by Paula Quinn
Your home, not mine.
She felt another twinge of darker desires trying to creep up, but she resisted, cursing him because he’d done this to her.
The blue hour passed as they flew toward Norway and the Børvasstindene Mountains, their slopes dropping precipitously into the North and Norwegian Seas, forming the fjords of Norway; the mountains, where his villa awaited. Helena wondered how far away was the airport and if he’d really let her go?
Chapter Sixteen
Less than an hour later, he soared over a jagged mountain range, covered, like the rest, in snow. Far below, she thought she saw sunlight flashing off something nestled upon the slippery slopes. When he dipped and flew them closer, she set her eyes upon Garion’s home.
The villa was carved out of the mountain on three sides, the east wall was made entirely of glass, as was most of the roof. He landed smoothly on the terrace, released her, and changed instantly.
Wrapped in blankets, Helena watched him walk on two feet to the sliding glass doors and open them. She hadn’t had a good look at all of him in the light. She wished she’d kept her eyes closed. Her defenses weren’t strong enough to resist him if he tried to seduce her now. Lying naked with him, consumed in his power, his comforting warmth, his tension-filled resistance had been difficult enough. Now, seeing him upright in all his glory shook her to her bones. His long, corded legs were strong enough to carry her through any storm. His whipcord-tight abdomen invited her to run her tongue over all the hard hills and hollows, licking his gold-kissed skin. She’d only seen one other man naked, but Emerson hardly even looked like a man compared to Garion. She dipped her gaze between his thighs and then looked away, blushing. He certainly was bigger than her ex.
When he stepped inside, she followed him, hurrying around him and calling for the bathroom.
Following his direction, she found the master bathroom adjacent to his enormous, sunlight-drenched bedroom. She went straight for the shower and prayed for hot water. Thankfully, her prayers were answered and she stepped inside. While the water washed away the grime of sleeping in various caves, she let the spray drip over her face and wash away her tears as well.
He’d turned her because he didn’t want to live without her. Was he falling in love with her?
She remembered being shot. She remembered all the blood and hoping that none of it was Garion’s. It had been. More importantly, she remembered what she’d been thinking just before Jeremy fired his gun. She hadn’t wanted to leave him. She’d wanted there to be a way for them to have something more meaningful. If he kept his promise and remained a man, why couldn’t they?
But he hadn’t kept it. He became Drakkon and he enjoyed it. She could have forgiven him for it because she understood that it was his nature and he deserved to experience it.
But…he’d turned her. She was the first White Drakkon, other than Thomas White, in ten centuries. The thought of it was too big for her to comprehend now. Would she truly prefer to have died on the floor of Garion’s sitting room? She’d been shot through. Who knew what damage had been done to her organs? To his? If the stars had been right and she was Garion’s life mate, did that mean she would die with him, too? But he’d saved them. She may have done the same thing if the choice had been hers at the time.
Was that it? She opened her eyes and looked around for shampoo and soap. Was she going to forgive him so easily for altering the course of her life? What was she supposed to do now, hide from the Elders? She scrubbed her body then lathered up her hair. There was no way back from this. If her emotions ran high enough, she could change into a Drakkon. She had to watch out for the blue hour and—what else? She should know as much as she could now that she was one of them.
She had to be dreaming.
She stepped out of the shower and noticed a pair of lush folded towels, a royal blue cashmere sweater and a pair of boxer-briefs laid out on a padded bench. She looked at the closed door. When had he come inside? She shrugged. He wouldn’t have tried anything. They’d slept naked together and, heaven help her, it had been distracting. If she hadn’t been freezing her ass off, she couldn’t have done it without temptation. His body was hard and he smelled like a cool, misty breeze. His embrace was soothing, like a safe haven against the frigid air, and she’d melted in it.
He could have tried something then, but he hadn’t.
She brushed her long hair and dressed in the clothes he’d left. The sweater was huge, the shoulders dropping to her elbows. She rolled up the sleeves and stepped into the boxer-briefs, rolling up the waist, as well.
She stepped out into the cavernous living room, bedecked in plush, white sofas with furs strewn over them. Similar to the penthouse, sunshine radiated inside, warming the villa. There was a glass bookshelf and a giant plasma screen on the western wall. Two fireplaces at opposite walls donned mantels decorated with photos and artwork. There was more artwork in the form of vases, sculptures, and paintings scattered around on columns and shelves.
She followed the sounds coming from the right and found Garion in the kitchen. Sunlight from the glass ceiling doused him in soft shades of gold while he cooked them breakfast. He wore white linen drawstring pants and nothing else. The sight of his bare chest and arms and rock-solid belly brought back memories of being held against him and turned her legs to pudding. His smile, when he looked up, set her heart racing.
“You look nice.”
She did? She looked down at her baggy clothes and damp hair splattered over her shoulders, and no make-up. She shrugged. She wanted to tell him he looked nice, too, but she still hated him.
How could he look so normal after swirling through the Northern Lights a few hours ago?
“There isn’t much to eat,” he announced and gestured that she sit at the table. There were two chairs, one obviously belonged here, the other to the living room décor. Suddenly, the thought of him truly spending his life alone, hit her. She refused to look at him, to feel anything for him. “I’ll have to drive into town this afternoon and pick up some things.”
“Yes,” she agreed, sitting in the living room chair, “like clothes for me and my plane ticket home.”
“I’ll need to complete your healing. You can still get an infection.” The toast popped and he reached for the slices to butter them.
“Maybe I should come with you,” she said after thinking about it for a moment.
“To town?” he asked, looking up from his work. His dimple flashed as he looked down at her bare feet. Eclipsed by luminous strands of sun-lit hair, his eyes radiated light when he raised them to hers again. “You don’t have shoes.”
It was hard to concentrate when he was looking at her as if she were some kind of treasure he’d discovered—and coveted. But she wouldn’t be undone by a pretty face. “You can carry me to the shoe store. Are there any shoe stores in the town?”
“Yes, there’s a small shopping mall in Bodø called Glasshuset.”
“Good, we can go later.”
He smiled while he scooped her boiled eggs out of the pot and set them on her plate, along with three different cheeses, and her toast.
So what, he served her breakfast. Plenty of men did it. She thanked him when he set everything down in front of her, including a piping hot cup, which she lifted immediately to her lips. She needed coffee! Her hopes were dashed when she tasted the hot drink. Cocoa?
“Do you never drink coffee?” she asked and then dug into her breakfast. She was starving! She wasn’t used to her eggs boiled, but she was getting used to sharing unconventional meals with him. Boiled eggs and cheese was better than roasted pig.
“I’ll add it to our list of things to pick up.”
It struck her, as it had many times before when she was with him, that it was all too normal, too natural. It felt as if they belonged together and this was just another day in their lives. What had she been about to tell him just before she was shot? Had she been falling in love with him? He’d made it so easy.
She looked
out the window at the vast mountain range, covered in white as far as the eye could see. Could this ever be her life?
“How do you get off this mountain?”
“I drive down in my truck. It’s built for snow.”
“I didn’t know you could drive,” she said, eating.
“I don’t like driving in New York. Cabs are easier. I’m not there often and I didn’t want to buy a car to have it sit in a garage for months or even years.”
She didn’t blame him for not enjoying driving in the city. There was nothing pleasurable about traffic.
“What do you do here every day?” she asked.
“I keep fit with exercise, swimming,” he told her while she ate. “I fish, hunt, —the altitude is high and makes you feel tired so I sleep often, too. It’s a quiet life.”
After living in New York for six years, a quiet life sounded nice to Helena. She scowled at her traitorous, accursed heart.
“Sometimes,” he added, staring at her, “I take trips to other countries with Carina. By plane.” The slight upward tilt of his mouth when he confirmed her deepest hope didn’t go unnoticed by Helena.
“Oh?” she sipped her cocoa. It wasn’t really that bad. In fact, the frothy, chocolaty warmth was quite nice surrounded by all this snow. “Where do you go?”
He shrugged his beefy shoulders and popped some cheese into his mouth. “Monaco, Italy. I have a nice place off the coast of Agrigento overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. The view is really wonderful. Ehm, where else? The island.”
“Near Fiji,” she guessed out loud, feeling a little ill. Why did he have to be Drakkon. Why did she have to be Drakkon?
“Yes. I also own one of the islands of Tahiti.”
Okay. This was ridiculous. She threw down her cheese. How rich was he? Who the hell wouldn’t be tempted by him? She didn’t want to be. She couldn’t be bought! Oh, but Tahiti? Was he kidding?
“What am I supposed to be doing while you’re off in Tahiti or your wonderful place in Agrigento?” She hated herself for saying it but it was better than saying what she was thinking; that he was temptation incarnate. Not just because he owned property in some of the most beautiful locales, or because looking at him was like gazing at the sun. Those things only added to the difficulty of resistance. His most powerful temptation had already lured her into his clutches. Was he really the man he claimed to be; reasonable, socially awkward, easygoing, with an old-world charm that was almost knightly in nature? What if he really was all those things? What if everything he told her was the truth and he’d done what he’d done because, for him, the alternative was worse?
“You could come with me,” he suggested, chewing his food, his nostrils flaring a little, as if he expected her to toss her hot cocoa at him and was preparing himself for it.
“As what?” she asked, already shaking her head. “Your life mate?”
“As whatever you want to be.” He finished his breakfast and stood up with his plate. “I like your company.”
She liked his, too, but what did it matter when held against what he’d done? She was Drakkon and she watched that horrifying reality burn to cinders the future she’d laid out for herself. She wanted to open a school for children who wanted to study the violin. Not worry that she’d turn and eat them all.
“You have to teach me how to contain this thing,” she told him, realizing that leaving him too soon wasn’t wise. “I’ll stay with you long enough to learn how to never let it out again. The way you did for fourteen years.”
He didn’t answer her but began cleaning up. “We’ll get ready to go soon. I want to take a quick swim first. Do you want to join me? The pool is heated.”
“Do you have a bathing suit?” she asked, washing her own dish.
“No.”
She didn’t think so. “It’s probably not a good idea if I want to keep the Drakkon locked up.”
He looked like he wanted to say something other than what came out of his mouth. “Perhaps not.” He added a slight half-smile just to drive her even crazier and then left the kitchen.
She followed him into the living room and watched for a moment as he opened another set of sliding windows and stepped out onto the terrace. He didn’t seem affected by the stinging winter wind. Hesuddenly seemed invincible to her. She shook her head and then felt her heart begin to race when he pulled on the drawstring at his abdomen. She quickly made her way to his bookcase and began scanning titles.
But her gaze returned to him; awash in sunlight while he slipped out of his pants, revealing thighs sculpted by Michelangelo’s own hands. The rest of him was a different kind of masterpiece altogether. Long and lean, he was crafted of pure muscle and sinfully sexy angles. When he lifted his arms over his head, the sun glinted off the powerful play of his triceps and made her mouth go dry.
She watched, captivated, as he dove into the glass-like stillness.
She tried to concentrate on the books but, again, her gaze abandoned logic. She watched him swim the length of the pool and then back. He swam like he flew, with graceful power and fluid strength. She wanted to go to him. She turned instead and walked into his bedroom.
She wasn’t sure if it was the sight of his bed buried under double comforters and warm sapphire throws, or the thought of his big, warm body nestled in it that made her blood burn in her veins. She looked away. Cleared her thoughts.
She needed pants. She knew nothing he owned would fit her but a good belt and rolling up at least seven inches on the legs could do the trick. Jeans would stay up better. She found a pair in the back of his enormous walk in closet and tried them on. She found herself smiling at how long they were. The waist wasn’t as big as she thought but she still needed a belt. Once found, she secured it around her waist and tested the outfit out, walking back and forth in the closet.
“I like it,” Garion said, appearing at the door and leaning against it, wearing nothing but a towel and water dripping down his neck and chest.
Her gaze fell to the sensual “v” at his lower abdomen. One flick, one wrong move and the towel would fall.
“I hope you don’t mind that I came in here. I—”
“Not at all,” he assured her, stepping inside with her. “My closet is your closet.”
She wanted to smile at him, but he might think she had forgiven him.
“Thanks. I’m done.” She moved to pass him but his voice stopped her.
“Do you think Jacob would bring Carina here if I paid for his ticket?”
Jacob? Here? She walked back to him. “Why would you trust another Bane member with the knowledge of your home?”
“Don’t you trust him?” he asked her, looking through his wardrobe.
“Of course I do! But why would you?”
“He must be told the truth, Helena. I think I should be the one to tell him since it was my decision. After that, I don’t think he’ll be hunting Drakkons anymore.”
“Is that why you turned me? To stop the—”
“Oh, for hell’s sake, no,” he answered impatiently. “I did it because I didn’t want you to die, Helena.” He dropped his towel and reached for a fresh pair of boxer-briefs.
Helena’s gaze dipped and she felt herself blush to the roots.
“I’m sorry that changing you was the only way to keep you alive. But it was,” he said, pulling on a pair of jeans that fit to perfection. “Believe me, I know you hate Drakkon. You’ve made that clear since we met. And I know why.” He ripped a navy sweater from where it lay folded on a shelf and pulled it over his head. “Do you think this was easy for me, knowing you’d hate me even more?”
She shook her head. She didn’t know what to think. She only knew one thing.
She could fly.
She left the closet, and him. She didn’t want to talk anymore and, mostly, she didn’t want to fly.
Chapter Seventeen
The trip down the mountainside in Garion’s Arctic Truck was every bit as nauseating as she’d suspected it would be. Twice, Helena
thought they were going to tip over and they slid down much of the way. Garion appeared as calm as the surface of his heated pool. She guessed the ride took some getting used to. Like flying. She groaned a little.
Thankfully, the ride to Bodø was very pleasant. The weather was surprisingly beautiful and Garion had Mozart on his play list. She’d never been to Norway before and took in the scenery from the window, cupping the end of her single side-braid in her hand. The sun’s zenith lasted for about an hour, shining brightly on the sparkly, snow-covered everything. They traveled alongside a glistening fjord cutting through the high cliffs. They passed a small village, whose inhabitants barely looked up as the truck rode by. Helena saw a few women her age herding reindeer. She squealed at Garion and pointed at the animals. He nodded, but didn’t give the reindeer—or the pretty blond women—a second look.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, poking him in the arm. Her finger bounced off his bicep. “How can you not like Rudolph?”
“Who’s Rudolph?”
She looked at him as if he were too stupid to live another day. “The Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
“Oh,” he said, apparently realizing whom she meant. “Who said I don’t like him?”
“You didn’t even look.”
“I see them all the time. And not one of them back there had a red nose.”
She smiled, keeping her gaze on the view outside and not on him. “Did you see those girls?”
“Anja and Birgit?”
Now, she turned to look at him. He knew them then?
“Yes, Anja and Birgit. Are they friends of yours?” Was she jealous? No! She couldn’t be. She’d never been jealous in her life.
“I know their father, Bodin. His people are the indigenous Sami reindeer herders.”
“And his daughters?”
“They’re herders, too, both married. Though Bodin does have another daughter, Else, that he tried to fix me up with last summer.”
“Is that so?” she asked, wishing Bodin and his daughters would move away. What the hell was happening to her? He wasn’t some treasure she had any right to hoard. “What happened?”
