He covered one of my hands with his. A torrent of sensation accompanied the weight of his flesh pressing against mine, anchoring me in place. I reached into the maple floorboards, sought the dank soil and bedrock underneath the house. Instead of receiving a calming, connecting rebound, flickers of desire scuttled over the surface of my skin, like someone was trailing the tips of their fingernails—or the end of a branch—over my forearms and up my legs.
Tanner’s pupils dilated; the hand on mine pressed heavier, and he brought the other one to cup my jaw. Unexpected heat flooded my inner thighs and prickled against my sex. I followed his unspoken suggestion as he rose, brought his other hand to my face, and stared.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “Are you trying to spell me?”
His entire body went rigid. He shook his head. Didn’t speak. His arms, bent at the elbows, lifted me until my toes scrabbled to stay in contact with the floor.
This was not my idea of foreplay. “Tanner!”
I grabbed his wrists, thick with rigid tendons, and yelled his name again. Boards creaked, my house trembled, and the sensation I’d had outside earlier—of cool fingers of night air wrapping my waist—returned. This time the invisible digits were thicker, colder, more insistent. More embodied, as though they were trying to separate me from Tanner.
One loud snap from the edge of the woods and the golden light in his eyes flickered out.
My heels hit floorboards, the walls groaned, and I tried to wriggle away. But he kept hold of my face, bringing his forehead to mine.
“What the hell?” I demanded.
“She’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?” I squeezed his wrists again, tried pulling his hands off my face so he’d get the message and let me go. His skin was fiery hot and slicked with sweat while mine self-armored with scattered patches of goosebumps.
He kept his forehead mashed against mine as though he could bore his way past skin and bone, inhaling and exhaling slowly even as he relaxed some of the intensity of his grip. His overheated fingers slid past my ears and rubbed at my scalp.
I shook my head, finally able to disengage from his touch. “Tanner, who is coming?”
Chapter 6
The vibrations from another subterranean snap echoed from below the concrete foundation. Tanner dropped to his hands and knees, pushed away the wool rug, his movements frantic.
“I need something to draw with, Calliope, something…” His gaze was wild. He sat back on his heels, patted his pockets, and drew out the pocketknife he’d used earlier. Stabbing at his thumb, he gestured me to join him. “Sit. Hurry.”
I shook my head. “No way, not until you explain this.”
“No time,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “No time.” He dropped the knife, grabbed my thigh, and pulled me down. “I have to make a circle. Now. Before she finds your house.”
That was enough for me. I joined him on the floor, pushing away the table and a basketful of books and abandoned mending. “What do I do?”
Tanner granted me a two-second assessment. “Build the strongest ward you can around your sons then around this house, especially the ground directly below this room.”
He re-cut his thumb, turned away, and began to chant.
I ignored the bloody lines and squiggles appearing on my pale maple floorboards and concentrated on picturing Harper and Thatcher and encasing them in a bubble of rosy pink light. Fierce, protective, maternal light. My hands heated, and I deepened the color, thickened the circle, and let the bubble surround them in their sleeping bags.
Tanner was halfway through completing his circle. His scrabbling mussed up the rune-like marking in a couple of places, but pointing that out to him seemed silly. I had equally as important wards to place and less time to place them.
“Calliope, move,” he said.
I moved. Taking the carved bone handle of Tanner’s knife in my left hand, I followed his lead and sliced my right thumb, let blood slick my fingers, and began to draw my circle within his larger one.
“You shall not pass. You shall not pass…” The entire Lord of the Rings movie trilogy was a favorite of my sons. I had no idea what other words or phrases I could have used on such dire notice. Every time I repeated those words, I made an X, put a circle around it, and drew a line to the next one.
All using my blood.
My thumb throbbed. I drew the final circle, connected it to the first, and sat back on my heels. Tanner finished a few seconds later. There was blood everywhere, even on his face.
“Record time,” he said, grunting as he hugged his knees to his chest and checked our nested wards. “Where’s my knife?”
I wiped it on my shirt. “Let me wash this and…”
“Stay.” Tanner grabbed my wrist. “Do not leave this circle.” He continued, “I can tell you about her now, if you’d like.” Using his knife, he sliced into his shirt, tore off a strip, and another. “Bandage up. You first.”
I showed him my thumb. He pinched the sides of the cut together and wrapped the bit of cloth around three times, ripped the end in two, and tied a loose knot. He handed the other piece of his shirt to me and extended his thumb. He’d cut himself pretty deeply. Glancing side to side, I could see the symbols he’d drawn required much more blood than my simple Xs and circles.
“It all began with Idunn, the Norse Goddess of Spring and the keeper of the apples of immortality,” he started.
“So, we’re going way, way back,” I said, letting out an exhausted laugh and releasing some of my built up stress—some. Not much.
“Yeah,
