Page 47 of The Gathering Storm

Chapter Twelve

Sigrid flipped her braid over her shoulder and studied the inventory sheet affixed to the clipboard she held. Upon waking that morning, Will had made love to her with a passion no less intense for its brevity, and she’d clung to him, unable to resist the lure of his warmth. It surrounded her, thawing the heart she’d thought long frozen, easing the loneliness she hadn’t even been aware existed within herself.

Boredom, yes, but Will had an answer for that as well. After they’d shared a shower, while they were dressing, he’d casually mentioned his plans for the day. She’d known before the first word drifted past the sensual curve of his lips that the only way to spend time with him was to, as he put it, tag along with him. Pretending she wanted nothing less than every second he could spare had been beyond her.

Perhaps he’d seduced her too well.

She risked a glance at him out of the corners of her eyes. He was standing not ten feet away, quietly discussing spare rooms for storage within the Archives with one of its attendants. His arms were crossed over his chest, his feet were widely planted on the concrete floor, and his expression appeared rapt. Yet every time Sigrid moved, he shifted toward her, as if guided by an unconscious instinct to keep her close.

She focused her attention on the boxes of canned goods stacked on shelves along the wall in front of her. That he chose to cleave to her in the face of his grandmother’s ambivalence spoke volumes about his dedication to Sigrid, but would his wanting her be enough in the long run?

It was always you, honey, always.

His words skimmed through her mind, leaving shimmers of desire and an unfamiliar emotion in their wake. Moira had mislead her there. By Will’s own admission, Sigrid was the woman he yearned for, the Daughter he wished most to claim him, not Chana or another unnamed someone.

Perhaps if Sigrid had paid better attention to him in the first place, Moira would never have felt the need to withhold the truth. Perhaps by now, his family would’ve accepted Sigrid’s place in his life instead of encouraging another’s bid for his affections.

Something twisted in her chest, fluttering her heart. She rubbed one hand over the odd feeling. If Chana won their competition, she would also win Will, whether he wished to mate with the other woman or not. In the days of her youth, Sigrid would’ve killed the other Daughter without blinking an eye. The People were no strangers to bloodshed. It was often the simplest method of solving such disputes, though not always the wisest.

Now more than ever, however, the People needed every sword. There would be no more killing among themselves, not until the shadow hanging over them dissipated.

The attendant left, her boots a bare shush along the floor, and Will settled beside Sigrid, so close his arm brushed hers. “How’s it going?”

“Well, thank you.” She straightened her shoulders and tapped her ink pen against the inventory sheet. “I’m almost finished assessing the canned goods.”

“Assessing, huh?” He tapped a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, not quite hiding a smile. “I meant to ask what you’re doing Monday.”

“What would you like for me to do?”

A laugh wheezed out of him. “Do you really have to ask?”

She busied herself with the inventory sheet, eyebrows arched, mouth pursed into a moue holding a hint of teasing humor. “Perhaps I’ve tired of sex.”

“Uh-huh.” He swung her into his arms, crushing the clipboard between them, and nuzzled his face into her throat. “I guess I’m just gonna have to work harder, then.”

If he worked much harder at pleasing her, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet. Humor blossomed and spilled over into a light laugh, and she accepted his touch, relaxing into his play.

When had she ever had so much fun with a man?

His phone rang, interrupting the heat spiraling through her, and Will cursed under his breath. “Some days, a man just wants to kiss his woman.”

A tiny thrill shot through Sigrid. Was that really how he thought of her, as his?

She shook her head and eased away from him as he whipped out his phone and answered it with a roughly growled hello. Inventory. Right. She glanced between the inventory sheet and the canned goods, half her mind on his quiet conversation, the other on the work at hand. Tomato sauce, check. Bone broth, check. She frowned down at the sheet, counted boxes again. Did they really need fifteen cases of tinned anchovies?

“Mom, really,” Will said, catching Sigrid’s attention. “Don’t interrupt your trip. Everything’s fine here.”

A woman’s firm voice echoed out of the phone, clearly audible despite its distance. “That’s not what your grandmother said. Two women, Will?”

“No, Mom.” He glanced at Sigrid, then turned his back and lowered his voice. “I’m only dating Sigrid.”

“Sigrid Deathknell!” Wilhelmina squawked.

Will rushed past his mother’s outrage. “I’m not deliberately playing one off the other.”

“I should hope not.”

Sigrid sighed. Even she could discern the chill permeating the younger Daughter’s voice.

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