Page 71 of The Gathering Storm

Chapter Nineteen

After the last match, Sigrid allowed Will to lead her out of the gym and home. They’d caught the tail end of the Blade’s challenge match with the Shadow. What a revelation that had been. Will had stood stock still beside her at the opening of the locker room as people flowed past them onto the floor where Abragni stood, her hand on Alexiou’s dark head.

A Sister, alive. How could that possibly be?

Sigrid shoved aside the impossibility of a human body surviving for nearly ten millennia. The curse trumped basic biology. Hadn’t she learned that first hand, as her own life extended into century after long century?

At home in her bedroom, Will gently tugged off her clothes and his, then urged her into a hot shower and washed her, his hands tender on her bruised skin.

“The fight was rough on you,” he murmured.

She rotated a sore shoulder, shrugging his words off. “No more than usual.”

He slid a soap-lathered washcloth under her breasts, across her stomach, and in spite of the stiffness in her body, in spite of the cuts and bruises and the awful aftermath of the challenge, heat flared to life within her.

She turned abruptly, crossed her forearms against the shower’s wall, and rested her forehead on them. Her heart ached for Will, for the loss she’d known he would suffer. How could a mother forsake her own son? And over a woman, no less. It was unthinkable, and there was nothing Sigrid could do about it.

And so, her heart filled with sorrow and teetered on the edge of breaking, something it had never done.

Will scrubbed her back, rinsed her off. Tugged the showerhead out of its holder and washed her hair, then washed himself quickly, while she leaned against the wall, sorting through her own emotions.

“Come here,” he said, so low she almost missed it, then she was in his arms under the hot spray, nestled against his bare chest, hiding the tears she’d never shed over a man in the hollow of his throat.

How could she ever face him, now that she’d caused such a huge rift between him and his family?

His hand cupped the back of her head and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Shh. It’ll be ok. You’ll see.”

“How?”

The word slipped out, muffled against his skin. His arms tightened around her, solid, strong. “You’ll see,” he repeated, and ushered her out of the shower into a soft, fluffy towel.

She watched him while he cared for her, drying her off, tending bruises and cuts, sliding a loose t-shirt over her head. He towel-dried her hair, twisted it into a loose braid. His spring green eyes remained hidden behind a tightly fixed expression.

“You’re staring,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“Mmm.” She reached out to him and caught his hand, and kissed his palm. “You’re quiet.”

“Not a lot to say.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s to talk about?” He opened the bathroom door and strode out, and was back in a moment wearing a clean pair of underwear. “Bedtime.”

A laugh huffed out of her on a soft breath of air. “I’m not a child.”

“You’ve had a rough night.” He took her hands in his and helped her stand, pulling her against his chest. “Maybe I need to hold you.”

She sighed against his chest and relaxed into him. “That sounds lovely.”

“I’ve wanted to, for so long. Wanted to hold you, love you, fuck you.”

He laughed, but there was a bitter undertone to it, an emotion Sigrid couldn’t quite put her finger on. She eased back and glanced up at him, studying him beneath the fringe of her eyelashes. “Talk to me, Will.”

“And say what? That I’m sorry my mom couldn’t accept the woman I lo—?” He bit the word off, then heaved a sigh so heavy, Sigrid’s heart broke all over again. “In bed with you now, my beautiful warrior.”

“If you insist,” she said, aiming for a lighter tone, and missed it by a mile.

He loved her.

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