“Gwen…”
His tone annoyed her more than anything. It was commanding and dangerous, and strangely exciting. It made her want to be daring and aggressive for once in her life. Obeying orders had gotten her nothing except a free stint in the loony bin. Now, because she could, she let the anger bubble up, and welcomed it.
“You ordered it,” she bit out, narrowing her eyes at him. “You can eat it.”
Inside her chest, her heart was thumping a million beats a second, but her brain was doing a happy dance of victory. It felt so good to disobey, wonderful actually. So much she almost couldn’t believe it.
“Of all places, you challenge me here,” he growled, his tone so sinister she flinched.
Desperate to keep her courage, she grasped at the little that remained. “I don’t want it.”
The other men were all staring at the exchange, watching her like she was taking a knife to a kitten. “Alpha,” Gerard said carefully.
Eben’s eyes rolled toward him, and the other man immediately fell quiet.
Alpha? Who talked like that? And who was Eben to think he should be called Alpha? She almost snorted with disdain. Instead, because she couldn’t quite help herself, Gwen pushed the plate in front of Eben, hoping no one would notice her hand shaking. “Enjoy.”
For a second, she was sure he was going to pull her out of her chair and break her neck. But when he moved, instead of her neck, he grasped the sandwich and took a large bite, chewing smoothly.
“Well,” Connor said drolly, “does anyone have any other worries or concerns?”
The men at the table all shook their heads in the negative.
He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “Then, I’m going to take Gwen with me and introduce her to the others. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Taking the hint and more than ready to leave the table, Gwen pushed away and followed Connor without a backward glance.
She fell asleep on the drive home, the sound of their hushed French lulling her. When she next opened her eyes, strong arms held her against a broad, heavily muscled chest.
Nothing made sense for a second, and then it all came back to her. She was in Canada!
She tried to jerk up and was immediately pinned tightly to a hard chest. Actually, it was quite nice.
“Don’t.”
She shrank against him, too tired to do anything else. The fighting was fun, but her bravery had long ago melted away and she was far too worn out to scare up any more.
Eben carried her silently to her assigned room, not bothering to turn on the light. When he placed her on the bed, he stayed leaning over her, his face heavily shadowed, looking almost demonic.
She was asleep before he removed her shoes.
Gwen got up early the next morning, even earlier than Connor. After dressing, she went to the kitchen and helped herself to cereal. All around her, the house creaked in the heavy winter wind. Normally, she would have been uncomfortable, but for some reason, she wasn’t. It’d only been three days, but she was comfortable with them, or at least with two of them.
After she was done, she went to the studio room and helped herself to supplies. She hummed as she pulled out a large sketch pad and charcoals. And when she started with sweeping, heavy lines, she forgot about everything else for hours.
Connor knew where she was the minute he woke up. Her scent, now sweet and inviting with the absence of the drugs that were polluting her system, was heavy coming from the studio.
He gave her a few hours before he went up and knocked on the door. When he heard no response, he opened it silently and peered in.
“Gwen?”
She lifted her head from the bench and blinked at him, her eyes foggy with dreams and memories. “Hmm?”
Taking it as an invitation, he stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him. “How’s it progressing?” He thought pretty well, since both her hands were completely covered in charcoal. With her hair loose down her back and her pretty complexion, she looked lovely in a simple, unsophisticated way, much like the beauty of new snow, or a starry night. In just the few days she’d been with them, her weight was coming back, and the gaunt, lost look was no longer in her eyes.
She glanced down at the paper in front of her and frowned. “Okay, I guess. I’m not sure what it is, though.”
Connor leaned closer and got his first look, and froze. “Where did you see this?”
She stiffened and shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably dreamt it.”
The Were didn’t appear to be familiar, although it was difficult to tell, but the drawing was so accurate it was almost frightening. Although he’d seen her other drawing, the detail in this one left no doubt that the Were had gotten close to her. Far too close.
“Well,” he said, keeping his tone light. “It’s well done. Perhaps you should try painting it?” With paint there could be color, and with color, he had at least a hope of identifying the man behind the fur.
“I don’t think so. I think I’m done for the day.” She shoved it to the side and slipped off her stool, already cleaning up her supplies.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I could use your help in the kitchen.”
She nodded, and together they left the studio.
Once there, Connor set about preparing lunch for the boys. He pulled out a large chicken, already roasted and ready for slicing. As he cut and laid slices to the side, he told her of his travels throughout the world—Egypt, Jerusalem, Paris, every exotic place Gwen could even think of. He’d been to them all, and happily recounted silly stories or obscure facts that made her smile as she cut vegetables and sliced bread.
Methodically, they started building huge sandwiches of the fresh chicken and vegetables. By the time they were finished, they were thick and heavy, and far too large.
She eyed them warily. “Are you sure they aren’t a little too big?”
Connor smiled over at her. “They’re fine. Wrap these in plastic, would you dear?” He set three of the sandwiches in front of her and placed the rest of them on a plate. “And I’ll fetch the potato salad and pickles. Eben’s always favored dill pickles.”
He rummaged around in the refrigerator and came out with a large jar of pickles and a vat of potato salad. After scooping what looked like a pound and a half into a sealable container, he slapped a lid on it and added it to the pile of wrapped sandwiches. He added a mound of pickles to the pile in a separate container, and after tapping his finger on the counter for a minute and staring, went back to the refrigerator and brought out an apple.
“That should do it,” he murmured, shoving the whole thing into a zippered bag. “Now, would you be a dear and take this out to that building?” He pointed through the window to the building he’d neglected to show her.
He dropped the strap of the bag on her shoulder and turned away, already mumbling about supper and lasagna.
After donning her coat and boots, Gwen entered the freezing cold and promised herself that next time she’d refuse, except she knew she wouldn’t. So far Connor hadn’t made her angry enough to refuse him anything, and it seemed that she was too much of a pushover to be rude without the anger.
It felt like it took forever before she made it to the building. The snow was thick, and by the time she got there, her jeans were coated from her knees down. The small window at the north end blazed orange and the chimney belched out a continuous stream of thick smoke. Gwen didn’t know what Eben did in there, but she had no doubt it was warm.
She was shivering by the time she pounded on the door. She waited for a minute and had her hand up, ready to pound again, when it was wrenched open.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he was sweaty all over. She blinked for a second, her eyes fastened to his chest, not sure she was seeing properly. For one thing, he had the most heavily defined chest she’d ever seen. It was thick and wide, and covered in ridged muscles.
After a moment of silence, she jerked her eyes to the side and blushed. She swallowed sharp
ly and patted the bag hanging off her shoulder. “Lunch,” she croaked.
His eyes narrowed, making her want to duck out and disappear. “Come in.” He pulled the door wide and stepped back for her to enter.
She stayed outside for a second with the wind tearing her apart, chewing on her lip in indecision. Cautiously, she took a step forward, felt the heat coming from the open doorway and rushed in. He closed the door firmly behind her.
The building wasn’t bright at all. There seemed to be no lights, only what was given off by the flames and coals in a pit that took up a huge portion of the space.
She stared at all the metal equipment—hammers, files and other things she couldn’t even identify, wondering what it all was. “What is this place?”
He walked up behind her and slipped the bag off her shoulder. “A forge.” He set the bag down and started pulling everything out, setting the food carefully on the nearest bench.
Gwen stood awkwardly, not sure what to do. She didn’t want to stay, but he didn’t seem like he was going to let her out yet, either.
“Is it okay if I—” She pointed toward the other end of the building and his eyebrows only rose in question. “Look,” she finished lamely, her arm dropping to her side.
For almost an entire second, she was sure he was going to smile. Or half smile. His mouth actually moved, the corners almost tilting up. And then it was gone.
“Of course.” He went back to the lunch items, and finished unpacking.
Curious, she walked around, examining the building and its tools. Most that were small enough hung on the walls. Some looked old, like they’d been used hundreds of years ago, and others looked fairly new. Toward the far end of the room was the fire pit, with a large bellows in the ceiling, a rope hanging off it. Thick pieces of twisted metal sat all over the building, leaned against walls, bundled together in a corner, and some even laid across the rafters in the ceiling. But what she found really interesting were the weapons hanging on the far wall.
There were five swords, each one elegantly made and as long as she was tall. They looked perfect, like they should be in a museum with other ancient weapons. Along with the swords were a few axes, knives, and even a pike.
“You challenged me last night.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. He’d already finished the first sandwich and was leaning against the bench as he worked on the second, all muscle and sweat. And brawn. Big, muscular brawn. Menace was also there. She couldn’t ever forget that. But he was so pretty, especially with so much skin exposed. Sometimes it was just hard to remember.
Turning back to the swords, she said, “I’m sorry.” No I’m not! her conscience sang in her head, and she wasn’t. It had been the most glorious point of her life. She actually felt alive. “Did you make all of these?” She pointed to the weapons.
“Through the years, yes.”
“So that’s what you do here? Make swords and knives and…other things?” She wasn’t sure what to call some of the weapons.
After a minute, she heard him leave the bench and walk toward her. He stopped in front of her, blocking her view of the swords, and so close she had to back up a step just to feel comfortable.
“Don’t,” he ordered.
Gwen stopped in mid-step and stiffened.
“And yes. That is what I do here.” His eyes glittered down at her, so pale it was amazing she could even tell they were blue at all.
“What?” she asked, frowning. It was unnerving, the way he stared at her.
“Next time you get your back up,” he rumbled, “you will have to deal with me afterward.”
The pub. He was talking about the pub. She nodded, and made a mental note to never challenge him again. Then she quashed it. Screw it. She had nothing to lose anyway.
“You can go.” And he turned toward his food.
She left the building, her hands practically itching to sketch him.
Gwen was quiet through the lunch meal. Christian took one look at her, detected Eben’s scent, and knew where she’d been. He visited the forge later that afternoon, after deciding to give Eben a few hours to cool off.
Unlike Connor, he didn’t mind the heat of the place. He breathed in the smell of hot metal and sweat like it was a perfume, and stripped his shirt. He got an extra leather glove off the bench and waited for orders. Eben didn’t waste any time.
“Man the bellows for me while I work on this.”
For the next half hour, neither of them spoke. Christian pulled on the rope that operated the airflow to the fire while Eben pounded the shit out of the metal, alternating between two different pieces.
“Are you still sure she’s your mate?” he asked, taking a break and wiping his brow. “Her scent’s changed since she’s been here.”
Eben brought the hammer down a little too hard on the hot metal, and the sparks flew. “It’s her.”
Christian heaved on the bellows again. “Then what are you waiting for? She’s at the house and you’re always here. It’s not exactly conducive to a burgeoning relationship.”
Eben let the hammer bang down on the metal, flattening and shaping it. When the rod cooled a little, he shoved it back into the coals and pulled out the other piece. “She gets a month to relax. A month to not worry about what I want from her. After…”
Christian was so shocked he forgot to pull on the bellows. “Christ,” he marveled, “I never expected you to be nice.”
Eben shot him a dark look and nodded toward the pull. “It’s the only freedom she’ll have. After I take her, she’ll be lucky to get ten feet from me.”
Christian laughed and pulled.
Chapter Five
Gwen felt she understood what a true home was supposed to be. After being in Connor’s home for several weeks, she finally grasped the entire concept, the comfort, the familiarity, the peacefulness. It was all part of what made it so nice. Maybe that was why she appreciated it so much—she’d never been in such a relaxed atmosphere before.
When she was a child, she’d lived in a nice house, but it had been anything but comforting. With her parents arguing all the time, her mother harping, and the farm always there requiring time and attention from her father, the house was more a place of perpetual discontent. Then, after her parents were divorced, she’d never been able to settle enough in either of their homes, feeling as if she didn’t truly belong in either one.
But here, it was different. There was no one telling her to sit up straight, or complaining when she got dirty or tore a shirt, and because of that, she was able to relax, help Connor with meals when she wanted, Christian with the horses, and spend hours upon hours in the studio. Sometimes Connor was there with her, and sometimes he wasn’t. It didn’t seem to matter at all one way or the other since they worked well with each other, neither one of them intruding on the other’s concentration. Plus, then she got to see him create.
She even became accustomed to the almost constant night, the snow, and the cold, and actually enjoyed the extremes of the northern winter. There was something savage about it, but beautiful, too.
She laughed more in the month with The Men, as she liked to call them, than in the last ten years of her life. Christian especially seemed intent on making her giggle, and was constantly whispering raunchy jokes in her ear, then smiling innocently when Connor or Eben caught him.
Even dinner was completely different from what she was used to. It was a fun, informal event. Eben often came to the table late. Connor never seemed to be bothered one way or the other about it, and generally started the meal without him, smiling at his son when he finally made it, dishing out food as if nothing was wrong. And to him, there was nothing wrong. That was perhaps what endeared him so much to her. Connor loved his children without trying to change them.
She even felt that she was getting used to Eben’s dark ways, although it wasn’t easy. He was large and scary, and sometimes he made her breathless, which she couldn’t quite understand. He didn’t like her much—she fig
ured that out after two weeks. It was in his eyes and the way he avoided talking to her. It was hard to take at first, but finally she just shrugged it away. It wasn’t that difficult. He spent his days out in his shop, pounding on hot metal and making swords, which she learned from Connor were often purchased by serious collectors and museums, and even occasionally used in movies. As it turned out, she rarely saw him accept during the dinner meal, and then she had Connor and Christian to act as buffers.
The only dark spot in her new life was her mother, although it certainly wasn’t a new problem. Gwen called her a few days after going to the pub. After listening to her mother’s ranting for five minutes, she chastised herself for even bothering to try and explain her situation.
“Do you know what people are saying?” her mother screeched.
“No,” she replied woodenly, clenching her hand around the phone. Connor looked over at her from the counter where he was rolling pie crust, clearly concerned.
“Margaret Miller is saying you went off with a boyfriend because you’re pregnant.”
Gwen winced, knowing her mother’s reaction to that one. She had been so afraid of her daughter becoming a teen pregnancy statistic, she hadn’t even allowed her to date in high school.
Gwen listened for another few minutes, making no comment as her mother ordered, prodded, begged and yelled, insisting she come home and return to the hospital.
Gwen finally couldn’t take anymore and interrupted. “I love you, Mom.” She hung up the phone.
She woke later than usual one morning, several weeks later. When she went to the kitchen, Christian was there, wolfing down a huge breakfast. She helped herself to cereal and joined him at the table.
“Good morning.” She carefully added milk, making sure not to splash.
“Is it?” he mumbled.
“What’s wrong with you?” She scowled at him and set the carton down a little more forcefully than necessary.
“Shitty night.” He shoved more food in his mouth and chewed viciously.
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