Page 48 of The Gathering Storm

“Your father and I will arrive within the week.”

“Mom.” Will’s breath left him in a rush and he rubbed a hand along his nape. “Ok, fine. Just don’t rush on my account.”

Sigrid tapped the end of the ink pen once against the clipboard, marking her place. First Anya’s disapproval and now Wilhelmina’s. The two most important women in Will’s life, save his sisters, and that’s what Sigrid faced.

She should leave him now, before the situation worsened.

Her heart throbbed and stuttered, and she immediately shook the thought away. She’d never run from a battle before and had no intention of starting now. Disapproval could be overcome, with enough time and patience, and his family won to her suit. Chana would be defeated in their upcoming match, effectively ending the other Daughter’s claim, and Will would be Sigrid’s until the day he died.

She ignored the tiny spark of regret flaring to life within her. Near immortality and a hardened heart were a Daughter’s lot. She’d resigned herself to it long ago, and refused to squander another second contemplating a situation she could never change, even if she wanted to.

The Omega was packed that night, more so than usual, even for a Saturday night in the middle of winter when foul weather drove everyone indoors.

Sigrid leaned against the bar in her usual spot and sipped the lager Will had pulled for her. A college basketball game played on the overhead television. Not her teams, but it was better than watching the crowd.

The skin along her nape tingled. Chana was back there with her kin, likely with her eyes on Will. She could watch all she wanted as long as she stayed put. Admiring a man from afar was one thing, poaching on a claimed man something else.

Sigrid rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the half-truth. Will hadn’t been claimed yet, and couldn’t be until the challenge she’d issued was met and satisfied. Not here at the bar, no. Here, she would respect Will’s wishes and keep the confrontations to a minimum.

Which hadn’t been hard to do since Moira had started shunning her.

Sigrid sighed into her lager, sipped it, set the mug on the bar. Losing Moira’s support had hurt the worst. She’d tried not to think about it, tried to let it go. Moira’s temper was too fickle for any other course of action, but by the Great Lady, having her oppose Sigrid’s relationship with Will stung.

What was so wrong with sowing your oats when you were young and heady with your own power? If such youthful indiscretions couldn’t be forgiven, no Daughter would ever mate. Never mind that Sigrid had only given up chaining men to her bed a mere fifty years ago. What happened in the past should stay there, at least where a woman’s sex life was concerned.

A Daughter elbowed into the scant space beside her and a familiar Irish lilt drifted through the air. “Oy there, Will. Fetch me a water and Tom a Duck Rabbit Stout, there’s a dear.”

Sigrid fixed her eyes on the game. If Moira wanted to ignore her, fine. Two could play that game.

“Heard about yer challenge.” Moira turned sideways at the bar, facing Sigrid. “Rumor has it you’re doing the nasty with me cousin.”

Sigrid deigned to stare down her nose at the shorter Daughter. “And?”

Moira snagged the bottle of water Will set in front of her and sipped it, her vivid blue eyes shrewd. “Rumor also has it Anya Bloodletter turned down yer offer of courtship in favor of the outlander.”

Not that again. “Do you have nothing better to do than listen to gossip?”

“Not when it concerns me dearest friends and family.”

“You’re friends with Chana, then?”

Moira grunted and waggled her water bottle at Sigrid. “Touchy, are ye?”

“Not at all,” Sigrid said, and hated the stiffness in her voice.

“Touchy,” Moira said firmly. “She’s been asking ‘round about ye, ye and yer kin and me cousin there. Heard she’s training, too, and asked Anya’s help in the doing.”

Ice coated Sigrid’s gut. Anya was helping Chana train for their match? Anya who’d trained with Sigrid, fought beside her the longest, and knew her fighting style best?

Sweet Mother. Chana might actually win.

The knowledge seeped into Sigrid, chilling her to the bone. She glanced at Will, sweet Will with his dimpled smile and a passion so deep, she’d barely begun to explore it. Her lover, her friend.

She cupped her hands around her lager and turned the idea over. Yes, they were becoming friends, that and so much more, but if Anya was truly helping Chana and the other Daughter won, that friendship was lost along with all the tenderness Will had bestowed upon Sigrid.

Moira thumped Sigrid’s back, knocking her into the bar. “There now, girly. Ye’ve gone twelve shades of pasty.”

Sigrid hunched over her lager, suddenly weary of it all. Why couldn’t she and Will have met in another time and place, when she could simply have carted him off and secured his heart in the traditional manner?

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