Sigrid trained harder than ever after the run in with Will’s mother, spurred by an icy fear flowing through her veins. Every moment not spent at work or with Will was bent to the singular task of defeating Chana Wolfbane in their upcoming match. Anything less was unthinkable.

So Sigrid trained, and she trained some more, both at home and at the gym on the IECS campus. There, she tested her skill against other Daughters seeking the same. So ruthless was she that few of the younger, less experienced Daughters sought her out for a bout.

Rumors spread quickly. The Deathknell tolled for any soul foolish enough to brave facing Sigrid in combat.

Let them talk. Let their words reach the ear of her opponents. Let them fear her wrath.

The day before the exhibition, Sigrid sat in her office studying the results of yet more tests. They were getting close to an answer. She could feel it in her bones. Three Sisters known, two more possible, and dozens of lineages solidified through painstaking genealogical research coupled with the judicious use of science.

Soon, the Bones of the Just would rest in a Sanctuary of the People’s choosing, and they could then destroy their enemy and forever after be free of the shadow of An’s curse.

Blessed be Ki.

A soft tap hit her door, then George poked his head inside, his skin ashen under the untidy mop of his hair. “I have to leave.”

Sigrid set aside the file she was studying and stood. “What’s wrong?”

“My parents.” His hand tightened on the doorknob and if anything, he skin went even paler. “There’s been an accident. My sister called. I need to get home.”

She skirted her desk, then took his cold hands in hers and led him to a chair in front of her desk. “Have you made travel arrangements?”

“Yeah. No.” He shook his head and his eyes squeezed shut. “My sister did. I’m booked on the earliest flight she could find.”

“Would you like me to drive you to the airport?”

“James is. I just…” He shrugged and dropped his head back, eyes open and brimming with unshed tears. “Dad’s in surgery. Internal bleeding. Mom’s got a couple of broken bones. Some idiot ran a stoplight. Dad swerved, but—”

“Shush,” she said gently. “You’ll worry yourself to death thinking about something over which you have no control. I’ll escort you to your apartment and help you pack.”

He huffed out a short laugh and finally looked at her, sniffing through the tears. “Trust a Daughter to cut through to the practical.”

“After centuries of living, one learns that practical is the most efficient course.” She rubbed his hands between her own, warming them. “What time is your flight?”

“Ten tonight.”

“Then we’d best get you to your apartment. You’ll need plenty of time for the drive and airport security. Do you have enough money?”

His eyes widened and a laugh sputtered out of him, morphing into a deep belly laugh.

She arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“You,” he gasped out. Tears trickled down his cheeks and he swiped them away, then inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and grinned at her. “You sound like my mom, asking if I need money.”

“Since I’m a mother, I can hardly take offense for acting like one.”

“I guess not.” He flipped his hands over in hers and held them gently. “Thanks. I guess I needed somebody to talk me down.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Among other things. “Now, go make sure your computer is shut down in your office and gather up any personal items you need for the journey. I have a phone call to make before escorting you to your apartment.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” And not only out of duty, though she could hardly tell him that. She cupped his baby face in her hands and brushed the last remnants of his tears off his cheeks. “You must have faith, George. All will be as it should.”

He nodded once, then she stepped away from him and watched him hustle out of her office. As soon as he was safely away, she sat down behind her desk and pulled up a private database of contact information for members of the People. A certain young Daughter needed to know what was going on in George’s life. George wouldn’t call his heart’s love. He’d made it clear during his conversation with Sigrid that he intended to honor Andrea’s wishes and leave her alone.

Sigrid had no such qualms.

She located Andrea’s number and placed the call, certain this was one battle she could easily win.

 

 

Will spent the week leading up to the exhibition putting out fires on a variety of fronts. On Tuesday, Eric called in sick with the flu, sounding so bad Will had pity on him and told him to take as much time as he needed. Eric promised to come in as soon as he could, but his absence left a hole Will had a hard time filling. He ended up tending bar himself around finalizing the roster for Friday’s exhibition and juggling the extra duties piled onto his plate.

On Wednesday, half a dozen non-local Daughters approached him individually and demanded to be put on the roster for the upcoming competition. Will called Rebecca, who suggested a blind draw for some of the matches, and offered to organize the setup of an extra set of mats to accommodate the additional fighters.

Robert had finally been dismissed from the hospital, but he was confined to home, so Will was still covering for the older man. Research was slowly trickling in. Soon, Jaran’s descendants would be found and their DNA samples matched against the bones Sigrid had told him about. Tired as he was, even he was anxious to know who the bones really belonged to.

And he was tired. His days were getting longer, his sleep shorter, and the few minutes he could spare every day for Sigrid weren’t nearly enough to satisfy him.

The crush he’d had on her was gradually morphing into something deeper. He was doing everything he could to slow down the leap into love, but none of his efforts pulled him away from the brink he was teetering on.

On Thursday, he spared a precious half hour in his office for re-ordering supplies. The extra crowds drew heavily on The Omega’s stockpile of craft beer and hard liquor. Oddly enough, the crowd’s favorite had shifted from chicken tenders and fries to fish sticks and homemade potato chips. The kitchen was going through a twenty pound bag of russet potatoes every day, and running out well short of closing.

Maybe he needed to hire someone just for prep work.

Will threw down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and scrubbed his palms over his face. Fatigue ate at him, wearing him down under the mountain of stuff he still had to do. Replenishment drinks and high carb snacks for the exhibition, sorting out the steady influx of visitors, his mother and her stubborn high-handedness, and for fuck’s sake, he still had to man the floor tonight.

He closed his eyes against the fluorescent lights glowing overhead. Five minutes of rest, just five minutes to not worry about anything, or plan, or juggle, or think.

A knock hit the door, startling him awake. He rubbed a hand over his face, blinked sleep out of his eyes, and said, “Yeah?”

Casey poked her head in and scrunched her face into a grimace. “You look like crap, big brother.”

“Just what I needed to hear. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a Daughter out here who says she has a score to settle with another Daughter. They want to have a juried fight tomorrow night, with a high-ranking Daughter as the final judge.”

Will bit back a curse. “Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Yeah, sure.” Casey eased all the way into his office and shut the door behind herself, then leaned back against it. “Mom’s livid about Sigrid.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“She’s gone quiet, like she’s planning something.”

Will propped his elbows on the edge of his desk and dropped his head into his hands. Damn it, why couldn’t she just accept this one thing? He’d never asked anything of her, and always done what she’d asked. Take over the bar at sixteen so she and Dad could take off? No problem. Set aside college for a couple of years so Casey could finish high school here instead of on the road? Will had it covered.

All his life, he’d done exactly what his mother had wanted. He’d toed the line so hard, his shoes were permanently worn at the tips. Now when he was on the verge of finding love, when his relationship with Sigrid held so much potential, why couldn’t his mom just back off and let him figure it out on his own?

A soft hand stroked down his back, and Casey said, “Are you really sure you want to defy her?”

Will huffed out a laugh, shook his head. “She can’t run my life forever.”

“No, but she can make it hard on you. You know what she’s like. She has to have her way, and she’s too hardheaded to forgive somebody who doesn’t bend to her will.”

“She’ll have to if she wants to see me again.”

“Will, c’mon. Don’t say that.”

A thin thread of fear wove through Casey’s words, and he understood without her saying exactly what would happen if their mother couldn’t accept his decisions where Sigrid was concerned. Wilhelmina would withdraw her support of Will, or possibly disown him, and in the doing, she’d forbid the rest of the family from having any contact with him. He’d be isolated, a pariah. The People would turn their backs on him, and on Sigrid, too, for aiding his defiance. There’d be no safe haven for them, nowhere they could go to escape his mother’s judgment.

Oh, she’d suffer, too. Abandoning a Son came at a high price, but if she was mad enough, if she felt it was the only way to bring him to heel, she’d cut him off without a single hesitation, leaving him friendless, jobless, homeless. He had enough stashed away to survive for decades, but all the money in the world wouldn’t fix the severed ties to his family and friends.

Will stood and pulled his sister into a hug, tucked her head under his chin, and smoothed his hands up and down her back. “Don’t worry, Case. It’ll be ok.”

“You can’t know that,” she said into his chest, her words so soft they were barely audible.

“I can. Don’t worry, ok? You’re still my kid sister, no matter what.”

She laughed and tightened her arms around him, and they stood that way for a long time, clinging to the moment as if it were their last.

 

 

Friday afternoon, Will closed The Omega at two and shooed everybody out. He left Casey to oversee cleanup and headed over to Tellowee’s high school, located on the IECS campus. School was still in session when he arrived, so he tracked down a gym teacher and borrowed a handful of teenagers to help him set up.

There really wasn’t much left to do. Caterers were bringing in finger foods at five. Two of the students, Dierdre Bellegarde and her step-sister Amelia Terhune, James’s daughter, volunteered to retrieve the extra Gatorade and bottled water he’d ordered for the event from the bowels of the Archives. A third, Johnny Linton, went with them as the driver and, as he put it, the muscle, and the trio jogged out of the gym laughing and cutting up.

Will shook his head and directed the other students to help him pull out bleachers and set up mats. So many adults had wanted to participate, they’d had to move the youngest kids’ portion to the next day, before the second round of the competitive matches. Only teenagers and up would compete that night, the teens in a group of their own, including some out-of-towners who’d shown up with older family members.

Most of the adults had randomly been assigned partners. Only a few, like Sigrid and Chana, were fighting specific challenges. Interestingly enough, those included a bout between Rebecca and Lukas Alexiou. She hadn’t said what the challenge was over when she’d asked him to include it in the night’s activities, and he’d respected her privacy. It would come out before the fight anyway.

In the meantime, gossip would fly once the attendees spotted that particular challenge on the posters he’d pinned to a prominent location inside the gym.

He hadn’t seen Sigrid since he’d dropped into her bed last night and curled himself around her sleeping form. She’d been long gone when he awoke a mere five hours later. Her pillow had carried her scent, but none of her warmth.

A pang touched his heart. He rubbed a palm against it and scowled at the night’s lineup, neatly printed by a local copy shop on a glossy, movie poster sized sheet of paper. Damn it, he missed her. He missed talking to her and holding her, and he missed being inside her. At the rate events were unfolding, they wouldn’t be able to have sex again until after whatever was steamrolling toward them had passed, and maybe not then.

That was unacceptable.

He dropped his hand and pivoted around, heading toward the locker room. She would by Ki come out and talk to him before the match. A kiss wouldn’t kill her, would it? And maybe it’d rattle Chana a little, knowing he favored another.

The memory of the confrontation between her and Sigrid flitted through his mind, and he winced. Yeah, probably not. That one was a little too sure of herself, thanks to his meddling grandmother.

One day, the women in his family would learn to keep their noses out of his business.

He rubbed a hand over his nape, squeezed the back of his neck. Maybe on a cold day in hell. Blessed Ki, when had his life gotten so complicated?

He jogged down the short flight of stairs toward the women’s locker room, strode along the short hallway, and banged a fist into the closed door separating him from his lover. Coaxing Sigrid into a kiss would be simple enough, at least, and then he could retreat to the sidelines and pray like hell she won so he’d have one less thing to worry about.