The Gathering Storm

by Varna, Lucy

  Such a hope stretched luck to the limit and beyond, true, but it was better to prepare for the best outcome along with the worst.

  It had been three days since her lunch with Will.

  Sigrid closed the report she was working on, a completed test for an immortal Daughter whose origins were well documented, and selected another report. Moira had been right. A few days apart from the dashing young bartender had helped clear Sigrid’s head. She still hadn’t decided what to do about him in the long run, but her desire for him had refused to wane since their last meeting.

  Experience was a good teacher. Most men who captured her interest held it only briefly, not even long enough for a good fuck.

  Will wasn’t most men. His initiative in claiming a kiss intrigued her. Coupled with his strong will and excellent bloodlines, his boldness had piqued her interest.

  She’d give it a few more days before making a final decision. There was no hurry. She wasn’t going anywhere in the near future, and neither was he.

  Unless the woman he wanted turned up.

  A faint knot clenched Sigrid’s stomach. She frowned and touched her fingers to the unusual feeling gripping her. A stomach bug, no doubt. Immortal Daughters weren’t completely unsusceptible to illness, but it was so rare as to be a myth.

  Imagine, a fierce warrior descended from generations of Daughters falling prey to the flu. Such a laughable fancy.

  Sigrid shook her head and resumed her study of the report in front of her, supplanting her thoughts of Will and a possible illness. George had been instrumental in training the new staff. He was a brilliant geneticist and, in spite of his unfortunate tendency toward softness, was quite good at integrating the staff into a cohesive, efficient workforce.

  A soft knock sounded on her office door. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest. Will. But no, of course it wouldn’t be him. Will hadn’t once tried to contact her since their lunch date.

  Had he already forgotten the kisses he’d stolen, and the one she’d freely given?

  One corner of her mouth turned down. Why was she so worried about that?

  The door opened and George stuck his head inside, forestalling her thoughts from spiraling out of control. “Do you have a minute, Dr. Glyvynsdatter?”

  Sigrid pushed away from her desk and stood. “Of course, Mr. Howe. What is it?”

  “We had a mix-up in the lab. Two samples.” He edged all the way inside and held up two file folders, one in each hand. “I need permission to request retests.”

  “You have the forms ready, I presume.”

  “Sure. Ah.” He stepped forward and handed the folders to her. “You’re not mad?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Why would I be?”

  “Well, you know. Ah.” He huffed out a breath and his cheeks flushed pink. “We goofed.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a human has erred.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing for wrongs you haven’t committed,” she said mildly, then bent her head to the folders. A moment later, the requisite permission forms were signed, clearing the way for him to draft formal letters requesting new samples. “There. I expect this to be taken care of as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Dr. Glyvynsdatter.”

  She sat down, automatically dismissing him, and returned to her own work.

  George shuffled his feet.

  Sigrid stifled her first response, an irrational irritation, and glanced up. “Is something wrong?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. “No, ma’am. I’ll get right on this.”

  “See that you do.”

  His shoulders slumped a fraction, but he turned around and left without saying another word. She stared after him as the knot in her stomach tightened. His clothes were veritably hanging off the poor boy’s frame. Had he lost weight recently? She pulled his form up in her memory, the long, nearly flawless memory of an immortal Daughter. When he’d first come to the IECS, George had been quite a bit heftier, and had stayed that way until just a few weeks ago. Was his weight loss deliberate then, or was something truly wrong?

  She dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. If something were wrong, George would tell her. She was his boss, after all, and the Daughter responsible for his welfare. It was his duty to immediately report to her any harm that had befallen him. He was a sensible young man, if a bit tender yet, and had never failed in his duty. There was absolutely no reason to worry over him.

  This stomach bug, on the other hand, could be quite the nuisance. Twice in one day, it had plagued her. First thing next week, she’d call Dr. Phillips and schedule a checkup.

  Mind settled, she returned to her work, the men in her life all but forgotten.

  By Friday, Will had almost talked himself into believing Sigrid had lost her interest in him. He ignored the stab to his heart and, if he were honest, his ego as he sliced lemons ahead of the weekend crowd’s thirst. So what if his chance had been fleeting at best? At least he’d gotten a chance. It was more than he’d ever expected.

  The Omega’s front doors opened and in walked Chana Wolfbane wearing a richly decorated, blue jacket over a matching shirt and loose, flowing pants. Her dark hair was held away from her face by strings of metal and hung down her back in long ringlets, and the hilt of a sword peeked over her right shoulder.

  She smiled at him across the nearly empty bar and headed straight for him, followed by her daughter and nephew. Favi and Saul peeled off halfway across the hardwood floor and snagged an empty table.

  Will mustered a smile for Chana as she approached. “You look nice.”

  “Thank you.” Her skin shone under the lighting hung over the bar proper as she tilted her head in a coy nod. “We will be eating here tonight. Do you have a menu?”

  “I’ll have Casey bring one to your table.” He dropped the paring knife in the sink, covered the lemons, and slid them into the mini-fridge under the bar. “You know, there are a lot nicer places to eat in this area. I can get you a list.”

  Which reminded him. He needed to update that list and make more copies for the influx of visitors Rebecca had warned him to expect. That would come in handy sooner or later. Maybe he should make a welcome packet or something.

  “We enjoy eating here.” Chana placed her slim hands on the bar’s edge, and her eyelashes fluttered down, covering her nearly black eyes. “Dancing is a custom among the People here? To dance with someone who interests you?”

  Will nodded and leaned against the bar across from her. “Sure. It’s one of the more polite ways of courting.”

  “Then we shall dance later, yes?”

  Her request caught him off guard. Chana was, like many Daughters, a beautiful woman, athletic, intelligent, and eternally young, or nearly so. He’d been so caught up in Sigrid, he’d completely missed seeing Chana as anything but another customer to be cajoled, served, or satisfied, whatever the occasion called for. Now, he eyed her the way a man would an attractive woman, searching for an emotion, any emotion. His heart was rock steady, no desire flooded him the way it did with Sigrid, but Chana was still a desirable woman with an impeccable pedigree.

  He could do a lot worse.

  And what harm would it do to share a dance with her? He needed a distraction right now, anything to get his mind off of Sigrid. A light flirt with Chana might be just the ticket.

  Chana’s eyes narrowed, so slightly only someone standing next to her would notice. “You have another?”

  The question shot right into his heart, awakening a sharp regret. He pushed it down and shook his head. “I’d love to dance with you.”

  Her expression relaxed into an answering smile. “When you are free.”

  “Of course.” He hesitated a minute, then clasped a hand over hers and squeezed lightly. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ll come by your table later.”

  She flipped her hand over in his and met him palm to palm. The friction warmed his skin, and did not a blessed thing to sti
r his interest.

  Oh, well. Sigrid had always been the only woman to move him on sight anyway. Maybe he just needed time to shake her memory off before he tried being with another woman.

  Chana slipped away and walked toward her family, just as Casey stepped up to him at the bar. His sister jerked her chin at the other Daughter. “Who’s that?”

  “Chana Wolfbane. She’s new here. Long story.”

  On the other hand, he might need Casey’s help soon, depending on how right Rebecca was about upcoming events. His hands were already full, between managing the bar, volunteering with Robert, and the few days he’d put into familiarizing himself with the IECS’s supplies. He hadn’t even started contacting locals yet to see where any possible overflow of visitors could be housed. An extra set of hands on this would be a godsend.

  Briefly, he outlined his newly assigned duties and tacked on an overview of why Rebecca had asked him to help out.

  When he was finished, Casey leveled a neutral gaze on him. “That doesn’t explain why that Daughter was holding your hand.”

  Will glanced away, hiding the hurt that popped up every time he thought about Sigrid. “It’s nothing. Just a dance.”

  “Just a dance, huh.” Casey sighed, then stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Well if this just a dance gets out of hand, let me know and I’ll help you handle her.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “In your dreams, creampuff.”

  “Ooo. Just you wait ‘til Mom gets back,” she gritted out, and he swung her up into a bear hug right there behind the bar and peppered sloppy kisses all over her face until she managed to wiggle out of his arms, protesting the whole time.

  Will’s mood improved after that, and stayed exactly where he liked it through the first rush of after work customers and the bigger rush of an after supper bunch. Moira and Tom came in not long after and worked their way through the growing crowd, him toward his usual table where the other Professorteers sat, and her toward the bar.

  Will poured her a cold cup of filtered water, added a slice of lime to the rim, and set it on the bar in front of her as she approached.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Water.”

  Her delicate features twisted into a grimace. “Feckin’ water. What’re ye doing, treating me like a tot?”

  “You’ll get water until the baby’s here,” he said, and forestalled her next comment with a firm, “I don’t care if beer is mother’s milk in Ireland.”

  A grin broke through her grimace. “Aye, ye’re quick on the uptake there, boy-o.”

  “I have to be around you,” he retorted, and hustled off to help another customer.

  Around nine, some poor sap slid a quarter into the jukebox and keyed in a slow love song. The first few measures cut through the noise of chatter and laughter and clinking glasses, subduing it, and whoever was nearest the main light switch dimmed it, right on cue. Will glanced through the throng of people streaming on and off the dance floor, searching for Chana, and spotted her playing pool with Favi, Maya Bellegarde, and another Daughter whose back was turned to him.

  He filled an order, set it on the bar, and just as he was thinking of taking a break to dance with Chana, the doors opened on Sigrid.

  His heart stuttered to a stop in his chest, and he cursed it under his breath. Damn it. When would he ever learn?

  She sauntered toward him, slicing through the crowd like it didn’t exist as he built a lager for her. He set it down in front of her just as she settled against the bar.

  “Hello,” she said, and her lips tilted into a soft smile.

  Moira took one look at Sigrid, shot the other Daughter a sour glance, and pivoted away from the bar, marching as if the very devil were on her heels.

  Will attempted a welcoming smile for Sigrid, and when his mouth refused to cooperate, settled for a stiff nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Her smile deepened. “As a matter of fact, I do. I came to claim a dance.”

  A laugh huffed out of him before he could stop it. “Right. Well, I’m busy tonight.”

  “Not too busy for me.”

  Her matter of fact tone pricked him harder than it should’ve. He leaned toward her across the bar and lowered his voice, for the sake of propriety if not her sensibilities, or his own hide. Daughters tended to swing first and ask questions later at the first hint of an insult thrown their way, whether one was intended or not.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “Somebody else beat you to the punch.”

  He let that sink in for a minute, waited for her to react. Her smile slid off her face and was replaced by the careful scrutiny of a scientist regarding an unusual specimen, nothing more, nothing less. No matter how hard he searched, he found not one sign of interest or temper in her expression, not one Mother blessed sign that Sigrid had a problem with him dancing with another woman.

  He rocked back on his heels and tried not to let her indifference hurt, yet there it was, throbbing in his heart like it always did.

  Fuck it. If she didn’t want him, another woman would.

  He nodded as politely as he could, then turned away in search of someone to fill his spot at the bar. A deal was a deal. Chana would get her dance, and if she wanted more, he’d do his damnedest to figure out how to give it to her.

  Sigrid sipped her lager as she turned her back to the bar and scanned the people on the dance floor. It had taken all her discipline to keep her expression under control during her conversation with Will.

  So, the woman he had his eye on had come around, and at one of the worst times possible.

  Instinct warred within her, pushing her in opposite directions. Fight for the boy, leave him to the other woman. This was why Daughters were better off taking lovers they could never be personally interested in.

  Not that she was personally interested in this one, but still. He’d captured her attention and was an attractive man. In a few years, once the People’s current troubles were over, he would’ve made a good father.

  The lager slid down her throat, cool and heady, and she savored its yeasty bite as she sorted through each aspect of the situation. The match would cement her longstanding friendship with Anya Bloodletter, something neither had achieved in the many centuries since they’d first met, but such a match could only be made if Anya agreed to Sigrid’s suit. With another Daughter in the picture, one Will apparently admired and possibly held feelings for, Sigrid’s own claim might be subsumed by the interests of his heart.

  As if love were the most important factor in a match involving a beloved Son.

  Sigrid took another sip and cupped the mug between her palms. It wasn’t disappointment unfurling within her. It was the loss of a strategic connection within the People, nothing more.

  Will reappeared at the edge of the dance floor, leading a familiar Daughter into the crowded space. Sigrid searched her memory and immediately landed on the woman he’d been flirting with just a few nights past, when Moira had issued her warning.

  But that Daughter was new to Tellowee. Could she and Will have been engaging in a long distance relationship while the Daughter handled business elsewhere?

  The question spooled out in Sigrid’s mind, occupying a large chunk of her attention during the song playing over the speakers. She watched Will and the woman dance, watched him bend his head toward her and whisper humor into her ear, watched the woman flirt and charm as her hands subtly explored Will’s chest and arms.

  Sigrid’s stomach curled into a knot, surprising her. Maybe the lager had aggravated whatever bug she’d picked up. She set it aside and resumed her observations, and when the song ended and Will led the other Daughter off the dance floor, she found herself at its edge, directly in their path.

  Will stopped abruptly some three feet in front of Sigrid. “Yes?”

  “I wish a dance.” The words came out softer than she’d meant, less determined and more questioning. She cleared her throat, straightened her spine, and sta
red down her nose at him. “Now.”

  The Daughter skirted Will and stopped at his side, her hand held within his larger one. She was a pretty woman, willowy compared to Sigrid’s solid Nordic build, and delicately clad in a hand embroidered silk jacket over more practical wear.

  Sigrid swallowed down the automatic dislike and nodded. “Sigrid Deathknell, daughter of Glyvyn the Ice Warrior, of the line of Bagda.”

  The woman nodded in return, her dark gaze expressionless. “Chana Wolfbane, daughter of Pari Bakhshesh, of the line of Eleni.”

  “Well met, kaetyrm.”

  “And you.” Chana’s hand tightened on Will’s and she peeked at him out of the corners of her luminous eyes. “Thank you, Will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Will smiled down at her, his expression open and kind. “Of course. Be safe.”

  Chana bowed to Sigrid, then eased into the crowd, leaving them alone, if anyone could be alone in a room filled with people.

  Sigrid deliberately reached out to Will and clasped the hand Chana had not held. “Shall we?”

  Will gazed at her for a long moment, his green eyes shuttered above the hard set of his sensuous mouth. A strange sensation fluttered in Sigrid’s stomach. He was going to refuse. She’d waited too long, and now his woman was here, come to love him. Why had she listened to Moira? Why had she hesitated to press her claim?

  At last, Will twined his fingers with hers and tugged, pulling her into his arms as he stepped onto the dance floor. He held her close, closer than he’d held Chana, and brushed his cheek against hers.

  She relaxed against him, allowing the music to sweep over her, and swayed to its beat against Will’s warmth.

  His hands slid from her waist around her back, holding her firmly. “I missed you.”