by Laura Kaye
Long, semi-conscious moments passed with Owen still wrapped around Megan’s panting, shuddering curves. But he couldn’t risk her health anymore than he’d already done.
“Come on, angel, let’s get you dressed.”
“Okay,” she mouthed, barely making any sound.
Owen stumbled as he helped her to her feet. He frowned, his muscles fighting back against every direction he gave them. His limbs felt heavy, like he was fully clothed under deep water. Drawing and holding a human in the elements so long had clearly cost him, but he could never regret it. His enraptured soul was still singing from sharing a fundamental part of himself. With her. He helped Megan dress, then rushed through dressing himself as quickly as his sluggish muscles would allow.
An arm around Megan, Owen glared at the sunny morning sky. Damn Zephyros. Despite the early hour, the temperature was noticeably warmer than it had been yesterday. A black pit of worry rooted in his gut. Please, gods, don’t let my time with her be up.
Megan swayed. Her head hung limply. She shivered nonstop. Someone would likely think her drunk, her body was so fluid.
He leaned her back against a thick tree. “Put your hands against the tree, Megan. Hold yourself up for a moment.”
She offered a small whimper of recognition.
Owen tied all of Megan’s equipment and his poles into a bundle using her scarf, then stepped into his skis. Squatting onto his haunches, he plunged both hands wrist-deep into the snow and clenched his eyes in concentration. He commanded the snow to conform to his needs, then lifted Megan with an arm behind her knees and one around her upper back. The way she curled into his chest made his heart swell, and he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. He threaded the scarf holding her equipment onto his right forearm, then skied out onto the trail, away from the tree line.
The snow sensed Owen’s weight, remembered his command. Slow at first, the top layer of powder immediately underfoot shifted, carrying them down the hill like a carpet lift, minus the rubber conveyor belt the real apparatus would’ve had. Despite the incline of the intermediate trail on which they found themselves, the magic carpet guided them down at a slow, steady rate, even circumnavigating the fallen tree that explained why the trail had been closed.
When his eyes weren’t confirming the safety of their descent from the mountain, he studied Megan’s beautiful face. The full, pink lips. The long lashes that fanned out above flushed cheeks.
He loved her. Loved her.
The words were inadequate to the feeling that consumed him.
When she’d declared her trust, demonstrated it so freely by agreeing to let him share something with her that she had no chance of understanding beforehand, he hadn’t been able to hold the declaration back. The words spilled forth, lightening the pressure within his chest. But he’d made sure to relieve her of the obligation of a response by transforming them into the North Wind that very moment.
And, gods, the absolute joy of sailing over the world with her. Even now, his soul vibrated with the glory of it.
The trail bottomed out beyond the edge of the parking lot, which was good. It meant they wouldn’t have to pass by the main grouping of buildings around the resort lodge to get to Megan’s Jeep. Sweating now, he willed the carpet effect to carry them to the edge of the macadam, then squatted with Megan in his arms so he could reach the release mechanisms on the skis. Hopefully someone from the resort would find the discarded equipment; he couldn’t expend energy worrying about it. Not now. He shoveled handfuls of snow into his mouth, groaning as the cold crystals slowly—too damn slowly—restored his reserves of power and energy.
Glad he’d seen the pocket she’d zipped her car keys into, he fished the metallic ring free and unlocked the doors, settled Megan across the rear seat. She grumbled and frowned in her sleep, but finally curled into the back of the seat and calmed.
Against the protests of his muscles, Owen loaded her equipment into the trunk and dragged himself in behind the wheel.
His body weighed a thousand pounds. With sluggish, imprecise movements, he turned the ignition and backed the Jeep out of the space.
No way he was going to be able to drive like this. He threw the truck into park and shoved his shoulder against the door. It swung open.
Owen’s body tumbled out onto the snowy ground.
Chapter Twenty
Owen jolted awake, disoriented at first, aware but confused after a moment. He knew the dark ceiling that hovered over him. His eyes drifted to the side. Weathered log beams formed a wall around a familiar door. Megan’s cabin. He was at—
“You know, I am too fucking old to worry like this.”
Owen’s head whipped to the other side. Boreas stood where the snow edged the cleared sidewalk. Robes of white fur swirled around him. “What happened?”
“What happened,” Boreas grumbled as he started pacing. “He wants to know what happened. He depleted the powers of his godhood until he collapsed and he wants to know what happened.”
Owen rose to his feet, immediately noting his body’s rejuvenation. Gone was the sluggishness, the bone-crushing exhaustion, the internal tightness that was almost like severe dehydration. He was himself again, mostly. But where was Megan?
The angles on Boreas’ ancient face sharpened in his fury. His words roared out in their native tongue. “You are not in the Realm of Gods, Owen. You have not the full use of your powers. You cannot expect your body in its present state to shoulder the weight of a full night of a human’s transformation into the wind, command the snow to your will in massive ways over and over, and weather forty-five-degree temperatures.”
Thunder rumbled, rolled uneasily across the cloud-covered sky.
Owen fisted his hair back, bowed his head in the face of Boreas’ anger and righteousness. He dropped to one knee. “I apologize, My Lord. I wasn’t thinking.”
Boreas chuffed out a laugh. “Oh, you were thinking, all right. Just with the wrong damn head.”
Boreas wasn’t too angry if he was cracking jokes.
“Get the hell up.” He shook his head and crossed his fur-covered arms. “She’s fine, by the way. The Snow woman. Asleep in her bed.”
He couldn’t help it. Owen narrowed his gaze at Boreas.
The older god rolled his silver eyes, amusement playing around his lips. “Jealousy, now? All these human emotions must be a bitch.”
Owen struggled to clear his throat. “How did you know I was in trouble?
“Your joy.” Boreas shifted his stance. Owen sucked in a breath to question him, but Boreas cut him off. “When the two of you were of the wind. I felt your joy. It resonated through the Realm… But then you held her in it too long, so I kept an eye on you. Good thing.”
Owen exhaled a long sigh. “Thank you.”
“You have not much time now, Owen. Zeph fought back against my efforts to restrain the warm front. It is upon you even now. I imbued you with some of my strength, but it will not endure another trial of this magnitude. There will not be a next time.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
Boreas’ gaze cut to the door. “She wakes. Go.” In a swirl of snow, the ancient god disappeared.
§
Megan’s eyelids fluttered against something cool and soft. She was comfortable, so comfortable, but for the life of her she swore she’d heard thunder. She never wanted to move again, wanted only to bask in the luxury of the cushy mattress and bundled covers around her exhausted body. Her eyes drifted closed.
Owen?
Her lids popped back open, the question firing a jolt of alertness through her. His side of the bed lay empty. She narrowed her gaze. When had she started thinking of it as Owen’s?
She frowned and pushed up onto her hands and knees despite the body-wide protest the movement unleashed. She sat back on her heels and rubbed t
he grogginess from her eyes. How did they get home? When? The last thing she remembered was…the wind. No, after. Making love in the snow. Without question, the most intense, magical, spiritual night of her life. Assuming it had happened… Maybe she couldn’t remember anything afterward because it had been a dream?
Her stomach soured and clenched in disappointment. Listless hands fell to her lap. She gasped. Nylon snow pants still covered her legs. She had gone to Wisp with Owen. Their night wasn’t the product of her subconscious after all. Relief flooded every cell. Boneless and weary, her posture sagged.
She cleared her throat. “Owen?” Her mouth was dry, making her thirsty, hushing her voice. She swallowed and tried again. No answer. Maybe he was outside.
Shifting her legs out from under her, she slid down off the bed. Her equilibrium faltered and she swayed. She grabbed a handful of covers to keep from falling.
“Angel, what are you doing up?”
Megan sucked in a breath and looked over her shoulder. “There you are,” she said in a scratchy voice. “I was coming to look for you.” When he walked right to her, she threw herself around him.
“It’s okay, I’m here.” His arms curled around her, embracing, steadying.
She nuzzled her face against his chest. “How did we get home?”
He kissed her hair. “You were out of it, so I let you sleep in the backseat. Don’t worry about it now. You should be resting.”
She nodded, sighed. “Tired. Rest with me?”
“Gladly.” He squeezed, then let her go.
Megan turned to the bed. “Oh. Wanna change first.”
Owen wrapped himself around her again and blocked her. “Sit. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”
“I love that idea,” she said, sleepiness making her mumble. “Any shirt and pants from the top right drawer.”
“Top right drawer. Got it.”
When Owen stepped away, Megan tugged at her clothes, removing her turtleneck and the silky long john top beneath, then fumbling with the fasteners on her snow pants.
Owen’s hands brushed hers away. “Let me. Lay back.”
Megan collapsed atop the fluffy comforter. Lifted her hips when he asked, pointed her feet when he needed. His soft touches made her feel cared for. And it had been so long since someone had done such small but meaningful things for her…
Soon, Owen had redressed her in ultra-comfy flannel pants and a cotton shirt. Big hands helped scoot her toward the top of the bed, placed a pillow beneath her head. Her eyelids drooped, weighing five pounds more every time she forced them open again, but she wanted visual confirmation that he was in bed with her before she gave in to the urge to sleep. Standing near her side of the bed, Owen shed his clothes in a heap with hers. Something about the appearance of their laundry commingling on the floor… It was stupid, but she really liked it.
Sans clothing, Owen climbed over her and settled into the middle of the mattress. Like he was a magnet—or her North Star—Megan’s body turned to press into the nook along the side of his tall frame. His bareness managed to be soft and hard at the same time—the skin soft and smooth, the muscles hard and ridged. She inhaled deeply, taking his crisp, clean scent into her, and let out a long exhale that relaxed her into him further. Now. Now she could be content to never move again.
When Megan woke up, the room was dark, meaning she’d slept the day away. Again.
“Sleep well?” came Owen’s quiet voice, still right next to her.
She rested her head back against his shoulder so she could see his face. “Very.” It was true. She’d slept better—if at odd times—these past few days than in many months. Her fingers traced shapes on Owen’s bare chest for a long moment, then her stomach growled, the sound loud in the quiet between them. She covered her warming face with a hand.
“Seems like another need is going unmet, though.”
Megan dropped her hand back to his chest, dragged the pads of her fingertips lightly down his abdomen, through the trail of dark hair and over the sculpted muscles.
His big hand clamped down on her wanderer. “If you find what I think you’re looking for, it’s going to be a long while before you get dinner.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” He rolled on top of her, rained open-mouthed kisses across her face and neck. “But food first.” He sprang out of bed and offered his hand.
Megan pouted, but accepted his help and let him pull her from the warmth of the covers. She curled right back into his chest, nuzzled her nose against his neck.
He wrapped his arms around her body and kissed her hair. For a long moment they stood in the dark, embracing.
Megan’s stomach growled again. The loud grumble sent them both into a fit of giggles.
“We better feed that beast, lest he get loose,” Owen quipped.
Megan stood back, clutching her stomach. “I know. Jeez. I am totally starving.”
Minutes later, they stood together at the open fridge door and surveyed their options. The way Owen ate, she was lower on groceries than she should’ve been. She didn’t mind, but she’d need to make a run to the general store in the next day or two. The thought made her realize she’d already decided not to head back to Northern Virginia for family dinner on Sunday. She made a mental note to call her mom.
Nothing jumped out at her, so Megan turned to a drawer, plucked out a spoon, popped the half-gallon of chocolate chip from the freezer, and tore off the lid. Still standing in front of the fridge, she dug her spoon into the cream and ate a big bite. The sweet cold immediately eased her hunger. She took another bite.
“So, what looks good?” she mumbled around a spoonful. She looked up at Owen.
Mouth hanging open, eyes dilated, he stared at her while she held the carton with one hand, ate directly out of it with the other. He licked his lips.
“What?” She smiled. “Oh, want some?” She dug out some chocolate chip and held the spoon to him.
He leaned forward, mouth open.
At the last second, Megan yanked the spoon away and stuffed it in her mouth.
If she thought he’d been gaping before, it was nothing compared to his expression now. Amused outrage raised his eyebrows up to his hairline, then had him narrowing his eyes.
“Sorry, sorry,” Megan said, covering her mouth as laughter spilled out of her.
Owen tugged her hand away and none too gently pushed her back into the fridge. “What did I tell you”—he kissed her, plundered her mouth with his tongue—“about hiding your smiles and laughter”—tongue flat, he licked ice cream off her bottom lip—“from me?”
He grabbed her wrist and forced her hand to spoon out another scoop from the carton trapped between their chests. Breathing hard from the forceful kiss, Megan pouted. He guided their joined hands to his mouth, sucked down the cold cream while boring his heated gaze into hers. His dominance, playful though it might’ve been, tingled low in her belly.
Warm, dizzying pressure filled her chest, making her feel she could fly or take on the world. Or both. She sucked in a breath at the sudden appearance of the foreign sensation. A rectangular chunk of chocolate lodged in her throat, stuck there, refused to clear. Her eyes watered as she coughed, her hand covering her mouth.
In a flash, Owen’s weight disappeared, as did the tub of ice cream. “Here,” he said, thrusting a cup of water in front of her.
She nodded and grasped the glass, took a long pull of water. The cold soothed her throat, calmed her distress. She drank every drop.
“Okay?” Bending down to look in her eyes, he tucked a few stray curls behind her ear.
“Yeah,” she croaked. “Went down the wrong hole. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
She nodded and shuddered. Why couldn’t she just embra
ce that feeling, give voice to it? But before she’d even finished the thought, she knew the answer. She was scared. Scared of how much she cared for Owen, and how fast it had happened. Scared that what she felt for Owen promised to exceed the intensity of what she’d felt for John. The comparison sat uneasy in her stomach, but that didn’t make it any less true.
She’d loved John. Truly, deeply. During the two years of their courtship and four years of their marriage, he’d been her whole world. Had that horrible night two Christmases ago never happened, she would’ve lived a long, happy, perfectly satisfied life with him. But Owen made her think she hadn’t known the full beauty of what love could be. Her heart beat for him; her body sang for him. His pleasure was her pleasure, in all things. John had been a wonderful partner, but Owen felt like her destiny.
Oh, John, are you still out there? Are you listening? What must you be thinking of all this? But he didn’t answer, no voice responded. He’d been quiet for days. Maybe that meant his spirit had found peace? How she hoped.
Megan sagged back against the counter, weighed down by the sappy ridiculousness of her thoughts, and by the guilt and disloyalty her pre-Owen self foisted on her. Not to mention the whole, you know, ancient-god-from-the-other-side problem. She adored a…man?...and he wasn’t even real. As real as you want me to be. That’s what he’d said.
But the last two years had taught her that what she wanted and what was real were not always the same things. More often than not, they were about as different as could be.
Chapter Twenty-One
Fingers stroking her cheek yanked her from her thoughts. “You’re so far away,” Owen whispered, standing right in front of her still.
“Sorry. I’m just a little out of sorts, I guess.”