trunk she’d used as support longer than she should have. She stood, straight and tall. He didn’t need to see her distress at his transformation. She didn’t need to show him her fear or her pain.
Because it was pain that burgeoned outward from her heart like spreading blood from a seeping wound.
His rejection wasn’t new, but seeing it up close was almost more than she could bear.
“There’s something you have to hear. Whether either of us wants to talk to each other or not,” Anna said.
He’d stalked closer and closer to her as she spoke. She refused to step back again. Besides, there was nowhere left to go. She’d left his rejection behind. She’d left to go to her mother’s royal seat on an island off the coast of Scotland, but the sword’s Call had found her. She wouldn’t retreat anymore. There was no point. She couldn’t run away from this or him. She had to face it.
Anna forced air in and out of her lungs. She firmed her resolve and lowered her eyes to her gloves. Carefully, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, she straightened the shaft of the one she had begun to pull off. She smoothed the black leather back up her forearm and into place. As she smoothed, she tamped down the power she’d been prepared to summon from the Ether if she’d had to. Her control felt too tenuous. Her fear burgeoned as she wondered if she was already becoming too like her mother. Her hood had fallen back. The rising mist moistened the dark brown curls around her face.
She’d worn Soren’s cap once. She’d worn it for a long time. She’d saved it for him, but now his head was bare.
He was a full-grown man who hadn’t needed her to save a boy’s cap after all.
Soren had stopped several feet away from her. Close enough so that she had to raise her chin when she was finally in control enough to look into his eyes. His face was shadowed in the dark forest and by the unbound waves of his red hair, but she could see the amber of his irises. His gaze narrowed when she boldly met it and searched it for the person she had known.
To no avail.
This Soren Romanov was not her friend or her loyal wolf companion. He was recognizable to her only because she would know him in any form, anywhere. Her soul knew his. Every cell in her body was attuned to every cell in his. The connection that had once saved her was cruel now.
They were enemies.
His pause was more obviously tense than hers. His whole body was stiff and still. He towered over her and held himself in place with an iron will, but he wasn’t calm. He seemed seconds away from the howl that roughened his voice.
“I have no time for you or for talking. My brother hasn’t come home since the curse was lifted. I was as close as I’ve come to luring him home when you came into the woods this morning,” Soren said. “No one at Bronwal wants to see you. Least of all my brothers or me. Especially Lev. You know he’s gone feral. He won’t suffer a witch in our midst. He will see you as the enemy.”
No other arrows were required; her heart was destroyed. There was nothing of that soft organ left. Only its weak ghost kept her alive with shallow beats, only her hardened core of determination kept her on her feet, as it always had. She was a woman honed by a curse. It didn’t matter if he didn’t trust her. It didn’t matter if she barely trusted herself. She still had her feet planted firmly on the ground.
And she had a job to do.
Soren might be her enemy, but she had other friends and loved ones at Bronwal. People who needed her to do the right thing, even if it hurt, to try to protect them and make up for the mistakes her mother had made.
“If the Dark Volkhvy are allowed to keep the emerald sword, peace won’t be possible at Bronwal. A Dark witch might manage to tap into the sword’s ability to enhance and channel the Ether’s energy even more powerfully than a witch can channel the Ether itself. With the sword, a Dark leader might take control of all Volkhvy. Hate me if you must, but know there is a much worse threat at your door. At your brothers’ doors,” Anna said. “Your emerald sword has been taken, and it must be retrieved.”
She had some pride and a healthy bit of self-preservation. She didn’t tell him that the sword’s Call had come for her. She didn’t tell him that by rejecting her, he’d rejected his destined mate. Destiny or not, she disagreed with the sword. There was no way a witch could be the mate of a Romanov wolf. Not after all that had happened. And there was no safe way for her to wield a Romanov sword as a witch. She couldn’t deny her heritage, but that didn’t mean she was going to trust her fledgling power to join with an enchanted object that held that much sway over Soren Romanov’s fate.
The truth was her Volkhvy blood was too powerful to be trusted with the sword’s enchantment. She was already struggling to learn how to control her abilities. Connecting with the sword would only make her more powerful. The possibility that she would become like her mother, leaning toward Dark uses of her powers, was a constant worry. As if the Volkhvy part of her blood carried a chill throughout her body with every beat of her heart. She’d spent her entire life fearing witches. Now she lived more closely with that fear than ever before.
She stood, flayed inside, as she offered him her help, not as an old friend, but as a Light Volkhvy witch with no choice. She couldn’t repair what her mother had done. She could only control her abilities with an iron will and continue to fight against Dark witches who might do worse than her mother had ever imagined if one managed to connect with the enchanted blade.
“Your mother’s evil enchantments are no longer my concern. I left the sword hidden in a deep ravine on a battlefield long ago when I abandoned my human form during the curse,” Soren said. “But if you haven’t noticed, I’m a man, not a wolf now, and your mother is no longer my queen.”
His voice was a threatening growl, low and angry. He looked ready to tear the forest apart rather than finish their conversation.
“I see you,” Anna said. This time her reply came out as a whisper. She couldn’t help it. She’d waited to see his human face for so long. It was torturous to see it now that she knew Volkhvy blood coursed through her veins. Soren didn’t trust witches. He certainly wouldn’t trust the daughter of Vasilisa. How could she blame him when she didn’t yet trust herself?
Her eyes tracked hungrily over his features. She couldn’t stop the perusal. Yes, she was a witch who, as yet, had no idea what that might mean for her future. Yes, he was angry and wild, a man with an enchanted wolf barely beneath the surface of his skin. But he was also beloved to her memories. She couldn’t help the desire to compare and contrast and seek whatever familiarity she could find.
His damp, dark lashes blinked beneath her appraisal as if he was startled by her penetrating stare. His eyes glowed golden as a stray sunbeam managed to find its way through the forest canopy over their heads. In spite of his anger and his bitter words, she wanted to brush his unkempt hair back from his angular face. She wanted to smooth his beard and mustache to reveal the sculpted lips she could barely see.
Her carefully controlled hands didn’t betray her desire with any movement whatsoever.
He was Soren, but he wasn’t her Soren. The reminder hurt, but not as much as forgetting would hurt. He wouldn’t want her touch. He wouldn’t lean into her glove-covered fingers. She should be glad of that. How could she trust herself to touch him, knowing the potential for power that pulsed beneath her skin? Because that potential for power also came with the potential for its abuse. She’d seen what her mother had done. She’d barely lived through it.
“You come here dressed like a Volkhvy princess. I well remember your mother’s preference for red silk before she turned to the mourning color of purple,” Soren said.
“Should I keep wearing mismatched rags like I wore before? I am a Volkhvy princess. I am a witch. I am Vasilisa’s daughter. There’s no point in denying the truth. Just as there’s no point in refusing my offer to help you retrieve the sword,” Anna replied. It hurt to say it out loud. That she was no longer human. That she’d never been human. How long would it take for her to get used to being a witch? His rejection hurt all the more because she couldn’t walk away from herself. She was stuck with what she’d become, come what may. Her mother had danced with the Darkness when she’d thought she’d lost her child. Who was to say that Anna would do better if she was ever challenged in the same way?
“The emerald sword was forged by an evil queen for her champions. I’m no longer her champion, therefore, I don’t give a damn about the sword,” Soren said. “Let them have it.”
He edged closer as he spoke, and Anna’s pulse sped up, giving lie to the idea that her heart was ruined and unable to pound. Her back came up against the tree trunk again, even though she hadn’t meant to move.
She watched his eyes widen slightly. Either he was surprised by her sudden retreat or he was taking in the change of perspective. When he was in his wolf form, he was much larger than a natural wolf. The red wolf had come to her chest in height so she leaned over him to speak and he pointed his nose to the sky in order to meet her eyes.
As a man, he dwarfed her in height and breadth.
The difference was stunning.
He loomed large and intimidating, but also...something more. Her reaction wasn’t entirely one of shock. There was a more pleasurable thrill pulsing beneath her skin, as well.
Attraction.
Her retreat had been spurred in part because she wanted to step forward to meet his advance and she knew she shouldn’t. He wouldn’t welcome her. And she had to maintain control of the powers she didn’t trust. The nearer she came to him, the less control she had...in all things.
He was so close now. Only inches away. When she inhaled, a woodsy scent rose from his skin warmed by his body heat into something more human and masculine than spruce, fresh air and autumn leaves. She’d been angry at the red wolf’s rejection. In part because she had no way to reject herself. Her reaction to his human form was much more complicated.
She reached to hold the tree at her back, one hand on either side of her hips.
Her mother had begun the process of teaching her how to channel and control the power that Volkhvy drew from the atmosphere of the invisible Ether that surrounded them all. She was a novice. Her mother had already been a queen when she’d lost control and fomented a curse that plagued the Romanovs and, inadvertently, her own daughter for centuries.
The tightness in Anna’s chest was magnified as Soren paused and his amber gaze tracked over her features. He had tilted his head closely over hers and his hair fell on either side of her face, a russet curtain against the darker surroundings. She held her breath rather than trying to force air into her stubborn lungs.
And, heaven help her, she closed her eyes.
Even curse tempered, her bravery had its limits.
“You are a stranger to me,” Soren said softly. “One I do not wish to know.”
Perhaps she could blame the sword’s Call to the power in her blood for her attraction to this man who obviously despised her. Or perhaps not. The years that had passed didn’t prevent her from remembering the way she’d felt about him when she’d been a girl. He’d been boyishly handsome then and princely to her Cinderella.
Now he was hardened and scarred and angry.
And, still, she yearned.
Her eyelids opened. She couldn’t hide from this meeting by closing her eyes. His gaze locked onto hers and she was caught by the swirl of emotions behind the golden brown.
If there was only anger and distrust left between them, why did she want to touch his frowning face?
“If you care about your family, then you have to care about the sword. The Dark Volkhvy will use it against Bronwal if they have it long enough for one of them to discover how to connect with its power. Ivan and Elena and all the Romanov people will be endangered by a Dark witch connected to the emerald sword,” Anna said. Her lips moved to persuade him of desperate practicalities, but she held the rest of herself still beneath his harsh stare. It was far worse than she’d expected to stand nearly toe-to-toe with him. He despised Volkhvy. She didn’t trust her own blood or the connection the sword tried to forge between them. And yet, her desire to reach out to him wasn’t quelled.
“Why do you care? About any of us?” Soren asked. “Bell is gone. She died with the breaking of the curse and you’ve been reborn as someone we hate.” The growl was still in his voice, but it was accompanied by a new emotion he’d hidden until now. She recognized grief. He mourned for who she had been as if she’d died. As if Bell and Anna weren’t the same person.
The idea that she was dead to him was worse than rejection. She felt more abandoned to her Volkhvy blood and adrift in its power than before. For the first time since he’d stepped out of the woods, an ember of anger rekindled beneath her breast.
“My blood doesn’t negate who I was before,” Anna said. Although she wondered. She’d wondered from the moment her parentage had been revealed. “Of course I care...about Bronwal and all the people in it.” Not about him in particular. Not anymore. It wasn’t wise and it wasn’t safe. It wasn’t controlled, and she wouldn’t allow it.
“Witches only care for themselves. Your mother manipulated our genes with magic before we were born. She made us monsters and then she cursed us when our father proved too monstrous for her to handle. You can’t expect me to trust her daughter,” Soren said.
He whirled away as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. He paced several steps in the direction from which they’d come, but then he stopped in the middle of the path. His hair fell down his back in tangled waves. It created a halo around his head where the sunbeams fell. His clothes were still the mismatched, poorly mended type of garments that denizens of Bronwal had pieced together during the curse. He wore scuffed leather breeches and a long woolen cloak. His boots had seen better days.
There was something about his manly size and shape paired with the poor quality of his clothing that made her tight chest ache. His castle was on the mend, but he, himself, was still in the midst of the curse. It had been broken. But it didn’t matter. Lev was still a feral wolf. She was the daughter of his worst enemy. Soren’s nightmare wasn’t over.
“You don’t have to trust me. I’m not here to gain your trust,” Anna said. She couldn’t protect her secret and help him at the same time. Self-preservation and pride gave way, because her pain mattered less than keeping the people of Bronwal safe. “I’m here because the emerald sword Calls to me, Soren. Vasilisa sent me to help you find it.”
Soren’s entire body stiffened. It was as if his spine turned to steel as she watched him harden from his head to his shoes. She waited as he slowly turned back around. It seemed to take an eternity. Her breath caught in her throat as she both dreaded and anticipated seeing his face again.
No. No. No. No. No.
“No,” he said. His eyes met hers, and his amber irises no longer needed the sunbeam. They blazed with his emotion alone. “No.”
His words still sliced through her, even though they only echoed her own rejection of the sword’s Call.
“There’s nothing I can do to change it. I tried to ignore its Call. The enchantment is too strong. It can’t be ignored. My destiny and yours were forged into its blade and burned into the heart of the emerald in its hilt,” Anna said. “The two of us have to work together to prevent the Dark Volkhvy from using the emerald sword’s power to hurt the people of Bronwal. Only we can stop them. We have to prevent the emergence of a new Dark prince.”
“Or princess,” Soren added.
Her cheeks were heated. She could feel the flush flaming there against the cool morning mist. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, but she saw no other way to convince him that he needed her. He couldn’t ignore the enchantment without exposing his family and his people to further harm.
“I won’t be manipulated by Vasilisa’s enchantments,” Soren continued. “Never again. There is no chance I 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.
