North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

A moan of utter relief rolled through Megan’s body. It worked. It worked!

“Owen,” she cried. She turned her face into his chest, inhaled deeply, wanting any part of him in her. “Owen, I love you. I love you,” she said.

“Then why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you choose him?”

Her eyes snapped open. She dropped onto the sofa and gasped. A giant of a man towered over her, long white hair and beard and miles of fur robes swirling around his body despite the lack of breeze in the living room. Silver eyes flashed at her, demanded an answer.

She stared. “I…I—” She swallowed, gulped down some air. “Boreas?”

He nodded once, his stare piercing into her.

“Oh my God.
Oh my God.
” She flew forward in her seat so fast she slid off to her knees. “Owen. Is Owen…okay? I mean”—she swallowed hard, gesturing with her hands—“obviously he’s not okay, but is he—”
Alive? With the other gods? In the wind? Here?

“He is convalescing.” Boreas’ eyes bored into her with an intense impassivity. Lines carved into his face, especially around the corners of his eyes, but somehow he looked younger than she’d expect given all that white hair.

Relief flooded her system so forcefully, she collapsed back against the edge of the soft leather. So tired, suddenly so very tired. Threatening tears choked her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Owen. Oh, thank God,” she moaned, glancing up at the inhumanly enormous man. “Can I see him?”

“Where he is, you cannot go.” His eyes narrowed, turned steely cold. “Thanks to you, he lies unconscious in the Acheron. I know not how long he will require the healing waters to be restored.”

Thanks to her?
Megan gasped, wrapped her arms around her stomach. Through a tight throat, she asked, “What is the Acheron?” That tingly, surreal feeling blanketed her again.

Boreas ignored her. “Was it your intention to lock him out?”

“What? No. When?” Megan’s breathing shallowed. She massaged her fingers into her temples. “Are you telling me Owen got locked out of the cabin?” Her gaze cut to the windows alongside the door, the pieces fitting together. “He broke a window to get in. Oh my God. I”—she shook her head, pleading for his belief—“I can’t explain what happened. I didn’t lock him out though. I would never do that. I told him to come in and wait for me.” Oh, God, what had he been through while she’d been out sipping coffee? A low whimper rose up her throat.

He gave one sharp nod. ‘Then, back to my question.”

“Which?” She stared up at him in confused awe.

“The only one that matters!” he bellowed. All around the great room, frost crackled over the interior window panes. The temperature dropped.

Trembling, Megan swallowed, then poured out her every truth. “I was scared. And I felt guilty. And disloyal.” She staggered to her feet, stood on shaky legs. “With Owen, it was so good, too good, and I didn’t trust it to last. And then he hurt himself, and he hid it, and I just couldn’t…I just needed…” Her voice cracked. “I thought I had more time.” She swayed.

In a flash, Boreas appeared beside her, steadied her. “Be well, child. Sit.” He sighed, a long weary sound.

Still standing, she looked up at him. “I was coming back. I came back. To tell him. But I was too late.” The sob pressed outward from her chest. She caved into Boreas’ huge form, her head just hitting his chest, and threw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Boreas. I love him so much.”

Boreas tensed under her grasp, then relaxed. One big hand patted her lower ribs. Settled there. Pressed. “Megan?”

She wrenched back and frowned at the big hand frozen in mid-air. Of course he was pushing her away. One minute he was yelling at her and the next she was crying on him. She bit back a groan. Wanting to escape his intense gaze, she shrugged out of her coat, and threw it over the back of the couch. “Sorry about that,” she muttered.

“No, that’s not—” He stepped toward her, stretched out his hand. Suddenly, kind silver eyes pleaded for something she didn’t understand. She wasn’t scared, only curious, yet the hairs still raised on the back of her neck. “May I?”

The tentativeness was so incongruous with his earlier commanding presence that she smiled. “Uh, I don’t—” She shook her head.

Boreas bent down, pressed his hand to her lower stomach. His breath caught, flaring eyes flashed to hers. Reverent words in that same language Owen sometimes used spilled in hushed tones from his lips.

“Boreas?” Her quiet voice trembled. Something about the set of those mystical eyes sent her stomach aflutter.

His whole face brightened. “You carry life within you.”

Megan frowned. She opened and closed her mouth. “Um”—she shook her head—“that’s not possible.” Was it? She mentally began counting dates. No. There was no way. She was on birth control.

He crossed his arms and waited.

Megan swallowed, her mind whirling. “No, Boreas. The only person I’ve been with is Owen”—she ignored the blush that bloomed across her cheeks—“and
if
I really was pregnant it would be too new to—”

“But there’s something you forget.” He drew himself up to his full height and smiled down at her.

Unease fluttered through her stomach. She
had
taken her pills late a few times since she’d been with Owen. And maybe him begin a god negated her birth control somehow? The more she thought about it, the more she was afraid to hear what Boreas had to say. “What’s that?”

“The child is a demigod. For all intents and purposes, my grandchild. I can feel him.”

Demi…?
Her breathing hitched and Megan swayed, moaned. She was…pregnant? With Owen’s baby? And he was a…him? A demigod him?

Boreas clutched her elbow and settled her back into the embracing couch. He knelt on one knee next to her.

“Sorry,” she whispered, dazed, her pounding pulse stealing her breath. She was pregnant? She was pregnant! “You can’t tell Owen!” Boreas’ face fell. “I mean, I want to be the one to tell him. Please?”
Oh, Owen, will this news make you happy?
God, she hoped so. Her stomach flip-flopped.

He nodded. “By all means.”

“Oh jeez.” She slapped a hand against her forehead, rubbed her fingers back and forth. “I’m going to be a mom.” Her other hand curled over her abdomen.

“So it seems.”

Awed by the very concept, she smiled up at him. “You’re going to be a grampa.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Indeed. This pleases me,” he said. His white teeth gleamed.

It pleased her, too. So much. Utter astonishment tingled over her skin. “Oh, my God.”

“Literally.”

She gaped. The Supreme God of Winter just joked about her having gotten knocked up! Shocked laughter spilled from her. But she reveled in it, glad someone was here to share her amazed happiness, even if it wasn’t who she wanted most. Besides, Boreas’ apparent acceptance and pleasure in the news gave her hope Owen would respond the same way.

Thoughts and questions and worries and plans tried to take up root in her mind, but there was no room for them amid her wonder and joy. Owen had filled her with love, brought her back to life, given her a family. His presence in her life, short though it might’ve been, was an absolute gift she would cherish forever. Her heart panged at his absence. Her soul yearned for its true partner to be here, standing at her side.

Megan sighed. “So, what happens now? Can he come back? What can I do for him?”

His more reserved demeanor returned. He clasped his hands behind his back. “First, his injuries must heal, then his godhood must revitalize. The rest is up to him.”

“Okay,” she whispered, fear and hope and anticipation flaring in her gut. “Okay.” She had faith in him, trusted in what he’d said, in what he’d shown her. She would be strong for him. And be right here waiting when he was ready to come back to her. For she could believe nothing else. Still, she begged of Boreas, “Will you tell him how badly I want him back? Please?”

Boreas offered a small nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bleary-eyed and foggy-headed, she looked up at Boreas. She heaved a deep breath to calm her racing heart. The old god’s presence helped. She found comfort in his paternal character.

“You should sleep, now. You are about as worn down as he was.”

She nodded. He was right about sleeping, if not for herself, then for the baby. But she had to know. “Was it bad?”

His whole body sagged. “It wasn’t good.”

A shiver raced across her shoulders, down her spine.
I’m sorry, Owen
.

“Come now,” he said, rising and offering a paw-sized hand.

She accepted his assistance. On her feet, she continued to lean on the arm he offered. “Thank you,” she murmured as they walked in slow, halting steps—all she could manage. She directed them to the bathroom, pointedly avoiding the spot in front of her bedroom door. For all she knew the puddle had dried, but either way she couldn’t stomach looking.

“For what?”

She heaved a deep breath. “For taking care of him. For coming here and taking care of me.”

His lips quirked as he looked away. He appeared almost embarrassed. “You’re welcome.”

At the bathroom door, Megan leaned against the doorjamb. “Will you wait a moment?” She blushed at asking, but didn’t want him to leave yet.

“All right.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

Megan plodded through changing and spared energy only for the bare minimum of her nighttime routine. She padded out into her bedroom and climbed onto the big mattress, choosing the very spot where she’d laid on Owen’s chest the night before. God, could that really have been
just
last night? So much had happened that it didn’t seem possible. Yesterday seemed worlds away.

“Boreas?” she called.

His mammoth silhouette filled her bedroom doorway, hesitated just outside.

“Would you please sit with me? Until I fall asleep?”

He nodded, and had to duck and turn sideways to clear the door frame. The mattress tilted toward him when he sat on the bottom corner of the bed. Were his cheeks pink?

She sank into the pillows and buried herself under the covers. “When you’re not being all godlike and intimidating, you’re pretty good company,” she murmured, then yawned into her pillow. Sleep pulled her down, as if she were anchored by lead weights.

“And you are amusing, for a human. Now, sleep.”

“’kay. Night, Grampa.”

§

Megan woke up on Monday morning, her third full day without Owen’s presence. The cabin was too big, too empty, too quiet.

For each of the past two days, Megan had awakened hopeful that Owen would return. Each night, she’d gone to bed disappointed and lonely. She had to remind herself to be patient, have faith. Whatever time he needed to heal, she wanted him to have.

In the meantime, she busied herself with distractions. Stapling thick plastic over the broken window. Setting up repair appointments for the window and the condenser unit. Doing laundry. Calling everyone back home to explain her decision not to return for New Year’s—reassuring them she was okay. And for once in a long, long time, she mostly meant it.

But here it was, a new week in an already unseasonably warm new year, and her body longed for Owen’s touch, her soul yearned for his companionship. Pressure filled her heart with the need to voice the emotions that burned through her.

“I love you, Owen, with my heart and soul. Come back to me,” she said out loud, in case he could hear her, in case he was listening. “And I love you, too,” she whispered, smoothing her palms over her belly.

Three days later, and her mind still struggled to wrap itself around the idea of a baby, but the very thought of the life growing inside her cut the edge from her loneliness and filled her with nervous hope for the future.

Megan pushed out of bed, the air cool against her sleep-warmed skin. Wanting Owen to be comfortable when he returned, she’d reset the heat to its previous low setting. She made a pit-stop in the bathroom, then shuffled out to the kitchen. Her stomach growled, empty and clenching. She put on coffee and ate a blueberry Pop-Tart right out of the foil wrapper. She hadn’t eaten them in years, but she’d bought two boxes at the store thinking Owen would adore them. He had such a sweet tooth. After she ate the first one the other night, her body craved the junk food and she gave in. The past two years had been hard on her body, and she could stand to gain a few pounds. And not just for her, now. Plus, having an appetite again felt so nice.

After breakfast, she dressed and sat on the front steps with a book. She read some, stared out across the broad expanse of her front yard some. With the temperature hovering in the fifties, more and more snow melted every day, to the point where grass now poked through in spots and her driveway was clear and dry. The sagging igloo struck her as sad, as did the collapse of the little snow kid. But she had her own now.

What would their baby be like? Look like? She hugged herself tight. If she was honest, she was intimidated by the idea he’d be a demigod—what did that mean? In what ways might he be different from other kids? Would she be equipped to give him everything he needed? She tried hard not to let herself get too spun up by these questions—Owen would help her figure everything out, right? When he came back. If he came back. Oh, God. She couldn’t face the ‘if.’ She was clinging to ‘when’ with everything she had.