North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1)

by Laura Kaye

  She tried to pull back from his embrace, but he held tight. “I’m here for you. You don’t have to hide your grief. I want to help.”

  “You did. Truly.” In fact, though the tears hadn’t yet dried on her face, her chest felt lighter, freer, than it had in a long, long while.

  Because of Owen.

  How many times had her mother, her sister, Kate—hell, even a therapist—tried to get her to open up, tried to reassure her John’s death didn’t lay at her feet? She hadn’t been able to accept what happened, move on from it. But Owen’s words resounded with a sincerity she couldn’t deny. He knew things he shouldn’t be able to know. She had proof of it. Could he really know, with the impassioned certainty he’d voiced, that John didn’t blame her?

  She heard Owen’s voice again. He could never blame you. She sucked in a breath, covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Oh, God. The truth of it exploded in her head and heart.

  Big hands cupped Megan’s trembling face. Owen thumbed away her tears. “Shhh, now.”

  She inhaled a calming breath and dropped her hand to his chest. “What you said. Thank you.” As the revelation flowed through her, Megan’s muscles tensed and relaxed. Shuddered. The guilt and despair she’d shouldered these past two years fractured. Pieces flew off, away from her, like snowflakes in the wind.

  Owen nodded and his eyes flared, an odd light that lasted only a moment.

  It passed so quickly Megan knew she’d imagined it. God, his eyes. So beautiful. So unusual. The blue was nearly navy it was so dark. As if he wasn’t mysterious enough before.

  She frowned. The strongest sensation of déjà vu flooded over her.

  “Hey. I’ve got an idea,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. His hands dropped to her shoulders and squeezed.

  Relieved for the distraction, she took a deep, cleansing breath. “Oh, yeah? Let’s hear it.”

  “I’m gonna build you a house.”

  “Uh…” She smiled and pointed to the big wooden cabin beside them. “Think we got that covered.”

  The right side of his mouth lifted. “No. An igloo.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. And you’re going to help me.”

  Why not? “Okay. I’m in. But, do you have any experience with igloo construction?”

  His eyes flared again, that crooked grin turned into a smirk at the challenge. “Do I have any experience with igloo construction?” he murmured. He held out his arms, called out to the snowy field, “She wants to know if I have experience with igloos!” The laughter that spilled out of him was pure as bells and so joyous. She was enraptured watching him. “Yeah, I know a thing or two.”

  She adored how he drew her out, made her feel safe to be silly. Sometimes the label of “widow” weighed a thousand pounds with all the things you felt you shouldn’t do. “All righty, then. You lead, I’ll follow.” There was no frickin’ way they were going to actually build an igloo, but it would be fun trying. “What do we do?”

  “I need a long, sharp knife, some cardboard and a handsaw. Got any of that lying around?”

  “A knife, yes. The rest, probably. Let me go look in the garage.”

  “Okay. I’ll clear a path out into the yard.” Owen retrieved the shovel and dug right in, carving out a path from the sidewalk into the front yard. He didn’t go all the way down to the grass, but instead left maybe a foot of snow as a pathway. Every so often he’d stomp it down to pack it tight.

  Megan left to search for the saw. When she returned, empty box, saw, and knife in hand, Owen had shoveled a good fifteen feet and now worked on clearing a circle. The snow was deeper out in the yard, the wind having pushed it in drifts as it curled around the cabin and blew out over the flat plain of the great field in front.

  “Come on out,” he called.

  She crunched across his path to the big circle. Her first step into it, she sank to mid-calf.

  “That’s what we need the cardboard for. We gotta pack this down real tight. Toss it here,” he said, pointing to the box.

  Megan laid the saw on top of the snow and chucked the box to him. He unfolded and tore it in two, then handed a big, long piece to her.

  “Like this,” he said. He laid the strip of cardboard down and jumped all across its surface. His obvious pleasure brought out the boyishness in his face. “Easy.” When he’d gone back and forth a few times, he moved the box piece a foot or two and repeated the process.

  She could handle that. Cardboard underfoot, Megan began to jump. She felt ridiculous. Her hair flew around her face and her cheeks started to ache from smiling. But it was fun. So much fun. God, she needed that. She glanced up to Owen.

  He’d stripped out of his coat. Every time he jumped, the bottom hem of his turtleneck rose up, exposing a sliver of ridged abdomen.

  She stared a long moment, had to tear her gaze away. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked as she continued to jump.

  “No. I’m perfect.”

  Well, she couldn’t disagree with that.

  She jumped and jumped on the cardboard, worked up a sweat that almost had her considering shedding her coat, too. But it was damn cold out here. In the twenties at best. The sun was bright and high in the late-morning sky, but did little to abate the temperature. The air was crisp, biting even. She didn’t know how Owen could stand it.

  “Did you grow up where it snowed a lot?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Moved around a lot, but I’ve lived in Alaska, Canada, even Russia for a while.”

  Megan stopped jumping. “Russia. Wow. Why did you live there? For how long?”

  “When I was younger. With my family.”

  “Do you speak Russian?”

  Having made it across to her side of the circle, Owen stopped right in front of her. And launched into a totally incomprehensible Slavic-sounding monologue. She gaped at him. She had no idea what he was saying, but, damn, the way it rolled off his tongue. His eyes smoldered, upping the heat inside her already-warm layers.

  She swallowed hard. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He nodded. “It’s a yes.”

  “Speak any others?”

  “A few. I’m pretty good with languages.”

  “Good with languages,” she murmured. With everything she learned about him, he got more and more interesting. Or more mysterious, depending on how you looked at it. “So, good with languages, shovels, and igloos. Anything else?”

  The smug look he tossed at her was so wicked it shivered right down her spine. Walked right into that, hadn’t she. She shook her head and, looking away to hide her blush, moved her cardboard forward one spot. Without doubt, he would be good at…other stuff. Jesus.

  They resumed jumping together, like little kids, until they’d covered the entire circumference of the circle.

  Breathing hard, Megan leaned forward and braced her palms on her knees. The exertion reminded her of building the snowmen the other day. She looked up. Pouted. “Aw, my snowmen.” Only the crown of the snow kid peeked out through a drift. The woman still stood, though she was buried up to her waist, her scarf and gloved arms long lost. The snowman, though, was totally gone. Not a single trace remained. Maybe the wind had blown him over, the drifts covering his parts. His absence from the little family squeezed her heart. “My snowman must’ve fallen over.” She glanced to Owen, who watched her with a strange look on his face, like he was waiting for something. “Was the snowman still standing when you borrowed his shirt?”

  “Uh, I think I might’ve knocked him over,” he said with a grimace. “Sorry.”

  She waved a hand. “No matter. It’s not like he would’ve lasted forever.”

  Owen looked down at the ground. “You never know.”

  Chapter Ten

  T
he presumed disappearance of the snowman had gone over better than Owen feared. For that, he was glad. While making the clearing, Megan had smiled freely, like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. He didn’t want anything to chase that away.

  He just hoped he wouldn’t go the way of a real snowman. Owen shuddered at the thought of himself, puddled on her floor. The endless stretch of snow all around him should’ve provided solace. It should’ve protected him for a while. But it wasn’t going to last, not if that West Wind came through.

  Owen didn’t want to go anywhere, damnit. Hopefully, not ever. But that would be up to Megan. And he had only four days to make her want him, too.

  Her voice, so full of good humor, pulled him from his thoughts. “All right, Mr. Igloo Expert. What’s next?”

  Owen walked across the just-packed surface and grabbed the shovel. “Next, I’m gonna dig us a hole. Then, we’ll cut out blocks.” He booted the shovel into the snow, dug and scooped until he had about a two-foot diameter hole in which he could stand. Blades of frosty grass poked up through the snow under his feet. “Bring me the saw?”

  “Sure.” Megan retrieved the handsaw from where she’d placed it earlier. She gifted him with a big, open smile when she passed it to him. He’d build her a hundred igloos if it meant she’d keep looking at him that way.

  “Thanks.” He leaned down in the hole, basking in her happiness and in the fact maybe he had something to do with it, and sliced the saw horizontally into the snow. Cutting all around the bottom of the circle, just above the grassy surface, he freed what would become the bottoms of the blocks.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  If she hadn’t been watching, he could’ve thrown this together in the blink of an eye. But he wouldn’t have traded her presence for all the world. “Yep.”

  Standing up again, Owen sank the saw into the top of the snow where they’d stomped and jumped. It was hard and dry, just what they needed. He made cuts on three sides, then carefully levered the block free. He caught it in his hands, then lifted it outside his small circle and set it off to the side.

  “Whoa. That’s awesome.”

  He melted a little at Megan’s praise. Well, not literally. On the inside.

  Soon, he had six blocks carved, roughly two-feet long by about a foot high and eight inches thick.

  “Can I try?”

  “Of course. Step on down.”

  Megan’s smile widened as she joined him in the lower circle and took the saw. He adored how much she seemed to be enjoying herself.

  Bracing her gloved hand against the surface, she pushed the saw’s sharp tip into the snow. It went about four inches, then pushed back. “Shit. How did you do this?” With a grunt, she tried again. The blade sank another couple inches, then ground to a halt. She pouted up at him. “The snow doesn’t like me.”

  Her ridiculous declaration made him want to drop to one knee and prove her wrong. “Want me to help?”

  “No way. If you can do it, I can do it.” She huffed and used both hands to push the saw forward.

  It was no use. They’d packed it hard and tight. The lower layers were frozen through.

  “Come on,” she grunted.

  Restraining a smile, Owen came around her and laid his hand on the snow’s surface. With a silent command, he reworked the internal chemistry of the layers.

  Megan nearly fell on her face when the saw sliced right through to the ground. She whooped out a cheer. “Woot! I did it! I did it! Take that, snow!”

  Owen fell back against the snow wall and laughed. Gods, living felt so damn good. Filled his soul until he thought it surely couldn’t be contained by this mortal body. “Good job. Might want to do the other two sides, though.”

  “Shut up, you. I’m getting there.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. At your leisure.”

  Her next cuts went much smoother, to her great joy and Owen’s considerable amusement. He helped her lift the heavy block up onto the side. For the next half hour, they took turns cutting, lifting, and stacking more blocks, until Owen guessed they had enough. Block-making had opened up the small circle under foot to a six-foot diameter around which the igloo would stand.

  Owen climbed out of the circle and grabbed the shovel, then carved a ramp-like path from the higher surface down into what would become the igloo’s floor. “This will be where the door goes.” He tossed the shovel aside. “Ready to build?”

  Megan glanced at the stack of blocks. “Very. Can’t wait to see how we’re going to get those to stand up.”

  With a scoff, Owen grabbed the first block. “That’s not doubt I’m hearing, is it?”

  She pressed her lips together. It didn’t hide her smile. “Maybe?”

  He clutched his hands over his heart. “Aw. You wound me. I am injured. Most grievously.”

  She shoved his arm, making him stumble. “Oh, stop. You’ll live. Now get to building me an igloo already.”

  “One igloo coming right up. And then you’ll make me lunch and we’ll have a picnic inside.”

  “Deal.” She watched as he grabbed the first blocks and lay them in place.

  As he worked, Owen felt her gaze as an almost physical touch. He wasn’t used to being watched, observed. He’d spent so long in his unseeable elemental form. But her eyes on him made him feel real, present in the world. When was the last time he felt he was right where he belonged?

  He threw himself into the construction to restrain the need building up inside him. Her joy, her playfulness, being out in the snow, in the cold—the whole experience set his body on fire.

  The bottom layer of the igloo was the easiest. Standing on their longest sides, he laid the blocks along the edge of the raised snow wall around the pit they’d cut out. He worked the tail end of the first layer upwards, spiral-like, so the second layer grew increasingly taller as it progressed, leading naturally into the third layer, the one that started to tilt inwards in anticipation of the domed roof. Megan helped him brace blocks whenever needed, and he shaved shapes into the blocks with the saw to get the blocks to cooperate.

  “The key is to pack them tight so the pressure of the blocks pushing against each other holds them in place. Makes the snow molecules bind together,” he said as he worked another block into the wall.

  “You really do know a lot about building igloos, don’t you?”

  He hoisted a block into place at shoulder height. “Just now believing me, eh?”

  Face rosy from the cold and the exertion, Megan looked up and surveyed the growing walls. “Seeing is believing.”

  See me. Believe in me. He sighed. It was hard to be patient now that he had a deadline hanging over his head.

  The fourth layer of blocks leaned forward at a forty-five-degree angle, so Owen took more care wedging them securely. The fifth layer left a hole in the center top of the roof. Grabbing another block and the saw, Owen cut out a shape slightly larger than the remaining space and carefully forced the last piece upwards into the gap. When the completed roof arched over them, he smoothed his hands all across the surface and willed the molecules to lock together. Just to be on the safe side.

  He dropped his arms and looked expectantly at the beautiful woman standing beside him, her faced filled with amazement and joy.

  “We did it!” she said and threw herself into his arms. “This is the coolest thing ever.”

  He wrapped her in his embrace. The warm satisfaction of triumph flooded through him. Not for finishing the igloo, but for earning this moment of happiness with her. Her breath caressed his neck, jolted down his spine, settled into the thick organ between his legs. “We did,” he rasped.

  With difficulty, he pulled away, not wanting his body’s response to her enthusiasm to scare her off. “One last thing.” He retrieved the knife and care
fully poked a half-dozen holes into the sides of the igloo. “Ventilation. Otherwise, the ice traps carbon monoxide inside.” He flipped the blade in his hand and turned to her. “So, what do you think?”

  §

  “Wow.” Megan turned in a circle, admiring the glittering ice walls that surrounded them. They’d really, truly done it. Thanks to Owen. “I think I know someone who earned some lunch.”

  Owen groaned, clutched his stomach. “Oh, please, tell me it’s me. I could eat a polar bear right now.”

  “Not a polar bear.” Megan grinned, loving his playfulness.

  “Why not?”

  “For one, they’re too cute. And two, they’re an endangered species.”

  He smiled. “Good points. Well, I hope you have something else in mind.”

  Counting out on her fingers, she said, “I have the sandwich and salad fixings from last night. But I can also heat up some chili and cornbread. I have a pepperoni pizza I can bake. Oh, I have some very good chicken salad—”

  “Chicken salad. Please. Sounds great.”

  Megan nodded, amused by how enthusiastic Owen was about, well, everything. “On a sandwich or a salad?”

  “Surprise me.” Saw in hand, he turned away from her and knelt at the igloo’s short doorway. “Hold on, let me make this a little taller so we can get in and out easier.” He carved an arch into the bottom-most block, opening up a three-foot-tall doorway.

  Megan’s eyes quickly slipped from the saw’s handiwork down Owen’s bulging bicep, across the tight pull of his shirt over his muscular shoulders, over his strong lean back. The too-short shirt exposed a swath of fine, pale skin just above his firm ass. Oh, to sneak her hands through the fabric gap and burrow against him, wrap around him.

  There was no denying it. It might be crazy, given how little she’d known him, but she liked Owen. Really liked him. His positivity, the tender way he offered concern and care, his ability to find joy in the smallest things. When was the last time she’d felt so carefree, so open to life? It was him. His influence. After so much time beating herself up and tearing herself down over what had happened to John, she actually liked who she was around Owen. It was so damn liberating.