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“So much more. As many as you want.” Ana’s voice warbled.
She didn’t have to wait long for the charm to take effect. He finished the apple and tossed it into the distance before charging toward her with long, violent strides.
The Ravenwood thrust his hands behind Ana and took her hair in his fists, forcing her head back. With a hard sniff, he traced his tongue along the hollow of her neck, sweeping upward until he reached her chin. His teeth clamped onto the edge, enough to make her wince. She felt his cock throb against her belly, swollen with intent, and if she wasn’t fast enough, Magda’s charm would outmatch her own magic.
Ana tore away and skittered back. Her flesh was nearly frozen, her bones blocks of ice. “The rest of the apples are elsewhere, raven.”
He licked his lips. A menacing air surrounded the roll of his shoulders and the quick sneer as he sized her up. Something was different this time—something about the charm. It wasn’t the apples he wanted.
It was her.
Magda had changed the intent, and if Ana didn’t shiftimmediately,the raven would overpower her, and there’d be nothing she could do except scream into a void of nothing.
“Where then?” He strained his words through a gruff moan, his hand back on his cock.
“Follow—” Ana shifted before she could finish, fright shooting her into the skies for the race of her life.
Steam snaked along the surface of Tyreste’s mug. He preferred taking his cider outside, even in the springtide. There were perhaps a dozen days each year in the Cross warm enough for him to leave the furs inside, and he relished every one of them.
The first night he’d spent with Anastazja had been like that. The Cider Festival had been in full swing, and she’d come into the tavern and taken a seat near the window, alone, impishness coloring her gaze.Can you join me out there, or are you too busy?
You don’t have someone else you’d rather, ah, go with?
If I did, I’d have asked them. Though... I hope you didn’t have your heart set on the festival.
What do you mean?
Eighteen years I’ve watched the men crush apples beneath their feet like barbarians, and I just don’t think they can add anything new to the sport, do you?
Can’t say I fancy watching men do drunken dances on a field of apples, either. But there’s not much else to do in Witchwood Cross, is there?
We’ll think of something.She’d whispered the words, and he’d been delightfully caught by her roguish grin, her plump red lips pursed and inviting.
Tyr’s father, with a knowing half smile, had nodded for him to go with her. So he had. Ana had taken him up into the foothills, climbing nearly as high as the Shrine of the Ancestors. She’d insisted she went there all the time, but she had been so winded by the hike, he doubted it. It was only later he learned she usually flew.
Flew. A phoenix. An actual, honest-to-Guardians shifter. How ironic it was that Tyr’s mother had calledhimone, after he’d risen from the ashes of the old tavern in Parth and made it north to his family, back from the dead.
But his father’s assessment seemed far more apt. A blackbird. Solitary by nature.
He and Ana had talked for hours, about the most wonderfully inconsequential things, and then they’d made love by a fire, spinning magic under the stars.
He’d never been the same since.
Acrimony creeped into his bones. He could almost feel the wall rebuilding itself brick by brick, blocking out both the darkness and the light. Slowly, the soft perfume of apples, ofher,faded, and there was only his bitter root coffee and the gently swirling snow. A storm between storms.
Tyr started to turn and go back in when he spotted bright orange streaking through the sky. He started forward, squinting as the phoenix tilted sideways, angling downward into the foothills, in the direction of the observatory and the shrine.
Directly behind her was another bird. A raven. Close enough to give the impression of a chase.
She’s not your problem anymore,he told himself, his eyes still pinned on the sky as he retreated inside.
Anastazja’s heart stayed in her throat when she shifted back. She hadn’t slowed her momentum when she’d landed, rushing for the blazing lights under the dome of glass, despite there being just as much danger ahead as behind.
She burst through the door and whipped her head around, searching for something to drape over her. There were no cloaks on the rack. Her clothing was nowhere to be seen. The cavernous room had always been light on furnishings, but it seemed garishly empty now. The bearskin rug near the single hearth was the only thing resembling relief, so she raced over and huddled near the flames.
Strong hands gripped her hips from behind and tugged. She lost her footing and went sprawling, slamming her hand against the mantle on the way to the ground. She tried to grab hold as she fell but instead went tumbling to the rug with a strangled cry.
The raven rolled her onto her back and loomed over her. Lit by flames and stars, his expression flickered between menacing and peaceful. She swallowed hard, knowing which was true yet wishing she was wrong. He’d eaten the apple. Until the effects wore off, he would be in thrall to Magda’s command.
