The Witch's Dream - A Love Letter to Paranormal Romance (Black Swan 2) (22 page)

"These are
so
good."

He longed to hear her talk about him in that same tone of voice, with the same inflection, and the same look on her face. "What?" He realized she was waiting for a response. "Oh, yeah, good."

Litha laughed softly. "How would you know? You wolfed yours down like there was no tomorrow."

He responded with a sort of perverse masculine pride in being accused of eating too fast. He didn't want to smile. He really didn't want to smile. So, of course, he gave her a tentative smile because lately his body always did the opposite of whatever he directed it to do.

When the train began to move, both of them looked out the window. As they pulled away from the terminal and out into the open, they could see that it was still densely overcast and raining. In ten minutes' time they had left the unattractive, industrial underside of Zurich and were looking at what was unquestionably some of the world's most beautiful scenery, at any time of year, in any weather. The snows had melted, the trees were showing buds, and grass was starting to green.

Litha crushed the paper bag, set it aside, and took a sip of coffee, looking at Storm over the top of the cup. "Have you been to Zurich before?" she asked.

Still looking out the window he nodded, then faced her. He folded his big hands loosely in his lap.

"We... my teammates and I... were here two years ago on our way to Prague. Just like now, we didn't stop."

"Have you done a lot of traveling?"

Storm barked out a laugh. The feeling it conveyed was more sarcasm than humor and the force of it had been a little startling. It caused Litha to wonder just how much anger Storm was sitting there percolating.

"Yes. I've done a lot of traveling."

She looked down at the coffee cup she was holding between two hands in her lap and back up at Storm. "How much was for fun?"

His lips pressed a little tighter together. "Working for The Order isn't a commitment to good times and you know it."

"I do know that," Litha agreed. "But it's not supposed to take everything from you either."

Storm narrowed his eyes and settled back against his seat. "You gonna try to psychoanalyze me?"

Litha shook her head slowly. "Not qualified."

"It's good to know our limitations."

Not knowing how to proceed with this dialogue, Litha looked out the window. Storm continued to stare at her for a few minutes. "So. You have a plan?"

There it was - the question she'd been dreading. She didn't want to have to tell him that she didn't have a clue, past finding the spot she'd scryed. The last thing she wanted to see written across those handsome features was disappointment, especially when the disappointment was with her.

"Truth?"

"Always," he nodded.

"I got nada."

She waited for judgment or recrimination. What she saw, instead, was enough twinkle in his eyes to indicate amusement.

"I suspected as much. Thanks for being honest." She opened up the paper bag and set her empty coffee cup inside. "So, how about a little more truth?"

"Alright," she answered warily.

"Is this a fool's errand?"

Storm watched her carefully. He was trained to read body language, facial expression, tension in voice, any sign that sent non-verbal messages. And of course, she knew that. She dragged in a big sigh.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Elora." She noticed the almost imperceptible wince, the way he blinked and shifted in his seat when she said Elora's name. After all, she had the same training he did. "That I'd rather not think impossible until there's nowhere else to go. Sometimes we get lucky."

"You've done this kind of thing before?"

It was Litha's turn to bark out a sarcastic laugh. "Nobody's done
this
kind of thing before. And that's the crux of our problem."

"So we're going to go to the spot you tracked and then..."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Look, if you have a better idea, by all means don't be bashful. Jump on in. I'm receptive."

"I'm just the escort, ma'am," he drawled.

She rubbed her right hand over her mouth in frustration. That would be frustration with him and he knew it. And enjoyed it. Why in gods' names should that please him on any level? He was such a dick. Why couldn't he stop needling her?

He was thinking that if the red color on her lips was lipstick she would have just made a comical mess. Instead, what remained was a tantalizingly fetching, rouge colored pout that was just begging to be smothered in a demanding kiss.

"It's going to be a long trip, isn't it?" Her eyes slid slowly to his as she waited to see if he'd answer.

He moved his head in an I-don't-know-about-that gesture. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Okay." She crossed her legs taking up more of the space between them, seeming to close the distance. "Is there something going on between you and
Mrs
. Hawking?"

Storm looked like he'd been baited and was rising to a challenge, but rather than sounding angry or irritated, he went stone cold in both expression and tone of voice. He leveled a stare and spoke evenly enough to get the point across that all pretense of companionship was kaput. "First of all, she's not Mrs. Hawking. She's married to Sir Rammel Hawking, but her name is Laiken. Lady Laiken. Second, my relationship with my teammates is none of your business."

With that he stood, unzipped his bag, and pulled the carryall computer down from the overhead. For the next three and a half hours he ignored Litha. Never so much as looked up once. Suddenly he shut the computer with a click, set it aside, stood up and said, "I need protein. Let's go to lunch."

Litha was thrown off balance by the sudden change of mood and wondered if that was what he had intended. If he was playing games, she decided then and there she was in over her head. She reached for her purse and stepped into the aisle where he indicated that he would follow her to the dining car.

They were seated right away. Litha's humor lightened just by the change of atmosphere. Though it was still cloudy and raining, there was much more light in the larger space. She hadn't realized that being so close to Storm, and so alone with him, felt more oppressive than intimate since he made it abundantly clear he didn't like being with her.

He unfolded a menu. "This looks good. What'll you have?"

His change of mood was abrupt, but she wouldn't question any favors from the Fates whether large, medium, or small. "I hadn't decided. Maybe fish?"

"Fish?" He looked over at her and shook his head. "I'm thinking steaks."

She looked confused. "You mean you're ordering for me?"

He looked confused. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Because you said steaks. As in plural. More than one."

"Yeah." He smiled sheepishly in spite of himself. "We get teased about how much we eat when we're away from Jefferson Unit." He chuckled. "And we have a habit of taking it poorly."

"I see."

"No. I didn't mean I'm taking it poorly with you."

Litha looked down at the menu written in German with French and English translations underneath each item. Suddenly she closed the menu and said: "You know, I've decided to go with optimism. If I need heavy-duty magicks, I need to be grounded to the earth. So I'll have a steak, too. Just this side of well done. Green salad with arugula if they have it, extra spinach if they don't. Vinaigrette on the side."

Storm looked up from his menu and blinked a couple of times before his mouth spread into a slow, sexy smile that went all the way to his eyes. When the waiter arrived at the table Storm ordered in German without ever referencing the menu or taking his eyes away from Litha. By the time he was finished and the waiter was gone, her smile matched his.

"Your German is good."

He shrugged. "My mother."

"Are you close?"

"We're not close in the sense that I call her every day, but I don't have any parent issues. The folks are alright. I didn't end up at Black Swan because they did anything wrong."

"Do you think you ended up at Black Swan because you did something wrong?"

He flashed a grin just long enough for her to see for the first time that his teeth were straight and white. "Well, let's just say my behavior, my mostly
bad
, behavior attracted the kind of attention that eventually got me noticed by Black Swan's network of people who watch for such things." He chuckled. "I was recruited by the guy who's my boss today."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen. And absolutely positive that I already knew everything worth knowing." He shook his head in self-deprecation, but he was enjoying talking about himself and Litha was enjoying a glimpse of what he was like when he wasn't wound tight as a top or seeing her as the enemy.

She got him to talk about Sol, about his training as a teenager, and about his family. He talked about being partnered with Kay and teamed with Ram, who was B Team's most senior member, and his late partner, Sir Landsdowne. When the dishes were cleared away, he asked if she wanted dessert.

When she said no, Storm laughed and said Elora would be more likely to pass up the entre and go straight to dessert, but only if it was chocolate.

"I'm not Elora." When Litha saw the transformation come over the man across the table, she wished to seven shades of Hecate that she had kept that to herself.

"Of course you're not," he said seriously. "I wasn't comparing you." He pulled his napkin out of his lap, put it on the table and said, "You ready?"

She started back the way they had come. Just as they were starting into the noisy breezeway that connected to the car their cabin was in, a clutch of rowdy boys came dashing through - some sort of young sports team on the road, oblivious and narcissistic as kids that age are.

Litha plastered herself against the outside door and Storm turned into her to protect her from being jostled. Their bodies were swaying back and forth with the movement of the train, a hair's breadth away from touching. He was looking down into her upturned face, hands on her waist to steady her. He was thinking that her features seemed even more perfect when he was close; flawless skin, large liquid eyes, and red, red lips that drew and held his stare. It was disconcerting, which led him right back to the same conclusion he kept coming to again and again. She was indiscriminately and unethically using magicks. Had to be.

Once again, he caught the scent of rainstorm, a distant childhood memory that prompted a potent visceral reaction. Visceral
and
genital. He liked it. Liked it too much. And that meant he needed to be careful around the witch. Careful with enough distrust to be smart.

"Um," Litha said, "they've gone.”

Storm took a step back and used his right hand to open the breezeway door to their car. He held it open for her to pass by ducking under his arm.

When they reached their seats and settled back in, Storm said: "Tell me about the pictures in your room."

To his surprise, she lit up like a floodlight when asked about the vineyard. She told him the story, holding nothing back. How she had just gotten her driver's license and was driving two lane roads on the coast feeling as free as if she was flying. She came over a hill and almost slammed on the brakes. It was quite surreal for Storm to listen to this other person, who wasn't him, describe his experience and his dream as if he was the one speaking.

No. That wasn't strictly true. She recalled minute details and talked about the villa in romantic ways that he felt, but wouldn't have been able to articulate. He was enthralled. So much so that when she stopped talking he wanted to ask her to start again and repeat everything she'd just said.

Instead he said, "What do you know about being a vintner?"

"A lot actually!"

That answer was clearly unexpected. Storm let the surprise register on his face.

The subject matter proved to be a source of instant animation for Litha whose excitement permeated the compartment. "I was raised in a monastery that supports itself by making wine. Great wine, I might add. You should see their reviews. Some of them are framed. That's even how I got my last name, Brandywine. I came to them when the brandy had just gotten a lot of great press exposure because of the reviews of some celebrity sommeliers."

"You were raised in a monastery?"

Litha grinned and nodded. "The Cairdeas Deians. Not everybody gets that mom, dad, 2.2 kids, 1 dog thing. In my case it was a little black haired girl and seven monks wearing long sleeved, floppy tunics. Quite a picture, I know. And I wouldn't trade it for anybody else's situation."

Storm looked fascinated and wanted to hear more, but wasn't sure about how the questions running through his mind would be received. So she decided to cut him a break.

"How did it happen?" she asked.

He just nodded.

"The story goes that I was left on church steps in a little village in England." She leaned in conspiratorially and made his heart speed up with her wicked smile. "A little village that's very near a place famous for witches, by the way." She stood up and started to pull off her hoodie. Staying seated where he was he grabbed the wrist of one sleeve and held it in place while she pulled her arm free. He didn't plan to make a study of the way her white silk tee shirt pressed against the curve of her breasts when she stretched, but he was at eye level.