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

  Her hands yanked open the stall’s glass door. Her feet were in motion before her brain ordered the movement, and then she had him. She had him in her arms. Her hands fluttered over him—stroking his silky black hair, massaging his big shoulders, feeling the strong, solid realness of him. Tightness closed off her throat and kept her from offering any more than that choked moan.

  His arms wrapped around her slowly. Between them, the soft fabric of his shirt dampened from her body. The sensation delighted her, because if he was a figment of her imagination, he’d have been naked. The ridiculous thought opened her throat a bit. “Oh, Owen,” she whispered. She pulled back, prepared to tell him everything.

  His expression stole her words and her breath.

  Stone faced, eyes distant, lips pressed into a line. His arms dropped away.

  The emptiness in Megan’s stomach felt like a rock. Dread snaked down her spine. “Hey.” Her eyes scanned over his face, searching for some hint of the warmth and openness she associated with him. She couldn’t find it. The wrongness of it…Goose bumps broke out across her damp skin and she shivered. “Um, sorry, can I just—” She reached toward her towel, hanging on a hook behind him.

  He stepped back, allowing her access. She frowned when she thought of how he’d tried to keep the towel from her another time. A time that seemed so long ago now.

  The soft terry made her feel less vulnerable, but did little to quell the growing ball of dread pressing outward from her chest. Finally, when there was nothing else to distract herself from his distance and coldness, she looked at him again. She took a deep breath and asked, “What’s wrong, Owen? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped down her body, then flashed back to hers. “Perhaps you should dress.”

  Megan frowned. Since when did he ever want her to dress? Fear-induced adrenaline spiked through her veins, made her tremble. “Owen—”

  “Please.” The set of his shoulders mirrored the tense tone of his voice.

  “Okay.” She strode toward the bedroom door, then looked back over her shoulder. “Um, I’ll be right out?”

  He nodded once. “Yes.”

  Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Megan’s mind whirled through possibilities, but couldn’t make anything stick. Anything except the one thing her brain refused to acknowledge and her heart refused to believe—he didn’t want her anymore. How could that be? After everything?

  Her effort to rush through dressing left her all thumbs. It took three tries to get the metal button through the little hole in her jeans. She scrubbed the towel through her hair quickly and combed her fingers through the thick mass of it, but devoted no other effort. She needed to be back in his presence, to touch him, to get answers, to fix whatever was making him act this way.

  Before stepping out of her bedroom, she heaved a deep breath that failed to calm, then entered the great room. Owen stood to the side of the front door, stiff-postured, arms across his chest, looking outside through the sidelights. The plastic covering the broken window sucked in and out in response to the wind’s command. In her delight at seeing him again, she hadn’t noticed he was dressed in black from silky hair to jeans and T-shirt to boots. His aloofness did nothing to diminish his sexy masculinity.

  Megan stopped some feet from him. Her arms ached to feel his warmth and solidness; her mouth yearned to taste him again. But he seemed so unapproachable. She cleared her throat.

  A beat passed, then another, and he turned his head in her direction. His eyes did a quick scan of her attire, jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, then he motioned toward the couch. “Would you like to sit?”

  “No, I don’t want to sit. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

  He frowned and dropped his gaze to the ground.

  Megan forced herself to move, stepped right to him, tilted his chin up with her fingers. His eyes were full of pain and regret and made her heart skip in her chest. “Why are you hiding from me? You’re scaring me.”

  For a moment, he seemed uncertain, torn. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. Taking a deep breath, he drew his shoulders up and put a little physical distance between them again.

  “I’ve come to say good-bye.”

  Megan heard the words as if they’d been said from underwater. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. “What? Why? No.”

  He nodded once. When they made eye contact, his gaze was icy cold. “It is what’s right.”

  “Says who? What does that even mean?”

  “I just…needed to see you. One last time.”

  One last time? Panic surged like an electric current through her blood. “Why are you doing this? I’m sorry for what happened, Owen. I—”

  “No. Stop. Please. I’m the one who should be sorry. It was not fair to you.”

  A headache bloomed behind and above Megan’s eyes. “What are you talking about? What wasn’t fair?”

  “None of it matters now.” His expression softened, hinted at the Owen she’d come to know. The one whose eyes sparkled with mirth and warmth. A dangerous wave of hope threatened to swamp her, but then his words continued on so mechanically. “Thank you for sharing your Christmas with me.”

  “Owen, stop this. Please. Can we just talk?”

  He offered a small, sad smile. “There is nothing to say, Megan. And it’s time for me to go.”

  Fear and panic mushroomed into anger. Anger at herself for letting things get this far off track. Why couldn’t she have gotten over herself sooner? Anger on behalf of the child in her belly. No way she was letting the baby lose his father—not without a fight.

  “Are you hurt right now? Is it too warm for you here?” Her gaze bore into him as she spoke.

  “No.” His tone was almost questioning.

  “Good. Then as long as you’re not in any kind of danger, you can give me sixty seconds of your immortal life and listen. Right? Please.” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Fine.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  She closed the distance between them, gripped his crossed forearms and squeezed, ignored the way he tensed at her touch. Fix this! She released a long breath. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. When I came home and saw”—she shook her head, swallowed around the lump that sprang to life in her throat—“I’m so, so very sorry that happened to you.”

  “Megan—”

  Her eyes flashed up to his, half hidden beneath his hair. “No. You’re just listening right now, remember?”

  The shadow of a smile crossed his face. He nodded.

  “I’m sorry I left. I should’ve stayed and talked everything out with you. But I was kinda freaking out, Owen. And I needed…I just needed some time alone to think, to process. Finding out you’d hurt yourself for me, that you were vulnerable, too…” She shrugged, not letting go of his arms. “I freaked out. I was back there. On that Christmas night. Listening to two strangers tell me John had never had a chance. That he’d gone out to do something for me and wasn’t coming back. Ever. And I was right back there again.” Megan groaned. She leaned her forehead against her hands on his arms. “Shit. This isn’t what I want to say,” she murmured to herself.

  “What do you want to say, then?” he whispered.

  Something touched her hair, sent a tingle of want down her neck and spine. She lifted her gaze again. Took a deep breath and said the only thing that mattered, “I love you, Owen. I love you.” She stepped closer, until her breasts pressed against his folded arms, drawn in by the glassiness that bloomed in his eyes. “I already knew I loved you, even before I left, but I couldn’t let everything go. Being apart from you made it all so crystal clear. As soon as it hit me, I came back, so happy to tell you…” She swallowed. Reached both hands up to cup his face. “I love you. I want you. I choose you, if you’ll have me. If you’ll stay. Please s
tay, Owen. Choose me back.”

  He shook his head. “Megan.”

  “Please. Love me.” One hot tear spilled down from her right eye.

  He swallowed so roughly, she could hear it. “I do,” he whispered.

  Joy threatened to burst forth, restrained only by his continued hesitation. “Well, then, what’s—”

  “I don’t want to have pressured you into this. For you to have been guilted into this by what happened.”

  “No, I’m not. I told you. I was coming back to tell you. Before. I was ready to choose you, Owen. Before.”

  “Megan.” His deep voice trembled. “Be sure.”

  She couldn’t stop the smile that broke across her face. She would reassure him ’til the end of time if she had to. “I am. So sure. I love you. I’m in love with you. And I want you, forever. Just like you said.”

  §

  Owen heard the words, felt their pull deep within his soul. Almost six days in the healing waters of the River Acheron, one of the five rivers of the Underworld, had healed his body and restored the strength of his godhood. But the trade off—for one was always required where the gods were concerned—was the letting of his secret sorrows into the currents of the river known for providing passage of newly dead souls into the afterlife. The intense reliving of those memories was the token Owen had to pay to be ferried back to the Upper World.

  For an endless moment, his psyche was buffeted by the remembered anguish of losing his family; his soul forced to re-endure its endless solitude; his heart broke anew at Chione’s recalled betrayal.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have come directly to Megan. He should’ve waited until the soul-depressing effects of the forced remembering eased, but all he could think of was the warmth and solace Megan’s arms provided. When he’d seen her, though, all pink and wet and alive under the streaming water of the shower, he realized how unfair he’d been to try to cajole her love the way he’d done. Boreas had pushed through a cold front so Owen could return, but the Supreme God wouldn’t be able to hold out long against Zephyros’s greater power. Spring’s life had always been stronger than winter’s death. So Owen wouldn’t have long here. Certainly not long enough to court Megan, to win her love the way he needed to, the way she deserved. The whole project had been a god’s folly from the beginning.

  But then, here she was, wanting him, loving him, choosing him.

  Her soft, slim fingers stroked his face. “Please, baby, come back to me.”

  Owen sucked in a breath, her words pulling him out of his tortured thoughts. He found her eyes, sparkling blue and full of determined life, brimming with promised love.

  Then he was on her. All primal instinct, the desire flooding his body aligned with the soul-deep need of his heart.

  Arms around her small shoulders, body pressing, pressing hers until they stumbled backward into the front door. His lips rained down on her eyes, cheeks. “Oh angel,” he breathed as his mouth claimed hers. He moaned and pushed his tongue into her, needing every ounce of connection between them. Gods, this was where he belonged. Right here. With this woman. In these arms wound so tight around his neck they almost made it hard to breathe. He didn’t mind; he reveled in every bit of Megan’s touch.

  When her right leg wrapped around his thigh, his hands released their knotted hold on her hair and snaked down her body to pick her up. They both groaned as the new stance positioned his hips between her legs. He was already rock hard.

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it,” he rasped around the edges of a kiss. There was so much he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t let her go long enough to say it. Only moments before he’d convinced himself he had to let her go and now she was offering him everything, forever.

  “Shhh, we’re okay. Right?” Her voice was high, breathy.

  “So much more than okay.”

  “I missed you,” she whispered against his lips.

  The words grounded him, anchored him to the world. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Let’s never have a reason to miss each other again.”

  “Deal.” The joy she unleashed on him was like the sun dawning on a freezing-cold day. The heavy weight of ancient sorrow lifted off his soul.

  Their hands tugged at one another’s shirts. Owen set Megan back on her feet and fell to his knees to undo her jeans. Her hands felt so good stroking his hair. The button and zipper undone, he kissed Megan’s stomach as he pulled the denim down over her hips.

  Lips pressed just below her belly button, Owen froze.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Owen gasped. Life grew within her.

  Words spilled from him in the ancient language. Eyes fixed in wonder, he skimmed his hands over the silky skin of her abdomen.

  Megan slid down the door, straddled his lap. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, her eyes searching his. “So, um, I take it you can, uh, tell, too?”

  “You’re pregnant,” he whispered, awe stealing his voice.

  “Yes.”

  He pressed a hand against her belly, held it there. “I feel him within you.” My child. My son. Our son.

  Megan grinned. “Yeah?”

  He nodded. “Gods, Megan. I’m to be a father?”

  “Yes.” Her breathing hitched.

  “And you…you are the mother of my child.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “Is all this okay?”

  Okay? Owen’s head reeled at how miraculous, how momentous, this news truly was. “Second to you saying you love me, it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard.” His chest expanded and eyes stung with the force of his emotion. “Oh, however was I fortunate enough to find you?” He placed a worshipful kiss against her forehead.

  “I’m the lucky one,” she said, then released a long, weighty sigh. “God, I’m so happy you’re happy about him.”

  He sucked in a breath, pulled back so he could see her eyes. “Oh, angel, were you worried?”

  “I don’t know, I…” She shrugged.

  He pressed a chain of tiny kisses all over her face. “Be assured I want all of you. Every part of you. And this is more than I ever hoped for.” The joy that brightened her face was his greatest reward. Then something she’d said occurred to him. “Hey, what did you mean by ‘could I feel him, too?’”

  A blush colored her face. How he’d missed that lovely tell. “Boreas was here.”

  “What? When?” The Supreme God appearing to a human was beyond unusual. It was unheard of. Boreas had always kept to himself, ensconced within the Realm of Gods.

  “The day you…disappeared.” She shuddered and her eyes glassed over. “I tried to bring you back by building a new snowman. The snow was too wet, though, and it wouldn’t stay together. And I, uh, I guess I passed out in the snow.” She waved her hand. “Anyway, he found me and brought me in. He said he could feel the baby, too.”

  A torrent of responses erupted within Owen. Her effort to resurrect him. Putting herself in harm’s way, especially in her condition. Boreas’ rescue of his beloved. Mother of Gods, much had happened while he was gone. And she’d had to handle so much of it on her own. He kissed her again, poured his thanks and love, his heart and soul into it. “I love you, Megan.”

  “I love you, too, so much.”

  “Then take me to bed. Make love to me. Claim me once and for all. Root me in this world for all time.”

  Megan pulled back from their constant kisses and whispered words. “What do you…what are you saying?”

  “We must declare our love while I’m inside you. That was what the gods agreed would prove you’d chosen me, that is what will make it possible for me to stay here, with you, as a human.” Owen wrapped his arms around her and brought them both to their feet. He kissed her one last time, giddy with excitement at what was about to happen—not just the sex, but the humanity.

/>   They fumbled their way to the bedroom, kissing, removing clothes, touching, laughing, exchanging sweet declarations of love and need. Together, they climbed onto the bed. Megan lowered her back to the cool covers and beckoned his body to come to hers. Owen settled his body between her thighs and uttered a long low moan of relief and desire. He was home.

  Then he sprang up from her. Looked down at her stomach. “I will be too heavy on you…and the baby.”

  Her giggle drew his gaze away from the part of her that would soon swell with his child. A demigod. Part him. Part her. She carded her fingers through his hair, and he leaned into the touch. “You’re sweet for being concerned. But we’ll both be fine. Now, come here.”

  He crawled up her, found her lips with his. His hand dropped between her legs and stroked and circled, but found her already wet and wanting. His cock twitched and throbbed, ached for their joining. Eyes fixed on hers, he pushed forward, filled her in one slow, slick stroke. “It feels so right when I’m in you,” he said against the shell of her ear. “Like I’m right where I belong.” His body moved in long, deep strokes.

  “You are,” she whispered. “Oh, God, I love you so much I might float away.” Her arms tightened around him, nails bit into his skin.

  “Don’t worry, angel. I’ve got you. And you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Not without you.”

  “Not without me.” Never again.

  She groaned. Wrapped her legs around his lower back. “I need more.”

  He grunted. Kissed her ear, neck, cheek. “Anything for you.” He thrust harder, faster, angled his hips to hit right where it would drive her wild. “Aw, gods, I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she panted, her breath coming in shallow gasps and throaty moans.

  Pleasure clawed up Owen’s spine, ripping him apart, pulling him back together again, preparing to reassemble him into a new man. Into a human man. It was the most beautiful torment, and he chased it with every wet stroke, every open-mouthed kiss. His release would be like no other—for it would not only be physical, but psychic.