Page 42 of The Gathering Storm

Chapter Eleven

As Will had suspected, it was a long week. By Friday, he was ready for some rest and relaxation, or at least another night with Sigrid, just him and her and some alone time. Every waking moment had been dedicated to either his duties at The Omega or his duties to the People.

Except when he could sneak away for a dance. That was something he’d made time for every single night, and looked forward to doing again. Holding Sigrid, even on a crowded dance floor, made every day a little brighter.

She’d asked him to spend the night with her.

He shuffled last year’s receipts into a folder and stacked them with the other paperwork headed to The Omega’s accountant. Telling Sigrid no had been the hardest thing he’d done in months, harder even than watching her across the room back when she had no clue he even existed.

But it had been the right thing to do. Between her job and his, the time just hadn’t seemed right for them to make that leap. Tonight, though, he was going to float it by her, real casual, so she wouldn’t suspect how much he wanted to make love to her, then hold her as they slept.

He rubbed a palm over the twang in his heart. Maybe it was too soon, but hell with that. He wanted her too much to let the doubts lingering in his mind stand between them.

A soft knock hit the door to his office. He flipped his hand over, checked the time on the watch strapped to his wrist, and grunted. It was past time for him to be out on the floor. He could spare five minutes for the person in the hallway, then he needed to head out and spell whoever was due for a break next.

The knock came again. Will stood and called, “Come in.”

Chana opened the door and stood there, poised in the middle of the doorway, looking more like a model for traditional Persian dress than the fierce warrior she was. “Do you have a few moments?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I wish to speak to you on a matter of some import.” She shut the door, glided across the room, and stopped in front of him. Her dark eyes glinted as she glanced up at him through a fringe of nearly black lashes, coy and enticing and lovely. “Your grandmother has granted me permission to court you, should this be your desire.”

Will stared down at her, too stumped by the forthright delivery to muster a response.

“My own mother has bid me to seek alliances here in the West.” She placed her narrow hands on his chest and leaned into him, suffusing him with the faint touch of an exotic perfume. Laughter tinkled out of her, as graceful as everything else about her. “That sounds so cold, does it not?”

He managed a smile for her. “Just a little.”

“I am not a cold woman, Will Corbin.”

“Never thought you were.” He wrapped his hands gently around her upper arms, mindful of the silk jacket she wore, this one a deep yellow, and of the delicacy of rejecting a Daughter’s advances. “Look, I—”

The door swung open, cutting him off, and Sigrid stepped into the room. He jerked away from Chana, but not before the smile Sigrid wore morphed into a hard, expressionless mask.

He held out a hand to her, staving off whatever storm was brewing. “Wait, Sigrid. It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”

“What does it look like?” She closed the door behind herself, far too softly for his peace of mind. “I came to speak with my lover and find him holding another woman.”

“Not holding,” he said, at the same time Chana said, “Lover?”

“Yes, lover,” Sigrid said.

Chana glanced at Will out of the corners of her beautiful eyes. “Is this true?”

“Yeah, it is,” he said.

“You are mated, then.”

“Not exactly.” He raked his fingers through his hair, hooked his hands on his waist. “I was about to tell you that I’m sort of already spoken for.”

“Sort of?” Chana’s gaze cut to Sigrid. “Yet your grandmother seemed willing enough to entertain my suit.”

Will winced. Nothing he could say to that. Anya had made her preferences clear, and wherever his grandmother led, his mother, strong-willed as she was, would surely follow.

Sigrid’s chin shot up a notch. “I have the prior claim.”

“And the requisite permission to court him?” Chana asked archly.

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