Legendary Wolf. Barbara Hancock J.

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