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The Ural Mountains; 1290

She stood, trying to catch her breath, surprised it was so easy to get away. Too easy. He would be angry when he found her, but then she had known he would be when she escaped her escort at the kremlin. She was under guard, watched and protected.

She knew from what she was defended, the Volk, but she also knew some risks had to be taken, some boundaries had to be tested.

Her escape of the fortress was not a frivolous whim, but one of necessity.

Right now she was more interested in getting to the woods, to the sacred pools. She needed to see what her future would hold, if following her heart was indeed the right way to go. Uncertainty never sat well on her shoulders.

There was too much at stake.

For her, it wasn’t simply her heart, but her very life.

The early morning light dappled through the autumn forest blanketed in bright oranges, yellows and browns. She stepped deeper into the place she’d always felt safe. Though in these troubled times, perhaps safety no longer applied in this situation. It was why he would be furious with her.

The Volk were after her and it wouldn’t be long, she knew, until one or all of them followed her, until one of them found her, until one—if given a chance—destroyed her.

Closing her eyes, raising her arms up, she chanted a protection spell, asking the forest for help and guidance. For balance.

The forest would aide her, it always had.

At least for the present. All things were balanced and had a habit of always shifting back, so while the trees and spirits would protect her now, didn’t mean the protection would be lasting. She would still have to take care.

She breathed deep and knew her time was short. She must make it to the pools today with enough time to meditate, to foresee. Otherwise, this whole venture was pointless.

She picked up the edge of her svita and hastened through the woods. The branches hung low, the pines whispering of the snow to come, of the long cold winter.

Zoya cast a glance back over her shoulder one last time and hurried on. She might have escaped, but she knew without a doubt he would come for her sooner or later.

***

The forest was growing dark. The trees, littered the ground with dying foliage. The days, this time of year, were shorter and colder.

He looked down at the tracks as his great horse stomped again.

Luka stroked the beast’s neck and breathed deep. A noise drew his attention, and he climbed from the horse, black as the shadows and mean as an adder. “Dvori, stay,” he told the animal.

He followed the faint tracks in the ground, barely moving away as one of the tree limbs swung towards him.

There was not a breeze to have born the limb’s movement.

He paused and waited. The forest was silent; a storm was moving in and he knew it would not be long before the cold of winter beckoned at their door. This time, he stilled himself, let his medved, his inner self, tease the air around him. His heart was still beating too quickly—out of anger and a good dose of fear.

Fear was something he rarely dealt with, but his fear for Zoya wouldn’t abate.

Damned foolish woman, she knew, knew the Volk were after her and would stop at nothing until they had her in their clutches.

The pulse pounded in his skull. He took another deep breath and tried to calm his senses.

The forest settled.

The noise drew his attention again, almost like laughter, but not. Singing. It was singing.

Carefully, he tracked the sound. He closed his eyes and listened, allowed his instincts to take over and follow the faint sounds that broke through the trees. The farther he scouted, the quicker he moved through the brush, along the paths and over fallen logs.

Then he saw her.

Luka froze and breathed deep, shaking his head and shoving the lingering fear for her down deep.

A slight dance of notes on the air, whether from her or the air itself, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care.

Fates, she stole his sanity.

No wonder legend told of the Rusalki, beautiful women, luring young human men to their doom.

She was of the powerful Rusalki women, forest dwellers.