After the last match, Sigrid allowed Will to lead her out of the gym and home. They’d caught the tail end of the Blade’s challenge match with the Shadow. What a revelation that had been. Will had stood stock still beside her at the opening of the locker room as people flowed past them onto the floor where Abragni stood, her hand on Alexiou’s dark head.

A Sister, alive. How could that possibly be?

Sigrid shoved aside the impossibility of a human body surviving for nearly ten millennia. The curse trumped basic biology. Hadn’t she learned that first hand, as her own life extended into century after long century?

At home in her bedroom, Will gently tugged off her clothes and his, then urged her into a hot shower and washed her, his hands tender on her bruised skin.

“The fight was rough on you,” he murmured.

She rotated a sore shoulder, shrugging his words off. “No more than usual.”

He slid a soap-lathered washcloth under her breasts, across her stomach, and in spite of the stiffness in her body, in spite of the cuts and bruises and the awful aftermath of the challenge, heat flared to life within her.

She turned abruptly, crossed her forearms against the shower’s wall, and rested her forehead on them. Her heart ached for Will, for the loss she’d known he would suffer. How could a mother forsake her own son? And over a woman, no less. It was unthinkable, and there was nothing Sigrid could do about it.

And so, her heart filled with sorrow and teetered on the edge of breaking, something it had never done.

Will scrubbed her back, rinsed her off. Tugged the showerhead out of its holder and washed her hair, then washed himself quickly, while she leaned against the wall, sorting through her own emotions.

“Come here,” he said, so low she almost missed it, then she was in his arms under the hot spray, nestled against his bare chest, hiding the tears she’d never shed over a man in the hollow of his throat.

How could she ever face him, now that she’d caused such a huge rift between him and his family?

His hand cupped the back of her head and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Shh. It’ll be ok. You’ll see.”

“How?”

The word slipped out, muffled against his skin. His arms tightened around her, solid, strong. “You’ll see,” he repeated, and ushered her out of the shower into a soft, fluffy towel.

She watched him while he cared for her, drying her off, tending bruises and cuts, sliding a loose t-shirt over her head. He towel-dried her hair, twisted it into a loose braid. His spring green eyes remained hidden behind a tightly fixed expression.

“You’re staring,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“Mmm.” She reached out to him and caught his hand, and kissed his palm. “You’re quiet.”

“Not a lot to say.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s to talk about?” He opened the bathroom door and strode out, and was back in a moment wearing a clean pair of underwear. “Bedtime.”

A laugh huffed out of her on a soft breath of air. “I’m not a child.”

“You’ve had a rough night.” He took her hands in his and helped her stand, pulling her against his chest. “Maybe I need to hold you.”

She sighed against his chest and relaxed into him. “That sounds lovely.”

“I’ve wanted to, for so long. Wanted to hold you, love you, fuck you.”

He laughed, but there was a bitter undertone to it, an emotion Sigrid couldn’t quite put her finger on. She eased back and glanced up at him, studying him beneath the fringe of her eyelashes. “Talk to me, Will.”

“And say what? That I’m sorry my mom couldn’t accept the woman I lo—?” He bit the word off, then heaved a sigh so heavy, Sigrid’s heart broke all over again. “In bed with you now, my beautiful warrior.”

“If you insist,” she said, aiming for a lighter tone, and missed it by a mile.

He loved her.

She shook her head as she climbed dutifully into bed and settled against her pillow. No, she’d misheard surely. Will wouldn’t hold something like that back, would he? Not now, when he needed her support the most.

Yet he cut off the light and climbed into bed without another word, and settled down beside her so far away, only his hand touched her where he draped it over her hip.

“Will,” she said softly into the darkness stretching between them. “Come to me.”

He shifted on the bed, and his knee grazed her thighs. “You need rest.”

No, she needed him. The thought struck her hard, slicing right through the sorrow, carrying a hope she’d tried to deny for so long.

Will could break her curse, but in the doing, he would lose his family.

She lay there for a long while, torn between hope and sorrow and a rising tide of emotion she scarcely recognized. In her torment, she shifted on the bed and curled into him, needing him now as she’d never needed another man. “Make love to me, Will.”

“Sigrid,” he said, his voice strained. “You were barely able to walk out of the gym under your own steam.”

True enough. The bout had taken a lot out of her, physically and emotionally, but the stiffness was fading already, replaced by a growing urgency to bind him to her while she could, to have this moment with him before he came to his senses and realized what he was giving up to be with her.

She slid her fingertips down his chest, reveled in the sharp breath he hissed in, and delved under the waistband of his underwear. He was warm there, rigid under her touch, and so very, very tempting.

“Sigrid, come on.”

She tightened her hand around his erection and stroked downward, once. “Please, Will. I need you.”

“Fuck,” he said, but there was no rancor in his voice. He wiggled out of his underwear and tossed them aside. His mouth found hers in the dark shadows sliding across her bedroom, and that emotion surged upward again, breaking through every barrier she’d erected against him and the world waiting so eagerly to destroy her and every Daughter like her.

She gave in to him, kissing him back with a thirst she hadn’t felt in so long, she’d nearly forgotten it, and in that moment, the name of that emotion came to her, like a bolt of lightning in the midst of a storm.

Love.

She nearly laughed then, nearly shouted it out for him to hear. She loved him, deeply, truly, so much it hurt to think it, knowing her love would tear him in two. His sacrifice was larger than her own, and yet how could she give him up, when he was the key to her happiness, to her heart?

Will rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and she slid over him, silently sharing her love in the only way she could, with her touch and her kiss and her acceptance of him in every corner of her soul.

 

 

The next day, Will got up early and tended to Sigrid’s scrapes, the ones that hadn’t healed in spite of her immortal juju, then made her breakfast and tried to avoid talking about the elephant in the room, his An-cursed mother.

As soon as he’d settled Sigrid on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and a good book, he slipped away and drove the short distance to his grandmother’s house.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the truck’s steering wheel. Damn his pride. No way was he standing for his mother’s poor treatment of Sigrid, or of him. A Son had rights among the People. Sure, he could stand aside and let his mother ostracize him and Sigrid both, but damn it, he loved the ornery cuss too much not to mend the rift if he could.

He loved his family, so he had to try.

Anya met him at her front door dressed in her usual weekend attire, also her usual weekday attire, a peasant blouse over faded jeans. As soon as she saw him, she sighed and stepped back, then closed the door behind him against the cold. “I’ve already heard.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the peg fastened to the wall behind the door. “Good. That’ll save a lot of time.”

“She’s hellbent on disinheriting you. Sent me an email last night letting me know I needed to come up with a fitting Retribution for abandoning a Son.”

A sharp pang stabbed Will’s heart, taking his breath. Already? Did he mean so little to his mother then?

Anya’s expression softened and she patted his arm. “There now, child. It’s not as bad as all that. You know your mother. Piss and vinegar when she’s hurt, and she’s hurting now, that’s all. She’ll come around.”

Will frowned. “You weren’t there, Amma. She turned her back on me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time. Headstrong girl turned her back on me, too, once.” Anya slid her arm through Will’s and tugged. “Come. I’ve a fire going in the library. We can sit in front of it and chat like we used to when you were a tiny tot playing with your wooden cars at my feet.”

A memory flashed through his mind, of a roaring fire and roasting marshmallows, of Anya’s silver braids swinging as she smiled down at his younger self, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling. Some of his hurt eased and he managed a laugh. “I’m a little old for toys.”

“Not too old for a chat, though.”

“Never that,” he murmured, and walked with her through the house he’d always loved into her kitchen, where she pulled out milk and cocoa and set to making hot chocolate.

Will leaned a hip against the counter beside her, watching her bustle here and there as the milk heated and she readied two enormous mugs. “Planning for a long chat?”

“Of course. We haven’t had one in a long while.”

He shifted against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think it’s going to take that long to come up with a way to stop Mom from going nuts?”

“Oh, that happened a long time ago,” Anya said, smiling.

“I’m not asking you to do all the work. Just…help me.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable there in the heart of her home. “Maybe act as a mediator so we can sort this out. I don’t want to lose my family.”

“But you will,” she said, her blue eyes sharp, “if Willie forces your hand.”

Will pressed his lips together into a tight line. His grandmother knew her family too well. “I have a right to live my life the way I see fit.”

“Only if it accords with your mother’s wishes.” The words were gentle, as pointed as they were. “It’s the woman, I think. If you had fallen in love with someone else—”

He shook his head, impatient. “I knew as soon as I saw Sigrid that she was the one for me.”

“Your grandfather was the same way. Always so certain. He swept me off my feet with his bright charm and brighter eyes. Just like yours. Oh, not the color, no, but the shape. The laughter and love and determination.” She clucked her tongue and turned to the milk simmering on the stove. “Broke my curse before I knew it, and now look where I’m at.”

“Happy,” Will said, and she grinned up at him, her expression mischievous.

“Only when it suits me.” Her grin faded into a sigh and she snapped the stove’s eye off. “I’ll act as your mediator, Will, but I won’t interfere. I can’t change Willie’s mind, now that it’s set.”

And well he knew it, but still. He had to try. “Thanks, Amma. You’re the best.”

She harrumphed and arched her eyebrows high. “Don’t I know it. Now, get down those cookies from the top shelf and we’ll have ourselves a treat.”

Obediently, he snagged the cookies she kept hidden on a shelf so high, she needed a ladder to fetch them. A deterrent, she said, to keep her from overindulging.

“Good matches last night,” she said, and Will sighed, relieved over her easy acceptance. The battle lay ahead of him, but here was an ally, one he’d sorely need when he faced off with his mother and tried to force her to see reason.