North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1) (9 page)

Her eyes bulged with his tacit admission. “You’re from heaven?” she squeaked.

His open expression was warm, gentle. “I spend a lot of time here, but, yes, I’m from elsewhere.”

Her mind whirled. If that was really true… Panic seized Megan’s gut. “But you said you were real.”

“Shhh, angel. I am. You’re making me real.”

Megan dropped her face into her hands and groaned, the clattering of her teeth drawing out the muffled sound.

“Oh, for the love of Boreas.” He rubbed his hands over her arms and muttered something that sounded self-chiding under his breath. “I’m sorry. You’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.”

“Who’s Boris?” she asked, a little dizzy from the orgasm and the revelations and the hard-left-turn change in topic.

He smiled. “Bor-e-as,” he enunciated. “Long story.”

She shook her head. Dropped her gaze to his stomach.

He dipped his head and caught her eyes from under his hair. “I know, I know. I’m being vague again, aren’t I?”

She nodded, chewed her lip. Multiple topics fought for center stage, clung to the tip of her tongue. But cold permeated her body. She couldn’t stop shaking. “You’ll keep talking inside?”

“Of course.” He lifted her off his lap. They each collected some of the lunch mess in their hands. Owen looked down into the consolidated frozen block that formed the remainder of the second snow cone. “Damn shame,” he mumbled. “Thank you, by the way. It was magnificent.”

“You’re welcome.” Megan nodded, met his gaze, then blushed. Her heart tripped over itself. The heat coming out of his mismatched eyes made it clear he wasn’t thanking her for the dessert alone.

Jesus, he’d given her an orgasm without hardly touching her. And not just any orgasm. A scream-yourself-hoarse, feel-it-in-muscles-you-didn’t-know-you-had orgasm.

In desperate need of a break from his intensity, Megan scrambled through the door of the igloo on shaky legs. Once out, she rose and stretched, sucked in a mouthful of clean winter air. Clouds had returned, dulling the morning’s crisp blue sky into a milky white and dropping the temperature.

She glanced over her shoulder at Owen, now standing to his full height and inspecting the exterior of the igloo. He smoothed his hands over its domed roof. The action seemed filled with great care. His posture was relaxed, confident, full of the kind of easy grace a body exhibited when in its element.

Megan shivered. Wanting the warmth of the cabin, she crunched up the shoveled path. Thoughts—her own—whirled through her head:

Owen needs the snow.

Owen prefers the cold.

Owen’s from ‘somewhere else.’

Owen is magic.

The pieces of the puzzle shifted, tried to fit together. Her steps slowed as her mind drifted, focused on whatever it was she was missing. She stumbled a bit, caught herself.

When she reached the cleared sidewalk, she turned and waited for Owen, her mind still chugging…trying to…it was so close…

Owen looked up. His dark blue and brown eyes glinted playfully from under his black hair. Lips so red…

In a flash, she saw herself. Christmas Eve. The snowman. Sorting the buttons. Disappointed she didn’t have a matching pair for the eyes. Deciding it didn’t matter—the large navy and chocolate buttons were all she had…

Realization slammed into her.

She gasped and stumbled back against the wall of the porch, flailing away from what her mind had deduced. No, no. Impossible!

“Megan?” Owen shook his black hair off his face and frowned. “What’s—”

“Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygod!” The black knit cap she’d pulled down over the snow man’s head.

Oh, Jesus, the snowman was gone. Gone! Her eyes flashed from the man’s empty place beside the family to Owen.

No, not gone. Not gone at all.

Chapter Twelve

Dark spots flickered around the edges of Megan’s vision, threatened to close in, swallow her up. She gasped for breath, the cold, cold gulps scorching on their way down into the tightened confines of her chest.

“Y…you…sn…snow…”

Owen’s hands clutched at her biceps. “Shhh, angel. It’s okay. Come on.” He scooped her into his arms. The white of the sky hung above her, then the dense brown of the porch ceiling. Her body settled into soft leather-scented comfort, then he tugged her coat open, pulled off her gloves, and threaded the scarf from around her neck.

Breathe. Just breathe
. Easier now. Easier. The halo around her vision faded. Her eyes focused on Owen’s hovering form, looking down at her.

She pushed up into a sitting position, listed to the left for a moment until her equilibrium returned, then hauled herself off the couch. The impossibility of her realization set her heart crashing against her breastbone. “You’re…you were…I mean…the snow man?”

His mismatched eyes were wary, his breathing on the verge of distressed. For just a moment he looked away, shook his head as if debating with himself. When his gaze cut back to her, determination framed his handsome face. His flushed, sweaty face. “Yes,” he breathed.

Megan nodded, processing, pushing through her amazement to belief, and scanned her gaze over his body. His perfectly real, seemingly human, very male body.

His chest shuddered in a labored breath. Like before.

Oh, no.

What he was. Did it matter? He was standing before her. Hurting.

“What do you need?”

“I’ll”—he swallowed hard enough she could hear it—“adjust in a minute.”

“Sit.” She pointed at the couch. He nodded and sat heavily against the leather cushions. Megan shed her coat and dashed into the kitchen to collect the things that had helped before. On the way back through, she yanked open the front door, letting the winter air pour in.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay. Here.”

Owen grasped the tall glass of ice water and chugged it down. Megan stood guard over him, his distress raising her protective instincts. Her mind insisted she was freaking crazy to believe he was her snowman come to life, but her deepest heart knew it was true. But how? When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Take your shirt off,” Megan ordered as she pulled the empty cup from his hand. Not hesitating, he yanked it over his head. He was gorgeous in all his raw, bare masculinity, but his discomfort was what most captured her attention. “Lay back.” Megan draped the cold towel over his chest. He groaned and his eyelids fell closed. With a second, she mopped his forehead, wetting his hair as she pushed it back off his face. A healthy tone returned to his skin, the flush receding, his breathing easing. “Is this helping?”

He grabbed her wrist, unfolded her fingers from around the smaller cloth, which dropped to his stomach. Holding her gaze, he pressed a long soft kiss against her palm. “Yes, thank you,” he finally said.

His gratitude was so palpable, Megan’s stomach jumped and fluttered. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, it’s just the change from being outside. I’m kinda new at this. Have to remember to take it slower.”

Megan nodded. “Yeah.” She sucked in a breath, realizing he’d rushed in for her. She’d totally been on the verge of fainting. “Thank you for helping me.”

He reached out a big hand and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Anything,” he whispered.

She kicked her boots off and shifted on the couch, pulled her knees up underneath her. “So…” Embarrassment and curiosity washed through her. Where to start?

“So.”

A gust of wind shoved through the door, pushed Megan’s curls forward to dance around her face. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself.

Owen’s gaze flicked over her shoulder. The door closed with a gentle click. Megan’s pulse quickened again. She didn’t need to ask if he’d done it. The raised hair on the back of her neck told her all she needed to know.

Owen stretched an arm out toward her. His gaze lingered on his fingers as they played with her curls. He released a deep breath. “The snowman was the easiest way to manifest. Your tears on the snow helped me take this form.” He waved his free hand in front of his chest. “It’s been a long time since I was last corporeal.”

Megan heard the words, but felt foggy-headed, like she was watching the scene unfold from outside her body. “Corporeal. I don’t understand. What are you?”

“A snow god, one of the gods of winter.”

Her heart fluttered and skipped within her chest. “A snow god,” she whispered, trying the words on for size. Megan dipped her head and caught his gaze. The moment their eyes met, she felt the truth of his admission. Restrained power rippled beneath his human façade, flashed behind the dark blue and brown. “Are there many of, uh, you…snow gods?”

He inhaled a deep breath. “Many gods rule over earthly affairs, Megan, though only some belong to the Realm of Winter.”

Her mind reeled as Owen painted this new reality into existence. “So, what does this mean for, like, you know,
God
. And heaven,” she added, thinking of John. Imagining him in a heavenly paradise had always offered a sliver of comfort.

“The spiritual and otherworldly elements of all the human religious traditions are based in some fact. My presence need not interfere with your beliefs in
God
and heaven and the angels. We co-exist quite peacefully.” He smiled as if enjoying an inside joke.

Megan swallowed, sorted her myriad thoughts. “Is that how you met John?” Her voice trembled, heart clenched, not out of grief or fear, but out of anticipation of learning what he’d experienced after dying. The idea of conscious existence after death thrilled her. It meant, somewhere, John was still out there. Solace and excitement filled her, shivered through her whole body until she could barely sit still.

“Yes. John was a special case, for me. Human, but a distant relative.”

Megan gaped. “What? How?”

“John
Snow
,” he said.

“Wait. Are you telling me—”

“The Snows were the product of a joining between a winter god and a human. Generations ago. He wasn’t aware of it. In life.”

“John was a god?” Boy, he must’ve gotten a kick out of that! “Don’t let it go to your head, mister,” she called out to the room. Megan’s face warmed under Owen’s adoring gaze.

“John wasn’t a god. But his lineage caught the pantheon’s attention. When his soul pleaded for assistance, we couldn’t ignore blooded kin.”

“And he wanted—”

“Happiness. For you. That’s all he needs to find peace.”

Megan gasped. Her eyes stung.
Oh, John
.

§

Owen squeezed her hand. “His memories of you were stunning—he saw you as full of life, beautiful, so kind.
Warm
. It had been so long since I’d last walked upon the earth as a human. I agreed to try to help you. And then you gave me your tears, and made me yours.” He tossed the damp towels aside and turned toward her, then rested his head next to hers on the back of the couch. He looked at her a long moment. “And now I’m here for you, Megan. I am enchanted, as surely as if you were the goddess and I the mortal.”

Megan blinked, shook her head, opened and closed her mouth. Her gaze pleaded with him. “I don’t even know where to begin to respond.”

Owen found her effort to even try to understand so brave, so appealing. Millennia of observing humans taught him they often rejected the supernatural out of hand, or ran screaming in the other direction. Such reactions were understandable, of course, which was exactly what made Megan’s calm introspection so remarkable. “I know.”

“Um, could he have”—her eyes flickered to his, then dropped—“well, come back himself?”

Owen swatted away the jealousy that wanted to spring forward. He couldn’t hold the question against her. After all, she’d loved John. And their love was what brought John to request his assistance. “John’s soul was mortal. Returning to life wasn’t his path. He understood that and made peace with it.”

She nodded. “If he couldn’t come here, then how am I hearing him?”

“Mmm, yes. Well, you’re hearing him because I’m here. He’s interloping on my power.”

Megan frowned. “But I heard the voice before you showed up. The day before.”

Owen shook his head. “I was already here. Since the Solstice. The veil between our worlds is thinnest then.”

“The twenty-second? But…you didn’t show up until Christmas.”

“I needed to lay some groundwork. Give this time to work.” He flicked his finger back and forth between them. “The snowstorm,” he offered in explanation.

“That was you?”

“Snow god, remember?”

She sagged into the sofa back. “Right.” She released a shaky breath. “So, what does it mean to be a snow god, exactly?”

“I’m one of winter’s guardians on earth. In my world, they call us the Anemoi, the masters of wind, the guardians of seasons. Humans call us by many names. Makers of the White. Defenders of the North Wind. Bringers of Winter—”

“Winter.” She smirked. “Owen Winters?”

Her good humor warmed him with hope. “Owen is my true name.”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “Owen, God of Snow, Bringer of Winter…” She dropped her gaze to their intertwined hands, traced her fingers along his.

He groaned. Her incantation rocked through him, invoked him to respond regardless of her intent. Struggling to resist, Owen ground his teeth together, but the urge was too strong and he launched forward, captured her face in his hands, her lips with his.

His body roared back to life, remembered its earlier arousal. Demanded satiation. Megan moaned into his mouth, pawed and grasped at his bare chest. His tongue begged for entrance, which she granted. Gods, he could still taste the strawberry and chocolate on her—flavors that, for him, would forever be tied to her most intimate scent. In the confined space of the igloo, her enticing wetness had bloomed around him, exploded through his senses as she’d released. Her euphoria had seemed such a magnificent triumph that his power had flared, burst from him in a moment of unguarded weakness. It had snowed.

Hand in her hair, he pressed against her, laid her back onto the soft skin of the sofa. He settled atop her, his hips cradled between her thighs, his big body embraced by feminine curves. Small hands clutched at his shoulders and neck, made him feel claimed, wanted. Needed. He never knew how fulfilling humanity could be, but human connection offered such sweet satisfaction. Now that he had it, he couldn’t imagine going without.

Small moans and whimpers rose up from Megan’s throat. The sounds ricocheted through Owen’s body, made him hard and impatient where he rocked against her. Her hands locked behind his neck, she held her breath, clenched her eyes shut.

She was still kissing him, but something felt off.

Owen pulled back to find tears streaming from her eyes. His heart dropped into his stomach. “Have I hurt you?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, shook her head. Watery blue eyes peered up at him. Full of grief.

Mind reeling with concern and confusion, he stroked her cheek. The need to ease her rocked through him. “Please, Megan.”

“Too good to be true. Knew it,” she rushed in a tear-strained voice.

Owen frowned, tried but failed to follow her logic. “I don’t—”

She dropped her hand, wiped at the tears on one side. “If you’re a god, you can’t stay. You’ll have to go. Sometime. And I’ll—”

He shook his head. “I want to stay, Megan.” Perhaps the biggest understatement he’d ever uttered. Not only did he want her, he wanted what a life with her could offer—loving companionship, a satisfying conclusion to the empty endlessness of immortality. Not even the loss of his powers outweighed the myriad benefits of humanity.

She pushed against him, but he held fast. “Please don’t. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I couldn’t—”

He cupped her face, leaned right over her, and forced her eyes to meet his. “You need only choose me, Megan, and I will stay forever.”

She frowned, batted away more tears. “Choose you. How?”

He had the benefit of John’s memories, days of studying her, an eternity of aloneness that she’d cured with her compassion and playfulness and kindness. He loved her already. Though the possibility existed she might never feel that way, Owen took a deep breath and asked for the same in return. “Want me. Need me.
Love
me. Your love can hold me here, with you. Forever.”