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 had 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?”

“Not as I’m aware, though his eyes drift often enough to a certain woman.”

Some of the heat ricocheting through Sigrid dissipated. “Who?”

Moira snorted into her water bottle. “Like ye don’t know.”

“I truly don’t. Tell me.”

“And give his secrets away? Not a chance.”

“At least tell me his name.”

Moira shook her head. “Two years, ye’ve been in Tellowee.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ye’ve been coming here for two years and still don’t know the bartender’s name.” Moira capped her water. “I’m for home.”

“Moira—”

Moira grinned. “Good luck with another kiss.”

She slipped through the crowd toward her new husband, and Sigrid glowered after her. First, Moira had called her a liar, then a coward, and now, she refused to name the man that had just kissed Sigrid, her closest friend, near senseless.

And that after winning a bet and earning a babysitter for a night a few months hence.

Sigrid put her back to her friend’s bouncing step and hunched over her lager. It just showed that a Daughter was better off relying on herself, or would if Moira weren’t such a hotheaded, fickle creature. Help one minute, fight the next, and no one could predict which one would come first or what the outcome of either would be.

The backroom’s door smacked open and Sigrid glanced up. A young blonde strode out carrying a tray of plated food. The door paused in mid-swing. Beyond it, Sigrid could just make out the kitchen and another door, that one tightly shut. An idea blossomed in her head. She set her lager down and glanced around. The waitress had her back to Sigrid and was setting steaming entrees in front of women sitting at a table on the other side of the room.

Sigrid slipped quickly through the crowd gathered near the bar and into the backroom. An efficiently organized commercial kitchen spread out to her left. One person manned the grill, a rangy, middle-aged man wearing a grease stained apron over a black t-shirt and jeans.

“Help you?” he asked.

Sigrid jerked her thumb at the closed door. “I need to speak with the bartender.”

The man shrugged and flipped a burger. “He’s probably in his office. Through that door, down the hall, second door on the left.”

Sigrid inclined her head once. “Thank you.”

She twisted the doorknob, pushed the door open, and headed toward the intriguing young man who had dared to steal a kiss from an immortal Daughter.

 

 

Will Corbin sank into the cushy chair behind his desk and raked trembling hands through his hair. He’d kissed Sigrid, really kissed her, and blessed Ki, it had been good. After the first kiss, she’d relaxed and opened for him, kissing him back exactly the way he’d been dreaming she would for nearly two years now. Heat thrummed through his blood and his dick stood at half mast. Sweet mercy, if he had his way, he’d go back out there right now, haul her into the nearest private room, and kiss her a third time, just so he could linger over the delicious fit of her mouth against his.

She was probably ready to kill him. It wouldn’t be the first time a Daughter skewered a man who touched her without her explicit permission. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Most Daughters had a very low tolerance for men in general, Sigrid even less.

He launched himself out of his chair and paced around his battered desk. What had he been thinking, assaulting her like that? If she didn’t kill him, and that was a likely outcome, she could sue him and ruin the business his parents had worked so hard to build. He halted in front of the worn, leather sofa set to one side of his office and stared at the family pictures dotting the wall above it. His parents on their wedding day. Them holding him between them in front of the newly-opened Omega. Him and his youngest sister kneeling on stools in front of the bar.

Years of sweat and labor and love, gone in one, impulsive caress.

Maybe he would’ve acted differently if he hadn’t wanted her for so long.

He pivoted and paced in the other direction, skirting the two rickety chairs set in front of his desk. The soles of his running shoes thudded quietly against the thin, institutional gray carpeting, keeping time with the irregular thump of his heart.

Yeah, maybe he wouldn’t have grabbed her if he hadn’t already been on edge, over the unexpected crowd, over his ongoing inability to attract Sigrid’s attention, over her and Moira fighting again. It wasn’t an excuse, no. He should’ve handled that pair the way he usually did, with the swift crack of his baseball bat against the edge of the bar. Instead, he’d given in to his frustration and yanked Sigrid into a kiss.

He stared blankly at the equal opportunity employment posters decorating the wall in front of him. He’d kissed her in front of half of Tellowee, people she’d likely known for far longer than he’d been alive. If word got out, she’d never live it down. Other Daughters would tease her mercilessly for years about giving in to him.

He groaned and clapped his hands over his face. Yup, she was gonna kill him.

The door opened behind him and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m busy.”

The door snicked shut and a cool, feminine voice said, “I see.”

Sigrid. Well, shit. Good thing he kept his last will and testament up to date. He turned slowly, hands loose at his sides, gaze steady. “Will it do any good to apologize?”

She arched one blonde eyebrow. “Do you regret kissing me?”

“No.”

“Then why apologize?” She strolled slowly toward him. Her hips swayed gently with each long stride and her booted feet were silent along the carpeted floor. “Perhaps I enjoyed it.”

He kept his mouth shut and waited for her to strike.

She stopped a foot away from him. “Or perhaps I’ve come to teach you a lesson.”

“Then do it outside. I don’t want my sister to have to clean up my blood.”

“A realist or a fatalist?”

“Maybe a little of both. Look, just do whatever you’re going to do and get it over with.”

“So eager to meet justice at my hand.” She stepped closer and rested her palms on his chest over the unsteady thud of his heart. “What if I offered you another option?”

He looked at her then, really looked at her for the first time since she’d entered the room. Her steely blue eyes were shuttered, her rosy lips slightly parted, and the pale skin over her high cheekbones was flushed. Her long, golden braid fell over one shoulder. Its tip teased the top of her breast through her fitted, deep blue sweater. She hadn’t worn her sword tonight, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t carrying a weapon. She probably had a handgun tucked against her back in the waistband of her jeans or a knife at her ankle, maybe both.

On the other hand, she was a Daughter, trained to fight from her first step on. She didn’t need weapons to dismantle him limb from limb.

He knotted his hands into fists as his sides, keeping them exactly where they were and not where he wanted them to be, on her. “Stop playing with me.”

She rocked onto the flat heels of her boots and walked around him, trailing her fingertips along his shoulder and across his back. “Who’s playing? You allowed me to sample you.”

“No, I kissed you to keep you from killing Moira.”

Sigrid laughed. “You truly think I’d kill her?”

“The way the two of you go at each other? Yeah.” He shrugged, hoping to dislodge her fingers and the tingling warmth spreading over his skin under them and his button-down shirt. “She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s my cousin. I couldn’t let you hurt her.”

“So you did it out of love. I wonder, barkeep. What else would you do for love?”

He ground his teeth together. Why did older Daughters always have to play their little games? “That’s not really any of your business.”

“Isn’t it? Hmm.” She finished her circuit and faced him again. “Tell me your name and perhaps I’ll forgive your indiscretion.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. Tell me.”

Disappointment throbbed through him. Two years and she didn’t even know his name. He shook his head and backed slowly away from her. “Forget it. You want to kill me for touching you, go ahead. Otherwise, I have a business to run.”

Anger sparked into her eyes, warming them to a deep blue. “You’re refusing me? I could break every bone in your body before you could mount a suitable defense.”

“You could try.”

“And now you challenge me.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze evenly. “I’ll know every detail of your young life within half an hour of leaving The Omega.”

Every emotion she’d stirred drained out of him. Fat chance of that. If she didn’t know his name by now, no way in hell would she bother digging into his life. He’d overheard her direct one too many callous remarks at the men she’d discarded one by one over her long, long life to believe otherwise.

“Are you ready for an apology now?” he asked.

“Moira and I were spoiling for a fight. You diffused a tense situation in a way that harmed no one. Unless you regret your actions, an apology is unnecessary.”

“Fair enough.”

Her eyes narrowed into blue slits. “Half an hour.”

He managed a small smile. “Yeah, right. Go on, now. Tell Casey to get you another lager before you go, on the house.”

“Perhaps tomorrow.” She dipped her head in a respectful bow. “Well met, barkeep.”

He returned her bow. “Well met, Sigrid Deathknell, daughter of Glyvyn the Ice Warrior, of the line of Bagda.”

She studied him solemnly for a long moment, then pivoted sharply and marched out of his office. Will leaned a hip against the edge of his desk and admired her fluid gait. By Ki, she was beautiful, but it was past time for him to let go of the crush he had on her and move on. There had to be another woman out there who was eager for his love. He’d just have to work harder at finding her, and maybe he would. Just as soon as he forgot how good it’d felt to kiss the woman of his dreams.