I pulled the bike into the empty little parking lot and balanced it while Sonja stepped off. Light glowed from the kitchen window not far away where a staff member bustled about. I removed my helmet and jacket, hanging the helmet on the handlebars and draping the jacket over my seat once I got off. Helmet in hand, Sonya took in the picturesque grounds as she smoothed her hair.
“Wow, this place is amazing,” she murmured more to herself as she turned in a half circle.
The light from the house and nearby fire played across her curves as she turned. Thankfully, she spoke because all of a sudden, I had no words.
“The parking lot is empty. Are you the only one staying here?”
To give myself time to break free of my vocal paralysis, I took the helmet from her and hung it over the other handlebar. “Yeah. Everyone wants to be here during harvest season, which isn’t until August or September, so I have the place to myself.”
Wits finally about me again, I offered her my elbow. She looked down at it like she wasn’t sure what to do with it, shook her head, laughed, then looped her arm through it. “I’ve never had a date offer me his elbow.”
I led her toward the back patio. “I was raised with old fashioned values, some of which I actually like quite a bit.”
Again she laughed, but it was a pleased sound. “Well careful, Raul Anderson. A girl could get used to this kind of treatment.”
“So you’re saying I’m already outshining your other dates?” I teased.
“Maybe,” she said in a playful tone that told me I definitely was.
She fit nicely against my side, her high-heeled boots bringing her hip nearly level with mine. They had to be nearly four inches tall, considering I was six-four and she was around five-six. My mind couldn’t stop going over the benefits of those four-inch heels. The darkness fell away the closer we got to the table, forcing me to slow and let my eyes adjust. It didn’t hurt that it gave me more time to touch her soft skin and feel her body heat next to mine. The summer night was warm enough, but hers was a heat I wanted to bury myself in.
Forcing such thoughts to the back of my mind before they could go to the crotch of my jeans, I let go of her arm. I dashed ahead, pulled the chair out for her, and picked up the dozen red roses sitting on it. Sonya’s face flushed as red as the petals of the flowers when I presented them to her.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted them and promptly held them to her nose. The tenderness in her voice and the way she cradled them told me she was a woman who didn’t get flowers very often and appreciated the gesture deeply.
She put the vase on the table and sat down in the offered chair. One hand caressing the pink and red glass of the vase, she gave me a smile that made my chest tighten.
“They’re beautiful, thank you.” The tender tone of her voice told me how touched she was.
“So which do you like best? Yellow, white, pink, or red?”
The smile on her lush lips widened. “I love them all. It was so sweet of you to put one on my Jeep each day this week. You have the heart of a romantic.” Gaze on the roses, she chewed at her bottom lip before answering. “If I had to choose, I would pick red. But why a dozen instead of one?”
I sat down across from her and gave her my most charming look. “Because tonight is our second date, and hopefully the start of something.”
Her dark brows rose. “Something?”
“I don’t want to define it yet and invite Loki to jinx it, but yeah, something.”
Both brows rose at that. Candlelight danced across a nice flush in her cheeks. Before she had the chance to comment on my choice of words, the French patio doors opened. An older woman with long, silver hair draped over her shoulders, and a crisp white apron wrapped taut around her plump middle all but floated over to us. She held two glasses of water in her hands. Setting the water before us, she graced us with a warm smile, and removed a pencil and a notepad from her apron pocket.
“Aren’t you two just the picture of adorable! I’m Gerty. I’ll be your server tonight.” Not giving us a chance to respond, she rattled off the menu of the night along with her wine recommendations.
She blushed at my smile as if she were half her age and indulged our every question with cheerful responses and fun banter. Sonya ordered tilapia with a pale ale while I chose prime rib with the house merlot. The waitress, who was also the B&B co-owner, jotted down our orders, beamed another smile at us, and returned to the house with an extra spring in her step.
Elbow on the table, Sonja’s head settled into the palm of her hand as she watched our hostess all but skip away. “She’s adorable.” Her eyes narrowed when she turned them on me. “A red meat eater, huh?”
I grinned, knowing whatever her psychoanalyzing was coming up with, it was way off. “Yep, love it. That, and I saw her husband start prepping the dish early this morning, so I know he’s been at it all day. I would feel bad if I didn’t try it.”
Sonya groaned. “Now I feel like a tool for ordering the fish.”
I waved a hand. “Don’t. He loves to cook, so you’re doing him a favor.”
“You sure?”
“Totally. You should see him at breakfast, whipping up everything under the sun when all I asked for was bacon.” I laughed as I recalled him watching a cooking show while trying out a new dish. “It’s a passion for him.”
“Well, in that case, I’m glad I could contribute to someone’s passion.”
After a long drink of water, I relaxed back in my chair. “So, what are you passionate about?”
Her fingers splayed out to tap the side of her cheek as she thought about it. “Helping people, I guess. I want to help others move past loss, trauma, that kind of thing. I know a lot of people look down on psychologists, but that’s why I changed my major.” Her words struck a chord on many levels. That passion would make her perfect for her destiny.
“I think that sounds pretty noble.”
A cute, snorty sort of laugh came from her. “Hardly. It comes from a place of my own pain, so in a way I’m doing it for myself. My dad was killed when I was a teenager, and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to deal with it. So, in a way, it’s selfish.”
“Now you’re over analyzing yourself. You want to help others, that’s rare in today’s world, no matter what the reason.”
Head tilting to the side, eyes widening a bit, she nodded. “True enough, I guess.”
I leaned forward, wove my fingers together, and placed my hands on the table before us, close to her, but not quite touching. “That’s horrible that you lost your dad so young, I’m sorry.” I meant it, and I let it show in my eyes.
The look on her face softened, and she gave me a sad, half smile. “Thanks. He was pretty great, before…”
Clearly, she didn’t want to finish the thought, and I wasn’t going to make her. I knew where it was leading anyway, and I had no intention of pushing her to tell me that part. There was no reason; it would only cause her pain. Instead, I went a different direction. “What was he like?”
Her face lit up as she looked off into the shadows. “To everyone else—eccentric. To me, he was fun, attentive, and full of great stories.” The sadness in her smile bit at me, but I could tell by her tone that she liked to talk about him.
“Stories?”
The candlelight revealed a flush in her cheeks, the second of the night. The color was so lovely on her, I resolved to put it back as often as possible, but in much better ways.
Her gaze moved to me. “Promise not to laugh?”
Straightening, I crossed my heart with a finger. “I promise.”
Then she said the thing that opened the door wide. “My dad was an Odinist.”
Chapter Five
Sonya
I watched him closely, waiting for the judgment that always came any time I revealed this to a guy I dated. They almost always ran or laughed. So many people misunderstood the religion of the old Gods and those who worshipped them. It was a big part of why I told guys I like
d sooner rather than later. That way it hurt less when they turned tail or insulted my dad and made me turn tail. But with Raul being of Icelandic descent, I was hoping he might be different.
A puzzled look came over him. I braced myself as his mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Why would I laugh? I’m an Odinist. My entire family are Odinist.”
It was my turn to gape open-mouthed at him. After a moment, I said, “Well, that’s a reaction I’ve never gotten.” Then I began to worry. There were a lot of different types of Odinism out there. A few were even racist to a degree.
He held his hands up as if in surrender. “I know that look. Don’t worry, not the false kind some use as an excuse for their fear and prejudice, but the kind that springs from the Gods themselves and the land blessed by them.”
One eyebrow quirked up at his sincerity, I couldn’t help it. He sounded so much like my dad had. When I didn’t respond he went on. “You’re not a believer.”
I shrugged. “I’m not a non-believer.” The puzzled look on his face as he half-cocked his head made me feel the need to explain. “Dad didn’t push the religion on me, out of respect for my mom and her beliefs. She’s full-blooded Cherokee. So, I ended up raised with two very different views on theology. It made me decide to be undecided, at least for now.”
The warm smile that dimpled his cheeks heated me from all the way across the table. “I like that. So, what were your dad’s favorite stories?”
Both his smile and the question turned my own lips up in response. “The ones about Fenrir, definitely.” I had to look away into the flames of the fire pit to the left of us before I could go on. Dad’s boyish grin was still fresh in my mind, along with the look of excitement and reverence in his pale blue eyes as he sat on the edge of my bed and told me the stories. No, not stories, he had said: tales from the Eddas, writings of things that had happened, or would happen, to the Gods.
Raul made a low humming noise of agreement. “Those are some of the best.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “My childhood was filled with tales of how the wolf Fenrir was so loved by the Gods that they took him from his father and raised him themselves. How they watched him grow, and grow, and grow, and became more and more wary of him as his strength increased. He was the son of Loki, after all, dad would say. Then about how their wariness led them to trick him into being chained. That part always made me sad.”
The interest in his eyes warned me that I had said too much, that he would ask more pressing questions. I liked him. I didn’t want him to know the whole truth just yet.
“Me too. But we believe the Gods are people, not like us exactly, but still people. And people do some foolish things when they’re afraid. But even though they chained him, they loved him, cared for him, laughed, and played with him,” Raul said. The way he said it, with such conviction and emotion, made it clear he believed in the stories as well. Interesting. Maybe he wouldn’t freak like all the others did when they found out the whole truth.
“But he was still a captive.”
“True. There’s no way of excusing that,” he acquiesced. “So, your dad liked the tales about the wolves the most?”
We were getting too close to the parts I didn’t want to tell him. I hummed an affirmative noise, looking off into the dark again. “Not about just Fenrir, but Geri and Freki too.”
“But did you like the tales as well?”
“I loved them,” I admitted. “And I loved that my dad loved telling them to me. When I was really little he would tuck me in, and while he told me the story, we’d eat twinkies he snuck in without mom knowing.” The memory made me smile and had my eyes misting up at the same time. As much as it hurt to relive it, it felt good too. And it helped steer the conversation another direction.
Raul reached across the table and covered one of my hands with his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”
His thumb rubbed my hand in the most wonderful, distracting way. I looked up into his gentle golden brown eyes so filled with concern, and my heart thumped harder.
“You lost your dad, didn’t you?” he asked gently.
“Yeah, a long time ago.” When he went to prison, not when he died, but I wasn’t about to say that.
His fingers wove through mine, distracting me again. The smile he gave me was kind of shy. “So, you don’t have anything against us Odinists?”
The vulnerable look on his face was so cute that I smiled despite the pain still stabbing ghostly fingers into my chest. “Of course not. Prejudice is not my thing, in any form.”
That cover model smile widened, then faded as his look turned pensive. “There are a lot of great tales in the Eddas. Why do you think your dad liked the ones about wolves the best?”
Oh damn. I shouldn’t have said that. I shrugged. “Not sure.” I was sure, and I couldn’t let him catch on and press me about it. Telling him my dad believed in the Norse equivalent of skinwalkers wouldn’t go over well. It never did. I turned his hand over and started tracing the lines of his palm. Bumps rose along his arm, and his eyes darkened with desire. “Enough about me. Tell me, what do you do for fun when you aren’t traipsing around the forest.”
“Well, I traipse around the forest a lot, both for work and for fun. I even love traveling to go traipse around other forests. I also enjoy kayaking, camping, football.”
I groaned. “Oh no, not football!”
He made a pained sound and clutched his chest with his free hand. I laughed. “Please don’t tell me you really don’t like football! I was hoping you’d been joking before,” he begged.
I shrugged. “I’ve watched too many guys come into the bar and use it as an excuse to drink their nights away and flirt with women who weren’t their wives.”
With a nod and a purse of his lips, he acquiesced. “I get that. But don’t let those guys ruin it for you. It’s an amazing game of strategy and teamwork.”
“Well, when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad.”
Long chestnut colored bangs fell across his golden eyes as he dipped his head to look coyly at me. It was both charming in a boyish way and dangerously sexy. “You’re accepting and open-minded, a rare and beautiful thing.” The way he looked at me when he said it made me think he wasn’t just talking about my personality.
His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, sending little sparks of heat through me. I dropped my head enough so the pieces of hair that had come free of my braid hid the blush heating my cheeks.
I shrugged. “I had a unique upbringing.”
He laughed. “That’s certainly something I can relate to.”
A smile I couldn’t fight turned up the corners of my lips. His easy laugh made dimples in his carefully crafted five-day scruff. Damn, the man was good looking. The shadows only served to make him appear mysterious and more alluring. My fingers wove through his and I found myself leaning over the table toward him. He leaned toward me, coming up off his chair. When our lips hovered less than an inch apart, the door to the B&B opened with a loud creak. We both lurched back into our seats like teenagers caught making out.
Grinning from ear to ear, our waitress floated to our table with a tray of drinks balanced on her left hand. The ease with which she twirled it, grabbing first one glass, then the second, and setting them before us, put several of my waitresses to shame.
“Here you go, darlings. Your meals will be out in a jiffy.” With that, she spun on one conservative heel and started back for the door. As she turned, she caught my eye and winked.
Once the door shut behind her, Raul and I burst into laughter. After our laughter died down, he picked up his glass, took a long sniff, then a slow sip.
“Oh no, you’re a wine snob,” I teased in an overly dramatic tone.
His eyebrows shot up in a look of mock hurt. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say snob…” He let his voice trail off, then shrugged. “I just like to enjoy it with all my senses.”
“Yep, wine snob.”
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br /> “Hey!” He tossed his napkin at me.
I lifted my wineglass filled with beer, sniffed and swirled it, then took a long drink.
“Oh great, a beer snob,” he said.
I threw his napkin back at him and erupted into laughter again.
We laughed, teased, and stayed away from hard subjects throughout dinner. Mostly we talked about different places we wanted to travel to. As before, his destinations all had to do with nature. Even though mine clashed with his, I told him straight up: Paris, Hong Kong, Tokyo, St. Petersburg, Karlstad, Sundsvall. He’d already been to more places than I thought I’d ever get to visit in my lifetime—especially considering my tuition debt. Six countries—if you counted Iceland and the eight times his parents had taken him as a kid, which I totally counted—on his list so far.
He invited me on a moonlit walk of the winery that I readily agreed to. Fresh, delicious night air, just warm enough to be comfortable without a jacket, blew across us and tugged at my hair. We walked hand in hand along a flagstone path leading through raised beds of flowers. The sweet scent of lilacs and gardenias almost made me sigh. This guy really knew how to take a girl on a date. But…
“You didn’t need to pay for dinner,” I told him.
“I’m all about women’s independence, but I’m also all about being a gentleman. My parents raised me with old-fashioned values,” he said.
“Old-fashioned?” My tone rose along with my inner hackles.
He held up his free hand. “Don’t worry, not that old-fashioned. Tell you what, you can pay next time if it makes you feel better.”
The tightness of his smile told me it would bug him to let me pay, but that he’d do it. Considering what I had left in my account would barely cover a loaf of bread and a jar of cheap peanut butter, I wasn’t going to push the issue too much… this time. It struck me that I hoped there would be a next time.
Leaning against his shoulder as we walked into the rows of four-foot-tall grapevines, I tightened my grip on his hand. “Maybe next time I will,” I said in a playful tone.
Clawed & Cornered: A Viking Werewolf Paranormal Romance (Children of Fenrir Book 1) Page 5