Authors: Anya Richards
“She was afraid for you.” Jasmina nodded, as if to reinforce
her words. “She didn’t want anyone thinking you were like him. And you’re not,
at all.”
Her quick defense of his character made some of his fear
retreat. He even mustered a small smile, although his heart clenched with pain.
“Thanks. I think she’d be glad to hear you say so.”
Jasmina’s gaze searched his, and whatever she saw there made
her whisper, “What happened to your mother?”
Vidar tried to draw a steadying breath but his throat felt
as though it was filled with glass, and the air rasped as he inhaled. “He found
her. I don’t think she thought he’d even care that she was gone. Years later I
found out that he’d stolen her from her family, had kept her for months before
she escaped. She never spoke about it, but I saw how scared she was of
strangers, saw how we hid from most people. He abused her and probably thought
of her as his. One night, just before sunrise, we were tending the sheep when
he appeared. He came after me, and my mother screamed for me to get away. Before
I even understood what was happening, she grabbed him and then they were both
gone.”
Jasmina’s eyes had widened as he spoke, and the grip of her
fingers on his was almost painful. Questions swirled across her face, but she
seemed unable to articulate them. Taking another deep, painful breath, he said,
“I never saw her alive again. He translocated them back to where they came
from, and they got caught in the sun.”
“By the stars.” She sounded as though the story hurt her as
much as it did him. “How old were you?”
“About eleven.” He tugged her hand, gently turning her back
up the hill. “We have to go up, Jazz.”
He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It still hurt too
much, even with her quiet acceptance and empathy taking much of the sting out
of the telling. She was silent as they went up the path, turning the final
corner and continuing toward the plateau above. As they exited the track and
moved toward where the sheep milled close to the hillside, held there by Ragnor
and Rokk, she came to a stop.
“Vidar.” Her voice was low and strained. “Who looked after
you when your mother disappeared?”
He couldn’t look at her, had to make it seem as though what
he was about to say didn’t matter, although it had colored every aspect of his
life from that moment on. In fact he walked away toward the cliff face,
throwing the words carelessly over his shoulder.
“People dropped in occasionally. But mostly I was alone.”
The little sound she made struck deep in his gut, and he
squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
“You’re not alone now, troll.” She tried to sound tough, but
fierce compassion came through in every word. “And I promise you’ll never be
completely alone again.”
And he loved her more in that second than he ever dreamed he
could love, had to clench his teeth against the joy and fear expanding in his
heart.
Chapter Nine
He was left alone at eleven.
Absently she looked around, glad she’d thought to wear a
woolen trench since a brisk, cold breeze whipped along the sheer cliff facing
her. There were more torches in place along the rock wall, their golden light
glittering on the blowing snow and illuminating the leafless plants ringing the
plateau. There didn’t appear to be any openings in the hillside but, as Jasmina
watched Vidar wade through the flock, she was still too caught up in his story
to even wonder what he was doing.
At eleven her mother had been alive and they’d been
surrounded by people—her father’s other wives and children, guards, servants.
Every need she’d had, even those never expressed, had been fulfilled. And
although she hadn’t been close to her father, at least she’d had one. The
thought of Vidar, so young, alone, frightened and fending for himself, broke
her heart.
How had he turned out so well? He was shy, yes, but not to
the point of paralysis. It seemed incredible that he had raised himself and
wasn’t a complete sociopath.
The sheep moved, a restless, milling motion, and they looked
as though they were going
into
the rock. Stepping closer, she could see
a small opening, barely wider than Vidar’s shoulders, in the previously blank
cliff. Ragnor and Rokk were nipping around the flock, keeping them moving
forward and through into whatever lay beyond.
As the last sheep went through, Vidar finally spoke again.
“Come. We’ll go in this way. I’ll show you the front door
tomorrow.”
He stood back for her to precede him and, after a brief
hesitation, Jasmina walked past him and into the hillside.
The passage was dark and narrow, but before she could feel
claustrophobic she came out the other end into a large field, with grass
showing through the snowdrifts. It was a surprise to see that although the
space was completely surrounded by rocks, it was also open to the sky.
“I keep the sheep in here, where they’ll be safe, during the
day.” She glanced back as Vidar spoke, just in time to see the opening they’d
just come through close. Once it had, the rock seemed completely impenetrable.
He came to her side and took her hand again, curling his fingers around hers.
“The lambs stay up here too, until they’re a little bigger. Even with Ragnor
and Rokk to take care of them, they’re vulnerable, having just been born.”
She could see one or two of the youngsters frisking about,
and another followed its mother out of the stone barn at the far end of the
field to join the rest of the flock. Now that everything was secure for the
day, the two wolves began a game of tag, nipping at each other as they chased
around, working their way across the field toward the right-hand wall. With a
little tug at her hand, Vidar started walking in the same direction. Now she
could see shuttered windows set into the rock and a large wooden door, banded
with silver. As they approached it swung open, and a golden glow spilled out
onto the stone threshold.
Still holding her hand, Vidar led her inside. She hadn’t
known what to expect of a troll cave, but there was no way she would have
imagined this huge, flagstone-floored kitchen. Large as it was, a number of oil
lamps set on tables and hanging from brackets on the stone walls cast a cozy
light, emphasizing the homey atmosphere. A giant fireplace made of gray stones
dominated one wall, while a counter ran the width of the room beneath the
windows and housed a deep farmhouse sink. Bundles of herbs hung from the
rafters and perfumed the room with their sweet, sharp tang. Everything,
including the dining table and the upholstered chairs in front of the hearth,
seemed to be on a massive scale. But as Vidar moved into the room, adding
perspective, Jasmina realized they were just troll-sized.
At the quiet click of the door behind them, Vidar seemed to
relax, and Jasmina realized how worried he must have been by the approaching
dawn.
“Come in. Make yourself at home.” He let go of her hand and
bent to unlace his boots. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Not right now, thanks.” She was too busy taking in the
ambiance. “I like this room a lot.”
He glanced up, a slow tilt of his lips showing his pleasure.
“I’m glad. I’ll show you around the rest if you’d like?”
“I would like.”
Straightening, he shot a swift look at the chronometer above
the mantelpiece as he toed off one boot, shrugging out of his sheepskin vest at
the same time. “There’s just enough time to show you the greenhouse before
sunrise.”
“You have a greenhouse?” Following his lead, she unzipped
her boots and pulled them off. With a considering look at the stone floor, and
a mental shrug, she magicked a pair of warm slippers onto her feet. “I’d
definitely like to see that.”
He smiled. “From the number of plants in your apartment, I
thought you might. Come.”
Waiting until she’d taken off her woolen coat and hung it on
one of the hooks beside the door, he preceded her to a door on the wall
opposite the fireplace. As soon as he opened it, the scent of moist earth,
flowers and greenery teased her nostrils. Stepping through, she came to a
shocked halt, taking in the gigantic room filled with raised beds, each
overflowing with plants of every description. Crazy to think it was still
winter outside, when in here it looked like late spring.
“How wonderful.”
Jasmina made no effort to disguise her astonishment, heard
his little rumble of pleasure in response.
There were palm and orange trees, herbs, vegetables and
flowers of every description. Some of the beds had vines trailing down out of
them, giving the greenhouse an aura of having grown organically rather than
being planned. Yet it was obvious a great deal of thought had gone into its
design.
Looking up, she could see the huge grid high above her head,
filled with pane after pane of glass that reflected the flickering light of the
torches. Moving farther into the room, she reached out to touch the petal of a
tiny orchid, one of probably a hundred on the long spike.
“Beautiful, Vidar.”
“Yes.”
She glanced back, found him standing in the doorway watching
her, his eyes veiled behind drooping lids. Something about the set of his lips
made a hot shiver go up her spine, brought everything they’d done during the
night rushing back. Immediately her body responded, heating and tingling,
happily readying itself for him again.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she turned back to the
flowers, needing a moment to get herself back under control. There’d never been
another man who affected her the way Vidar did, filling her with the sense of
being needed, wanted. Just that one look made her heart race.
Moving farther into the greenhouse, she came across a niche
in the wall. On the narrow shelf were some lumps of amber, a bowl with apples
and a statue of a golden boar. In the flowerbed in front of the recess were a
variety of plants, only a few of which Jasmina recognized. Just visible among
the flowers and leaves she saw tiny stone cats, each a miniature work of art.
“That’s my shrine to Freyja, my goddess.”
She hadn’t heard Vidar move, but her awareness of him was so
acute she’d known exactly when he’d come to stand behind her.
“It was a prayer of praise to her that I tattooed on your
arms, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” There was a wealth of emotion in his voice and
Jasmina’s heart stuttered, but she was afraid to turn so as to see his
expression. “It was with her grace I survived after my mother died, to her that
I pray.”
“What—” Why was her mouth suddenly so dry, her heart
galloping like an out-of-control horse? Jasmina licked her lips and tried
again. “What kind of goddess is she?”
He moved to stand beside her, and she looked up. The light
in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.
“She’s worshiped by many for her various attributes, known
as a goddess of war, even of wealth. But to me she is the goddess of love.”
Captivated, head swimming under that fierce, beautiful gaze,
Jasmina felt her life-path shift, waver, only to reform into a new,
frightening,
thrilling
road. Jinn didn’t believe gods and goddesses
directed their lives. To them destiny was written in the stars—immutable,
inescapable. But right now she didn’t care whether it was a goddess or the
stars that had brought them together, only knew they were meant to be.
Vidar blinked, glanced up at the glass ceiling. Following
his gaze, Jasmina could see the lightening of the sky, and she started back
toward the kitchen. Silent, Vidar followed and closed the door once they were
back inside. Jasmina rubbed her arms, avoiding looking at Vidar, suddenly
almost shy. Impossible to ignore the change in—no, the acknowledgement of—her
feelings. If anything she’d expected to fall for him in the physical,
superficial way she always did, had known herself already partway there. Never
had she expected to go past that into the realm of real, abiding love.
She hadn’t even been sure she was capable of that kind of
emotion. Now, with a shiver of fear and excitement, Jasmina recognized the
strength and complexity of her emotions, felt as though they were throwing her
into a tailspin.
“I want to show you something else.”
How could he sound so calm when the very foundation of her
life had just exploded? Taking a deep breath, resolved to play it as cool as
possible, she nodded. “Okay.”
Using his hand on the small of her back, Vidar guided her
toward an arched doorway. The light pressure of his palm made a warm tingle fire
up her spine, and the hair at the back of her neck rose. The passage they
stepped into was long and shadowy, unadorned beyond a simple, durable, woven
grass runner softening the stones underfoot. As they made their way along the
corridor Jasmina wondered about the doorways they passed, but Vidar didn’t
pause or tell her what the rooms were. She wanted to joke, break the silence,
but the air around them seemed heavy, suddenly fraught, and she couldn’t think
of even one witty thing to say.
At the end of the corridor, they went through a door and
Jasmina’s heart lurched when she realized they were in his bedroom. But she had
only a moment to take in the simple furnishings, light woods and neutral colors
before he steered her across the room. As they stepped through another doorway
torches flared to life, and Jasmina gasped.
“Oh, Vidar. How gorgeous.”
It was a grotto, carved by water bubbling from beneath the
earth to form a deep, clear pool, the surface of which was wreathed in a light
mist of steam. The surrounding rock was white, with golden seams and tiny
flecks of some mineral that glimmered and gleamed in the torchlight. To one
side was a cluster of fat tallow candles set amidst a mound of amber stones
and, as she watched, the candles flickered to life and the torches were doused,
leaving them bathed in a soft, warm glow.
“This is where I’ve always felt closest to the goddess.” His
voice was low and thick and sent a shudder of awareness through every nerve in
Jasmina’s body. “Where I prayed to her, begging for her beneficence.”
As though pulled by a force far stronger than her will,
Jasmina turned to face him, found him looking down at her, his expression
dreamy, eyes sparking blue fire to scorch her soul.
“Did…” She had to stop, lick her suddenly dry lips. “Did she
answer your prayers?”
Slowly his hands rose. The tips of his fingers touched her
cheeks, trailed down to her neck and came to rest on her shoulders. There was a
flash of his magic, stronger, more assured than she’d felt earlier, and her
clothing disappeared. Jasmina gasped, both from his boldness and the swirl of
the warm, moist air over her exposed skin. Instinctively she reciprocated,
using her magic to bare his body in turn and swept her palms over his sides,
down to his hips. A sweet shudder of reaction rippled through his muscles.
“She led me to you.” His thumbs traced her collarbones, and
the simple touch felt more intimate than a kiss. “Without my need to worship
Her, I would never have thought of getting the tattoos, and never have met you.”
Jasmina’s heart lurched, the wild, erratic thump making her
lightheaded. Or was it the joy spiraling out through her veins making her sway?
It wasn’t the declaration of love she so desperately craved, but it was close
enough.
“I thank her too, then, for bringing you to me.”
His smile was incandescent, transformed his face into lines
of such beauty tears prickled the backs of Jasmina’s eyes.
Without another word, Vidar swept her up into his arms. Two
long strides took him to the edge of the pool. Another step took them into the
warm, still water and they both exhaled at the same time in a quiet symphony of
pleasure. Turning in his arms, Jasmina wrapped her legs around his waist and
ran her fingers into his hair, holding his head in place so she could see his
expression. Vidar’s erection nestled against her stomach and his hands cupped
her ass, the water making them slide over her skin.
The moist heat should have been relaxing. But its effect was
neutralized by being held so close to his gorgeous body, gazing into his
desire-heavy eyes. And the slow motion of his fingers, which moved closer to
her pussy in tiny, relentless increments, threatened to drive her insane. Sore
as she was from their previous encounters, she wanted him with an almost
ravenous hunger, needing the physical to cement this new dimension of their
relationship.
He shifted, one hand remaining on her ass, the other curling
around her thigh. Now his fingertips were almost aligned, settling in a ragged
line on one side of the crack of her ass to the crease at the top of her leg.
Just a little readjustment would have them touching every quivering inch of her
most intimate flesh. His arms trembled, the sensation echoing through her. She
tightened her hold on his waist, his hair, saw his lips part on a quiet growl.