North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1) (22 page)

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.”

Reverent foreign words spilled from him again. “Gods, Megan. This is…this is beyond…” He shook his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

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/

The object of every man’s fantasy just lost her wings…

…and now she’s losing her heart.

Read on for a sneak peek of Inara Scott’s sexy

contemporary fantasy RADIANT DESIRE...

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 iridescent 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.

Zafira glided down the aisle to her throne. Two male figures followed closely at her sides, bare chests displaying broad shoulders and rippling muscles. Their cloven feet exposed their dual nature: these were satyrs, half-demon and half-faerie, driven only by a need for pleasure and beauty. Zafira demanded obedience from all her subjects, but her hold was tightest around her satyrs, from whom she expected pure, unfettered devotion.

When she reached her throne, Zafira spun around, letting her golden gown flow in billowing waves around her feet. Many of the Fey took an involuntary step back. “Tonight, I will send my Handmaids into the human world to punish men and humiliate them the way they have humiliated us.”

Cries of delight filled the hall. Faeries had been seducing men for thousands of years, but for the Handmaids it was a sacred duty. Stealing the hearts of men and using them for pleasure was the way the Handmaids extracted revenge for the pain Zafira, and all of the Fey, had suffered over the centuries.

“Handmaid Kaia, step forth!”

Kaia paused, startled to hear the queen call her by name. This was not part of the usual ceremony. But then again, Zafira honored tradition when she pleased and disregarded it when it did not suit her. Kaia threw back her shoulders, forced her wings to arc gracefully across her back, and ensured her gentle smile was perfectly intact before stepping up to the dais. Her heart thumped. Had she done something wrong? Somehow displeased Zafira?

She lowered her head gracefully. “My queen.”

“Kaia, you know the vow of my Handmaids.”

Kaia nodded, her lips automatically forming her response after decades of practice. “My queen, as your Handmaid I vow never to lose control, and never to yield to the wishes of men.”

Zafira swirled her staff in a circle, leaving behind a translucent, sparkling image of a man’s face. He was as handsome as the satyrs at Zafira’s side, with a tumble of blond hair falling over his forehead, cerulean blue eyes, and dark, tanned skin. His white teeth flashed in a smile that was equal parts humor and unspoken menace.

“This man, Garrett Jameson, is the man you will capture next,” Zafira said. “You will bring him to his knees as only a Handmaid can. Introduce him to pleasure and the greatest desire he has ever known, and then leave him alone and wanting.”

Kaia hid her surprise behind a deep curtsy and swirl of her wings. Zafira had never sent her after a particular human before.

“Yes, my queen.” She paused, knowing she should keep her mouth shut but unable to prevent the question from leaving her lips. “May I ask why?”

Zafira frowned, and Kaia froze, terrified she had angered the mercurial queen. A moment later, Zafira’s icy features softened and she began to chuckle. The sound danced through the hall like music, as beautiful as everything else about the queen—and just as dangerous.

“Because it will amuse me,” Zafira said, her laugh tinkling through the hall. “I have some interest in this particular man. I will enjoy seeing him brought low.”

Kaia nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. “It will be done.”

Zafira motioned for Kaia to return to her place beside the other Handmaids. “See that it is, Kaia,” she said in a quiet voice. “See that it is.”