Blood Enchantment

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  I say nothing.

  Tallinn turns the knob.

  “That's what I'm afraid of,” I admit quietly.

  He winks at me. “Don't be afraid. Fear's for chumps. Meet your potential straight on. Go hard.”

  He shuts the door, leaving me in the witch's cauldron of my thoughts.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Greta

  October 7

  “I am so sorry, Greta. Forgive me.” Tor touches the top of my hand lightly then spreads a linen napkin over his lap.

  I cast my eyes to my folded hands. I resist wringing them by a thread.

  “It's fine. You just surprised me.”

  “Greta.”

  I lift my head. His gaze imprisons me, and I glance away.

  “Look at me.”

  I do.

  “It's not your fault.”

  The rape.

  I fight a lump in my throat. “I know that.” But I still feel the sting, even after two years.

  “Men are meant to protect women, not harm them.”

  I nod. Intellectually, I get all this. But my body remembers, and it reacts for me. No matter how often I tell myself that every guy I meet is a new guy, guiltless of what transpired against me, I shy away.

  And Tor made a promise to my father.

  “Your father hung on for two weeks.” His eyes search mine. “It was in that time he begged me to look after you.”

  I give a slight frown. “I never knew you were acquainted with my parents.”

  His eyes flick away as he recalls the obviously painful memory.

  “My father was deeply committed to your father.” He gives that elegant little shrug again. “When my father passed, leaving my mother and siblings to fend for ourselves, I took over his holdings, such as they were.”

  I give the first genuine smile of the evening. “You've done so well.”

  “Not as well as your father,” he admits.

  I slowly shake my head. “If my father had not been so dedicated to his work, so sleep-deprived, he would not have lost control on the E6.”

  “It was an accident. They say he fell asleep for a mere instant…”

  “I know. I remember.” I suck in a shuddering inhale, “He blamed himself.”

  “Unavoidable. A man likes to believe he can always skirt death. Especially for those he loves.”

  I nod. I remember my dad's last moments so well. He had every tube and wire strung to him—the last tether of his life.

  His ability to talk left him early on.

  I'll never forget his eyes. He’d seemed so desperate to tell me something, but writing was out of the question. Both hands were broken during the impact.

  In the end, internal bleeding stole his life. Fluid in his lungs drowned him.

  I give Tor a watery smile. “Thank you so much for making sure my dad could rest in peace. I'm sure it was a solace you provided him.” I squeeze Tor’s hand, and he turns mine over.

  He runs a hand over the worst scar.

  The plastic from the zip ties nearly severed my hands from my wrists. It's a wonder I have the use of them.

  I shiver when his finger leaves the proof of my decimation.

  *

  “Why didn't you just tell me the real reason I came to Norway?” I ask. “I never even showed you the swatches!” I exclaim in disgust before a small laugh escapes me.

  The gentle roll of the limo tugs at my belly. I place my palm over the top of it.

  Tor smiles. “And what would you have done? That intimate and powerful of a confession cannot be given over a telephone call, you must know that.”

  I study him. “I wouldn't have come,” I admit.

  He nods. “You work tirelessly. You would not have given yourself permission, Greta.”

  “That's true.” I bite my lip, wondering if I have the guts to ask.

  He watches my expression carefully. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

  Tor crosses a long leg over the other, and our knees almost brush.

  He's so intense. His eye contact is the longest I've ever encountered. Unlike most people I meet, whose eyes just glance at me, he holds my gaze.

  It's disconcerting—and riveting. His presence is tangible. I feel as though when I leave Tor, a part of him will follow me. Like an echo of his presence.

  I ask, “How do you know I wouldn't come?”

  “Your father.”

  My eyes widen. “What?”

  Tor chuckles, running elegant fingers down the center crease of his charcoal pants. Bright-scarlet thread winds a geometric pattern in the sliver of socks peeking from underneath the cuff of his slacks. Italian leather shoes so fine that they look like slippers swing lightly as he speaks. “He told me so much about you and your exploits in the States, I feel as though I've always known you.”

  I lean forward, elbows to my knees, and cup my chin. “Really?” I'm a little surprised Father would share this. He was private. Secretly, I'm delighted he was proud enough to mention me to others.

  He nods with a hint of a smile. “You were the apple of his eye. Your father gave me much helpful advice, which I used to progress my manufacturing.”

  I smile. Taking his hand, I give a hard press of fingers then move to release it. He surprises me by lifting my hand to his lips. He turns it over at the last second. He drops an incredibly intimate kiss into the center of my palm. Heat and breath leave their mark against my flesh, and his gaze finds me over our linked hands.

  “However”—his fingers slip from my hand, leaving trails of fire—“it is his remarks about you that intrigued me.”

  Oh my God, which part?

  “You were the only child of a great man. He held nothing in higher esteem. I would have seen to our meeting much sooner, but after you began university, if it hadn't been for the incident…”

  The incident.

  His brow creases. “I felt there needed to be an interlude of… healing.”

  I nod, not trusting any words I might say.

  I sway as the limo rounds the last bend and halts slowly.

  He leans forward, body erect. “I need to ask you something of critical importance.”

  I inhale a painful breath. I might not be ready for a question after his last statement. I just might not. I take a deep breath anyway, taking a leap at brave. “Okay.”

  “Could you—would you—be willing to court me?”

  I feel myself give a single slow blink. Court me? Who uses that expression anymore? Why would he want me?

  Filthy.

  Whore.

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  Tor's face is suddenly in mine. His deep-brown eyes are amber fire, owning my gaze, not letting one thing interrupt the moment.

  He grasps my hands and slowly takes them away from my ears. His light cologne fills my nose.

  “Is what I said so abhorrent to you that you cover your ears?” Tor asks softly.

  My hands fall, and he cups my face. I feel small inside their grasp.

  “No,” I admit.

  His eyes search mine. “Then what is it, Greta?”

  “I've never had a boyfriend.”

  Shame like hot lava flows over me, scalding the inside of my skull. Liquid fire burns through my veins.

  He pulls my face forward to gently kiss the tip of my nose. “You are a beauty, Greta. It will be fine that I am your first. Trust me.”

  He isn't my first. Four other men came before him.

  Gia would say it doesn't count.

  I swallow so hard, I hear my throat click.

  His finger runs the length of my neck then rests in the hollow, where a frantic heartbeat flutters beneath my skin like a captured wild bird.

  “Let me in, Greta.”

  I stare at him for a full minute, measuring him. Finally, I nod and wind my arms around his neck.

  *

  Tor doesn't let me go until my hotel room door closes behind me.

  Our fingertips part through the crack as I shut the door.

&nbs
p; I sigh, twirling in my high heels. The spikes stab the carpet as I dance in smooth rotation. The skirt of my dress flows around my legs, swishing to an abrupt halt as my legs press against my bed.

  I plop down. A smile like a permanent smear covers my face. A giggle escapes me, and I kick off my pumps, throwing myself backward on the bed.

  Sublime.

  It's the only word that covers the evening. And I survived it all.

  Words were said that should have shredded me and cut me asunder. Instead, I feel fresh skin covering the raw wounds of my psyche.

  Bliss.

  Maybe this Club Alpha thing is really going to work? I'm only into it a week and already, this might be something that works. It all makes sense. A man who knew my father, whose father worked with my father? Perfect.

  Good-looking and deep? Maybe he's too old.

  Nah, I laugh aloud. Not too old. There's no way he's past thirty-five so I'm safe there.

  I should call Gia.

  I pluck my smartphone out of my nude clutch. Low battery.

  That's dumb. I root around my suitcase until I find the charger. I plug it in, and a bar at the top blinks to orange, showing active charging.

  I sit on the bed, massaging my toes. I untie my dress and carefully hanging it up in the closet. I close the wardrobe door, and the integral mirror reflects my image.

  I look at my body. The small scars encircling my wrists are the ones that show.

  I scrutinize the rest of me. Nude stockings closely match the ivory skin of my long legs. A simple garter anchors them in place. The push-up bra matches, its lace strategically covering the very peak of my nipples. I am not muscle-bound, though I work out. I have that crazy figure that doesn't build muscle well.

  Gia says I'm lithe. It's a slick term for skinny.

  Sudden anxiety settles in the pit of my stomach.

  I unbraid my hair. I try not to wear it down if I can help it. If it's not loose, there is nothing to pull.

  I turn away from my image, working on not remembering feeling my scalp on fire as my head was jerked back by all that platinum hair.

  Easier said than done.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Paco

  October 8

  Tallinn works my body until every part of me trembles with exhaustion. We finish the last set, and he claps me on the back.

  I'm fairly certain I hate him right now.

  We both stare at the floor-to-ceiling mirror

  He tugs on the short tail of my thick black hair.

  “See?” He swings his palms out. “Look at the effects of my awesome handiwork.”

  My critical eye roams down my physique.

  I am bulkier. There is no doubt. Am I stronger? Yes. We have been boxing and hitting the weights for weeks. A different physique is overtaking the former.

  How Tallinn has become a pseudo-adviser escapes me. It could be the sheer amount of time we spend in close proximity to each other. However, I suspect it might be our absolute opposite personalities that play the largest part. That he seems summarily unimpressed and unaffected with my vast wealth is refreshing. Human nature does not breed indifference to wealth, but greed to accumulate it.

  I grab a hand towel off the metal rack and throw it over my shoulder. “I don't like what I need to do for the strength.” I tip my head back, gulping half the bottle of water in a single pull. I dab the only clean corner of the towel against my mouth.

  Tallinn watches me carefully. “No pain, no gain.” He chuckles. “Don't tell me you haven't ever worked your hiney off at the dojo?”

  “Of course,” I shrug, capping the water and tossing it into a container marked recycling in Norwegian. “However, at this level of proficiency, the hardest work has been accomplished, and I simply maintain.”

  “But you still have to work it, right?”

  I give him a sharp glance. “I do.”

  Tallinn shrugs. “So this is the same, but you're having to start from the ground floor. You're limping along because your cardio and hand-eye kicks ass. But your boxing skills aren't there for jab and strikes with fists. You're all reliant on your kung fu mojo.”

  “Limping along? Kung fu?” I miss sputtering by a hairsbreadth.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ah—no, my friend. Karate is not kung fu.”

  Tallinn snaps his fingers. “You need help with idioms too. ʻLimping alongʼ is a pretty common American expression.”

  “I have not been exposed to a variety of expressions.”

  Tallinn scrubs his scalp in a rough double swipe. “No shit.”

  I smirk. “You speak so naturally.” A rare pang of envy snaps through me.

  “We can't give you my level of slang, with the way you speak.” He sighs. “We'll try to interject a little bit of loose verbiage. Cursing, too.”

  “I curse.”

  “When?”

  I walk toward the door. “When I need to.”

  “You know what I think, Paco?”

  “You will tell me, regardless,” I throw over my shoulder.

  “I think the right set of circumstance will make you go animal.”

  The weight room door shuts with a clank behind us, and I walk toward the elevator and hit the button. We step inside, then the doors whoosh closed behind us.

  The elevator begins the forty-floor ascent.

  A few seconds of silence hold between us. “I feel like a sleepwalker in this life,” I admit quietly.

  Tallinn grunts. “See? That's what I'm talkinʼ about.” His shrewd gaze envelopes me. “That's why you signed up for this Club Alpha gig. You have the dough.” Tallinn holds up a finger, ticking off his points with his opposite hand. “You're bored with the status quo.” His gaze is steady on mine. “And like the rest of us dudes, you want a chick who actually digs you for who you are, rather than what you bring.” He rubs his fingers together in a parody of wanting money.

  I can't deny his logic. “A crude assessment, but accurate.”

  Tallinn spreads his hands away from his sides. “All dudes have the same issues, rich or poor, ugly or handsome, smart or dumb. Everybody wants love.”

  “True.”

  I stare at the little LED squares on the ceiling of the elevator. Without turning my head, I ask, “You will find guards and guns?”

  “I already have, Paco. What are you paying me the big bucks for?”

  My head drops, and I level my gaze at him.

  “Listen, I already have people in place watching for this girl.”

  My eyebrow cocks. “Her name?”

  “Lisbeth Wesbestad,” he says, butchering the pronunciation, and continues, “Five-ten, one hundred forty-five pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, twenty-four. Industrial executive. She's a brainiac, too, Environmental Science PhD.”

  I whistle softly. “That is very young to have that level of education.” I tap a finger against the cold steel of the bar bisecting the interior of the elevator. “Norwegians are very concerned about their homeland,” I reply, wishing it were so everywhere. I throw a strand of escaped hair over my shoulder. “She is safe then?”

  Tallinn nods. “For now. How much time do we have?” His question feels like a confirmation.

  The clock runs in my mind. “Less than forty hours. Some of it was wasted with working out while a young woman's life is in danger.”

  Tallinn presses the red button at the control panel, and the elevator lurches to a halt.

  “Here's where you're wrong, Paco. It's a well-known fact that routine keeps a person solid. Like a rock. As your personal trainer—and I'm no dumbass—I say you need to be wrung out, spent. Then rest. Eat. Then attack.”

  I can't hide my frustration. None of this has unfolded as I believed it should have. “I wanted to get to her, do what must be done.”

  His finger lands on my chest and I tense. “And you hired me to hone you that last bit—keep ya in one piece.”

  I dip my chin. “Yes.” I retreat a step within the confined space.

  �
�You didn't hire me for my finesse or prowess in etiquette. I am rough, tough and get the job done—no matter how brutal. And I don't take on clients, even those who pay mid-six figures, unless they have that core I need.”

  “Core?”

  “Yeah, Paco. There's got to be that primal male inside. It's buried in a lot of modern guys now. Some couldn't find it with both hands. But you”—he gives me a knowing look—“you have it. And between Club Alpha and me”—he puts the finger he'd stuck in my chest against his own—“we'll bring it out like a wild animal.”

  “This will make me whole?” I ask with an amused lilt.

  But Tallinn's face is solemn. “Yeah. Lots of guys never wake up from that sleepwalkinʼ thing you were talking about. They don't become who they were meant to be. You will. And—you'll get the girl.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  He slaps the red button and the elevator moves toward the final five floors.

  “It is, if you go with the flow. Just let shit go down.”

  The elevator dings on floor thirty-nine. The doors flow apart and a woman stands at in the opening.

  The resemblance is so striking, she must be Lisbeth.

  My reaction is startling, as well. My breath rushes out of me as though I’ve popped a balloon.

  “Hello,” she says in Norwegian, and I stand before her in a stupor.

  I am never tongue-tied.

  I feel Tallinn's eyes on me as I say nothing.

  “Hey,” he says in English.

  The door tries to shut, and Tallinn slaps it with his palm. “We're going up.”

  He’s still in English, though we're in Norway. I wake up, scowling at him.

  But her dulcet tones reach my ears like a melody I've been waiting for my entire life.

  “Down.” She laughs, and it's musical.

  I blink as though I’ve been punched.

  Tallinn gives me a jab in the ribs.

  “Hello,” I bark reactively, and she turns to look at me full on.

  Tallinn depresses the door-open button.

  I swallow hard.

  “Hello,” she says again, this time in English, sticking out an elegant, slim hand.

  I hesitate for a long second then take it, and our eyes meet. A zap like an electrical current flares between us and her deep blue eyes widen.