North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1)
Page 22
Under the hot spray of the shower, Megan and Owen took turns washing each other, the small touches both comforting and stimulating. When they were clean, Owen pulled her body against his. They shared slow, deep, exploring kisses. Their hands skimmed over wet skin, rubbing, stroking. Breathy moans fogged the glass, cocooning them in the small space as they fell apart within each other’s arms.
Afterward, they dressed quickly and quietly, stealing kisses and shushing laughter. Then they settled on the floor beside the festive Christmas tree. Megan had unpacked some of the ornaments from her collection, and together she and Owen had bought some more. The day they’d returned from picking their tree at a lot by the general store, they’d found a box in brown paper on the front steps. Two dozen brilliant cut-glass ornaments filled the inside, each one a dazzling, unique snowflake. Boreas. It was just like him to drop in, quite literally, from time to time. She was always glad when he did.
Unlike the tree from last year, the one that stood before them now belonged to a family fully embracing the celebration of Christmas.
“Here,” Owen said, holding out a gift-wrapped box. He nearly vibrated with excitement. His enthusiasm for all things was one of his dominant personality traits, one she absolutely adored. “You first.”
All grins and ripping hands, Megan removed the paper in no time flat. Thick tissue padded the inside of the rectangular package, and she unfolded it to reveal a beautiful crystal snowman figure. She lifted him out with a gasp. “Oh, Owen, he’s beautiful.” A snow globe with an idyllic mountain village inside filled his stomach—the miniature scene looked strikingly like the collection of buildings at the summit at Wisp. Tiny inset crystals edging the snowman’s top hat, gloves, and coat threw off tiny prisms. “Thank you.”
“I just thought…” He looked up at her from under his hair and shrugged.
She dived over the discarded paper and planted a kiss on his soft lips. “I know. And it’s perfect. Your turn.”
Owen flipped the long thin box around over and over. Shook it. His eyes went wide and he chuckled when the contents offered a muffled rattle.
“Careful! You’ll break it.”
He gaped and froze.
Megan burst out laughing. “Kidding. You’re fine.”
He cocked an eyebrow. The front door eased open and a whirl of icy wind shot in and wrapped around her.
“Hey!” She hugged her arms around her body and pouted, chuckling despite herself. “No fair. That’s freaking cold, Owen!”
Owen’s cocky grin was as infuriating as it was sexy. How was she going to handle them both when Teddy came into his powers, too? Luckily she had more than a decade to prepare for that—Boreas explained his powers wouldn’t begin to manifest until he hit puberty. The front door gently clicked closed.
“You started it,” he said as he made quick work of the wrapping paper. He yanked the two halves of the box apart and the thin rectangular cards exploded out in every direction. They rained down around him and he flinched.
Clapping a hand over her mouth to smother the sound of her own good humor, she mentally high-fived herself—she couldn’t have planned that better if she’d tried.
Owen picked up one of the plastic cards. “Ben and Jerry’s! Aw, man.” He scooped them into a pile. “Thank you, silly girl. How many of them are there?”
“Twenty,” she said, giggling at the enthusiastic flash of his eyes. The first time Owen had ice cream from the Ben and Jerry’s store in Old Town Alexandria, he turned to her with a sternly serious face and told her she’d been holding out on him. There was little room for actual food in their freezer for the number of flavors of Ben and Jerry’s stored there. Seeing his absolute delight as he straightened the stack of cards within his big hands made her giddy and glad she’d gone for the joke gift of five-dollar certificates. “The only catch is you have to share.”
He froze mid-shuffle and arched a skeptical brow. “And why would I want to do that?”
“Because you love me.”
His answering smile lit up his whole face. “I do.” He set the cards aside and rubbed his hands together. “Okay, here’s another one for you.”
Megan bit her bottom lip and tore into the small, flat rectangular package. She recognized the name of the jewelry store right away and gasped. “What did you do?” She eased the fancy blue case open and this time her hand flew to her mouth when she gasped. Nestled on the dark velvet bed inside the jewelry box was a necklace in her favorite color she had absolutely drooled over on their honeymoon. The pink natural conch pearls were among the rarest in the world—which is why she’d resisted Owen’s encouragements to buy the piece even though she adored it. So few of the pearls were harvested each year they cost a small fortune. Four of the variegated pink pearls hung down from a white gold drop necklace. The piece was exquisite. One of a kind. “When did you go back for it? I can’t believe you did this.”
He crawled on his knees and slipped the fine chain from her hands. “That afternoon, while you napped.”
She held her hair up while he did the clasp and remembered that warm, wonderful day they strolled the streets of Philipsburg, ducking into every colorful, quirky shop that caught their fancy. After getting married at her childhood church near their new home in Fairfax, they’d flown that evening to Dutch St. Maarten, where they had a private villa right on the beach. When Megan had learned Owen had never been to a beach before—had never been able to go to a beach before—she knew exactly what kind of honeymoon they had to have. She gathered up information on a few possible destinations and let him choose. So, for a month, they’d made love and sunbathed and shopped and saw the sights in paradise, but being four months pregnant often left her in urgent need of an afternoon nap. Sneaky demigod of a husband.
He ran his fingers over the pearls where they hung down from her collar bone. “You so rarely want anything for yourself, I couldn’t resist. So I bought it and debated the right moment to give it to you. And then I thought of Christmas, and decided to wait.”
Megan grabbed his hand and pressed a long, heartfelt kiss against his palm. “I don’t want anything, because you’ve given me everything I ever dreamed of having. Just you. And Teddy.”
Their kiss started slow and sweet, with gentle pulls of lips and soft, breathy sighs.
“I’m so grateful for you every day, Megan. I’d give you the world if I could.”
“You do,” she moaned around the edge of a kiss. She pulled away and leaned her forehead against his. “Ready to open another?”
He grinned and nodded. Accepted the small box. This time he pulled the lid off more gently. Megan’s stomach flip-flopped as his eyes settled on the contents. His mouth dropped open as he uttered something in that ancient language. He smoothed the pad of his thumb over the markings. “This is from the Realm the Gods. How did you get this?” His eyes flashed to hers.
“I had a little help,” she whispered. Boreas, of course. She’d told the ancient god in passing she wanted something really special and meaningful for Owen for Christmas, and on his next visit he’d handed her a small cloth-wrapped bundle. When she unfolded it, she’d found a very old iron pendant with a designed stamped into it—a snowflake with symbols she didn’t understand or recognize surrounding it. At Boreas’s suggestion, she’d added a leather lanyard so Owen could wear it. “Do you recognize it?” Adrenaline in the form of pins and needles tingled over her body. She hoped this went over well.
“No. Well, I know the symbols. It says, ‘Without the death of winter, there is no rebirth of spring.’ It’s ancient.”
“Yes. Owen?”
He pulled his gaze from the amulet.
“It was your father’s.”
Owen’s eyes grew large. Preternatural light flashed low in their depths. “How?” he whispered.
“Boreas found it. That’s all I know.”
Megan chewed on her lip, her heart throbbing at the emotion rolling off him in waves. “Is it…is it okay? Are you okay?”
He looped the leather over his head, nestled his only possession from his native family under his shirt against his chest. The leather and iron looked so perfect against his skin. His eyes flashed up to hers. “I have existed an immeasurable amount of time, and never been more happy, more content, than I am with you. You are the light of my life, Megan Winters.”
His lips crashed into hers before she could form a response. So she poured every bit of her love into the heated interweaving of her tongue with his, the needful exploration of her hands over his muscled back.
From the other room, the baby’s shrill cry sounded. They both pulled away from the kiss breathing hard and smiling.
“To be continued?” she asked.
“Your wish...”
Her face heated and she shook her head. “Let’s go see what woke him already.”
They entered the bedroom to find the Supreme God of Winter hovering over the crib. She’d almost gotten used to his dropping in. Today, she’d expected it. Megan laughed out loud at the sheepish look on his face, though. As if he were in trouble.
He grimaced. “I couldn’t resist touching his hand. Didn’t mean to wake him, though.” Teddy totally owned Boreas, and it squeezed Megan’s heart with joy.
“It’s all right, Grampa. Merry Christmas.” When she pushed up on tiptoes, Boreas leaned down, way down, to receive her kiss on his cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Megan,” came his deep, pleased voice.
Owen and Boreas shook hands and exchanged Christmas wishes as Megan scooped their chunky bundle from his crib. He didn’t settle down like he usually did when she picked him up, so she patted his back and bounced him gently. Then his face went bright red. All of a sudden, he stopped crying. Cooed. The smell that rose up was suffocating. How in the world did something so little make a smell so lethal?
Covering their noses, the men both chuckled. Megan turned and held Teddy out to Owen. “Your turn.”
“What? No. Besides, you’re so much better at it than I am.”
Megan pressed their son against his father’s chest and patted his big mountain of a shoulder. “That’s complete crap”—she laughed at her unintended pun—“and you know it. Besides, I would think between the two of you, you could handle one stinky diaper. You are gods, after all.”
Grumbling and looking a little green, Owen gathered the changing supplies and laid Teddy on a pad on the bed. Boreas stood next to him and winced as Owen’s removal of layers intensified the smell. When Owen unhooked the diaper’s tabs, both men reared back, groaning. Teddy kicked his feet up in delight.
“That’s impressive,” Boreas said.
Owen caught a bit of his father-figure’s good humor. “That can’t be natural, can it? Aw, pass me some more wipes.”
As the two men fumbled their way through, Megan watched in complete admiration. A year ago, she wouldn’t have been able to imagine this kind of happiness. Never would she have even dared to think she could have so much. She’d been twenty-nine years old and, truth be told, was already counting herself out, had already decided she’d had her chance at a happy life and lost it.
Owen folded the dirty diaper in a way that ensured minimal skin-to-diaper contact for himself, then dropped it in a bag and tied the plastic off. “There you go, little man.” From there, he made quick work of the new diaper and redressing the now giggly baby. “You feel better, huh?” Owen tickled Teddy’s chest and Ted’s toothless smiles drew both men in.
The sight of the three of them together, so natural and affectionate, swelled Megan’s heart where it beat in her chest.
Owen picked Teddy up and hugged him close. Boreas stroked his big hand over the baby’s fine black hair.
And Megan knew it couldn’t get any better than this. These men were her family. Her love for them was unending, and she knew they felt the same for her. Love, family, a safe place to belong. With her snowmen by her side, she now lived the true meaning of Christmas. Every day of the year.
And what could be better than that?
Acknowledgments
As I was sitting alone in a hotel room one November night, Owen Winters took his first breath. Since then, a lot of people helped me bring him, Megan, and their love story to life. I have the great fortune to belong to the best critique group ever, and two fantastic author friends in particular—Joya Fields and Christi Barth—read the whole manuscript and offered frank and engaging advice. I also have to acknowledge Heather Howland, whose enthusiasm for Owen and his story from our very first conversation was the stuff of which authors dream. Thank you to her and Liz Pelletier for the incredible undertaking that is Entangled Publishing—I’ll be proud to say “I knew you when.” And, finally, much gratitude to my editor, Marie Loggia-Kee, for making Owen and Megan shine. And, as always, I have complete love for the readers, who welcome characters into their hearts and minds and let them tell their stories over and over. ~ LK
About the Author
A multi-published author of paranormal and contemporary romance, Laura Kaye’s hot, heartfelt stories are all about the universal desire for a place to belong. Laura grew up amidst family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses, cementing her lifelong fascination with the supernatural. Though an avid fiction writer as a teenager, a career as a historian took her in other directions until recently. Now that Laura’s inner muse has awakened, she’s constantly creating new story ideas! Laura lives in Maryland with her husband, two daughters, and bad dog, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.
Readers can find her on the Web at:
http://LauraKayeAuthor.com/
Read on for a sneak peek of Inara Scott’s sexy contemporary fantasy
RADIANT DESIRE...
The object of every man’s fantasy just lost her wings…
…and now she’s losing her heart.
Chapter One
Kaia took her place in line with the rest of the court, across the room from the gleaming marble dais that held Queen Zafira’s empty throne. Today, she had to be perfect. Her hair had to flow in sunlit waves, her body curve with pure, radiant sensuality. She had to exemplify beauty, desire, and sex. She had to be the fantasy of every living man.
For today was the Anniversary.
A tall sprite with enormous ears and long teeth raised a crystal bugle to his lips and began to play the ancient processional hymn. There was a flurry of activity as the crowds of Fey—tiny pixies, gangly sprites, hundreds of imps and their darker cousins, the boggles and dakini—jostled for position closest to the silk rope that separated the queen from her subjects.
The queen’s court began its slow march toward the throne. Each move was carefully orchestrated. Zafira had little pity for those who disrupted the perfection of her ceremonies. First down the aisle came the dryads, with their narrow faces, thick, tangled hair, and slanted eyes. The water nymphs followed, their voluptuous bodies barely clothed, clouds of blonde hair floating around their piquant faces. The night faeries came next, with glowing, moonlit skin, white hair, and sad, dark eyes. Just before the queen came the light faeries, represented by the four Faerie Handmaids: Analise, Talia, Kaia, and Mina.
When the procession reached the dais the Handmaids—each wearing a crown made from her birth plant—took their places in formation around the throne. Kaia looked to her sisters. Even among the Fey, they were a breathtaking quartet: tough-as-nails Talia, with her inky black hair and red lips; sweet Analise with her blonde hair and startling blue eyes; rebellious Mina, her voluptuous body topped by a shock of curly red ringlets and creamy skin. Together, their iri
descent wings shot rainbows around the hall.
The crystal bugle sounded again, a high trill that always brought a shiver to Kaia’s spine. This was Zafira’s call, the call that had brought together the Fey since the beginning of time. Kaia bowed her head, spread her wings wide across her back, and bent one knee. A cloud of silver sparkles flared, then faded to reveal Zafira, light faerie and Queen of the Fey, her arms flung wide in a dramatic gesture intended to elicit a gasp from the audience.
Zafira’s long, black tresses danced about her head and shoulders on the breeze of the sylphs, the tiny, butterfly-like creatures that surrounded her. She’d enhanced her stature for the occasion until she stood at least a head above the tallest faerie in the room.
“Tonight,” Zafira boomed, “is the night we recall the infamy of man.”
“Tonight is the Anniversary,” Kaia and the other Handmaids chorused in response.
No matter how many times she had said the words, they never grew rote. As a child, Kaia had watched Zafira’s previous Handmaids say these same words, and had felt a wave of giddy pleasure and awe every time she saw the beautiful light faeries. Now, it was hard to believe that she was one of those symbols of the grace and power of the Fey.
Zafira nodded solemnly. “On this dark night, we recall how man’s treachery is unbounded by conscience or honor, and how he has sought to destroy Faeria and claim dominion over the land of the Fey.”
Zafira raised the Willow Scepter, its bulbous head rubbed smooth from the generations of queens that had come before, and the crowd roared in response. The Scepter’s sinuous length twisted to symbolize that the ways of the Fey were not straight and predictable like men, but creative, curved, and impossible to control.
“Let us begin,” intoned the Handmaids, and Kaia smiled at the second wave of cheers that followed their words.