by Varna, Lucy
The Gathering Storm
Daughters of the People, Book 6
Lucy Varna
Published by Bone Diggers Press, Clayton, GA
© 2018 C.D. Watson. All Rights Reserved.
Cover design © L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations.
ISBN 978-1-943465-35-4
Description of The Gathering Storm:
Born a Viking and an immortal warrior of the People, Sigrid Glyvynsdatter has spent her entire life chasing wars and men, not necessarily in that order. Now one of the People's leading geneticists, she longs for the thrill of battle and the spoils of war. Even her work on the recently discovered Bones of the Just isn't enough to break the routine boredom she's fallen into.
Until Will Corbin snags her attention with a stolen kiss.
Will has been watching Sigrid from behind the bar of his parents' pub since she walked through its doors two years ago. In a fit of exasperation, he dares to kiss the woman he's wanted for so long, risking her wrath and his life.
But will that one kiss lead to something more, or will the forces aligned against them destroy the fragile attraction stretching between Will and Sigrid before they can fall in love?
Daughters of the People: Immortal Amazons unjustly cursed, struggling to save their People, and their hearts.
The Daughters of the People Series
The Prophecy
Light’s Bane
The Enemy Within
Tempered
In All Things, Balance
Sanctuary
The Gathering Storm
Omnibus 1 (Books 1, 2, and 3)
Omnibus 2 (Books 3.5, 4, and 5)
Daughters of the People Short Stories
Dreaming of a Dark Christmas
The Sons of the People Series
Say Yes
The Cullowhee Heritage Series
A Higher Purpose
A Wicked Love
The Pruxnæ Series
Thief of Hearts
The Choosing
Alien Mine
A Warrior’s Touch
Coming Soon
Sweet Surrender (The Pruxnæ, Book 5)
Redemption (Daughters of the People, Book 6.5)
War’s Last Refuge (Daughters of the People, Book 7)
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to persons living or dead is purely a coincidence. Actual localities and entities are mentioned solely for the purpose of adding realism to the story.
Table of Contents
Notes from the Fab Four
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About the Author
Preview of Redemption
Notes from the Fab Four
Notes on the People compiled by Tom Fairfax, Phil Walters, George Howe, and James Terhune, known at the IECS unofficially as the Fab Four.
Aenkanien. A tattoo inked into the left-hand shoulder blade of a Son who becomes the husband of a Daughter. Once approval has been granted by the mothers of both parties and the tattoo is in place, a formal marriage ceremony is unnecessary; the two are considered married in the eyes of the People, though many couples choose to undergo a civil or, less frequently, traditional ceremony.
Amaetien. The tattoo Sons receive on their sixteenth birthday (the day they become men under the traditions and laws of the People) to indicate their maternal lineage. Usually inked onto the upper left arm, the amaetien is a symbol of the mother’s eternal protection and devotion, and a warning to any who would harm the Son.
Ankana. Woman. Also refers to the Woman with No Face.
Council of Seven. The People’s ruling body, consisting of seven women, one representing the line of each of the Seven Sisters.
Daughter. A direct descendant of one of the Seven Sisters, Daughters may be either immortal (if they have not yet broken their own curse) or mortal (if they have broken their own curse or are the daughter of a mortal Daughter).
Eknon. Student.
Eternal Order. A supposedly mythical group devoted to undermining the ultimate goal of the People, to break the curse of immortality for every Daughter through the fulfillment of the Prophecy of Light.
High Guard. Seven Daughters devoted to eradicating the Eternal Order. A highly secret and deadly group.
Institute of Early Cultural Studies (IECS). Located in Tellowee, Georgia, USA, the IECS is the main historical research branch of the People and serves as a repository for much of its history.
Kaetyrm. Sister, usually used in a formal situation, though not always.
Maetyrm. Mother, usually used as a term of respect for an elder Daughter and not necessarily as a reference to one’s own mother. Teachers, for example, are referred to as Maetyrm.
Mundane Mortal. A non-member of the People, usually one who is unaware of the People’s uniqueness.
People, The. The name used by the descendants of the Seven Sisters to describe themselves. The People include all immortal and mortal Daughters, Sons, and the mortal descendants of all submitted Daughters to the second degree (i.e. through the grandchildren of Daughters who have submitted their wills and become mortal). Other descendants are not counted among the numbers of the People.
Prophecy of Light. Issued by an unknown person at some distant point in the past, the Prophecy of Light portends a way for the curse of immortality to be lifted from all of the People, and not solely the Daughters who submit their wills and become mortal. (See the Daughters of the People website.)
Seven Sisters. The progenitors of the modern People. The seven women, all sisters, avenged the deaths of their parents by killing the men of the People (the original band) and were cursed by the god An to live immortal lives without the ability to bear sons. The curse was tempered by the goddess Ki, who decreed that the curse could be broken by each one if she would submit her will, in whatever way (except sexually), to the man she loved. (See the Legend of Beginnings on the Daughters of the People website.)
Shadow Enemy. The traditional enemy of the People.
Son. Usually refers to the child of a Daughter who has broken the curse and become mortal, but may also reference the child of a Son or another male descendant of a Daughter.
Tellowee, Georgia, USA. One of the centers of the People, located in rural northeast Georgia.
Chapter One
Sigrid Glyvynsdatter leaned against the bar inside The Omega, Tellowee, Georgia’s only nightlife, and sipped her lager. Duke and Carolina were playing hoops on the TV hanging in a corner above the bar. She kept one eye on the game. It wasn’t all that interesting, but it beat staring at the people crowded into The Omega. Word h
ad already spread in the close-knit town. Jerusha Mankiller had discovered the bones of two Sisters. For the People, the find might as well have been the Holy Grail.
Carolina scored, and Moira Firebrand shot a triumphant grin at Sigrid. “Three minutes.”
Sig snorted and set her mug on the bar’s smooth, burled oak surface. “The game isn’t over yet.”
She wouldn’t have worried about its outcome at all if she hadn’t bet a night of babysitting on Duke blowing Carolina out of the water. Moira had gone through her needing recently and, of all things, had submitted to the father, Tom Fairfax, and become mortal. Apparently, they were in love. The very idea rankled. If Moira had truly wanted to protect her child and lover, she would never have submitted to him. A Daughter’s best strength resided in her immortality, not in her tender heart.
The bartender switched Sigrid’s nearly empty mug for a fresh one. She ignored him. Men were one and the same, good to warm her bed for a night or two and not much else. What use was it to get to know one? She had no intentions of falling in love and her needing was months away. Even if she wanted another child, now would be the worst possible time for her to have one. The People were on the cusp of change, positioned on the verge of finally gaining the strength to overcome their greatest enemy. Now of all times, Sigrid needed to concentrate on her duty, not fritter her time away chasing after a handsome face.
Though she’d be the first in line to examine the Sisters’ bones, the discovery held only mild interest for her. Extracting DNA, analyzing it, and comparing it to the Institute for Early Cultural Studies’ growing database of modern DNA samples was child’s play. That she might have a hand in reuniting the People with a significant part of their history excited her not at all.
She tossed her braid over her shoulder and stifled a sigh. At her age, boredom was to be expected. She’d spent centuries doing exactly what she wanted, fighting wars, raiding and pillaging. The pillaging had been fun, especially when it ended with a strapping man chained to her bed.
Good times.
Duke stole the ball and passed it down the court, and one of the guards scored on a beautiful layup. Sig cut a side-eyed glance at her red-headed companion. “Two minutes.”
Moira twisted her wide mouth into a grimace. “Feckin’ butterfingers.”
“Should I say I told you so now or wait until Duke wins?”
“Keep dreaming, you cockeyed Viking.”
“I’d rather be cockeyed than knocked up.”
Moira whirled around, her blue eyes hot. “No swipes there, Sig, or I’ll take ye down a peg.”
Sigrid pushed away from the bar and eyed the temper sparking in her friend’s eyes. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be such a wash after all. It had been ages since she and Moira had gotten into a row, and they always proved interesting. The younger Daughter’s fighting tactics were as creative as her language and twice as fun to counter.
The bartender smacked his fingers against the bar, drawing Sigrid and Moira’s attention. “No fighting, not tonight.”
Moira rolled her eyes and slumped against the edge of the bar, muttering under her breath.
The bartender’s finely arched eyebrows furrowed over leaf green eyes. “Don’t test me, Moira.”
Sigrid hid her humor behind a sip of her lager. As if he had a chance of winning against a Daughter, mortal or not.
Carolina scored, and Moira whooped. “Forty-five seconds.”
“You’re counting your chickens,” Sigrid said.
“That I might be, but at least I know the difference between a bird and a basketball player.”
Sigrid slapped her mug onto the bar. “Are you calling Duke’s men’s basketball team chickens?”
Moira waggled her strawberry blonde eyebrows. “If the shoe fits.”
The bartender braced his hands against the edge of the bar. “Why is it that nobody else comes in here and gives me trouble except the two of you?”
Moira flashed a grin at him. “Ye’re just lucky that way, cousin.”
“More like cursed,” he muttered. “No fighting.”
He hustled off to fill an order, and Sigrid turned back to the game. The problem was, she was bored. Her life had settled into the most humdrum of routines. Get up early, workout, go to work at the IECS. Come home at the end of the day and workout again, then drop by the Omega and snipe at Moira for an hour before the Irish Daughter’s husband dragged her home. Where was the adventure, the action, the sheer lunacy of Sigrid’s youth? The world had changed in the twelve centuries since her birth, and she didn’t like it one bit.
Perhaps a trip to the darkest reaches of Africa might be in order. There were still wars being fought there, plunder for the taking, innocents needing a hand against the hammer of the cruel and unjust. She could wrap up her work at the IECS within six months at the most and hand the remaining details over to her assistant, George Howe. He was intelligent enough, for a man, though a bit bashful for her tastes, and should be able to finish their work on his own with no major glitches.
Moira punched her fists into the air and wiggled her butt. “Carolina wins, and that’s a night of sitting when the babe gets here.”
“Let’s go two for three.”
“Oy, there, Sigrid. A deal’s a deal and there’ll be no wiggling out of it.”
“Who’s wiggling?”
Moira jabbed her finger at Sigrid’s sternum. “That’d be the one, right there.”
Sigrid stared down her nose at the smaller Daughter. “I’m a cheat now?”
“Aye and a right good one. Would it kill ye to give me a night out with me Tom?”
Sigrid gritted her teeth together. “I wasn’t trying to wiggle—”
Moira’s hands bunched into fists at her sides and she stepped up toe to toe with Sigrid, unmindful of the half-foot difference in their heights. “Liar.”
Sigrid shoved two fingertips into Moira’s shoulder. “Half-wit.”
Moira’s shoulder twisted around. She popped back into her former position and pushed Sigrid into the person standing behind her. “If I’m a half-wit, ye’re a bloody fool, ye lily-livered, fog-brained, goat-faced hag.”
Sigrid sucked in a breath. “I am not lily-livered. You take that back.”
Moira stuck her dainty chin out. “Why don’t you make me, ye yellow-spined coward?”
A red haze descended over Sigrid. Nobody called her a coward, nobody. She snapped her fist back, preparing to punch. A hard hand wrapped itself around her upper arm, holding her firmly in place. She swiveled around and came face to face with the bartender.
“I said no fighting.”
Sigrid yanked at her arm. “Stay out of this, barkeep.”
He stared her down, one hand wrapped around her arm, the other loose at his side, his even features set in a hard mask. “My bar, my rules. You don’t like them, there’s the door.”
“Run away now, coward,” Moira sneered.
Sigrid jabbed her elbow back and missed. Damn it, where had the little firebrand gone?
The barkeep snagged Sigrid’s other arm and yanked her against his chest. “No fighting,” he gritted out, and his mouth came down on hers, hot and hard and demanding.
Her anger over Moira’s smart mouth evaporated into incredulity. Who did this upstart think he was, assaulting a Daughter of her breeding and reputation? She’d plowed through so many men just like him, she couldn’t even remember all their names, and he thought he could tame her with a simple kiss?
The very idea was laughable.
He yanked away from her, breaking the kiss.
She wriggled her shoulders. “Let me—”
“When you calm down,” he said, and he slid his mouth across hers again, softer, less urgently.
A slow thrum of heat tripped into her blood. It had been months since she’d allowed a man to kiss her, months more since wicked desire had heated her loins. Perhaps she could give this man a moment more before she lashed out and taught him a lesson. She relaxed against him. Why not
? One kiss wouldn’t kill her and it would lure him into dropping his guard. She could deal with him after she’d taken her pleasure and pay the requisite fines on the morrow, if the resultant damage was great enough and his kin insisted.
He hummed against her mouth and shifted his grip, one masculine hand cupping her nape, the other at her waist. His lips were supple against hers, giving, and his tongue darted out, testing the seam of her lips.
Heat threaded steadily through her, growing inch by inch, and the noise around them faded. She parted her lips, inviting him in, and gripped his hips over low-waisted jeans. He was warm against her, solid, and patient in his explorations. His tongue dipped into her mouth, teasing her, and he nipped her lower lip.
Desire stuttered to life inside her and her skin tingled. Oh, he was good, so good, and deliciously sweet. She flicked her tongue out. Mint and chocolate mingled together in his mouth, and she tasted him again and again, eagerly sampling what he willingly offered.
His hand tightened on her nape, and a moment later, he eased away and stared down at her, his light green gaze oddly dispassionate. “Next time, you’re out.”
He let her go and pivoted away, pushing through curious onlookers toward the backroom.
Sigrid staggered into the bar next to Moira. “Pick another fight with me.”
Moira snickered. “Aiming to get kicked out?”
“Aiming for another kiss.” Sigrid sucked her lower lip into her mouth and tasted him. Mmm. Mint and chocolate. A delightful combination. “Is he taken?”