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Chapter 24

Boris began to look forward to Rose's visits, and not just because she brought him food. She wore boys' clothes because she came into the forest to train to fight and hunt, both of which she was particularly skilled at. She reminded him a little of the Bisseni raiders who could appear out of nowhere, attack, then melt into the mountains as if they'd never existed, except she left little trace of her presence.

More than once, he'd caught himself comparing her to Vica.

If Vica had been able to fight, and defend herself like Rose did, she might still be alive.

No, if he'd been a better protector and husband, Vica would never have needed to fight, and she'd still be alive, he corrected himself.

Vica would not have been able to wear a boy's tunic and hose, especially not after Lida was born. The tunic would have been too tight across her breasts, and the hose were too narrow for her generous hips.

Which was why comparisons between the two women were silly. Vica had been a wife and mother, while Rose was only a girl, unmarried without the responsibilities of running a household, even if she was the same age as Vica had been when she died.

And Rose was…unique, he decided, leaning back to watch her.

Now the snow lay thick on the ground, she'd put it to use, crafting little snowmen that she brought to life with magic. She'd made them dance like children's puppets at first, making him laugh, until she'd turned serious. Now the little figures darted around the clearing like angry demons while she hunted them. First with magic, then with real blades, thrown with such deadly accuracy that if they had been demons, they'd have been slaughtered for sure. Because they were her magical pets, though, the dismembered snowmen barely paused before the pieces got up and rejoined the hunt as smaller, more numerous targets.

She whirled and spun, leaped and shot, never missing, with an intensity of focus Boris had only seen in his best warriors. He began to wonder if he'd be any match for her in close combat. She was so fast…

Finally, Rose stopped to catch her breath, shooting a beaming smile that stabbed straight to his heart. God, she was beautiful.

"I need to spar with someone. Were you any good in the practice yard, Snow? We'll pick a spot where there's plenty of snow to cushion your fall, and I'll try not to hurt you." Rose sheathed her daggers, then beckoned. "Come on, fight me."

Boris looked her up and down – he was more than twice her size! One swipe of his paw and he'd send her flying.

She seemed to be able to read his mind. "I'm not stupid, Snow. Any man I fight is likely to be bigger than me. Confident in his size and strength. It doesn't matter. I need to be able to beat him."

Reluctantly, he lurched to his feet and took up a fighting stance. His hands itched to hold a sword again, but he knew his claws were deadly enough. Worse, he could not retract them, so each of his fingers was tipped with a wickedly curved dagger that could slice her open.

"Ready?" she asked.

He couldn't hit a woman. Not even this girl, with both her hands up and curled into fists, like she wanted to punch him.

Nevertheless, he nodded.

Her hands never moved, but somehow, her body twisted, and a blow to his gut knocked all the air out of his lungs. A second blow sent him face-first into a snowdrift.

"Snow? Are you all right?"

The gentle caress of her magic lifted him back onto his feet.

"Did I hurt you? Have you never fought before?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Boris shook his head. The only part of him that she'd hurt was his pride, and heaven knew he had pride to spare. Cautiously, he mirrored her fighting stance, then inclined his head to tell her he was ready.

A moment later, when he came up, spitting out a fresh mouthful of snow, he knew he had not been ready at all.

A lifetime of war might not be enough to defend against the whirlwind that was Rose.

And yet…if the only good thing that came out of all this was that he helped one woman to fight, to not fall victim as Vica had, then Boris would know that his life had not been wasted. That Vica had not died in vain, and might even be smiling on him now.

Well, hopefully not now, with him arse-up in the snow and all.

He clambered to his feet, once more taking his stance.

This time, he would…

Wham.

…not drown in the icy pond.

Boris came up, gasping, then clawed his way over the bank and out of the water.

Rose looked worried. "I think that's enough fighting for today. I brought a jar of mulled wine and left it by the fire. It should be warm by now, and I think you need a hot drink in you after that dunking. Whoever you were before you became a bear, Snow, I don't think you were a warrior."

He wished he could argue, but her arm around his middle as she tried to help him inside sent a warm tingle through him that went straight to his heart.

And…maybe other parts, too.

Yes, a cup or two of mulled wine would likely send him straight to sleep, where he might dream of her, and what they might do, what he might tell her, if he was a man and not this clumsy beast. A dream that would make even a bear blush.