Page 35 of The Gathering Storm

Chapter Nine

Tuesday morning, Sigrid woke alone in her bed half an hour later than normal. Sunlight streamed through the filmy curtains covering her window, lighting her bedroom, and she stretched beneath the covers, smiling at the aches and twinges of a well-loved body.

The night with Will had surpassed her meager hopes, shaming them. He was a wonderful lover, by turns considerate and playful, rough and tender, and she’d relaxed under his touch, allowing him to coax her into passion as no man had in so long, she’d forgotten.

And her memory was long and detailed and ever bright in her mind.

Only two things marred their time together, his uncertainty, which she had rightly dealt with, and his leaving. He’d snuck out of her bed at a little after two a.m., pleading a busy workload the next day, and she’d offered only a token protest. By that time, her decision had been made. She would approach his grandmother and present an offer for him to her old friend.

What that offer would be, Sigrid was as yet uncertain. That could be settled in the negotiations. Her limits were few where Will was concerned, something she’d discovered when he’d pleased her again and again the night before, often holding his passion in check until bringing her to her own release at least twice.

This was what had spurred Moira to claim her man Tom.

Sigrid’s ebullience slipped a fraction, and with it, her smile. She would never submit to Will as Moira had to Tom, no matter how well Will pleased her. Such foolhardiness was beyond her practical nature. Will would become a part of her household, yes, and she would treasure him for as long as his mortality allowed, but she would never cede herself to his tender love. How could she protect him without immortality strengthening her heart and will?

No, she would remain immortal, and if regret mingled with the pleasure lingering in the wake of his touch, so be it. Regret she could deal with. Him coming to harm? Never would she allow that for any man under her protection.

She slipped out of bed and into a hot shower, washed away the remnants of their passion, then wrapped herself in a warm, thick robe and padded into the kitchen. They’d managed to forsake lovemaking long enough to clean up the kitchen, but only just. As soon as the table was cleared and the leftovers put away, Will had trapped her against the kitchen sink, surrounding her with his solid strength, and teased her into an arousal so consuming, she’d lifted her skirt and begged him to take her there, with her hands wet from washing the pots and the dishwasher humming quietly in the background.

Her pussy tightened into muted throbs and her skin tingled from memory alone, a potent testament to his power.

She wanted him so much, had fallen into that need so quickly, it surprised her. But this was Will, sweet, gloriously passionate Will, and regardless of his feelings for another woman, regardless of her past or whatever obstacles were thrown between them, he would be hers.

He’d made his choice last night, and she would never tolerate any regrets on his part, or hers.

She placed a call to Anya’s personal secretary and scheduled an appointment with the councilmember for later that afternoon, then ate a quick breakfast and readied for work, certain she’d chosen the best path for herself and Will both.

Anya Bloodletter’s home stood on a quiet residential street along the outskirts of Tellowee. Like many of the historic houses located within the unincorporated town’s boundaries, it was large and well-kempt, and had been ruthlessly modernized with every turn of technology’s screw.

Sigrid had always loved the two-story Victorian farmhouse Anya had bought not long after meeting her heart’s greatest love. She parked her car on the street behind a rental sedan and admired the gingerbread trim decorating the porch eaves, the wide Southern porch, the colorful medley Anya had created in the trim and siding, painted contrasting colors.

It was a lovely home full of love and laughter, even after Anya’s husband passed away nearly a decade ago. Sigrid had flown in for the funeral, thinking to comfort one of her oldest friends, only to find Anya not resigned to her fate, but glad for it.

“All those years,” she’d murmured to Sigrid during the pre-funeral visitation. “Centuries alone without love. You may think it wasn’t enough, the short time he and I had, but it was. You’ll see when your time comes, Sigrid. Just wait and you’ll understand.”

The words had haunted Sigrid in the intervening years, not because of her long and untarnished memory, but in spite of it.

She shook her head, chasing the memory away, and walked regally up the brick sidewalk toward the house. She was halfway there when the front door opened and an all too familiar Daughter exited Anya’s house.

Chana Wolfbane.

A foreign emotion squeezed itself around Sigrid’s heart. She forced suddenly weak limbs to move exactly as they had before, stopping only when the other Daughter was within speaking distance.

“Chana,” she said, and was proud of the firmness of her voice. “You have business with the councilmember?”

“Of a personal nature.” Chana’s dark eyes flashed and a secret smile tilted her lips, adding beauty to an already pretty countenance. “I am thinking of settling here in Tellowee.”

“Permanently?”

“If all works out as it should.”

What force could entice a Daughter to move halfway around the world, outside the seat of her family’s control?

The reason hit Sigrid hard. Will. She retained control of herself, but only just. Surely she was wrong. Surely Chana’s personal business wasn’t a potential match with Anya’s beloved grandson.

Chana bowed slightly, her gaze never leaving Sigrid’s. “I have duties to attend. Well met, kaetyrm.”

Sigrid nodded once. “Well met, Chana.”

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