Sigrid flipped her braid over her shoulder and studied the inventory sheet affixed to the clipboard she held. Upon waking that morning, Will had made love to her with a passion no less intense for its brevity, and she’d clung to him, unable to resist the lure of his warmth. It surrounded her, thawing the heart she’d thought long frozen, easing the loneliness she hadn’t even been aware existed within herself.

Boredom, yes, but Will had an answer for that as well. After they’d shared a shower, while they were dressing, he’d casually mentioned his plans for the day. She’d known before the first word drifted past the sensual curve of his lips that the only way to spend time with him was to, as he put it, tag along with him. Pretending she wanted nothing less than every second he could spare had been beyond her.

Perhaps he’d seduced her too well.

She risked a glance at him out of the corners of her eyes. He was standing not ten feet away, quietly discussing spare rooms for storage within the Archives with one of its attendants. His arms were crossed over his chest, his feet were widely planted on the concrete floor, and his expression appeared rapt. Yet every time Sigrid moved, he shifted toward her, as if guided by an unconscious instinct to keep her close.

She focused her attention on the boxes of canned goods stacked on shelves along the wall in front of her. That he chose to cleave to her in the face of his grandmother’s ambivalence spoke volumes about his dedication to Sigrid, but would his wanting her be enough in the long run?

It was always you, honey, always.

His words skimmed through her mind, leaving shimmers of desire and an unfamiliar emotion in their wake. Moira had mislead her there. By Will’s own admission, Sigrid was the woman he yearned for, the Daughter he wished most to claim him, not Chana or another unnamed someone.

Perhaps if Sigrid had paid better attention to him in the first place, Moira would never have felt the need to withhold the truth. Perhaps by now, his family would’ve accepted Sigrid’s place in his life instead of encouraging another’s bid for his affections.

Something twisted in her chest, fluttering her heart. She rubbed one hand over the odd feeling. If Chana won their competition, she would also win Will, whether he wished to mate with the other woman or not. In the days of her youth, Sigrid would’ve killed the other Daughter without blinking an eye. The People were no strangers to bloodshed. It was often the simplest method of solving such disputes, though not always the wisest.

Now more than ever, however, the People needed every sword. There would be no more killing among themselves, not until the shadow hanging over them dissipated.

The attendant left, her boots a bare shush along the floor, and Will settled beside Sigrid, so close his arm brushed hers. “How’s it going?”

“Well, thank you.” She straightened her shoulders and tapped her ink pen against the inventory sheet. “I’m almost finished assessing the canned goods.”

“Assessing, huh?” He tapped a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, not quite hiding a smile. “I meant to ask what you’re doing Monday.”

“What would you like for me to do?”

A laugh wheezed out of him. “Do you really have to ask?”

She busied herself with the inventory sheet, eyebrows arched, mouth pursed into a moue holding a hint of teasing humor. “Perhaps I’ve tired of sex.”

“Uh-huh.” He swung her into his arms, crushing the clipboard between them, and nuzzled his face into her throat. “I guess I’m just gonna have to work harder, then.”

If he worked much harder at pleasing her, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet. Humor blossomed and spilled over into a light laugh, and she accepted his touch, relaxing into his play.

When had she ever had so much fun with a man?

His phone rang, interrupting the heat spiraling through her, and Will cursed under his breath. “Some days, a man just wants to kiss his woman.”

A tiny thrill shot through Sigrid. Was that really how he thought of her, as his?

She shook her head and eased away from him as he whipped out his phone and answered it with a roughly growled hello. Inventory. Right. She glanced between the inventory sheet and the canned goods, half her mind on his quiet conversation, the other on the work at hand. Tomato sauce, check. Bone broth, check. She frowned down at the sheet, counted boxes again. Did they really need fifteen cases of tinned anchovies?

“Mom, really,” Will said, catching Sigrid’s attention. “Don’t interrupt your trip. Everything’s fine here.”

A woman’s firm voice echoed out of the phone, clearly audible despite its distance. “That’s not what your grandmother said. Two women, Will?”

“No, Mom.” He glanced at Sigrid, then turned his back and lowered his voice. “I’m only dating Sigrid.”

“Sigrid Deathknell!” Wilhelmina squawked.

Will rushed past his mother’s outrage. “I’m not deliberately playing one off the other.”

“I should hope not.”

Sigrid sighed. Even she could discern the chill permeating the younger Daughter’s voice.

“Your father and I will arrive within the week.”

“Mom.” Will’s breath left him in a rush and he rubbed a hand along his nape. “Ok, fine. Just don’t rush on my account.”

Sigrid tapped the end of the ink pen once against the clipboard, marking her place. First Anya’s disapproval and now Wilhelmina’s. The two most important women in Will’s life, save his sisters, and that’s what Sigrid faced.

She should leave him now, before the situation worsened.

Her heart throbbed and stuttered, and she immediately shook the thought away. She’d never run from a battle before and had no intention of starting now. Disapproval could be overcome, with enough time and patience, and his family won to her suit. Chana would be defeated in their upcoming match, effectively ending the other Daughter’s claim, and Will would be Sigrid’s until the day he died.

She ignored the tiny spark of regret flaring to life within her. Near immortality and a hardened heart were a Daughter’s lot. She’d resigned herself to it long ago, and refused to squander another second contemplating a situation she could never change, even if she wanted to.

 

 

The Omega was packed that night, more so than usual, even for a Saturday night in the middle of winter when foul weather drove everyone indoors.

Sigrid leaned against the bar in her usual spot and sipped the lager Will had pulled for her. A college basketball game played on the overhead television. Not her teams, but it was better than watching the crowd.

The skin along her nape tingled. Chana was back there with her kin, likely with her eyes on Will. She could watch all she wanted as long as she stayed put. Admiring a man from afar was one thing, poaching on a claimed man something else.

Sigrid rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the half-truth. Will hadn’t been claimed yet, and couldn’t be until the challenge she’d issued was met and satisfied. Not here at the bar, no. Here, she would respect Will’s wishes and keep the confrontations to a minimum.

Which hadn’t been hard to do since Moira had started shunning her.

Sigrid sighed into her lager, sipped it, set the mug on the bar. Losing Moira’s support had hurt the worst. She’d tried not to think about it, tried to let it go. Moira’s temper was too fickle for any other course of action, but by the Great Lady, having her oppose Sigrid’s relationship with Will stung.

What was so wrong with sowing your oats when you were young and heady with your own power? If such youthful indiscretions couldn’t be forgiven, no Daughter would ever mate. Never mind that Sigrid had only given up chaining men to her bed a mere fifty years ago. What happened in the past should stay there, at least where a woman’s sex life was concerned.

A Daughter elbowed into the scant space beside her and a familiar Irish lilt drifted through the air. “Oy there, Will. Fetch me a water and Tom a Duck Rabbit Stout, there’s a dear.”

Sigrid fixed her eyes on the game. If Moira wanted to ignore her, fine. Two could play that game.

“Heard about yer challenge.” Moira turned sideways at the bar, facing Sigrid. “Rumor has it you’re doing the nasty with me cousin.”

Sigrid deigned to stare down her nose at the shorter Daughter. “And?”

Moira snagged the bottle of water Will set in front of her and sipped it, her vivid blue eyes shrewd. “Rumor also has it Anya Bloodletter turned down yer offer of courtship in favor of the outlander.”

Not that again. “Do you have nothing better to do than listen to gossip?”

“Not when it concerns me dearest friends and family.”

“You’re friends with Chana, then?”

Moira grunted and waggled her water bottle at Sigrid. “Touchy, are ye?”

“Not at all,” Sigrid said, and hated the stiffness in her voice.

“Touchy,” Moira said firmly. “She’s been asking ‘round about ye, ye and yer kin and me cousin there. Heard she’s training, too, and asked Anya’s help in the doing.”

Ice coated Sigrid’s gut. Anya was helping Chana train for their match? Anya who’d trained with Sigrid, fought beside her the longest, and knew her fighting style best?

Sweet Mother. Chana might actually win.

The knowledge seeped into Sigrid, chilling her to the bone. She glanced at Will, sweet Will with his dimpled smile and a passion so deep, she’d barely begun to explore it. Her lover, her friend.

She cupped her hands around her lager and turned the idea over. Yes, they were becoming friends, that and so much more, but if Anya was truly helping Chana and the other Daughter won, that friendship was lost along with all the tenderness Will had bestowed upon Sigrid.

Moira thumped Sigrid’s back, knocking her into the bar. “There now, girly. Ye’ve gone twelve shades of pasty.”

Sigrid hunched over her lager, suddenly weary of it all. Why couldn’t she and Will have met in another time and place, when she could simply have carted him off and secured his heart in the traditional manner?

“Never worry,” Moira continued. “I’ve a plan for ye.”

Sigrid shot her a disbelieving look, her eyebrows arched high. “You’re talking to me again?”

“Pay attention, lass. I’ve been talking to ye for nigh on five minutes now.” Moira hunkered down beside Sigrid and lowered her voice. “Now, here’s what ye’re going to do.”

“Wait.” Sigrid glanced at Will hustling from one end of the bar to the other and waited until he was out of earshot before continuing. “What are you really doing here?”

“Helping me friend.” Moira’s voice was just shy of patient and had taken on the tone of a mother to a small child. “Think ye need all the help ye can get, Sig.”

That was true enough, but it wasn’t much of an answer. “Moira.”

“Sigrid. What’s good for the goose.” Moira waggled her nearly red eyebrows and grinned. “Chana’s not the only Daughter good at digging up dirt.”

Curiosity stirred. Damn it, Moira always sidled around an issue by deflection, but not this time. This time, Sigrid needed to know what Moira’s motivations were, in case they came back to bite Sigrid on the arse. “What are you up to?”

Moira sighed. “Ye’re going to keep needling me ‘til I spill me guts, aren’t ye?”

“Yes, I absolutely am. Now spill.”

Moira glanced at Will, then leaned closer and whispered, “I’ve seen the way ye look at him, Sig, and I saw the fear in yer eyes when I mentioned Anya’s helping Chana. Ye’re in love with him, ain’t ye?”

Sigrid glanced away from Moira’s probing gaze. “I’m an immortal Daughter—”

“Cut the shite, girly. If ye don’t love him now, ye’re well on yer way.”

That Sigrid could never deny. She nodded solemnly, sipped her lager, and ignored the tightness along her nape. Chana could look. It wouldn’t do her any good.

“Dish some dirt for me,” Sigrid said. “I could use some good news.”

Moira shot her a knowing look, but dish she did, in great detail and length as Sigrid filed every scrap of information away for use in her own training.

 

 

Two days later, Will woke up alone in his own bed. He flopped over onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the bright mid-morning light streaming through the curtains and blinds.

He’d spent the weekend with Sigrid, just as he’d promised to do. Their trial run together had gone way better than he’d hoped, in spite of the rocky start on Friday night. But a trial run was all it had been, a simple way for them to see how well they fit together in the day to day.

Waking up beside her had been the next best thing to Heaven. Curled around her body, soft with sleep, her gentle acceptance of his touch, the hitch in her breathing when he slipped into her and pleasured her until they were both sated.

His dick hardened under his boxers. Will grimaced and slung the covers off. No time for that. Today was his day off, sure, but he had things to do, phone calls to make, and a Daughter to seduce later that evening.

He checked his messages, smiled at Sigrid’s good morning text, and answered her back in kind. No sooner had he hit the send button than another text beeped through, this one from his grandmother. He rubbed a hand over his head, ruffling his hair, and thumbed into it.

Robert Upton in hospital. Family eyes only.

Will sat straight up in the bed, wide awake, and read the rest of the text. Late last night, Robert had had a heart attack and had been taken straight down to Northeast Georgia Medical Center in Gainesville, bypassing the local hospital all together. He was stable, but weak, and would stay in the hospital until the medicines he was taking for his Multiple Sclerosis could be re-evaluated.

The text ended with a list of visiting hours. Will closed the text and dropped his phone on the bed. Family eyes only. Rebecca must be worried about something if she’d insisted on that, or maybe his grandmother had imposed the restriction for some political reason.

He rolled his shoulders, shrugging it off, and launched himself off the bed. The day-late Valentine’s Day dinner he’d planned on cooking Sigrid would have to wait. She’d understand. Family came first.

Only, the thing was, she was beginning to feel an awful lot like family.

He gathered clean clothes together and stepped into the bathroom for a shower, mentally rearranging his schedule as one part of his mind concocted a plan for all the ways he could make up their missed dinner to Sigrid.