Page 72 of The Gathering Storm

She shook her head as she climbed dutifully into bed and settled against her pillow. No, she’d misheard surely. Will wouldn’t hold something like that back, would he? Not now, when he needed her support the most.

Yet he cut off the light and climbed into bed without another word, and settled down beside her so far away, only his hand touched her where he draped it over her hip.

“Will,” she said softly into the darkness stretching between them. “Come to me.”

He shifted on the bed, and his knee grazed her thighs. “You need rest.”

No, she needed him. The thought struck her hard, slicing right through the sorrow, carrying a hope she’d tried to deny for so long.

Will could break her curse, but in the doing, he would lose his family.

She lay there for a long while, torn between hope and sorrow and a rising tide of emotion she scarcely recognized. In her torment, she shifted on the bed and curled into him, needing him now as she’d never needed another man. “Make love to me, Will.”

“Sigrid,” he said, his voice strained. “You were barely able to walk out of the gym under your own steam.”

True enough. The bout had taken a lot out of her, physically and emotionally, but the stiffness was fading already, replaced by a growing urgency to bind him to her while she could, to have this moment with him before he came to his senses and realized what he was giving up to be with her.

She slid her fingertips down his chest, reveled in the sharp breath he hissed in, and delved under the waistband of his underwear. He was warm there, rigid under her touch, and so very, very tempting.

“Sigrid, come on.”

She tightened her hand around his erection and stroked downward, once. “Please, Will. I need you.”

“Fuck,” he said, but there was no rancor in his voice. He wiggled out of his underwear and tossed them aside. His mouth found hers in the dark shadows sliding across her bedroom, and that emotion surged upward again, breaking through every barrier she’d erected against him and the world waiting so eagerly to destroy her and every Daughter like her.

She gave in to him, kissing him back with a thirst she hadn’t felt in so long, she’d nearly forgotten it, and in that moment, the name of that emotion came to her, like a bolt of lightning in the midst of a storm.

Love.

She nearly laughed then, nearly shouted it out for him to hear. She loved him, deeply, truly, so much it hurt to think it, knowing her love would tear him in two. His sacrifice was larger than her own, and yet how could she give him up, when he was the key to her happiness, to her heart?

Will rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and she slid over him, silently sharing her love in the only way she could, with her touch and her kiss and her acceptance of him in every corner of her soul.

The next day, Will got up early and tended to Sigrid’s scrapes, the ones that hadn’t healed in spite of her immortal juju, then made her breakfast and tried to avoid talking about the elephant in the room, his An-cursed mother.

As soon as he’d settled Sigrid on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and a good book, he slipped away and drove the short distance to his grandmother’s house.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the truck’s steering wheel. Damn his pride. No way was he standing for his mother’s poor treatment of Sigrid, or of him. A Son had rights among the People. Sure, he could stand aside and let his mother ostracize him and Sigrid both, but damn it, he loved the ornery cuss too much not to mend the rift if he could.

He loved his family, so he had to try.

Anya met him at her front door dressed in her usual weekend attire, also her usual weekday attire, a peasant blouse over faded jeans. As soon as she saw him, she sighed and stepped back, then closed the door behind him against the cold. “I’ve already heard.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the peg fastened to the wall behind the door. “Good. That’ll save a lot of time.”

“She’s hellbent on disinheriting you. Sent me an email last night letting me know I needed to come up with a fitting Retribution for abandoning a Son.”

A sharp pang stabbed Will’s heart, taking his breath. Already? Did he mean so little to his mother then?

Anya’s expression softened and she patted his arm. “There now, child. It’s not as bad as all that. You know your mother. Piss and vinegar when she’s hurt, and she’s hurting now, that’s all. She’ll come around.”

Will frowned. “You weren’t there, Amma. She turned her back on me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time. Headstrong girl turned her back on me, too, once.” Anya slid her arm through Will’s and tugged. “Come. I’ve a fire going in the library. We can sit in front of it and chat like we used to when you were a tiny tot playing with your wooden cars at my feet.”

A memory flashed through his mind, of a roaring fire and roasting marshmallows, of Anya’s silver braids swinging as she smiled down at his younger self, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling. Some of his hurt eased and he managed a laugh. “I’m a little old for toys.”

“Not too old for a chat, though.”

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