Chapter Five
Donata’s mouth dropped open. Thankfully there was no food in it at the time. “They think I’m a what?”
“A spy,” Enar repeated.
Magnus sent a scowl around the table. “I told you—all of you—that wasn’t true.”
“Oh, please,” Kari said. “Everyone knows that the Alliance Council would love to find out whether or not the Ulfhednar are keeping to the rules of the Compact. And suddenly a Witch whose family has been connected to the Council for years finds an excuse to come to an Ulfhednar town. You can’t expect us to believe that is a coincidence.”
As part of the Compact, the deal signed between the Paranormal races and the Catholic Church at the end of the Inquisition (a secret holy war between the two that the Paranormals lost—badly), the Ulfhednar had been required to limit their children to two per couple. For a race that used to have as many children as possible, both to replace those lost to their often-violent lifestyle and to increase the possibility of having a child who grew up to be an Ulf, that was an onerous restriction.
Of course, the Ulfhednar lived in such remote areas with limited contact with the other races, so no one knew for sure if they had continued to abide by the terms of the treaty. Donata had a sneaking suspicion that Erik and Enar were no more “cousins” than she was, but it wasn’t any business of hers, no matter what Magnus’s family thought.
“I assure you,” she said in as mild a tone as she could manage, “my family might be connected to the Council, but I am not.”
Magnus grinned. “As I recall, the last time we met, you threatened to shoot one of their representatives and his cohorts.”
Donata smiled down at her plate. “I also threatened to arrest them. It was a bad day.” The smile slid away when she remembered how much they’d lost in their attempt to keep the secret of the painting known as the Pentacle Pentimento. Sweet Friar Matthew had died for it, Peter had been badly burned, and Magnus . . . he’d left along with Peter when it was all over, afraid of losing control over his inner berserker again.
“It was,” Magnus agreed. He scratched his head, as if trying to remember. “I believe I offered to flip a coin to help you in the decision.”
Erik gaped at them. “She threatened a Council member?”
“Actually shot at him,” Magnus said. “It was rather magnificent.”
“They weren’t leaving fast enough. And I missed on purpose,” Donata said. She gazed at Halvor. “We lost a friend that day, and without your son’s help, we would have lost much more. I would never have managed to deal with both the Alliance and the Cabal without him.”
Halvor raised an eyebrow. “He told us the Cabal was involved. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I believed him.”
Donata didn’t blame him. Many Paranormals thought the Cabal no longer existed as more than a tale to scare small children into going to bed on time. A fanatical offshoot of the Catholic Church, the Cabal held that all the Paranormal races were an abomination in the eyes of their God and should be eliminated. Donata might not have believed they were still a power lurking behind the scenes if she hadn’t had a run-in with them herself.
“They say the priest in the next town is secretly a member of the Cabal,” Enar said. “One of the girls I go to school with says he rants about Witches all the time in his church.”
“That doesn’t make him Cabal,” Astrid said, frowning. “Let’s not start any more rumors, please.”
“Including ones about Donata being a Council spy,” Magnus said. “She didn’t conveniently come up with an excuse to visit; I asked her to come here to help us all. She took leave from her job to do so, and it would be nice if some people around this table could show a little appreciation for that.”
Donata put her hand on his. “It’s okay, Magnus. I understand why they may not trust me. But maybe you should reconsider whether or not I am really going to be of any help if everyone else in town feels the same way.” She didn’t know if she had the energy to fight another uphill battle, especially one that wasn’t even hers. At least this time it didn’t seem as though the stakes were life-and-death—she’d had her fill of those situations. Maybe the Ulfhednar would be better off figuring this one out themselves.
The rest of dinner was spent pointedly talking about anything other than her visit. In fact, aside from Magnus and occasionally his mother, no one even acknowledged her presence at the table. She was just as happy to have it that way.
After the meal, they all went into the living room, which the family called the great room, and she, Lars, and Magnus played board games with the children while Erik and Enar arm-wrestled and squabbled over chess. There was no television and no radio, and other than the electric lights, it could have been a scene from hundreds of years before. Halvor sat in an oversized chair and whittled something that looked like it might eventually be a small figure of an animal, sweet-smelling pipe smoke wreathing his head like a halo. Astrid and Kari each took a corner of the couch, Astrid with her knitting and Kari with a set of large knives and a whetstone. A typical family night at the Torvalds’, Donata supposed, except for the intruder in their midst. Only Jerrik and Iona seemed not to mind her presence, clearly enjoying having a new opponent to trounce.
As soon as was politely possible, Donata excused herself, thanking Astrid again for dinner. She tried not to imagine a giant sigh of relief that went up as she left the room.
She brushed her teeth and changed into the tee and pajama bottoms she slept in, but despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned on the soft, comfortable mattress under a handmade quilt, memories from the last eight months haunting her as surely as ghosts haunted the Ulfhednar. Around midnight she finally gave up and turned on the small lamp next to her bed, pushed the covers down to her knees, and picked up the book she’d abandoned earlier.
A minute later there was a soft knock on the door and Magnus slid into the room and closed the door behind him. His shoulder-length blond hair was down and tousled, and he wore only a pair of flannel shorts, revealing long, muscular legs and a broad chest dusted with blond hairs. He was so beautiful he took her breath away, although his perfection was marred here and there by the scars of previous misadventures—a few of which she’d been there for. A new injury, a jagged gash on his shoulder still red and healing, reminded her of how dangerous the Ulf training was, but sadly, it didn’t make him one iota less appealing.
There were a lot of reasons why their relationship hadn’t worked out, but lack of chemistry wasn’t one of them.
“Are you okay, ’Nata?” he asked, keeping his voice low even though their wing of the house was quite a way from any of the other bedrooms. “Is there anything I can get you?”
She put the book back down on the bedside table. “How did you know I was awake?”
“I could hear you moving around, and then I saw your light go on. That sharp Ulfhednar hearing, remember?” he said with a grin. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “I hope you’re not letting my family get to you. I wish they’d given you a warmer welcome, but it will get better once they get to know you.”
Somehow Donata doubted that. “I confess, it was a bit discouraging; I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to help if everyone in town thinks I’m some kind of Council spy.” She sighed. “Maybe I should just head home.”
Concern shadowed Magnus’s bright blue eyes, and he shifted so he was sitting next to her and could put one arm around her. “That doesn’t sound like you, honey. Since when does Donata Santori back down and give up at the first sign of difficulty?”
Tears prickled at her lids and she had to blink rapidly to chase them away. With a sigh of surrender, she let herself lean into the comfort of his warm presence. Just for a moment or two, it was nice to feel like she didn’t have to take on the world all by herself, even though she knew it was an illusion. She’d forgotten how safe Magnus had always mad
e her feel.
“Sorry. It has been a rough year.” She whispered the words, as if saying it quietly would lessen the reality of admitting her own limitations. “First that craziness with the Pentacle Pentimento. Then being chased across two continents by both the Cabal and the Alliance, having my apartment burn down, and then losing Friar Matthew.” And losing you and Peter, she thought, but didn’t say out loud. “Then the last few months, working all sorts of Paranormal-related crimes for the Chief on top of my regular job, which got even more stressful when there was a sudden upsurge in those types of cases. Plus I got involved with Anton—I told you about him on the ride up here.”
“The guy who turned out to be one of the mysterious missing sixth race.” Magnus shook his head. “I still can’t believe you and Peter figured out who they were, let alone that you ended up dating one.”
“Sure, if you consider being lied to and given mind-altering herbs, sent strange dreams, and then asked to save an entire race by carrying a child for one ‘dating.’” Donata ground her teeth together. “Of course, I thought it was just a plain old relationship for quite a while before I discovered the truth. Then Peter’s father died after he came to me for help and I refused him, and I got involved with Peter, and you know how well that went. Plus there was the whole ‘having to kill the first man I’d been dating because he was trying to kill the second man I was dating and rape me in a pool of his blood’ thing.” She closed her eyes, as if that would keep it all from replaying over and over again in her head.
Magnus was silent for a moment, but she could feel his arm tighten involuntarily where it rested across her shoulders.
“Ow.”
“Sorry,” he said, and the arm loosened a fraction. “You said you’d been forced to destroy the Major Anemoi before he could murder Peter, but you might have left out the part about the rape.” He tilted her chin up with his other hand so he could look into her eyes. “I wish I could have torn him apart with my bare hands for trying to hurt you. Then put him back together and done it again.” In a softer tone he said, “I hate that I wasn’t there to protect you, ’Nata. I hate that you had such a terrible thing happen to you.”
“I survived,” she said. “I’m okay. Just a little . . . ragged around the edges, I guess.”
“As you said, it has been a rough year. No one could blame you.” His gaze heated, although his expression softened. “I’d like to smooth down those edges for you a bit, if you’ll let me.”
Donata sighed out a breath, knowing this was a bad idea, that tomorrow at dawn he’d have to return to his Ulf testing and couldn’t afford to be distracted. Knowing that her heart was still too raw from two bad relationships in a row. But in this moment, she didn’t care. She wanted the comfort she knew Magnus could give her. She wanted, for just an hour, to feel safe and treasured, and to ignore the complicated reality of her life.
“Yes,” she said, and he bent his head down to kiss her softly.
Donata kissed him back, reveling in the familiar feel of his lips as he joined her under the quilt and fitted his body against hers as if it had never been away. His touch was gentle but demanding, and she answered his hunger with a longing of her own. She’d forgotten how well they fit together, how much she loved the weight of his huge body on top of hers, as if he could block out the entire world.
It seemed as though his touch was everywhere at once, igniting fires here and sending tiny sparks of sensation there, soothing, arousing, enticing her to join him in a passion that rose to impossible heights until there was nothing to do but give in and fall off the edge into heat and glorious ecstasy.
Afterward, they collapsed, panting, into each other’s arms and Magnus pulled her against his chest with a rumbling laugh.
“I always forget how right it feels to be with you,” he said. “It is as though Freya made your body just exactly to fit mine.”
Donata snuggled against him, happy to just be for a little while—no thinking, no worrying. At least, not much. Tomorrow would come soon enough. “Maybe it was Hecate who made you for me,” she said with a smile. “Although it hardly seems like her type of thing.”
Magnus snorted. “Not exactly, no.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep, ’Nata. I’ve got you.”
And much to her surprise, she did.
Chapter Six
She woke in the morning to the sound of birdsong outside her window and an empty place in the bed beside her. That second one wasn’t a surprise—she’d known that Magnus had to be up and gone at dawn, back to his Ulf training. The soonest she could hope to see him would be at dinner, if then. She didn’t mind, really. Last night had been a wonderful interlude, but in the cold light of morning, reality hadn’t magically changed to make their situation any different. Magnus still had to focus on his difficult and treacherous tests, and she was still broken and bruised from her last two relationships and all the baggage that had come along with them.
Although she had to admit, as she sang quietly to herself in the shower, then tied her long dark hair back into its usual braid, maybe not quite as broken as she had been the night before. There was something very healing about being with someone you trusted absolutely—even if you couldn’t share a future and you both knew it.
Donata braced herself when she walked down the hallway, through the entrance hall, and into the kitchen. But thankfully the only one who seemed to be around was Astrid, who was standing at the counter kneading bread.
“Good morning,” Astrid said as she saw Donata. “I trust you slept well? The bed was comfortable?”
“Very,” Donata said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. Witches tended to be quite open about sexuality in all its forms, but she didn’t know what the Ulfhednar take on it was nor how Astrid would feel about her son and Donata sharing a bed. “Um, I don’t suppose there is coffee around. It looks like I’ve missed breakfast.”
“I’m afraid we’re all up and out early around here,” Astrid said. “But there is coffee in the pot on the stove, and I’ve got a plate for you keeping warm in the oven.” She brushed floury hands off on her apron and fetched Donata a mug, then pulled out a plate piled high with French toast, bacon, and sausage. “Can make you some eggs to go with that? It won’t take me a minute.”
Donata eyed the mound of food dubiously as she sat down at a small table in the corner of the kitchen and shook her head. She was hungry for the first time in weeks, but even so, she doubted she could make a dent in that amount of food. She’d better wrap up the Ulfhednar’s mystery quickly, or they’d be rolling her out the door when she finally left.
Speaking of which . . . “I’d hoped to talk to some of the folks who had unwanted visits from the ghosts of their dead, but I suppose they’re all out doing whatever training exercise Magnus is involved in today.”
“They are,” Astrid said, rolling the dough into a ball with capable fingers and settling it into a greased bowl on top of the counter to rise. “Except for Freddy, of course. He’s the one who was injured when his brother appeared out of nowhere, and he had to drop out of the Ulf training for this year. I took the liberty of calling him earlier and asking him to meet us where the incident happened. You’d said something about wanting to get a feel for the area, and I thought that would kill two birds with one stone. I hope that’s all right.”
Donata could feel her eyebrows rising toward her forehead. Somehow she’d expected to have to twist a lot more arms before getting anyone to talk to her. “That’s perfect, actually. Thank you.”
Astrid gave her a slightly mischievous grin, reminding Donata of the woman’s perpetually cheerful—especially when making trouble—son.
“You may not thank me quite as much when you see where we’re going. I hope you brought hiking boots.”
Donata had, in fact, brought boots suitable for tramping through the woods, and with her jeans, long-sleeved cotton tee, and leather jacket, she was perfectly attired
for a walk. Which turned out to be a damned good thing, because apparently Freddy’s unfortunate mishap had occurred quite a way down barely discernible paths that wove between towering gray-green trees and rampant underbrush, some of which had aggressive thorns lurking in its midst waiting to snag the unwary traveler who dared to trespass. The occasional late-season blackberry only slightly sweetened the trek.
Donata thought it was a good thing she still worked out most days, either at the precinct’s basement gym or the neighborhood martial arts studio, since Astrid set a brisk pace and maintained it seemingly without effort. Apparently even the older Ulfhednar were still in ridiculously good shape.
Eventually they followed a burbling creek to the base of a massive stone outcropping. Birds sang in the woods around them, and something small scurried through the bushes, making them rustle and wave. They stopped in a clearing where misty sunlight filtered down through the trees and shone off the blond hair of a tall, muscular man who could have been one of Magnus’s second or third cousins. And maybe was, for all Donata knew.
Unlike Magnus’s, though, Freddy’s mouth was pulled down into a scowl, and he didn’t look even remotely pleased to see Donata, although he nodded pleasantly enough at Astrid. His left arm was cradled by a sling, and the matching side of his face still bore healing bruises and scratches. When he moved toward them, he seemed to favor his left leg as well, although the limp was barely noticeable unless you knew to look for it.
“So,” he said in a brusque, matter-of-fact tone, “you’re Magnus’s Witch.”
Donata rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to argue about her ownership or lack thereof. “I’m Donata, yes. And you must be Freddy. Thank you for meeting me here today.”
“Don’t know what good it will do,” he said, still scowling. “I got no answers to give you, and I don’t expect you’d be able to do anything with them even if I did.”
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