Page 67 of The Gathering Storm

He would be lost to her forever.

Her heel hit the edge of the mat, and she teetered there, reeling away from Chana’s rapid fire blows, deflecting them as best she could, and still they came, relentlessly.

Will gone, nevermore hers through the long, lonely centuries ahead.

Chana double tapped the baston against Sigrid’s shoulder, numbing it, then backstabbed the grip end into Sigrid’s chest.

“Point, Chana,” the judge called, and Sigrid froze.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Will standing steadfast, his feet spread wide against the gym’s painted floor, his arms crossed over his chest, his leaf green eyes shuttered. No emotion stained his expression, nor taughtened his muscles, but it was there. She could almost taste it, a smooth sweetness under the acrid fear coating her mouth.

Her heart squeezed tight in her chest, flipped over, and in that moment, something she had felt only rarely trickled into her, and she found her balance, found her strength in the purpose he’d given her, in the love he shared.

In the love she’d found with this man, this beautiful, gentle man who’d tamed her even as she’d sought to tame him.

Her focus homed in on Chana, razor sharp, and she lunged forward, shoving Chana away. Chana stumbled backward along the mat, and Sigrid pressed her advantage, following with a flurry of quick, light strikes. Shoulder, wrist, hip, arm. Chana scrambled to defend herself, easily evading the blows even as she regained her balance, but Sigrid would not be put off this time. She had something to gain, something to win for, a drive she’d never before had in all her long life, a motivation beyond the ingrained, instinctive will to survive.

She calculated each blow, placing them squarely where they would do the most accumulated harm, and struck when Chana’s defenses left her vulnerable, a clear double tap to Chana’s sternum.

“Points, Sigrid,” the judge said. “Challenge met.”

Sigrid backed away immediately, her shoulders heaving under every breath. She met Chana’s gaze evenly and bowed. “Well met, kaetyrm.”

Chana’s expression flashed through a series of subtle shifts, then a small smile tugged at her mouth. She cupped her hands into a fist over the baston and bowed. “Well met, Sigrid Deathknell. I wish you well.”

“And you, Chana.”

They turned in near unison and bowed to the judge, who returned their salutation, then strong hands turned Sigrid gently around, and there he was, the man whose daring had captured her heart.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff. “You ok?”

“I’m fine, Will. I—” She swallowed down the words crowding her throat and arched an imperious eyebrow. “This is not how a Son greets the woman who’s won him in combat.”

His lips quirked into a half smile. “Screw that, honey.”

He yanked her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, and his mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding, claiming her there in front of his family and hers. The baston slid out of her hand and she curled her fingers into his waist, holding him, giving everything in her heart as whispers rose around them and Will’s arms tightened on her and someone nearby coughed politely.

He eased away, breaking the kiss, and touched his forehead to hers. “We’ll talk about how not traditional we’re going to be later, ok?”

She nodded, unable to contain a happy grin. “We’ll talk, yes.”

A soft hand touched Sigrid’s shoulder, almost lost among the throbbing bruises. Sigrid forced her gaze away from Will, and found his youngest sister standing beside them, her expression drawn into a troubled frown.

“Mom,” Casey whispered, then Wilhelmina marched up to them, her husband in tow, and by the fury tautening the other Daughter’s posture, Sigrid needed only one guess as to exactly what was on Wilhelmina’s mind.

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