Kaira returned to her series of images and found a man admiring them intently. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a black knit cap over white hair that hung past his shoulders. His long leather coat appeared soft and worn with age. Gray-brown fur surrounded his collar. She approached him from the side and something about him sent a tingle down her spine when she got a good look at his face. His size, posture and bearing had made him seem younger, but the white hair and drawn appearance of his pale face, almost gaunt, gave the exact opposite impression. Not old, really, but older.
Eyes the color of icy blue topaz cut toward her and narrowed. His gaze was penetrating in its intensity. His head tilted and his brow furrowed as he studied her, as if puzzled by her appearance.
For a moment, her greeting stuck in her throat. She cleared it and offered a soft, “Hallo,” in Norwegian, in which she was fluent. The Scandinavian languages were largely mutually understandable.
His expression cleared and he nodded. He glanced to the contestant ribbon pinned above her breast. “Are these yours?” he asked, gesturing to the wall. His accent marked him as a native and his voice was like melted chocolate, unexpectedly warm and smooth, deliciously appealing.
“Ja,” she managed, stepping closer. Despite his age, something about him attracted and intrigued her.
“Truly remarkable shots. I’ve always been fascinated by the lights. These photographs capture the majesty and wonder of them as well as any I’ve seen.”
Excitement and pride welled up within her. “And that is one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. Thank you.” Awkwardness threatened, so Kaira plunged on. “Have you been to the festival before?”
“Many times,” he said, dragging an appreciative glance over her gown. “You?”
She fought back a blush. “This is my first time.”
“Well, I welcome you to my hometown, then,” he said with a small bow and a smile that charmed. The expression made him appear younger, less troubled. He turned toward her and Kaira was struck by his size. A good eight inches taller than her, despite her heels. If he’d been more muscular, he would’ve been downright imposing. Instead, hollows carved shadows into his face and the bones of his long-fingered hands protruded.
With all the time Kaira had spent around other cancer patients, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was sick. The speculation made her feel some small affinity with him and she smiled back. “Besides the gallery owner, I think you might be the first person I’ve met who’s actually from here.”
“Truly? My family has lived here for centuries.”
Her heart gave a little squeeze. To know that kind of history about your family, to have such deep roots. So foreign to her, and yet the thought was able to set off a deep longing within her. What she wouldn’t give to have a family of her own. Old emotions caught her off guard, and she turned to the photographs hanging on the wall so she had a modicum of privacy to blink away the blindsiding sadness. “The lights must feel like old friends to you, then,” she finally said. Tromsø’s position in the middle of the auroral zone made it one of the best places in the world to witness them.
When he didn’t respond, she looked back to him.
The man stood right behind her. She hadn’t heard him move or felt his nearness. He stared at her, hard and unapologetically, his gaze focused somewhere just below her face. His nostrils flared and his tongue dragged over his lip.
Kaira’s pulse raced, her heart tripping into a sprint. Gasping, she inhaled a spicy-sweet scent, warmed cinnamon with just a hint of cayenne. Heat flashed through her, as if her fever had suddenly spiked. Before her very eyes, the man’s face changed, the angles of his jaw and cheek sharpening, his pale eyes dilating, his mouth opening.
Panic skittered down her spine, the urge to fight or flee settling into every muscle in her body. Surely she was misreading the situation. Seventy people surrounded them in the middle of this well-lit public place. There was no danger here. Drawing moisture into her mouth, she said, “I’m Kaira Sorensen. And you are?” She couldn’t quite force herself to extend a hand.
Something flickered behind his gaze, and his eyes snapped to hers—and flashed with light. She would’ve sworn it. He sucked in a harsh breath. “Jakob,” he said, louder than necessary, the smooth tone gone. Now his voice sounded strained and ragged.
Instincts on even higher alert, she made herself observe basic pleasantries. Last thing she wanted to do was make a scene. “Nice to meet you, Jakob.”
Out of nowhere, another man appeared at their side. Kaira took a surprised step backward and gawked. Tall, broad, blond hair with an unusual braid hanging down one side. Ruggedly handsome and breathtakingly masculine. The resemblance between the pair was striking, except for the difference in their ages and the older man’s leanness. The newcomer grabbed Jakob’s arm and yanked him back from her. “Let’s go.”
Jakob stood there, as if mesmerized.
The younger man grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to turn away, and then he hauled him across the room and out the door. Another man followed closely on their heels, nearly as tall and as broad.
The door closed behind them.
Shaking and heart pounding within her chest, Kaira cut her gaze to the right and left. The reception carried on around her, no one seeming to have paid any attention to her strange exchange with the man, or to his hasty departure.
What the heck had just happened? And why did she feel to her very marrow she’d just escaped a brush with death?
Chapter 3
Henrik’s back slammed against a brick wall, the darkness of the narrow alley sheltering their trio from the tourists thronging Tromsø’s streets.
Lars stood at the entrance, making sure no one developed an unhealthy curiosity.
Jakob got right up in Henrik’s face, forearm pressing into the king’s chest. “What happened?”
He shook his head, swallowing thickly, his hunger burning so intensely it was almost a living thing within him. “Wanted her,” he rasped. It hadn’t been a decision. There wasn’t anything rational or conscious about it. From the first moment she’d approached him, he was awash in her appealing scent, like the smoky berries of a vintage wine or the rich bite of an aged, dignified whiskey.
“Wanted her how?”
“I wanted her.” He knocked his head against the brick. Even now, he couldn’t shake the image of the vein’s rhythmic dance along her slender neck or of the luscious dip of her cleavage, both displayed so invitingly by her upswept hair. His fangs throbbed with a want and a need he couldn’t remember feeling in ages. Not to mention the aching hard-on between his legs.
“Straight out no-shit bloodlust?” Something like hope sounded in the warrior’s deep voice.
“Ja.” Henrik heaved a deep breath of cold January air as his imagination unhelpfully replayed how it would’ve gone down. Tearing the gown from her trim body. Holding her curves in his hands. Bearing her up against the wall. Sinking his fangs and his cock in deep until every dark, needy part of him was sated.
“I’ll get her.” Jakob turned away.
The king slammed his hand down on his brother’s shoulder and gripped hard. “Nei.”
“You want her. You need her.”
“I’ll kill her.”
Because he wouldn’t be able to stop.