Legendary Shifter Page 8

  In his wolf form, he was much bigger than his brothers and much more savage. He was the eldest brother and the leader of their enchanted pack. And the black wolf was so close to the surface of his skin this Cycle that its ferocity was a part of him even when he walked on two legs. He hadn’t needed to assume wolf form to defeat Dominique. He’d done it with human hands.

  Lev wasn’t the only danger to the determined dancer.

  Bronwal was no haven for Elena. It was a monster’s lair.

  Lev had terrified Elena, but her fear was nothing compared to Ivan’s horror as he’d seen the white wolf stalk the woman he’d kissed hours before. The scene had seemed like a premonition of what might occur if he gave in to the alpha wolf clawing its way out of his heart.

  But it had also been a revelation.

  Whether she knew it or not, she’d held the flashlight in the exact same way that his brother’s wife, Madeline, had held the ruby sword in the tapestry on the wall behind her. Elena had been frightened, but she’d also been magnificent. In her simple modern clothes, she’d seemed as much of a warrior in her own way.

  He cursed the fickle universe that would bring him a potential mate now, when he was doomed and disgraced. The sapphire might flare for her. The Romanov blade might come to her hand. She might be a warrior at heart, all determination and perseverance and steadfast resilience, but the time when he might have gloried in discovering her was long, long past.

  He would never bind her to his horrible fate.

  The Light Volkhvy had chosen the Romanovs as champions. They had gifted the Romanov sons with the ability to shift into supernatural wolves that could stand against the dark. And they had crafted the swords to aid in the fight. Lev’s wife had claimed Lev’s sword before she had claimed his heart. She’d fought by his side from the first day they’d met, and it had been obvious the sword had chosen her as its mistress.

  But he couldn’t allow the sapphire blade to choose Elena Pavlova.

  Chapter 7

  On the way back to the tower, Elena was puzzling over the tapestry when she ran into Bell. The young servant was struggling to pull a trunk up a flight of stairs. Her burden was bigger than she was, and Elena paused to watch as the other woman doggedly refused to give up. Her lack of makeup and her size had caused Elena to misjudge her age the first time they’d met. This time, Elena could see that she was curvier than she’d appeared while she’d been carrying water. She probably wasn’t much younger than Elena herself, and that wasn’t even taking the curse into account.

  A shock shivered down Elena’s spine when she acknowledged that the young woman might look eighteen or nineteen years old, but she’d been born centuries ago.

  Bell paused and stood against the trunk so it wouldn’t slide backward. She used her weight to hold it while she straightened to stretch her back. Elena wasn’t sure how many more flights she had to tackle, but she was only halfway up this one and the brown curls on her forehead were damp with sweat from her exertions.

  “I can help,” Elena offered. She was sorry she spoke without clearing her throat when the other woman dropped down in a defensive crouch as if she braced against an attack. The move allowed the trunk to slide back one jarring step with a loud boom that echoed off the stone walls of the stairway.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized as she stepped forward to place her weight against the trunk too. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Can never be too careful in Bronwal. Not now. You never know if someone Ether-addled or worse is going to come at you without really seeing who they’re attacking,” Bell said.

  “Someone or some wolf,” Elena agreed.

  “There’s only one wolf you have to worry about at the moment. Soren would never hurt you,” Bell said.

  “You don’t worry about the black wolf?” Elena asked.

  Bell had leaned to pick up the end of the trunk she’d been tugging before, but this time Elena leaned to pick up the handle on the other side. They hoisted together and, even though it was heavy, they were able to climb up the stairs without much trouble.

  They were both stronger than they seemed.

  “I worry about everyone and everything in Bronwal. It would be a mistake to lower my guard. But the red wolf is usually not far when bad things happen. He keeps an eye on those of us left behind,” Bell said.

  “Isn’t the black wolf a guardian too?” Elena asked. She followed Bell’s lead from the top of the staircase down a short hall and up another flight of stairs.

  “Romanov is our guardian,” the other woman said. She acted as if she’d answered Elena’s question even though she hadn’t. Where was the black wolf? Had it disappeared into the Ether or was it wandering around the mountain like Lev, Ether-addled and dangerous?

  After several more flights of stairs that left even Elena winded, they came out of a narrow door and onto the ramparts of the castle. Bell was probably used to the view, but she paused to take in the endless stretch of craggy mountains anyway. They must be too spectacular to ever become commonplace and maybe she missed them when she was in the Ether. Enough to need to soak in the view when she could.

  “The Mountains of the Sunset...you need to come up one evening to see the colors. I never tire of it when we’re materialized,” Bell said. She really was surprisingly pretty. Her hat shadowed her face and hid her good looks until her bowed lips and dimple flashed when you least expected it. “That’s why I’ve made my room up here. And because no one wanders up this high. Romanov was right when he said you should stay in your tower. To survive, we have to be careful, all the time.”

  Bell tugged on her handle to show Elena which way she wanted to go. They wound around the main body of the castle on a walled walk with openings that allowed a person to see for miles. Elena supposed the openings had once been intended for guards to keep watch. Now, she took advantage of them to gauge the weather on mountains as they walked.

  No snow fell. The sky was clear.

  Finally, when her arms seemed like they would scream in protest, they came to an abandoned aviary. The stone structure was circular with a high, domed roof made of copper. The scrolled iron cage that had once surrounded the aviary on one side was in rusty disrepair, but the mews was intact. Someone had lifted the top fastening window shutters and propped them open so that they fanned out all around the aviary. There were no birds inside to keep contained. Instead of birds, the floor had been swept and mopped clean and covered with colorful rugs. There was a bed and several chairs, as well as shelves full of books. There were other bits and baubles that shone or sparkled throughout the room so that Elena revised her opinion.

  There was one bird who inhabited the aviary—a cheerful magpie just over five feet tall.

  “Thank you for your help. It’s been a while since anyone has lent me a helping hand,” Bell said.

  Elena was glad to set her side of the trunk down when Bell indicated the spot where she wanted it placed at the foot of the bed.

  That’s when she turned and noticed the russet fur that covered one of the rugs near the door. Did Soren keep vigil between the door and the bed when Bell was sleeping?

  “But not so long since someone lent a helping paw?” she asked. She leaned over to pick up a strand of red hair and lifted it to show the other woman.

  “I don’t sleep a lot while we’re materialized. I hate to waste a minute. But needs must, and sometimes I can’t help myself. Once, last Cycle, a Dark Volkhvy found me here in my aviary. They’re always a danger, but they usually confront Romanov. I don’t know how or why one came for me. But Soren intervened,” she said. “He saved me.”

  She opened the trunk while she spoke. Nestled inside was a jumble of clothes and possessions. Elena noticed that the clothing was meant for a man. No doubt more practical than some of the clothes made for women when the people of Bronwal were born.

  And Bell did seem to f
avor practical clothes. Her boy’s hat was always placed firmly on her head.

  “He seems to do that a lot,” Elena said. “He fetched Romanov and saved me from a very angry Lev a half an hour ago.”

  Bell dropped the lid of the trunk and straightened.

  “Was Soren okay? I worry sometimes that Lev will turn on him. He’s so far gone,” Bell said.

  “He was fine. The last I saw of him he was chasing after Lev and he didn’t seem frightened,” Elena said. “You grew up with them?” she asked. She already knew the answer. Bell was younger than Elena but not by much in actual physical years, although the curse had doomed her to “live” much longer.

  “I came to Bronwal when I was a baby. I’ve never known any other home. But I wasn’t always a servant. That happened after the curse, when more and more servants disappeared,” Bell said. “I was put to work and I didn’t mind. Not when the Romanovs had taken me in and given me a safe place to live.”

  “What happened to your parents?” Elena asked.

  “They were killed in one of the last battles between the Romanovs and the Dark Volkhvy. I don’t remember them. Sovkra was the mountain village where I was born. It was decimated. Vladimir Romanov found me in a field of burning bellflowers. He carried me out of the village as a wolf would carry a pup.”

  “And he brought you home,” Elena said.

  “Yes. The nanny and servants who cared for his children raised me. They all called me ‘Bell’ because of the scorched flowers I clutched in my hands when the gray wolf lifted me from the flames. I was clothed and fed and basically allowed to run wild until I had to take up the tasks of running the castle myself,” Bell said.

  “If Vladimir had taken you elsewhere, you wouldn’t have been caught up in the curse,” Elena said. Bell had been an innocent babe rescued by the Romanovs when she’d been orphaned.

  “I wouldn’t change a thing if I could go back and if I had that power. This is my home. These are my people,” Bell said. She stood tall and squared her shoulders. In spite of their serious conversation she still had a hint of a sparkle in her eyes. It might be moisture. It might be determination. Elena couldn’t be sure. “One day the curse will be lifted and the Romanov brothers will be free. I won’t lose myself before that. I want to be here to see...their faces.”

  Elena had the feeling there was a particular face that Bell might be pining for, but she shied away from further questions. There was no way to know if Ivan Romanov’s brothers would return from the Ether where they had disappeared, but she had too many of her own foolish hopes to dash Bell’s.

  “I’d better go and find Soren,” Bell said.

  Elena took one last look at the view. It was a fairy-tale setting, but this was a dark, dark tale indeed, especially now. The snow that had bought her time to search for the black wolf had stopped falling.

  * * *

  Her book was tucked in the backpack she’d left in her room. The familiar object came into her hands as if her fingers were made to flip its pages. She’d looked through it so many times. It had been an escape from the dance when she’d thought it was a fantasy world. Later, after her mother’s death, it had been a comfort. Then, later still, once Grigori revealed himself and his plans, it had been hope. But she hadn’t turned to the book for comfort or hope this time.

  The binding fell open to her favorite illustrations: one of the castle. One of three Romanov wolves running through a wintry wood. One of Vladimir. She paused on the illustration of Ivan’s father. She traced the square angle of his jaw and the sharp line of his nose. So very like his eldest son’s.

  Ivan Romanov and his brothers weren’t pictured. His mother was only shown on horseback with indistinct features. As she looked closely at each intricately crafted three-dimensional image that rose from every page, she scanned for something she’d never noticed—swords with enchanted gems on their hilts. The artist had created a complex world completely out of paper. The movement of the pages caused the paper to fold up and out and each image was seen as a silhouette against a backdrop of shadowy black.

  There were battle scenes. There were many ordinary blades. None with the jeweled hilt she was looking for, but she thought to scan the vines and flowers, the skies and borders and all the other places in the book that had become so familiar to her that she barely noticed the details they contained.

  That’s how she found the sword from the tapestry. Its ruby was unmistakable once her eyes and tracing finger separated it from the leaves of the great oak in which it was hidden. After that, she redoubled her efforts to find Ivan Romanov’s sapphire blade, but it eluded her notice. Page after page held birds and roses and scrolling designs, but no Romanov blade. Until finally she found another sword. This one was hidden in the twining briars of a wild rose that climbed the side of the castle’s wall. Except the gem in its hilt winked with an emerald sheen.

  She’d held the sapphire hilt in her own two hands. She knew she would find its like in the book. She’d seen the ruby sword in the tapestry. Now she knew there had been at least three Romanov blades. One for each brother?

  But it hadn’t been Romanov’s brother wielding the sword in the tapestry. Who then? The missing brother, the abandoned room, the empty cradle... Elena closed the book before she’d found the sapphire sword. Her throat was tight and her eyes burned. The warrior woman in the tapestry had seemed so at home with the sword in her hand. Had she been married to one of Vladimir Romanov’s sons?

  She’d never known her favorite childhood story was a tragedy. She wondered which brother in the portrait she’d seen had disappeared with his entire family into the Ether. Had they all gone at the same time or had some or one been left behind?

  There was so much she didn’t understand. She didn’t know if she’d have time to delve as deeply as she needed to into the past and the facts behind the legend in order to summon the alpha wolf. It was all much more complicated than she’d expected. She’d wondered if the legend would prove to be true. She’d never expected to have to search for a reluctant champion once she found Bronwal.

  It was late. Most of the distant sounds in the castle had quieted to murmurs and indistinct scrapes and sighs. Bronwal never slept. But it did experience lulls in activity. Elena’s stomach had growled for the hundredth time. Her encounter with the white wolf hadn’t faded in her mind, but her hunger couldn’t be ignored any longer. No one had brought food to the tower, and her energy bars were running out. She was forced to abandon the book and go looking for a kitchen.

  This time she bumped into several servants on her way down to lower floors in the castle. Each time they barely acknowledged her presence. Each time she was struck by their eclectic manner of dress. There were many different periods represented, as if coming and going from the Ether was a kind of time travel. Often they were disheveled and threadbare, as if they didn’t have the cognizance necessary to take care of simple matters of hygiene and personal appearance.

  One man tried to stop her. He grabbed her arm and yelled nonsense questions in her face. His bloodshot eyes rolled around in their sockets and his clothes were nothing but rags that hung on his emaciated body.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I can’t help you,” Elena said. She pulled away with all her strength and the man fell sobbing to the floor. She backed away as she finally recognized some of the syllables he was rolling together.

  “Mywifemywifemywifemywife.”

  She had to leave him. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t break the curse or end his suffering. The inhabitants of Bronwal were wanderers. Drifting in and out of existence every ten years. Her heart beat rabidly in her chest as she continued down more flights of stairs. She noted many others she passed had similar wild eyes and uncoordinated, shuffling steps. For the first time, she wondered if Romanov had ordered Lev and Soren to follow her as guardians rather than spies. Alone, she encountered many more of Bronwal’s mad
inhabitants. Now that she didn’t have the wolves’ protection, how would she ever find the alpha wolf when she had to dodge the angry white wolf and navigate crowds of desperate, zombie-like people?

  This was Ivan Romanov’s world. How had he managed to stay sane for so long?

  And what of the alpha wolf? The curse affected the people of Bronwal, but now she’d discovered that it affected the wolves, as well. The white wolf’s statue was smaller and less powerful than the black wolf. The alpha was larger in her book’s illustrations too. If she found him, he might be more savage toward her than Lev.

  When she reached the lower levels, the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. It was a welcome change to dust and unwashed bodies. She hurried forward, propelled as much by her stomach as by the need for cheer, any cheer, especially the kind found in a warm kitchen on a cold night.

  She didn’t expect to find Ivan Romanov leaning on a scarred wooden table where Patrice worked. The older woman’s arms were up to her elbows in dough.

  “I thought you might make your way down here,” he said as Elena hurried into the room only to stop dead in her tracks.

  Unlike the rest of the castle, the kitchen wasn’t deserted. There was a fire in the large hearth, and the ovens built into the stone on either side of it were filled with baking loaves. Besides Patrice and Romanov, there were several other servants bustling around. Elena recognized some of them as people who had carried bathwater to the tower her first night. Several were busily sweeping up the flour that Patrice didn’t seem to notice she’d dusted all over the floor.

  “Nothing like the smell of breakfast to get you out of bed,” Patrice said. It was well past noon. Breakfast would have been hours before if Bronwal kept to a regular schedule. Elena had eaten nothing but protein bars since the light meal she’d bought in Cerna after her long journey south from Saint Petersburg to Romania. Her stomach gurgled audibly and Romanov straightened. He motioned her forward to a stool beside him. In front of it was a plate filled with freshly sliced bread. Near that was a stone crock of pale yellow butter and a wheel of fragrant cheese.