The Witch's Dream - A Paranormal Romance (The Order of the Black Swan, BOOK TWO)

by Victoria Danann

  "It's going to be a long trip, isn't it?" Her eyes slid slowly to his as she waited to see if he'd answer.

  He moved his head in an I-don't-know-about-that gesture. "What do you want to talk about?"

  "Okay," she crossed her legs taking up more of the space between them, seeming to close the distance. "Is there something going on between you and Mrs. Hawking?"

  Storm looked like he'd been baited and was rising to a challenge, but, rather than sounding angry or irritated, he went stone cold in both expression and tone of voice. He leveled a stare and spoke evenly enough to get the point across that all pretense of companionship was kaput. "First of all, she's not Mrs. Hawking. She's married to Sir Rammel Hawking, but her name is Laiken. Lady Laiken. Second, my relationship with my teammates is none of your business."

  With that he stood, unzipped his bag, and pulled the carryall computer down from the overhead. For the next three and a half hours he ignored Litha. Never so much as looked up once. Suddenly he shut the computer with a click, set it aside, stood up and said, "I need protein. Let's go to lunch."

  Litha was thrown off balance by the sudden change of mood and wondered if that's what he had intended. If he was playing games, she decided then and there she was in over her head. She reached for her purse and stepped into the aisle way where he indicated that he would follow her to the dining car.

  They were seated right away. Litha's humor lightened just by the change of atmosphere. Though it was still cloudy and raining, there was much more light in the larger space. She hadn't realized that being so close to Storm, and so alone with him, felt more oppressive than intimate since he made it abundantly clear he didn't like being with her.

  He unfolded a menu. "This looks good. What'll you have?"

  His change of mood was abrupt, but she wouldn't question any favors from The Fates whether large, medium, or small. "I hadn't decided. Maybe fish?"

  "Fish?" He looked over at her and shook his head. "I'm thinking steaks."

  She looked confused. "You mean you're ordering for me?"

  He looked confused. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

  "Because you said steaks. As in plural. More than one."

  "Yeah." He smiled sheepishly in spite of himself. "We get teased about how much we eat when we're away from Jefferson Unit." He chuckled. "And we have a habit of taking it poorly."

  "I see."

  "No. I didn't mean I'm taking it poorly with you."

  Litha looked down at the menu written in German with French and English translations underneath each item. Suddenly she closed the menu and said, "You know, I've decided to go with optimism. If I need heavy-duty magicks, I need to be grounded to the earth. So I'll have a steak, too. Just this side of well done. Green salad with arugula if they have it, extra spinach if they don't. Vinaigrette on the side."

  Storm looked up from his menu and blinked a couple of times before his mouth spread into a slow, sexy smile that went all the way to his eyes. When the waiter arrived at the table Storm ordered in German without ever referencing the menu or taking his eyes away from Litha. By the time he was finished and the waiter was gone, her smile matched his.

  "Your German is good."

  He shrugged. "My mother."

  "Are you close?"

  "We're not close in the sense that I call her every day, but I don't have any parent issues. The folks are alright. I didn't end up at Black Swan because they did anything wrong."

  "Do you think you ended up at Black Swan because you did something wrong?"

  He flashed a grin just long enough for her to see for the first time that his teeth were straight and white. "Well, let's just say my behavior, my mostly bad, behavior attracted the kind of attention that eventually got me noticed by Black Swan's network of people who watch for such things." He chuckled. "I was recruited by the guy who's my boss today."

  "How old were you?"

  "Fourteen. And absolutely positive that I already knew everything worth knowing." He shook his head in self-deprecation, but he was enjoying talking about himself and Litha was enjoying a glimpse of what he was like when he wasn't wound tight as a top or seeing her as the enemy.

  She got him to talk about Sol, about his training as a teenager, and about his family. He talked about being partnered with Kay and teamed with Ram, who is B Team's most senior member, and his late partner, Sir Landsdowne. When the dishes were cleared away, he asked if she wanted dessert.

  When she said no, Storm laughed and said Elora would be more likely to pass up the entre and go straight to dessert, but only if it was chocolate.

  "I'm not Elora." When Litha saw the transformation come over the man across the table, she wished to seven shades of Hecate that she had kept that to herself.

  "Of course you're not," he said seriously. "I wasn't comparing you." He pulled his napkin out of his lap, put it on the table and said, "You ready?"

  She started back the way they had come. Just as they were starting into the noisy breezeway that connected to the car their cabin was in, a clutch of rowdy boys came dashing through - some sort of young sports team on the road, oblivious and narcissistic as kids that age are.

  Litha plastered herself against the outside door and Storm turned into her to protect her from being jostled. Their bodies were swaying back and forth with the movement of the train, a hair's breadth away from touching. He was looking down into her upturned face, hands on her waist to steady her. He was thinking that her features seemed even more perfect when he was close; flawless skin, large liquid eyes, and red, red lips that drew and held his stare. It was disconcerting which led him right back to the same conclusion he kept coming to again and again. She was indiscriminately and unethically using magicks. Had to be.

  Once again, he caught the scent of rainstorm, a distant childhood memory that prompted a potent visceral reaction. Visceral and genital. He liked it. Liked it too much. And that meant he needed to be careful around the witch. Careful with enough distrust to be smart.

  "Um," Litha said, "they've gone.”

  Storm took a step back and used his right hand to open the breezeway door to their car. He held it open for her to pass by ducking under his arm.

  When they reached their seats and settled back in, Storm said, "Tell me about the pictures in your room."

  To his surprise, she lit up like a floodlight when asked about the vineyard. She told him the story, holding nothing back. How she had just gotten her driver's license and was driving two lane roads on the coast feeling as free as if she was flying. She came over a hill and almost slammed on the brakes. It was quite surreal for Storm to listen to this other person, who wasn't him, describe his experience and his dream as if he was the one speaking.

  No. That wasn't strictly true. She recalled minute details and talked about the villa in romantic ways that he felt, but wouldn't have been able to articulate. He was enthralled. So much so that when she stopped talking he wanted to ask her to start again and repeat everything she'd just said.

  Instead he said, "What do you know about being a vintner?"

  "A lot actually!" The subject matter was clearly a source of never ending excitement to Litha. "I was raised in a monastery that supports itself by making wine. Great wine, I might add. You should see their reviews. Some of them are framed. That's even how I got my last name, Brandywine. I came to them when the brandy had just gotten a lot of great press exposure because of the reviews of some celebrity sommeliers."

  "You were raised in a monastery?"

  Litha grinned and nodded. "The Cairdeas Deians. Not everybody gets that mom, dad, 2.2 kids, 1 dog thing. In my case it was a little black haired girl and seven monks wearing long sleeved, floppy tunics. Quite a picture, I know. And I wouldn't trade it for anybody else's situation."

  Storm looked fascinated and wanted to hear more, but wasn't sure about how the questions running through his mind would be received. So she decided to cut him a break.

  "How did it happen?" she asked.

&
nbsp; He just nodded.

  "The story goes that I was left on church steps in a little village in England." She leaned in conspiratorially and made his heart speed up with her wicked smile. "A little village that's very near a place famous for witches, by the way." She stood up and started to pull off her hoodie. Staying seated where he was he grabbed the wrist of one sleeve and held it in place while she pulled her arm free. He didn't plan to make a study of the way her white silk tee shirt pressed against the curve of her breasts when she stretched, but, he was at eye level.

  Litha noticed where his attention was, but pretended not to. She got a rush of pleasure from imagining that Storm was thinking about her in a sexual way and it made her smile on the inside.

  She didn't think she was pin up material and never intended to find out, but she wasn't embarrassed about her body either. Somewhere she had read that girls who are home schooled have a shot at escaping the "system" as free thinkers and with a healthy dose of self-esteem since it's never eroded away by either the systemic sexism or the sadism of other kids - girls and boys. In short, she felt good in her skin and, from what she could see, Storm was more than okay about her body. Even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

  Once off, she tossed the hoodie onto the seat, sat back down and crossed her legs while leaning back. Storm couldn't hear the friction of skin sliding against skin or the rustle of skirt fabric over the noise of the train, but he imagined it.

  "Anyway, one of the monks - I call him Cufay - was visiting a priest friend in England when I was found. Cufay has the sight and knew I was different. So he talked the friend into handing me over and brought me to California. He rescued me from being an orphan. And from being Anglish, too." She laughed silently.

  "How did he get you out of the country?"

  She arched a brow comically. "I think perhaps you underestimate clerics. They can be very resourceful."

  Storm was staring with his lips parted.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I don't know whether to be horrified or happy for you." She smiled and opened her palms as if to say 'all's well'. "And how did The Order hear about you?"

  "Oh. Well, in some ways that's the best part of the story. The Cairdeas Deo monks are not actually part of The Order, but they are - shall we say - loosely associated with it. When Cufay brought me home, he expected that I might be a resource someday. The monks set up my education so that, in a way, I was custom designed for The Order."

  Storm wasn't sure that was a good thing, but decided to take the conversation in another direction. "My father is a winemaker. He works for one of the big outfits."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. When I was little he used to take me to work with him on days when I wasn't in school. It was really the only time I didn't get in trouble. I think I loved it." He chuckled. "My mom tried to take me to her work once. She was a part time librarian. That didn't go nearly as well."

  He looked up into Litha's face and his breath caught because she was looking at him like... No. Not a chance. There was no fucking way she could be in love. With him.

  Did he not tell her in the most concrete, definitive, and loud ways that he was not interested in a relationship? He glanced at her again to see if that beatific expression was still directed at him. It was. Holy hell.

  The transfer in Milan went smoothly. They already had tickets to Siena, but it was a much smaller train with no first class seating or pre-assigned seating. After walking through two cars Storm found a bench seat with enough room for the two of them if they didn't mind a tight fit. He motioned to Litha to go ahead and sit down next to a woman with white hair pulled up on top of her head in a do that would have seemed chic on a young person. Apparently she was traveling with grandchildren and a daughter who looked like a younger version of herself sitting on a facing seat. With Litha's help Storm stowed the bags beneath the bench and then eased down beside her.

  Both of them were independently marveling at how warm the other's body was. Storm had taken off his windbreaker and stuffed it in his bag. He was wearing a short sleeve knit shirt that was expensive and looked it. Litha shifted around trying to find a position that would be fairly comfortable for both of them for a one-hour ride, but Storm had an imposing upper body. She finally decided that it worked best for him to bring his right shoulder in front of her. At least it kept her from crushing the woman on her right.

  Litha was happy enough with that arrangement. The only downside was from Storm's point of view. Litha's left breast was now pressed tightly into his bicep, moving rhythmically every time she breathed in and out and jiggling with the movement of the train. He was not going to be able to think about anything else until they got off this train which was designed for Italians and not Germans, much less German-descended warriors.

  By the time the train pulled into Siena, Storm was pretty sure he needed a shower. The two of them climbed the steps to street level and stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the station. Storm stopped and looked around like something was wrong. He asked a couple of passersby something in Italian. They smiled and answered. He thanked them and then muttered curses under his breath.

  "What's wrong?" Litha asked.

  "Not the best timing. It's the first Palio race of the year."

  "What is that?"

  He motioned to a taxi pulling up. "Come on. We're lucky to get one this fast."

  Storm gave the driver the address of the Siena residence. The Order owned and maintained such places in every city of consequence all over the world.

  "For centuries the old family groups have been holding these horse races three times a year. Each family has an entry. The piazza is covered in dirt so that the race can take place in the center of the old town. It gets crowded like Times Square on New Year's Eve. If we didn't already have a place to stay, we wouldn't have found a bed between here and Florence."

  "That won't affect us unless we can't get close to my location."

  He turned to look at her. "We'll get you there."

  She envied the utter confidence he held in his ability to complete his part of this mission.

  In seven minutes the taxi pulled up in front of an old stone building facing a narrow cobblestone street. A man waited by the front entrance. "Mr. Storm, I presume," he said in decent English. It wasn't a question.

  Storm didn't commit until the man offered a key which he took and then asked which Contrade the man would be supporting in the race. He said he was Drago, grinned with pride and pointed to the dragon banner hanging from a building at the next corner.

  Inside, he and Litha climbed three flights of stairs and were rewarded with an apartment that looked out onto the tower of the thirteenth century square and down onto one of the prettiest piazzas in Italy. It was covered with dirt for the race the next day.

  There were two bedrooms, one a loft open to the living area below. Litha wouldn't want to admit it to Storm, but she was tired. He pointed her toward the enclosed bedroom, saying he would take the loft and that she might want to take a little rest, that they would venture out for dinner later, and start fresh in the morning to find the spot she'd scryed.

  Grateful for the respite, she fell down on the bed and was thrilled to be greeted with the smell of fresh laundered linen - no perfumes, just good, clean soap. The windows were open to a lot of excitement below, but not enough to keep her awake. She was sound asleep in minutes.

  When she had fallen down on the bed there had been a couple of hours of sunset left, but she woke in the dark and disoriented. She located a light and tromped to the bathroom. The mirror said she looked like she'd been run over. She took a shower, pulled her hair up in a ponytail, put on a red silk shirt and covered her shoulders with a huge silk and linen scarf.

  Storm was sitting on the sofa reading. He looked up when she came out. He'd changed his shirt and the damp hair over his collar indicated that he'd taken a shower, too.

  "Hey," he said. "Hungry?"

  "Are you?"

  "If it's dinner time,
I'm hungry." He stood up and started moving toward the door. He had an impulse to tell her she looked good in red, but thought it wouldn't be fair to lead her on since there was definitely no future with him.

  "I'm with you."

  "Nope. Other way around."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We're going to stroll around until you say, 'Stop here'."

  Everything about that offer sounded delightful. And suspicious. She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips in a gesture he found curiously appealing. It made him want to circle both wrists with his hands and pull her arms around him. It would be nice to transform that challenge into a begrudging smile and admission of affection.

  "Are you thinking this is a last meal kind of thing?"

  He laughed and stood up. "Come on." He held the door open for her.

  The streets around the main square of Siena at night were as charming and romantic as you might imagine. There was a lot of pedestrian traffic, but not so much that they couldn't walk freely and at their own pace. The evening air had cooled off enough so that she wished she had on something more than a silk/linen blend scarf. A woman sweeping an entryway with potted geraniums looked up at them and smiled. Litha knew she was thinking they were a couple; lovers, maybe more.

  What Storm had been observing was how many men were taking overt notice of Litha. It was a little unnerving. Of course he knew she was attractive, in a witchy sort of way, but she was collecting way too many double takes from guys who ought to be paying attention to the women they were with instead.

  The ambling felt comfortable. Storm seemed relaxed which was practically an occasion for notifying the press.

  "I read the bio in your file, you know."

  He angled his head in her direction and looked down at her with what could have been curiosity or amusement. "Oh?'

  "Hmmm."

  "And was it gripping reading?"

  She chuckled. "There were some interesting bits. Like the fact that you were an athletic boy who shunned sports."

  "Shunned?" He laughed. Then rolled a massive shoulder in a half shrug. "Just didn't get it. Seemed like a complete waste of time to me."