Arctic Destiny

When Tasha Watson travels to Churchill, Manitoba, to get information from ex-

lover Finn MacEwan, she doesn’t plan to rekindle their affair. But the troubled, haunted
man she finds is far different from the one who left her two years before, though the
desire exploding between them is devastatingly familiar. Despite her deepening
feelings, Tasha is determined to get to the bottom of Finn’s mysterious problems.

Trapped by his honor and a shamanic appeal to the Great Nanuk, Finn has spent

over a hundred winters forced to roam the ice of Hudson Bay in the form of a polar
bear. Loneliness and despair have nearly taken their toll…until Tasha appears on his
doorstep, bringing to life the very things he can’t afford to feel—love and hope.

But neither hope nor earth-shattering passion, not even the love of a lifetime, can

help fight destiny, and the decisions Tasha and Finn face could all lead to cold, Arctic
heartbreak.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Arctic Destiny

ISBN 9781419937927

Edited by Grace Bradley

Cover design by Catlin Fry

Photography: Andrey Yuriov; Volodymry Goinyk; Monkey Business; elinapas/Shutterstock.com

Electronic book publication January 2012

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in

part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing,

Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of

this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or

print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement

without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and

a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print

editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your

support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all

trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or

third-party Web sites or their content.

RCTIC

ESTINY

Anya Richards

Arctic Destiny

Chapter One

“My God. Finn…”
Her scent was what registered first. A hint of vanilla mixed with a light floral note,

which always made him think of sunshine. The sound of her voice only added to the

agony, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look, to confirm she was just

another figment of his imagination.

The others’ constant, almost unintelligible chiding was bad enough. Right now the

thought of seeing her, only to lose her again, was more than he could bear.

There was the sound of footsteps coming toward him, but he turned his head away.

Already he knew what his mind was capable of—the vivid way they all came to him,

one after the other, tormenting him with their presence. Tasha would look real. The

almost Slavic features so intriguingly at odds with her mocha skin would be vividly

clear, not shadowy at all, although she was a hallucination. He’d reach for her, the

longing bubbling in his chest expanding with joy, overwhelming him, but as soon as he

tried to lay a hand on her, she’d turn to smoke and drift away.

“Dammit, Finn. What’s going on?”
Although the question was harsh, the touch on his arm was soft. The warmth of it

flowed through the sleeve of his shirt into his skin, a stark contrast to the cold eating

him from the inside out. A shiver of reaction took him by surprise and he reflexively

glanced down at the long fingers, seeing the smooth, dark skin and short, unadorned

nails with almost obscene clarity. Everything around him had been wreathed in fog for

so long the ability to focus on something other than the block of marble he was carving

shocked him.

He knew how those fingers would feel gliding over his flesh, could oh so easily

conjure the sensation. It wasn’t the first time he’d tormented himself with thoughts and

memories of Tasha Watson. Doubtful it would be the last. In his dreams she was

usually laughing or crying out in ecstasy, her wide-set, green-brown eyes gleaming

with pleasure.

Even if she were just another cruel trick of his mind, the need to see her drove the

air from his chest, tore through him with the inescapable power of a flaying Arctic wind

in February.

Finn lifted his gaze.
If it were a spirit-dream, it was the most realistic one he’d ever had.
Her beauty dazzled him, made his head swim and his heartbeat escalate until it

thundered and roared. For a moment he couldn’t move, could only stare, looking at

each feature, drinking her in, dizzy and almost sick with yearning.

Anya Richards

“Tasha.”
Reaching out to touch her face, he shuddered at the satin slide beneath his rough

fingertips. She looked the same, although her hair was a little longer, curling around her

ears instead of cropped and spiked into a modern facsimile of a halo. But he knew she

must be just another fragment of his past come back to taunt him, and this time there

was the added hell of being able to feel her too.

She’s not real. Don’t torture yourself like this anymore.
He dropped his hand, but she caught hold of it, squeezed hard, and he found he

couldn’t look away from the concern in her gaze.

“Finn, tell me what’s happening. Do you need a doctor? My rental’s right outside.

I’ll take you into Churchill.”

The bark of laughter that escaped his throat hurt as it emerged, and he saw her

recoil when he replied, “Doctors can’t help me.”

Turning away from the questions on her face, he looked at the hunk of stone in

front of him, allowing the mist of pain that had insulated him from the world to cloak

him again. It was so much easier not to feel—to hide away in the rhythmic tap of metal

on stone, the intense concentration of coaxing the piece alive. The rough outline of the

statue was there. Another two or three days and it would be finished. Working, pouring

everything he had into it, was the only thing keeping him sane. He didn’t want to think

about what would happen when it was done, but he picked up the chisel anyway.

When he tried to reach for the mallet, the fingers wrapped around his tightened.

“Finn, don’t you want to know why I’m here?”
You’re not really here, he wanted to say. You’re just another reminder of how I’ve failed,

how little I have left.

And although he wanted to pull his hand away they stood linked together, bathed

by the harsh light of his overhead task lamp, connected by that unwanted, all-too-

human touch. Something sliced through the foggy, already imperfect barrier he’d

thrown up to preserve himself, traveling into his veins, bringing with it a heightened

awareness of the woman beside him. His body tightened as arousal uncoiled in his

belly, making his cock stir, begin to harden.

As though in response, a gust of wind came in through the open door, redolent of

the northern summer, carrying the salty tang of Hudson Bay.

Remember.
He pulled his hand away, saw hers fall.
“Not particularly.”
She made a little sound—a huff of annoyance, or disbelief maybe.
“So you’re used to people just dropping in on you, out here in the middle of

nowhere? Do you know what it takes just to get to Churchill, much less find you out

here in the wilds? Aren’t you in the least curious?”

Arctic Destiny

The tone was combative and sparked a tiny flicker of anger, which just as swiftly

died. Finn shrugged.

“No.”
There was a stir behind him, just the slightest movement of air, and the hair on the

back of his neck stood up. Suddenly he could hear laughter on the wind, the sound of

crying, the wild howl of an animal or a man caught in the first, shocking moment of

overwhelming grief.

And he could feel them, all of them, their spirits moving and swirling through the

room, one after the other. The whisper of their names and histories floated to him,

forcing him to relive moments no one else alive would know of. Again and again he

heard their pleas, as they enjoined him once more to remember.

As if I could ever forget.
The chisel fell from his hand, clattered onto the table and then to the floor. Finn

realized he was shaking from head to toe, tried to fight it, but it was too powerful to be

conquered. Wave after wave of anguish, anger and soul-destroying pain ravaged him,

tearing him apart, making him want to die.

For over a hundred years he’d watched over them, as best he could given the

restrictions put on him by Tulugaq’s curse. He’d lost his own family, not daring to

contact them, knowing it was better they think him dead. Mourning for them, for the

life he lost, had consumed him, but he’d tried not to let it distract him from his pledge

to watch over John and Tulugaq’s family. He’d given up Tasha too, although

everything inside him yearned for one more day, an hour, even a minute with her.

The realization of how much was lost, how little he had left, almost took him to his

knees.

He should leave. Now. Just walk out into the frigid water of the bay, swim, keep

swimming until hypothermia took him. Surely that would end this interminable agony?

“Finn.” Strong arms came around him, held him up, and the shock of her warmth

made the breath hiss through his teeth. “What the hell has happened to you?”

Darkness edged with jagged light came at him like the maw of a great beast,

threatening to eat him, devour him whole. He beat it back as best he could, taking one

excruciating breath after the other, his head once more swimming, heart pounding fit to

burst.

“They’re gone.” He heard his own voice as though from a distance, inwardly

winced away from the agony, not wanting to bare his soul, unable to stop. “All of them.

Gone.”

Compelled to make her understand, he lifted his gaze to hers, felt the compassion

and empathetic pain he found there like another blow to his chest. If she were real he

could give in to the urge to accept her strength, sink into her and let her warmth melt

the ice-clad torture.

“Who is, Finn?”

Anya Richards

“Everyone.” Even you.
“No.” She shook her head and he saw her eyes change, going from soft to hard,

determined. “No, not everyone. Never everyone, Finn. I’m here.”

He clenched his teeth, wanting to step back, distance himself before she faded like

the others had disappeared once they had wreaked as much havoc as they could. But

she was holding him even tighter, and he could feel her breasts pressing against the

side of his chest. She felt so solid—so real—her scent filling his head, her eyes filling his

vision. The sensation of her body against his was dragging him away from the agony,

and making oblivion impossible too.

The studio became shadowy, as though she’d taken him out of the horror his reality

had become and into the spirit world with her. Something awoke inside him,

reanimated either by her presence or the thought of leaving the world behind. A blaze

of sensation shot across his skin, taking the need once more raging inside and escalating

it beyond bearing.

She was still holding him, her much smaller frame keeping him on his feet, but as

life returned to his limbs, there was no need for her support. Even as he braced for her

to vanish, Finn knew he couldn’t resist holding her, tasting her once more.

Turning into her arms, he sought her lips with one rough, desperate motion.
She stiffened and seemed about to pull back, but he held on to her like a lifeline,

tracing the seam between her full, soft lips, needing her to open, surrender.

And when she did, giving him the first sweet slide of her tongue against his, Finn

knew, without a doubt, he’d finally died and gone to heaven.

This isn’t why I came here.
Yet Tasha couldn’t break from the embrace, no matter how her brain clamored for

her to do so. Being in Finn’s arms again was too sweet, too right, and it seemed to be

what he needed.

The Finn she’d known before exuded an almost predatory power. His hair was the

same, bone-white except for two wings of black above the ears, the entire straight mass

pulled back and braided to fall in one thick plait down his back. On almost any other

man without obvious First Nations heritage it would have looked like an affectation.

But it suited his strong, weather-beaten face, with its rakish scar running through his

right eyebrow and down to his cheek, and emphasized the sharp blue eyes.

But when he looked at her today those eyes were flat, opaque, as though the very

vitality she’d found so attractive when they first met had been smashed away. She’d

glimpsed a void at his center, an empty place teeming with soul-destroying anguish.

She would do anything to erase the pain she’d seen there, pull him from the hell she’d

sensed consuming him.

Tilting his head slightly, Finn deepened the kiss, cupping her face in his hands and

angling her just right so as to plunder her mouth. There was a ferocious, frantic

Arctic Destiny

desperation to the way he held her, to the thrust and twist of his tongue, but she

understood and welcomed it. Even now, as her body came alive at the sensation of his

pressed so close, tears threatened and the impulse to escape the darkness, pull him with

her, drove her equally frenzied response.

Finn shifted his leg and Tasha shuddered as it pressed between her thighs, the

muscular length rising to rest hard against her pussy. The sweet shock of contact caused

an instant rush of arousal and she rocked her hips, seeking surcease from the ache of

need gathering deep inside. Finn moaned and nipped her lower lip. The sensation

traveled through her blood, collided with the thrill of his erection pressing into her hip

and ricocheted, vibrating out to every inch of her body.

He’d always known how to excite her, had spoiled her for every man she’d slept

with after he left Toronto. Before him, she’d been a demanding lover, determined to

find satisfaction and unafraid to tell the man she was with how to supply it. With him it

was a different story. Everything he did felt right. There was no need to constantly

think. All she had to do was sink into the experience, flow with the pleasure.

“Tasha.” He lifted fever-bright eyes to meet her gaze, his hand going to the zipper

at the front of her red fleece Roots hoodie and pulling it down until the two halves

popped apart. “I’ve dreamed about you, like this.”

The words both shocked and thrilled, and her heart stumbled before she could get

her emotions back under control.

“I thought you would have forgotten me by now.”
As light as she tried to make the words sound, it was impossible to completely

mask her hurt. Finn bared his teeth, a low, rumbling sound his only reply. He glanced

down. She followed his gaze, realized the buttons of her shirt were already undone and

he was reaching for the front clasp of her bra.

The cups sprang apart, baring her breasts, and she sucked in a hot gulp of air as his

fingers swept her skin, tracing two lines of fire around her already puckered nipples. As

she watched, her areolas tightened further.

Then his hands went lower, yanking the snap of her jeans open, pushing at the

zipper. Before she could even react he had her pants and panties down to just below her

knees. Lifting her, he turned to put her on his workbench, and she gasped as the cold

metal surface hit her ass, the shock of it bringing her momentarily back to her senses.

She should stop him.
On her way to Churchill she’d psyched herself up to be completely professional

when they met. After he left Toronto she hadn’t expected to see him again, had

struggled to get through the hurt and pain of his departure from her life. Having sex—

making love—with him now would just bring it all back.

“Finn.” God, was that tremulous thread of sound her voice? “Finn, we shouldn’t—”
Cupping her face, he stared at her, his breath rasping from between clenched teeth

and rushing over her skin. His eyes gleamed with desire, but a shadow lingered in their

depths. “Let me love you, Tasha. I need…”

Anya Richards

He shook his head, swallowed as though whatever else he wanted to say was

trapped in his throat. Grasping his wrists, absorbing the tender way he held her, the

yearning tightening his face, Tasha couldn’t stop herself from whispering, “What do

you need?”

“You.”
Something inside her cracked wide open and her hesitancy washed away. It must

have shown on her face, because Finn made a sound of pleasure and took her mouth in

another driving kiss.

As their lips parted, he freed himself from her grasp and, starting at her shoulders,

trailed his hands down her arms. Using his proximity to tilt her backward, he swept her

jacket, shirt and bra down to her wrists, leaving a wash of goose bumps in the wake of

his palms. Resting back on her hands, Tasha was effectively manacled by the twists of

clothing at her wrists and ankles. Despite having all her garments still on her body,

she’d had never felt more naked or exposed. Finn loomed over her, hands on either side

of her hips, a slight smile tugging at his rugged lips.

“You said you thought I’d forgotten what it’s like when we’re together. Have you?”
A shudder started in the pit of her belly and shot like sparks out to every extremity.
No.
How could she forget this sensation of being at his mercy, under his control? Of not

wanting to fight, but to cede, give in to his every whim and desire?

She was trapped and the burst of need it inspired made her moan. Finn lowered his

mouth to her neck, sipped and nibbled downward until she trembled and strained to

meet his lips. He remembered all the places that made her crazy—licking the hollow

behind her ear, grazing the tendon along her throat with his teeth—the spots that made

her writhe in impotent arousal and, finally, would have her begging for relief.

“God, you taste good.” His voice was rough as he traced the line of her collarbone

with his mouth, his words buzzing into her skin. His hips shifted, his erection rubbing

against her knee, and he groaned, “I can’t get enough.”

A little whimper broke from her throat. “Neither can I.”
It felt good to admit it instead of trying to convince herself that what they’d had

couldn’t have been as good as she remembered and she was just embroidering reality.

The lie hadn’t helped anyway. No matter how she tried, she’d missed him every day,

with every breath.

I don’t want to lose him again. The thought came from her heart, but she pushed it

aside, for the moment content to simply feel, to arch and quiver under the onslaught of

his caresses.

A cool breeze swirled suddenly through the studio, rattling the half-open door,

teasing across her superheated flesh. Finn’s head jerked up, his body stiffening. The

look on his face made Tasha shudder, suddenly aware of the intense heat coming off his

Arctic Destiny

body, hearing the harsh cadence of their breathing. He said something in Inuktitut, and

she heard the plea in his voice even without understanding the words.

“What is it, Finn? What did you say?”
For a moment he didn’t move, and then he turned back to her, the sadness banked

behind his eyes wrenching her heart. “I asked them to go. To come back later, but grant

me this time with you.”

“Who?” she asked, but the question was drowned out by a sudden howl of wind,

and a reverberating bang as the door slammed shut. Tasha suppressed the shriek of

surprise brought on by the unexpected, violent noise, but she couldn’t help stiffening or

stop the cold fear blooming in her stomach.

Finn nodded as though answering a question she hadn’t yet asked, and cupped her

cheek, his thumb stroking, soothing.

“Later,” he murmured, seeking her mouth once more, kissing her hard, perhaps

trying to drive out the apprehension she was sure was visible in her eyes, pull her back

into the heat of desire. As his lips trailed down again, drifting over the slope of her

breast, Tasha unclenched her fists, reminded herself she didn’t believe in spirits or

haunting. She only believed what she could see and feel.

And right now that was Finn.

Anya Richards

Chapter Two

Tasha held her breath as she looked down at the top of Finn’s head. His mouth

trailed fire across her skin and she arched her back, trying to tempt him into going

faster. But he seemed intent on taking his time, nibbling, kissing and licking the upper

curves of her breasts as his fingers drifted along the undersides. When finally his lips

closed over one nipple, sucking with just the right amount of force, the stubble on his

chin abrading her skin, Tasha was already gasping, her entire body vibrating with

arousal. Cupping both breasts, Finn moved back and forth from one to the other,

tracing moist patterns with his tongue, nipping and scraping with his teeth. Tasha

strained closer yet, hot flicks of desire whipping through her, making her hips jerk

rhythmically in time with each delicious caress.

“I love how sensitive your breasts are—how responsive.”
As though to prove his point he blew a stream of air over one wet peak, and Tasha

couldn’t reply, only whimper an incoherent plea as the intensity of that cool sensation

shot straight to her pussy.

His fingers slipped to her ribs, holding her torso steady as he kissed the sensitive

skin above her sternum, and then let his mouth drift lower. The curl of his tongue

around and into her bellybutton made her cry out, and he chuckled, the sound

rumbling into her flesh. If her hands were free she’d grab his head, guide him

downward—force him if necessary. Perhaps he knew that, for his lips went lower yet,

until they hovered above her mound. She strained to open her legs, was frustrated by

the jeans still holding her tight around the calves.

“Yes, Finn. Oh yes, please.”
“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hands trailing slowly over her hips and

thighs. “Let me take care of you.”

Shudders chased over her skin and she yearned to cry out again, demand

satisfaction, but when he played the game this way it was even more thrilling, so she

forced her body to stillness. Yet, even knowing what was happening, the wave of

longing his words inspired was still a little shocking. Only with him was she content to

let him do whatever he wanted to her body. Only he could demand she be quiescent

and passive, tied down and helpless—his love slave—and make her crazy with need.

Tugging her legs as far apart as they could go with her jeans holding them together

allowed him only to kiss the trembling flesh above her inner thighs, insinuate his

tongue into the slight crevice between. Up and up he swirled until he was tracing the

thin line of hair left by her Brazilian wax job, traveling up one side and down the other

before trailing off toward the crease of her hip. Tasha ground her teeth together, resting

Arctic Destiny

her head back against the wall, trying not to plead, desire a living thing inside her,

clawing and snapping for release.

Then his tongue was back, exploring the beginning of her slit, his chin pressed hard

between her thighs and she couldn’t hold back her cry of assent. The instinctive effort to

open wider so as to give him full access to her aching flesh, along with the continued

frustration of her bonds only made the need that much sharper, more insistent. The tip

of his tongue teased close to her clit and, even though it didn’t touch, Tasha felt the first

flush of orgasm tighten every sinew in her body. Each breath was a shallow rasp of air

into overtaxed lungs and each exhale emerged with a high gasp of pleasure.

Finn’s hands stroked down, pushing her pants toward her ankles. When his fingers

rose to her knees, curling to hold on to her legs, she suddenly couldn’t breathe at all.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He kept his mouth tight against her as he asked, and she

shuddered again as the vibrations took her one step closer to release. “Tell me if you

want it.”

“Yes.” The word burst from her throat, high and wild. “Oh God, yes.”
Lifting her knees allowed him to spread them infinitesimally wider and, as the tip

of his tongue curled and licked around her clitoris, they moaned in unison. Gasping,

rocking against his face, Tasha felt herself losing control, the slick sweeps and whirls of

his teasing too much to be borne.

Finn groaned, lifted his head, and she cried out, poised as she was on the edge of

crashing through to orgasm. His voice was raw as he said, “I need more, baby. I have

to—”

He hoisted her legs higher, spread them so the soles of her feet were almost

touching. That made her hips tilt up and she felt the rush of cool air over her completely

exposed, and obviously soaking wet, pussy. For a moment everything seemed to still, to

turn superheated and languid as he stared down at the junction of her thighs, his face

tight with ferocious, almost feral desire.

With a curse, he lunged forward over the barrier of her jeans, covering her

quivering, needy flesh with his mouth, licking and sucking, devouring her. And Tasha

screamed as the first wave of orgasm crashed over her, pulling her down into the

whirlpool of release.

“I can’t get enough of your sweet taste,” she heard him say as sanity began to

return, and before she could catch her breath his lips were there once more, covering

her clit, sucking, and she came again, even harder than before.

The next thing she knew he was lifting her, carrying her, and she struggled to free

her arms from the sleeves, shedding her clothes as they crossed the room. When he set

her down on the wide daybed in one corner of the studio, she immediately bent to untie

the laces of her hiking boots, fighting with them as her fingers trembled, almost useless.

Finn was stripping off his clothing too, tearing the t-shirt off over his head to reveal

the broad, muscular chest, the hard planes of his stomach, and she gasped, paused to

watch.

Anya Richards

How could she have forgotten how beautiful he was?
His hands were at his waistband as she toed off her boots then fought to pull her

slim-legged jeans off over her feet from their bunched position. And still she watched,

waiting, longing to see him completely naked.

When his jeans went down and he bent to pull them completely off, exposing his

thickly muscled thighs and wide, rippling back, Tasha felt the air leave her chest with a

rush.

But she didn’t have time to fully appreciate the view, for he came immediately to sit

beside her, pulled her close, his lips going to the welcoming arch of her neck. Reaching

over, she palmed his thick cock, reveling in the hardness, the hint of slickness on the

smooth head, and he shuddered.

“I need you, Tasha.” He whispered it into the hollow behind her ear and she

shivered, her pussy already throbbing again, heating for his possession. “Take me,

sweetheart.”

“Anytime,” she whispered in return, meaning it with all her heart. “Anywhere,

anyhow you want.”

Finn straightened, catching her gaze, holding it as he lifted her across to straddle his

thighs. Tasha wrapped her legs around his hips, used them to pull herself closer, until

his cock nestled, pulsing, between the spread lips of her pussy and Finn’s eyes went

stormy-indigo.

Everything seemed to slow, to take on greater clarity as she stared at his face. An air

of unreality took hold, and she felt a cool breeze tickle up her spine, like a whisper from

another lifetime. The world stilled, retreated, so they were the only two people left in

existence. For that moment all she wanted to do was look at him, touch his cheeks with

the tips of her fingers as she traced his scar, slide her thumb across his damp lower lip

and relearn every inch of him. Love, desire and the desperate need to save him from the

hurt she’d seen in his eyes battered her, making her heart ache.

The urge to tell him how she felt almost overwhelmed her, had to be wrestled with

and suppressed. To stem the spate of words rising in her throat, she leaned forward and

kissed him, putting every emotion into that fierce taking of his lips. Finn groaned, his

hands shifting to cup her ass and lift. Reaching between them to encircle his cock with

one trembling hand, she slid it into position, gasping as it grazed her clit in passing.

Finn broke the kiss. His arms were trembling as he held her aloft, so tantalizingly

close to penetration she wanted to scream, but moaned softly instead. Why was he

hesitating? She needed him inside her, wanted to once more feel that sensation of

completeness only he could provide.

“Tasha,” he whispered, voice rough and low. “Protection.”
She closed her eyes, shocked that she’d forgotten. Even during the time they’d been

together they hadn’t made love without a condom. He’d made it plain he wasn’t able to

stick around, that it would only be a few months before he had to leave again and,

although she was on the Pill, she hadn’t wanted to take the chance.

Arctic Destiny

But now, here, it felt right to take him skin-to-skin into her body, although she

didn’t know why, or what had changed.

Opening her eyes, she looked into his, seeing his need, allowing him to see hers.
“Do you want to wait? I don’t. I want you now, inside me, but if you don’t want to

do this…”

His only reply was a slow relaxing of his arms, letting her weight fall, and as his

cock began to stretch her, Tasha felt the rush of tears. Wrapping her arms around his

shoulders, leaning into him, she hid them in his neck.

“Oh, Tasha, oh God, you’re so tight, so hot.”
“And you’re so hard, feel so good.”
Finn shuddered, slid his palms up her back. He was all the way in and Tasha held

still, loving the way he filled her, the hot strength of his body against hers. When she

began to rock slowly he whispered her name, and she felt his hands ball into fists

against her spine, his arms tightening and the muscles jumping with the force of his

control. Beneath her his thighs shifted slightly apart, as though bracing for a rough ride,

but she kept her movements slow, intense.

Reaching for Finn’s long plait of hair, she wrapped it around her hand, used it to

tug his head back so his throat lay, naked and vulnerable, open to her mouth. As she

raked her teeth against one straining tendon, he cried out—a harsh plea—and she used

her thighs to lever her body up, his cock sliding almost out, slamming back in as she

allowed her body to drop down again. He bucked up to meet her, his hips flexing

against her thighs, ready to thrust once more. Tasha pressed down with her body

weight, holding them pinned to the cushion just until she felt him relax a fraction. Then

she rose and fell again.

A strangled sound broke from him and he tilted his hips up, rocking his pubic bone

against her clitoris. She thought he’d take over, use his strength to control her

movements, but although he wrapped his arms around her waist, Finn stayed as he

was, head back, body curved and taut. This was the other side of their lovemaking—

where he allowed her to take control, gave her the power to drive him crazy. Being in

charge caused her need to escalate and, as she started moving once more, she set her

teeth to his neck, felt him immediately shudder, his hips rocking to meet her rhythm.

Already she was careening toward another orgasm, the hard length of him sliding

and slamming into her combined with the stimulation against her clit and conspired to

push her higher and higher. Finn’s cock pulsed and harsh grunts broke from his lips

with each rise and fall of her body, his fingers digging with thrilling force into her sides.

“Tasha, wait, oh…fuck.”
He bucked up, meeting her next downward plunge, his hips working beneath her

as he cried out, instinctively thrusting harder and harder, trapped in the mindless

wonder of orgasm. And the sheer glory of it pushed her to join him, their voices

intertwining in a primitive duet of pleasure, her body shaking and jerking as she came.

Anya Richards

Still holding her, Finn fell back onto the bed and Tasha tugged her legs from

beneath him. By the time she’d untangled her body from his and looked down, he was

asleep, lines of exhaustion bracketing his nose and mouth.

Pressing her lips to his, she whispered, “I’m not sure what’s going on, Finn

MacEwan, but you’re not alone anymore. I’ll get you through it.”

And she would, no matter what it took. Even if it meant another round of

heartbreak.

* * * * *

Fire licked at his skin and a lone voice—Tulugaq’s voice—chanted and sobbed. Even

without understanding what was happening, Finn knew something had irrevocably changed.

His mind flew to his mother and sister Catherine awaiting his return to Scotland, and he

imagined he heard their voices joining Tulugaq’s as she wept. Then he thought of John, whose

body had been committed to the icy waters of the Arctic, and the promise made in the last,

agonizing moments before his death.

“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t realized the chanting had stopped until he heard Tulugaq’s whisper.

It seemed to come from afar, as though she were on a distant shore, speaking over the roar of

waves. “The spirits have spoken, and now you have to stay. When the ice comes, you will not be

able to leave as you have planned.”

But he couldn’t stay. Surely that wasn’t what John had meant when he begged Finn to look

out for his Eskimo wife and the babe she would soon give birth to? Finn would do all he could—

he had given his word—but to remain in the Arctic, to never see Scotland again, was untenable.

He tried to stand, found he could go no farther than hands and knees. With his head hanging

down he blinked, trying to clear his vision, unable to understand what he was seeing.

Where his hands should have been were two huge, white paws.
A jolt of horror made him scream, but it emerged as a throaty roar. Swinging his head from

side to side, he looked back at the body that was now his—the huge muscular sides, the thick

white fur. Disbelief made him roar again, and he turned to see Tulugaq standing, watching, and

the satisfaction in her eyes belied the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Instinct took over, urging him to flee, making him run for the door. Tulugaq plunged both

hands into the cold fire pit and, as Finn galloped past, he felt her hands sweep over his flanks.

Then he was outside, running through the slumbering camp, past the cooper’s shed, the

outlying houses. Running until he reached the cold waters of Cumberland Sound. There he

paused only long enough to glance back, to see the massive shadow he cast in the moonlight.

Not the shadow of a man anymore, but of a polar bear.
With another howl of rage and fear, he dove into the frigid water, swimming and swimming,

praying that death lay ahead in the dark.

Finn drifted awake from the familiar dream of Kekerten Island. Even after more

than a century it still had the ability to make his heart race, but the sensations of fear

Arctic Destiny

and rage had abated and no longer forced him into a cold sweat. And having Tasha

beside him always made it more bearable. He reached out for her, but his hand found

nothing but cool, empty fabric.

Had Tasha too been nothing but another spirit-dream after all?
Screwing his eyes even more tightly closed he fought the pain, suddenly unwilling

to give in to it the way he had over the past days. Something about imagining Tasha in

such an intimate, beautiful way made him question his fatalistic acceptance of what had

happened.

It didn’t change the facts. He’d failed John and Tulugaq, their entire family. None

remained for him to oversee or protect. But the death of their final descendant hadn’t

released him from the spirit’s judgment. The spirit of Nanuq still held him enthralled,

leaving him bound by a pledge that now had neither meaning nor end. But dreaming of

Tasha made him wonder if there wasn’t something more for him out there, somewhere.

Just the memory of her filled him not only with yearning but also a strange flicker of

hope.

The months he’d spent with her in Toronto had been the very best of his life. When

they’d met, the strength of his attraction to her and the desire she brought out in him

had taken him by surprise. At that point his life had become what he thought of as an

unchanging pattern—one leaving no room for being in love, having a relationship. But

from the first night they met he’d been unable to resist her. There was something about

her intelligence and curiosity, smiles and laughter that drew him, made him want her a

little more each day. He could have happily spent the rest of his days talking with her,

watching the graceful way she moved.

He’d been honest with her, or at least as honest as he could be without making her

think he was a maniac. She’d accepted he would have to leave by the end of September,

never asked him to stay or hinted at a wish to go with him. Toward the end though he’d

known she was crying in private, and it broke his heart. Feeling the shift come over

him, as the ice grew on Hudson Bay that October, he’d howled his rage. It had never

been easy—that unwilling transition from human to bear—but never before had there

been a sense of leaving something of tantamount importance behind.

God, how he’d wanted to ask Tasha to wait for him, tell her he’d be back the

following year, but he knew it would be a promise he might not be able to keep.

Just like all the other promises he’d made in his life.
Drawing a deep breath, he began to sit up, immediately froze. Now he was fully

awake, and his heart rate went up again.

Tasha’s scent enveloped him, coming off the bed and even his own body. It was

unmistakable, had been seared onto his memory and haunted him for the last two long

years, no matter what form he was in, whether he was on land or out on the ice.

There was no way he had dreamed the residue of that into existence.
Swinging his feet down to the floor, he found his jeans folded at the end of the bed,

his t-shirt likewise tidily stowed on top of it, and his lips quirked as he reached for

Anya Richards

them. Now he knew for a fact she’d really been there. If he’d put them down they’d be a

crushed, tumbled mess.

Tugging on his pants, he moved to the door, stood looking out into the late evening

light, his stomach clenching when there was no sign of her car.

Had his crazed condition and the way he’d practically jumped her been too much,

frightened her away? He wouldn’t blame her if it had. It must have been like being

attacked by a lunatic, or a man possessed by an evil tuurngaq—a demon.

Finn shook his head, looking toward the west and Churchill, seeing the clouds

massing on the horizon, harbingers of another summer storm sweeping down off the

bay. Was Tasha there now, glad to have escaped him and his madness, making plans to

leave and go back to Toronto?

Ignoring the ache that thought caused in his belly, he turned to look east instead.
Maybe he should lock up the house and make the trek out to Wapusk. It wouldn’t

be the first time he’d spent the summer months in the national park, sinking into what

for him became a fog of near-oblivion. There had been years when he had stayed out

there, unable to face the agony of his life and failures. Being in bear form for long

periods of time during the walking hibernation season dulled his ability to think and

worry.

Perhaps it would be running away, but knowing he was a coward didn’t worry

him. Even if Tasha came back, nothing good could come of seeing her again. He’d run

from reliving the ecstasy of having her in his arms if it meant avoiding the inevitable

heartbreak.

Familiar pain stabbed at him, and he raised a hand to rub his temple, anger

uncoiling in his chest.

“No,” he shouted in Inuktitut. “No more now.” A flash of lightning lit the western

sky and he turned toward the house, restlessness pulling him to shed his human skin,

run free. The pain stabbed harder and he paused, lifted his face to the heavens. “I’ll be

back.” The words rasped from his burning throat. “I promise.”

To his relief the ache retreated, allowing him to continue on his way, the ground

rumbling under his feet as the thunder drew closer.

Arctic Destiny

Chapter Three

The landscape was severe—all weathered boulders and wind-shaped trees—a

muted palette of gray, green and brown along the shore of Hudson Bay. Slowing the

rented pickup to a crawl, Tasha wound the window partway down and peered out,

hoping for a glimpse of wildlife, seeing nothing but the undulating land stretching off

into the distance.

If anyone had told her how beautiful this northern stretch of Manitoba was, she

probably wouldn’t have believed them. At heart she was a city girl. Alternately, her

second choice of location would be the tropics. The scene outside the truck window was

as far from palm trees and aqua seas as it was possible to get, but the primal power of it,

the sense that it hadn’t changed appreciably in millennia, kept drawing her eyes back.

At this rate it would take all night to get back to Finn’s.

Or maybe it was just a delaying tactic, a way to avoid what lay at the end of the

narrow gravel road she was traversing?

Bringing the pickup to a complete halt, she took a deep breath and blew it out with

a huff, glancing across at the knapsack in the foot well on the passenger side. The chill

creeping across her chest had nothing to do with the cool temperatures of what was

billed as summer in the north. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t spooked by some of

what she’d experienced earlier. As much as she wanted to ignore it, she couldn’t get

past the memory of the door slamming as though in response to Finn’s words. Even just

thinking about it made another chill run up her spine.

Just as quickly the shiver turned to a tremble, accompanied by a shock of heat that

started at her feet and rose in a swift wash to her face. Pressing her palms to her

stomach did nothing to quell its churning.

She hadn’t come to Manitoba to get back into Finn’s bed, but now that it had

happened doubts as to the real reason behind her trip nagged. Being with him

intimately had stripped away the illusion she’d maintained for herself, revealing the

fact she was still in love with him. Had that, rather than the mystery she’d uncovered in

Ottawa, actually been what propelled her to come all this way?

Lifting her chin, she looked at herself in the rearview mirror, meeting her own gaze,

glaring at herself, trying somehow to find the truth there, reiterating what she knew.

There really was a mystery to be solved and no matter what the story turned out to

be, finding the truth was something she needed to do. She owed it to herself and, to a

certain extent, the woman whose life she was researching. Everything she’d unearthed

indicated Finn could help her get the insight she needed into Martha Okavik’s

character, the forces that had shaped the artist and her work.

Anya Richards

The feeling was strong enough to have brought her all the way to this remote part

of the world. It wasn’t something she would ever do on a whim. It had cost too much,

and was too much of a trek. She’d used all her vacation days, spent far too much money

and time flying to Winnipeg and then on to Churchill, which wasn’t even accessible by

road. Not fancying spending almost two days on the train, she’d opted for the more

expensive two-hour flight.

No, she wasn’t a crazy stalker, following Finn to what felt like the ends of the earth.

If she were, wouldn’t she have done it before, just after he left to come back north, not

waited two years? It was only after reading the journal she’d received from Martha’s

companion and doing further research that she’d screwed up her courage enough to

come to Churchill. And if she could have spoken to Finn on the phone, as she’d tried

unsuccessfully to do, she wouldn’t have had to come at all.

She nodded at her reflection before looking out at the road once more. Coming here

had nothing to do with what had happened between them in Toronto, except that it put

him on her radar in a personal way and helped her know where to find him.

And now that she’d seen Finn, she was so glad she’d come.
When she first got to the door, saw him standing in front of the half-finished statue,

swaying slightly, the trembling of his hands visible even from a distance, she’d thought

he was drunk. The shock of seeing the man she’d come to respect, to love, like that had

driven into her like a spike. It was only when he turned to look at her…

Tasha sucked in a sharp breath, felt her stomach contract once again at the memory.
The look on Finn’s face—just like the one she’d surprised on Marco’s the night

she’d walked in and found him sitting in his room, service revolver in hand. Ready to

take his own life rather than live with the memories of what he’d seen, the friends he’d

lost during his stint in Afghanistan.

She’d been able to talk her brother down, convince him to get some help, but it

wasn’t a moment she’d ever forget.

And now she had another, equally scary one to add to it.
What the hell was going on? Had Martha’s recent death caused Finn to have what

she could only surmise was a breakdown? And what could she do about it? No matter

how important her work was to her, Finn’s well-being came first. What she wanted to

know could wait until she got to the bottom of his situation.

Only then would she ask about the connection between him and Martha. At least

now she’d seen his home, she was sure he was the right person to talk to. She’d taken a

chance, going into his house without his invitation after they’d made love and Finn was

sleeping, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d been surprised by the lack of

artwork. There were only a couple of framed graphics on the walls and, as she focused

on them, amazement had left her breathless. They were two of the finest original

Okaviks she’d ever seen.

One depicted an Inuk woman crouched beside a drying rack, holding an infant up

toward a polar bear emerging, like a spirit, from the clouds above their heads. The other

Arctic Destiny

was of a family unit looking out over the ice, the vague form of a sailing ship visible far

out at sea. Although Inuit art was her specialty, she’d never seen either piece

reproduced anywhere, nor had she come across a record of them in the catalogue of

Martha’s work.

It was a well-known fact the Inuit artist was able to create only sporadically, when

her mental state allowed, and although she had occasionally given away pieces, it was

only to people close to her. For Finn to have two uncataloged originals seemed to

indicate a special relationship between them. Why hadn’t he mentioned that when they

first met, at the gallery hosting an exhibit of Martha’s work?

Tasha closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat, mind twirling with so

many thoughts she was almost dizzy. Even the interior of Finn’s home raised more

questions. Sometimes seeing where a person lived gave a sense of their personality, but

not in his case. The small house was similar on the outside to many of the modular

homes she’d seen in Churchill, but she was sure other people had at least a few more

creature comforts on the inside of theirs. Even with the paintings, and a couple of Dene

fur throws on the back of an aged couch, the overall atmosphere was what her English

granny would have called a squat—a place where someone slept and ate, but didn’t

really live.

Impossible to reconcile the almost lifeless rooms with the man she’d come to know.
The place was so sparse, with just the couch, an easy chair and occasional table in

the living area, a battered farmhouse-style table with a couple of chairs nearer to the

small, open-plan kitchen. Why that surprised her so much, she wasn’t sure. The more

she thought about it, Tasha realized Finn had never seemed impressed by possessions,

nor expressed a longing for anything material. And he’d been content with the fairly

quiet way she lived. They’d done simple things together—strolling along the

waterfront, or cuddling on the couch reading—far more than social activities, although

he’d had no issues with going out either.

Actually, they’d spent most of their time together making love. He hadn’t wanted

to talk about his past, and she hadn’t pushed, although she’d really wanted to know

everything about him there was to know. Instead she’d decided to take whatever he

was willing to give, and he’d given her more pleasure than she ever thought she’d feel.

Waves of emotion swamped her, caused a hitch in her breathing, as longing for

Finn overtook her once more. She’d willed herself to forget how just one long look from

those penetrative eyes, one touch or kiss from him rendered her helpless with desire.

Now there was no hiding from her feelings anymore, and it was all so confusing she

didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

There were only two thoughts she could cling to. No way would she add to Finn’s

problems by revealing how she felt. If he had wanted something permanent, he would

have said during those months they’d spent together. And being without him hadn’t

killed her before, so it wouldn’t kill her when they went their separate ways again.

Really? Sure about that?

Anya Richards

Forcing the thought aside, she slammed the pickup into gear and stepped too hard

on the accelerator, making the back end fishtail slightly on the gravel. Easing off the

speed, Tasha reflexively glanced in the side mirror, and a flash of white on a nearby

ridge caught her attention. Slamming on the brakes, she spun around in her seat to

focus on the area. There was nothing there in the line of misshapen trees and scrubby

underbrush.

She could’ve sworn she’d seen something—something big. Gerry, the man running

the lodge where she was staying, had said it was too early to see the polar bears, but

what else could it have been? She reached over and closed the half-open window, just

in case. Eventually, when there had been no more movement and her eyes were

beginning to water from staring, she eased down on the accelerator once more.

Clearly Finn’s hallucinations were catching.
The storm clouds rolled swiftly closer, blocking the sun, and a rumble from the

heavens heralded the first drops of rain. By the time she got to Finn’s house the drizzle

had become a deluge. The twilight-gray evening was shot through with brilliant flashes

of lightning, echoed with booms of thunder, and she could hardly see his front door.

She turned to gather up the bags on the seat beside her, spun back with a gasp as

the driver’s door was suddenly wrenched open.

“You’re going to have to make a run for it. And even then you’ll get soaked.”
Finn was already drenched, the rain running down his face and bare chest, and

Tasha had to tear her gaze away from the sight, suppress the urge to lean forward and

lick the water from his skin. Grabbing three of the grocery bags, she took a deep breath

before thrusting them at him.

“Not a problem. I don’t melt. Here, take these. I can manage the rest.”
He took the proffered bags, still stood there waiting as she gathered up the others

and started to swing her feet out of the vehicle.

“What about your knapsack?”
“It can stay there.”
Avoiding his gaze, she nudged him out of the way so as to jump from the pickup.

Pausing only to slam the door behind her, she took off at a gallop for the shelter of the

open doorway, Finn easily keeping pace beside her.

She went through the door first, stepped to one side to give him space on the mat.

Just the short dash from the pickup had left her soaked and she put down the bags,

hesitating where she was.

Finn wiped his bare feet on the mat and started across to the kitchen.
“Don’t worry about getting the floor wet. I’ll grab the mop in a minute.”
Tasha bent to untie her boots, her gaze automatically going from one to the other of

the graphics on the walls. Something about the strong, bold lines, the hints of color

enlivening the mostly black-and-white paintings, stirred her senses. Martha Okavik’s

work was allegorical and rarely simple to understand. The sense of mystery, the deeper

Arctic Destiny

meaning hidden beneath seemingly recognizable symbols was what had attracted

Tasha to her art in the first place. Was it something similar in Finn—the unknown and

carefully concealed aspects of his personality—that drew her to him?

Straightening to toe off her footwear, she glanced up, found Finn leaning against

the counter watching her, and her heart leapt. Outside the rain beat against the siding

and roof, and the low hum of the generator added a deep bass-line to nature’s outburst.

But the silence inside seemed too heavy, fraught, and she rushed into speech as she

lifted one foot then the other to take off her socks.

“You didn’t have much food, and I had this incredible urge to feed you, so I went

back to Churchill for some supplies.”

He didn’t smile, but she thought his shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Which of the many cultures in your makeup do you get that from, you think?”
Tasha shrugged, bending to pick up the bags, forcing her legs to take her closer to

him. “Most of them probably, since I can’t think of any part of my family who doesn’t

believe everything can be solved with the appropriate food.” Beside him now, she lifted

the bags onto the counter, sent him a fleeting smile. Her joke about being the poster

child for Canada’s commitment to ethnic diversity used to amuse him, and right now

she’d give anything to hear him laugh. “Of course, what exactly constitutes the

appropriate food depends on who you’re talking to. My British grandmother thinks

poutine a crime against the potato and my mother considers Yorkshire pudding an

abomination.” She shrugged, tried to laugh, but it caught in her throat. “It makes family

get-togethers interesting, if nothing else.”

Finn didn’t respond, so she kept her hands busy, unpacking the bags, putting the

cans and packages on the counter, not looking up at him again. Their earlier encounter

lay between them, needing to be talked about, but she didn’t have the courage to bring

it up right then and there. The possibility of him saying it was just a knee-jerk reaction

on his part, rather than the earth-shaking event it had been for her, shriveled the words

in her throat.

“Tasha.” Finn touched her hand, his fingers lingering for a moment before

retreating. “Why are you here?”

Another subject she didn’t feel like broaching. If Martha’s death had caused his

breakdown, he might not appreciate what she was doing. It could be construed as

morbid curiosity, although retrospectives put together hard on the heels of an artist’s

death were nothing new.

“It’s not important right now. It definitely can wait.” Gathering her courage, she

turned to face him and was immediately captured by the intensity of his gaze. “I’m

more interested in what’s going on with you.”

Something flashed across his face—pain, definitely, but also what looked like

longing—and was just as quickly gone again, leaving him expressionless. “You didn’t

come all this way just to ask how I am.”

Anya Richards

“No, I didn’t.” She lifted her hand to touch him, but changed her mind and let it

fall. “But now that I’m here, that’s the most important thing on my mind. Tell me

what’s happening, Finn.”

He closed his eyes, locking her out completely, and when they opened again she

couldn’t read anything in his determinedly blank gaze. A chill climbed her spine and

she shivered, suddenly aware of her soaked condition.

“You’re cold.” He changed the subject, and she knew he wouldn’t answer her

question. “You need to warm up. Did you bring your clothes back with you?”

The casual way he asked belied the sharp, heart-jolting look he gave her.
“I didn’t want to presume…”
Finn held out a hand and she instinctively put hers across it, feeling the warm,

rough fingers close over hers.

“You’re not staying anywhere but here.” He tugged her close, and she gave in to

the need to press her lips to his chest, swipe a raindrop away with her tongue. She was

rewarded with a rumble of pleasure and a hard hug. “Tomorrow I’ll drive you into

town to get your stuff.”

“I can go after dinner. You don’t need to take me.”
He lifted her chin and the slight smile tipping his mouth, the gleam in his eyes,

made her shiver again, this time with a rush of arousal.

“You’ll be too busy to go tonight. In fact, if I have my way, we’ll be eating

something out of a can rather than you cooking.” Bending, he brought his lips to within

a breath of hers, tempting, teasing her. “And that will be later. Much, much later.”

She should back off and try to force more information from him, but before she

could even try he kissed her. Soft and tender, his lips moved over hers with gentle

pressure, although there was no mistaking the desire shimmering just beneath.

As he led her toward a doorway at the back of the house it occurred to her—Finn

had a very effective method of distracting her from asking too many questions. And she

couldn’t bring herself to object when he used it.

Arctic Destiny

Chapter Four

As he tugged Tasha through the door, Finn stepped aside and turned to watch her

reaction. Her eyes widened when she saw the huge claw-foot bathtub in the corner of

the bedroom, and her peal of laughter made his heart sing.

“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
She glanced up at him, amusement gleaming in her eyes, before returning her gaze

to the cast-iron monstrosity. “How very hedonistic of you, Mr. MacEwan.”

“It came with the house.” He walked across and fit the plug into the drain before

turning on the taps. Adjusting the temperature, he added, “It was too big to go in the

bathroom, so the last owner had the floor in here reinforced to hold the weight.”

“He must have been huge to need a tub that size.”
Finn couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose in his throat. “The house belonged to a tiny

little old lady.”

“Good grief, I’m surprised she didn’t drown in that thing.” Looking over his

shoulder, Finn realized her attention had already wandered, but he wasn’t surprised.

He knew sooner rather than later she’d home in on the print. “Another Okavik.” She

glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “You have some amazing examples of her work, and

this is another piece I’ve never seen before. Was she a friend?”

Bending as though to check the water temperature allowed him to hide his

expression, but he could feel the tension return, full force, to his body. It made no sense

to deny it. “Yes.”

Finn waited for her to comment—braced for it—but only silence greeted his

admission. They’d met at one of Martha’s exhibitions in Toronto, but he’d never

mentioned knowing the artist. Tasha’s nimble brain was probably already trying to

decide whether Martha’s recent death had anything to do with how she’d found him.

Perhaps stupidly, he didn’t want her looking too closely at the graphic across from his

bed. She wouldn’t be able to understand the symbolism, since it was entirely personal

and had nothing to do with Inuit myth, but just the thought of her trying to parse it out

made a cold lump form in his stomach.

Restless energy and a rough jolt of fear had him spinning on one foot to face her.

Rather than ignore the sympathy in her eyes, he used the hurt it engendered to make

his voice rough.

“Take off your clothes, Tasha.”
Her lips parted and he could see the brief internal battle in her eyes. It always

turned him on to see her struggle between the urge to tell him to fuck off and to obey.

Anya Richards

He never knew which instinct would win, and it only made the moment that much

more arousing.

“Finn—”
“You don’t have any other clothes. If you make me come over there to take those

off, you won’t have anything to wear.”

He lifted his brows to show the choice was hers, and saw the hot flicker of memory

in her eyes. One night in Toronto he’d torn the dress from her body, caught in the grip

of a need so strong he couldn’t wait, couldn’t be tender or patient. Now, he also

remembered how she’d started to come the moment he first thrust into her hot, wet

body, how she’d screamed his name.

She remembered too. The knowledge was there on her expressive face and when he

took a step toward her, she lifted trembling hands as though warding him off.

“Finn, wait.”
“I don’t want to.”
Her fingers fumbled with the zipper of her jacket, pulled it down, and he paused,

poised to move in if she hesitated a moment more. When the outer layer fell to the floor

she immediately started on the buttons of her shirt, eyes never leaving his face, feet

shifting as though ready to run. The room filled with the sound of their breathing,

rushed and harsh even over the running water.

“Hurry up, Tasha. I want you naked.”
A little gasp escaped her, and she licked her lips as she stripped away the wet

blouse. Power filled him, even as he began to shake with need. She was so strong, so

fierce and independent that the gift of her acquiescence weakened his knees, made him

want to fall at her feet and worship.

Her bra came off, revealing the smooth, rounded swells of her beautiful breasts, the

dark nipples puckered so tight they stood, perfectly erect, from her body. Suddenly, he

couldn’t wait to put his hands on her and, as she unzipped her jeans, he strode forward,

caught her as she tried to bolt out of reach.

“Finn!” It was a near scream, but he heard the note of passion in her voice, felt her

hands reaching for him rather than pushing away.

“Too slow, sweetheart,” he growled into her ear, cupping her ass and pulling her

tight against his straining groin. Her hands clutched his shoulders then slid around his

neck. The shock of contact between her cool, soft flesh and his chest made his cock even

harder. “I’m going to have to finish for you.”

The only response he got was a moan and a jerk of her hips against his.
Lifting her, he stepped forward and tossed her on the bed, ignoring her squeak of

surprise.

“Finn, my jeans are soaked.”
He chuckled, went for the double entendre. “Good, because that’s the way I like it.”

Arctic Destiny

And she was laughing breathlessly as he peeled the denim from her legs—laughter

that turned to another sharp gasp when he twisted and broke the thin elastic at the

sides of her thong to lift the fabric away from her body.

“Open for me, Tasha. Let me see you.”
“Oh God, Finn. Don’t…”
“Don’t what, sweetheart?” Even as he was asking, her thighs parted, revealing the

flushed wet flesh, the erect clitoris. “Tell me what you don’t want me to do.”

She shook her head, fingers clutching the sheet on either side of her hips, thighs

trembling. “Don’t tease me.”

Kneeling between her legs, he feathered his fingers from her calves to her knees, felt

a shiver travel over her skin. “But you’ll get to return the favor later.”

Her head arched back as his hands rose a little higher.
“God, I hope so.”
Nudging her thigh made her bend her knees up and out, spreading her legs wider.

His heart hammered as he realized the sensual shorthand they’d perfected two years

before still worked. The way she instinctively understood his slightest touch or softest

murmur, moving perfectly at his request or command, had the power to drive him

crazy.

He had to swallow a lump in his throat, suddenly overcome by the love engulfing

him. Moving slowly, he slid his hands closer to the juncture of her thighs, felt her

tremble again.

“Cold, sweetheart?”
“No, damn you.” Tasha’s eyelids fluttered and she licked her lips. “Not anymore.”
But he could see the goose flesh rising over her arms, felt it beneath his hands.
“I want to touch you so bad right now.” Finn could hardly speak, need tightening

the muscles of chest and throat until every word came only with determined effort.

“But I can wait.”

He slid off the bed and Tasha rose up on her elbows to give him a baleful look.
“Did you stop to think I might not be able to? You’re cruel to leave me like this.”
Finn shucked off his jeans, saw her gaze drop and linger on his cock before rising

again. He held out his arms, pulled her close when she got up on her knees to take up

the invitation. “It’s just for a moment, believe me.”

“Good.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, nipped him on the shoulder.

“Teasing is one thing—torture is another.”

But Tasha’s low moan of pleasure as he lowered her into the warm water told its

own story. Reaching to turn off the taps, Finn looked down at her. With eyes closed and

a little smile tipping the edges of her lips, she was so beautiful it made his heart ache.

There was a part of him that still couldn’t believe she was there—another that was just

so damn happy, it didn’t care what brought her all this way.

Anya Richards

Stepping up beside her, he touched her shoulder.
“Scoot forward a little.”
She did, leaving room for him to get in behind her. Lowering himself into the water,

he stretched out his legs on either side of her hips and immediately reached forward

and pulled her back against his chest. Tasha leaned on him and raised her arms, looping

them around his neck. Bending to kiss her throat and cupping her breasts as they

floated near the surface of the water were the most natural things in the world. There

was nothing he wanted more than to surround her, hold her as close as he could and

never let her go. The enormity of those feelings, the sheer devastating power of them,

made it hard to breathe.

Tasha stirred slightly. “You okay?”
He realized he had wrapped his arms around her, was squeezing far too tightly,

and loosened his hold. “How could I not be, having you here like this?”

A soft chuckle greeted his response, as though she didn’t believe he meant what he

said. “It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

Good wasn’t how he’d describe it. Words like amazing, beautiful, perfect came to

mind, but he didn’t contradict her, just savored the sensations, breathed in her scent as

he rubbed his lips along the soft slope of her shoulder.

She sighed, snuggled her ass closer then lifted her legs and draped them over his.

Her fingers were playing with his hair, twisting the plait, stroking it, and he

remembered the way she’d used it to pull his head back, the sensation of her lips and

teeth against his throat. She was the only person he trusted enough to be vulnerable

with, in that or any way, and the knowledge of the secrets he was forced to keep from

her tore him apart.

“You ready to talk about it yet?”
The question, coming so hard on his own thoughts, scared him. It was as if she had

somehow gotten into his head, could read his mind. Instead of answering immediately

he nipped her ear, slid his fingertips over her stomach, stroking up and down.

“Talking wasn’t what I had in mind.”
He thought he heard her sigh, but her body was already stretching, growing taut as

he caressed lower, brushing her mound then tickling her inner thighs.

“Finn…”
Resignation underscored the soft moan, but desire had the top note and that was

what he played on. Holding her waist with his right arm, he slid the middle finger of

his left hand through the lips of her pussy. With a light touch he circled her clitoris and

Tasha’s hips rose, a high gasp of pleasure ringing out into the room. Going lower, he

slipped two fingers inside her body, a groan breaking from his throat as her hot-silk

flesh enveloped them. Angling his hand, curling his fingers and gently moving them

back and forth, he slowly searched for her sweet spot, longing to hear her cries of

release when he found it.

Arctic Destiny

Suddenly she arched, gasped again, her arms tightening around his neck, clinging

to him as though she’d never let go.

“Right there, sweetheart?” He pressed a little harder, rubbing in tight circles against

the upper wall of her pussy, feeling the clench and release of her muscles.

“Yes. There. Oh Finn, there.”
He loved doing this—watching her undulate, coil and flex as she reached for and

anticipated the whole-body orgasm he’d learned to give her with his fingers. It took a

little time to get her there and he loved that too. Putting his overwhelming need on

hold, concentrating completely on Tasha, focusing on her responses and taking her

higher in increments until she went over the peak gave him intense joy.

“Too much, Finn.” The sensation apparently was too strong for she stiffened,

closing her legs and trapping his hand between them, shuddering waves rippling

through her frame. “I can’t—”

Withdrawing, he cupped her pulsing flesh, giving her a chance to catch her breath.

Whispering directly into her ear, he took the coward’s way out and confessed his love

in Inuktitut. After a few moments her thighs relaxed fractionally, and her trembling

waned.

“What did you say?”
The breathy question almost broke him, came close to forcing the words out again,

but in English this time. He bit them back. “Are you ready for me again, sweetheart?”

he asked instead, caressing her soft flesh, desire twisting with ever-increasing force in

his belly. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

She didn’t answer, but her thighs opened farther and the yearning sound she made

shot straight to his cock. Once more he slid two fingers in, knew he’d found the right

place again when Tasha tilted her hips up against his hand, another little rasping

exhalation breaking from her throat.

Using the arm around her waist, he lifted her onto his lap, his breath hissing

through clenched teeth at the pressure put on his cock with the maneuver. Her arms

dropped from around his neck and she clutched his forearms instead, fingers digging

into his skin. Pulling her higher up on his body, he slid deeper into the water,

cocooning them in the warmth and coaxing her legs apart with his bent knees so she lay

splayed out above him.

Tasha’s head fell back against his shoulder, her breath rushing over his neck.

Turning, he blindly sought her lips and started moving his fingers inside her again,

drinking in the sweet moans that flowed into his mouth.

Her inner muscles pulsed in a rhythm that matched the motion of their tongues and

the rate of his escalating heartbeat, getting faster, more insistent. She tilted her hips,

causing his cock to slide between the cheeks of her ass and, taken by surprise, Finn

almost lost it. Instinctively his hand tightened, his fingers pressing harder into her, and

Tasha wrenched her head away, cried out his name. Her entire body went rigid, bowed

Anya Richards

up almost completely out of the water and then rocked with enough violence to send

water splashing out of the tub as she came.

Fingers still buried deep, Finn held on to her, being driven almost crazy by the buck

and glide of her body over his, the strength of the muscles clamped around his fingers.

He clenched his teeth, trying to rein in the orgasm fighting for release. Finally Tasha’s

movements slowed and then she went limp, although her breasts still heaved with each

panting breath. And only then did he withdraw, taking his time, still savoring the

aftershocks tugging at his fingers as though trying to keep him inside her.

“Damn, Finn.”
Her whisper made him shudder and he tried to breathe deep, control the need

raging through his blood. Before he realized what she was going to do, Tasha rolled

onto her stomach. Grasping the edge of the bathtub she hauled herself higher onto his

chest, until they were almost nose-to-nose and he started to drown in the languid heat

of her gaze. Bringing her knees up along his sides brought the soft warmth of her pussy

to rest against his cock, and it took all his control not to tilt his hips the tiny bit it would

take to be inside.

“Wait.”
It was all he could manage to force out, with all his concentration focused on not

coming from the feel of her body swaying and undulating over his.

“Why?”
Leaning closer, she took his lower lip into the hot, moist recesses of her mouth, the

gentle back-and-forth suction a blatant illustration of what she wanted. When she lifted

her head away Finn could hardly breathe, every muscle vibrating with desire.

“Give me a little time, sweetheart.” He was begging, and didn’t care. “Or I won’t

last more than ten seconds.”

Tasha tilted her head slightly and her eyelids drooped, enhancing the seductive

power of her little smile. Her hips rotated in slow, determined circles against the head

of his cock, creating ripples of heat that rolled and crashed beneath his skin. When she

spoke, it was against his mouth, the words sinking into his flesh, trailing fire into his

veins.

“Sometimes ten seconds of bliss is better than a lifetime of caution.” The tip of her

tongue traced over his lips and he opened his mouth for her, but she pulled back a hair.

“And believe me, I’m still so hot for you, I probably won’t need more than five before

I’ll be coming again.”

Her words shattered his tenuous control and, curling his fingers around her thighs,

he surged up. Tasha shouted, head going back, her pussy tightening around the tip of

his cock, driving him to the brink of insanity and orgasm. Withdrawing slightly he

slammed back in, unable to temper the power or speed of his movements, now just a

creature of sensation, passion and need.

Tasha’s slick flesh gave way around his, seemed to try to keep him prisoner each

time he pulled back. Lost in the heart-stopping beauty of it, Finn felt the world fall

Arctic Destiny

apart, leaving him immersed in the catastrophic storm of emotion and its physical

manifestation. Everything centered on this moment, this woman, and the knowledge

that he was giving her all he had inside, even if she didn’t have a clue as to the depths

of his feelings.

“Yes,” Tasha cried, hips churning and rocking in devastating counterpoint to his.

“Yes. I’m coming, baby. Oh, I’m coming.”

Caught mid-stroke, he had no choice but to ride the tsunami of her orgasm. The

clutch of her arms, legs and pussy held him captive. She took his pleasure, magnified it

and threw it back at him until every nerve and sinew shuddered and jerked with the

overwhelming force of his love for her. And all he could do was lie there and take it,

almost crying as the sublime pleasure-pain of release exploded through his body and

ignited his soul.

Anya Richards

Chapter Five

Waking up the following morning to the hard warmth of Finn’s body pressed

against her back, Tasha blinked against the sunlight coming through a gap in the

curtains. Heart pounding, she took a deep, slow breath, trying to shake off the remnants

of her unsettling dreams even as she struggled to remember the details. There was an

Inuit woman, the sound of singing—no, chanting—and the howling roar of an animal

in pain. A sense of urgency made her try to dig deeper but under the pressure of her

scrutiny the memories fractured, leaving her with only the sensation of pain, impotent

rage and unrelenting sadness.

“You okay?”
The sound of Finn’s voice startled her. Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t

realized he was awake.

“Um-hm.” Already the dream had faded to insignificance when compared with the

joy of waking up wrapped in his arms. “How about you?”

His lips found the hollow behind her ear, and when he replied she felt the vibration

of his words all the way to her toes. “Never better.”

“If that’s the case, we could stay here all day. After all, I can’t follow my usual

routine of heading for Tim Horton’s for a coffee.”

She was only half joking. Something inside told her to make the most of being with

him again, that it couldn’t last. Maybe it was the residual effect of her dream, but she

didn’t want him to let her go just yet.

Finn chuckled softly. “Yeah, that would take some doing. The closest Tim’s is in

Thompson, and that’s over four hundred kilometers overland. Since there’s no road

you’d have to walk, and if starvation didn’t get you while you’re trekking to get your

coffee, the muskeg might.”

“Muskeg? What the hell’s that?”
Finn shifted to pull her even closer, one of his thighs slipping between hers. Tasha

drew in a sharp breath as his erection settled against her ass.

“It looks like a meadow, but it’s really grass and shrubs growing on top of a pad of

dead vegetation, with water underneath. Depending on how fragile the pad is, or how

heavy you are, you can sink into it like quicksand.”

“Nice,” she sighed, wriggling a little, letting him know how aware she was of the

condition of his cock. “There’re four hundred clicks of wild animals and life-sucking

vegetation between me and my coffee. What are you going to do to make it up to me?”

“Let me think.” One of his arms was curled under her head, his fingers playing

with her hair. The other hand brushed her from shoulder to elbow, and it wasn’t by

Arctic Destiny

chance the knuckles skimmed the side of her breast. Immediately her nipples puckered

and melting warmth flowered deep in her belly. “I could tell you I have Blue Mountain

coffee in my kitchen, and offer to make you a cup.”

“Yum, Jamaican coffee sounds good.” She rocked her hips in small pulsing motions.

“But what else do you have?”

Threading his fingers between hers, Finn lifted her hand and kissed the palm. Then

he cupped one of her breasts with their linked hands. A little gasp of surprise broke free

before she could stop it, and Tasha found herself pressing into the dual caress as Finn

used both their fingers to stroke and trace over her skin.

“I don’t have any bagels, but I did see a nice loaf of bread on the kitchen counter. I

could make you toast to go with the coffee.”

She didn’t know touching herself could be so erotic. It was sinfully arousing to feel

the circling of her nipple through her fingertips as well as through the sensitive flesh of

her breast. But sharing it with Finn made it truly sublime and it took every ounce of

effort not to sink into it, forget everything else.

“That would be nice too.” Desire made her voice breathy, but there was nothing she

could, or would, do to change it. “But I’m not sure it would truly make up for the lack

of Tim’s coffee and a muffin.”

“So difficult.” He made tutting noises, but it was the inexorable slide of their hands

down along her stomach truly holding her attention. “I’m not sure what I can offer

next.”

Tasha gasped as their palms covered her mound and Finn pressed her index and

middle fingers up between the lips of her pussy, using his to start them rubbing against

her clit. With a nudge of hips and his thigh, he had her almost completely on her

stomach, top leg bent up. Keeping his hand over hers, their fingers circling, Finn angled

his body into position. She was open to him, wet and ready for the slow, glorious

penetration of his cock.

“How’s that, sweetheart? Is that better than coffee?” He was deep inside her and

she could feel the smooth, hard flesh of his cock against her fingertips. It added to the

pleasure, and Tasha could only whimper in response.

He pulled back, easing centimeter by centimeter from her body, driving her insane

with need. When he reversed the motion, sliding forward with excruciating intent,

Tasha pushed up, trying to make him go faster, harder. The orgasm already building

beneath the twin assault of their fingers and his cock was tightening her muscles,

making her shake with the explosive force. But he wouldn’t heed the signals, only kept

moving at the same leisurely, devastating speed.

She tried to cry out his name, beg him for more, but she couldn’t catch her breath

enough to do it. All she could do was suck in rough, shallow gulps of air, gasp and

moan with each exhale.

His finger slipped between hers to take over the manipulation of her clit, and his

lower body pressed hers even farther into the mattress, holding her still, when all she

Anya Richards

wanted to do was writhe and twist. Once more he pushed his cock all the way inside

her pussy and then stopped, although his finger didn’t cease its teasing play. With the

merest rocking of his hips, a now-light tap of his finger, Finn started a chain reaction of

ecstasy ricocheting through her system.

And he wouldn’t let up. As soon as the first orgasm started to wane he began

moving again, a little faster now, his finger once more dancing over her oversensitive

clitoris. He was whispering to her, the low, sweet cadence of his voice enough to send

her spiraling out of control once more, although she couldn’t understand the words.

As she came the second time, he kept pumping, thrusting harder and faster into her

pussy, prolonging the orgasm. He kept her coming so that in the end, as he filled her

with short, rough strokes and she knew he was on the brink of his own release, Tasha

couldn’t tell where one orgasm stopped and the next started.

Nor where Finn’s heartbeat ended and hers began.

* * * * *

In the end they decided to go into Churchill for brunch and to collect Tasha’s

clothes. She’d prepaid for the room and didn’t intend to ask for a refund, but Lloyd, the

lodge owner, was kind enough to offer a partial one anyway.

“We’re pretty full with nature- and bird-watchers just now, anyway.” He smiled,

although she saw his gaze flick to where Finn stood near the door and a wary look flash

through his eyes. “I get calls almost every day asking if I have any rooms left, and with

an event coming up at the research center, I’m sure I can fill the room.”

“I would have thought your busiest time would be during the polar bear

migration.” Tasha finished signing the revised bill he’d given her and glanced up to

find the man staring at Finn again. Pushing the paper back across the desk toward him

got his attention, but annoyance gave the motion, and her voice, a bit of a bite. “Is it

always busy this time of year?”

Lloyd waggled his hand in the universal gesture of comme ci, comme ça. “It varies.

Some years are better than others, and we’ve started being more aggressive with

advertizing the various tours and experiences we offer, trying to let folks know we’re

more than just the polar bear capital of the world.” He grinned. “The weather pretty

much forces us to take vacation during winter. We have to do the best we can during

the warmer months.”

“I bet.”
Tasha fought the urge to come right out and ask him why he kept staring at Finn,

but Lloyd beat her to the punch. With a slight dip of his chin toward where Finn stood

looking out the front window, he asked, “You’ve known MacEwan long?”

Dear God, she’d forgotten what small towns were like, with everyone in everyone

else’s business and a total lack of boundaries when it came to information gathering.

Merrickville, the small village on the Rideau Canal where her mother had grown up

Arctic Destiny

and Tasha had spent many summers with her grandparents, was the same way. There

were two ways she could deal with it—freeze him out with big-city arrogance or smile

and walk away.

She chose the latter.
Pretending she hadn’t even heard him, she thanked him again for his kindness and

turned away. Finn came to meet her and took the handle of the wheeled suitcase from

her hand. Following an instinct she didn’t take time to consider, she put her arm around

his waist and leaned against him as they walked. Glancing up, she was surprised to see

the little smile playing around the corners of his lips.

“What?” She pinched his side for emphasis. “What are you smirking about?”
“You.” Pausing and bending with one smooth movement, he kissed her full on the

mouth. “You’re going to ruin my sterling reputation here in Churchill.”

“Huh,” she snorted as they continued on toward the pickup. “Something tells me it

isn’t that squeaky clean. The way Lloyd kept looking at you, I was tempted to ask if you

were dangerous or something.”

Finn opened her door and stood holding it as she climbed into the driver’s seat. But

once she was in he didn’t close it. Instead he leaned against the stanchion and looked

down at the gravel driveway, rubbing his jaw. By the time he finally lifted his head to

meet her gaze, Tasha’s heart was thundering, worry about what he was going to say

beginning to gnaw a hole in her stomach.

“Truth is, no one in Churchill knows what to make of me. I’m really hardly ever

here. I tend to travel in summer and work all winter. It makes me seem a hell of a lot

more mysterious than I really am.”

Something about what he said didn’t ring true, but she could believe his nearest

neighbors didn’t know anything about him. Even after spending two full months with

him in Toronto, there was still so much about Finn she didn’t know.

“I can see that happening.” She resisted the need to touch him. Somehow it was

important for her to maintain a bit of distance while they had this conversation. “I

didn’t even know you sculpted before I came up here and saw your workshop.” Hiding

her hurt with what she hoped was a casual shrug, she continued. “It seems something

you might have told me. You’re obviously good at it.”

He shook his head and straightened, gripping the door. “It’s a hobby. With the level

of art you’re used to seeing, I’m small potatoes.”

She didn’t argue, but the feeling he was hiding from her again made her suddenly

sad, and a little angry. Keeping her voice level when she replied was an effort. “I’d

think you’d know better than to try to bullshit me in that respect, Finn. Art is my

profession. Looking at it, evaluating it is what I do. The piece I saw in your studio,

unfinished though it might be, was good. Very good. You could easily make a living off

your carving if you wanted to.”

His fingers tightened on the door until the knuckles showed white, and although

his mouth tightened slightly, he only said, “Thanks.”

Anya Richards

It was a topic she’d have liked to pursue, but his emphatic closing of her door

seemed to preclude further discussion. Watching Finn stride around the bonnet to the

other side of the vehicle, she filed it away as yet another conversation they’d have to get

back to at some point. The list of those topics was growing longer every day. For each

small insight she thought she was getting into Finn, another shadow bloomed in his

eyes, heralding yet one more secret needing to be unveiled.

As he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt Tasha considered

having it out with him, once and for all. Wouldn’t it be better to get it over with? She

wanted to ask him about his work, his art, his family. Not to mention his connection

with Martha Okavik, which she was beginning to suspect would shed a lot of light on

his life. Strange to look back and realize just how little she had asked or expected of him

during their time together. There had been such an air of urgency to the two months

they’d spent with each other in Toronto. The knowledge, from the start, that there was a

finite time to their affair had made her reluctant to press him for details or potentially

mar even one moment of their time together.

But that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? The reason why she didn’t ask all the

questions she wanted was so simple and yet so powerful too. Somehow she knew if she

pushed, Finn would back away, retreat until she couldn’t reach him anymore.

Eventually she’d have to screw up the courage to do what she had to, but she wanted

just a little more time with him. She wasn’t ready to take the chance she’d have to walk

away again.

At least that was what she told herself as she reached out a slightly shaky hand to

turn the key in the ignition. And she kept her voice completely devoid of the emotions

roiling inside when she asked, “Where to now?”

Finn stared out the passenger-side window after directing Tasha toward the bakery

and restaurant on the other side of Churchill, and wrestled with frustration. He’d

carried the secrets and burdens of his life alone for so long, the urge to share them was

almost overwhelming. It was, of course, impossible. How could he even begin to

explain? Even something as relatively simple as his artwork was a subject fraught with

peril.

He’d started carving as a young man, whittling small dolls and toys for his sister

before he’d left Scotland. From a shipmate he’d discovered scrimshaw, and close

association with the Inuit had given him an interest and appreciation of their style of

carving. In the 1940s, when what was then called Eskimo art had started to become

popular, he had cashed in on his talent, spending a number of summers producing as

many soapstone sculptures as he could. He was able to sell them anonymously, as few

of the carvers actually marked their pieces or became famous for plying the trade.

He’d continued to carve when he could because it was a fairly steady source of

income, but recently he’d realized he had to stop, at least as a commercial concern. The

internet, with its constantly growing database of information, was his greatest enemy. It

was difficult enough to obscure his origins, obtain new credentials that didn’t advertise

Arctic Destiny

the fact that he had been born in 1862, without drawing additional attention to himself.

Nowadays every artist was expected to try to be a star, instead of simply being content

to create. They were supposed to open their lives to the buyers, displaying themselves

as well as their art. More people, like Tasha, were specializing in not just Inuit art but its

history, looking at the pieces from a scientific as well as aesthetic perspective. He had

no doubt she’d handled some of his older pieces during her professional life, perhaps

looking for similarities between them and other sculptures, trying to trace their origins.

How glad he was he had disposed of all of the sculptures he had on hand over the

month since Martha’s death. It had been mostly symbolic—a wrapping up of his life—

but the benefit was that Tasha hadn’t seen them, couldn’t make the connection between

him and the body of his work.

But he wanted to talk to her about it, share with her the artistic evolution he’d seen,

forge another link to her through their shared love of art and Inuk culture. He’d once

asked Tasha why she’d chosen to specialize in that particular area. Her family tree

spanned from Black Loyalists, ex-slaves who fought for the British during the American

Revolution and settled in Canada, to a variety of European cultures. As far as he knew

there was no direct connection between her background and the Inuit. It wouldn’t have

been surprising for her to specialize in a culture closer to home, so to speak.

It was, she told him, something visceral. While she could appreciate a wide variety

of art forms, no other moved her as deeply as Inuit art. There was a sense of mystery, a

fluidity and connection to the past and nature that called to her, made her want to delve

deeper into its genesis and the people who had created and continued to create it. He’d

understood that fascination, and loved her even more for it. So many people were only

interested in the things they were intimate with. Here was a woman willing to explore

the unknown and, at a soul-deep level, he wanted to be with her for the journey.

It was only when the pickup stopped he realized he’d been lost in his thoughts for

the entire, albeit short, drive. As Tasha put the vehicle in park, he turned to her,

wondering if she was angry at him for his boorish behavior and silence, which could

have seemed like juvenile sulking. A stab of fear made him stiffen, brace for whatever

recriminations she may see fit to throw his way. But she just looked at him with a slight

smile, determinedly normal although there were shadows behind her eyes.

“I hope the food here is as good as you said. I’m starving.”
Those simple words were both pleasure and the most intense pain. A sense of

desperate relief flooded him and, leaning over, he kissed her, not passionately but with

thankfulness filling his heart.

He wouldn’t have to see her walk away.
Yet.

Anya Richards

Chapter Six

That night he dreamt of John.
Once more they were aboard the whaling vessel Airdrie Lass, the Arctic sea

pummeling the ship, the wind howling and roaring like a thousand wild beasts on the

hunt. The sickening pitch and roll, coupled with sheets of water flying over the deck,

had the crew holding on for dear life, lest they be tossed overboard like dolls. There was

a moment of terror as Finn looked up and up, his disbelieving gaze straining to see the

top of a gigantic wave looming above them like the vengeful hand of some furious god.

They were going to die, he knew, as the prow rose, pointing skyward until the

Airdrie Lass stood almost upright. Arnaquq, the harpooner, lost his grip on whatever

he’d used to try and anchor himself safely to the deck. Instinctively Finn grabbed for the

Inuk hunter as he slid by, seeing the other man’s mouth open on a scream, the sound

lost in the thundering power of the storm.

The wave broke over the ship, bearing down like an avalanche, tearing and

scouring everything ahead of it. And in the ferocious, swirling mass, Finn saw the

phantom figures of men and women coming at him in a vengeful rush. Hands

outstretched, their cries and wails were louder even than the wind and waves, the

horrendous crack of wood splintering apart.

Jolting awake, awash with sweat, Finn tried to tame the wild flurry of his heart.

Beside him, Tasha murmured, and he held as still as he could, clenching his teeth to

stop them chattering, straining to control the rippling shivers climbing his spine. From

the darkness came rustles and whispers as the spirits gathered around the bed. Soon he

would be able to make out the voices, give each a name—John, Tulugaq, Anuniaq,

Joanasie and Ohitok, Aasivak, Mary, Martha.

Although the dreams ended, the story never had. The ship, though badly damaged,

had survived, but John hadn’t. There was that fateful moment, as his friend lay dying,

when a promise was made, sealing Finn’s fate as effectively as the mast, when it

snapped and fell, sealing John’s.

There had been times when he hated John, when he railed against the fate that had

befallen him because of their friendship. Yet those were nothing in comparison to the

rage eating at him as Tasha’s warm body shifted beside his in the dark and he knew

that soon, too soon, he would lose her again.

Carefully easing from beneath the covers, Finn crossed to the door and slipped out

into the living room. The need to escape gathered force inside until he almost vibrated

with it. Giving in, he left the house and shifted, welcoming the familiar burn of the

transformation, the heightening of physical senses, even as emotion waned.

Arctic Destiny

But the anger and longing didn’t diminish as much as normal, as though the pain

he carried now was too large to be truly subdued and was transferred into his animal

form like a cancer. Stifling the urge to lift his huge white muzzle to the sky and bellow,

he broke into a gallop, trying to outrun the spirits swirling in his wake and the

heartbreak keeping pace beside him.

Rolling over in the bed, Tasha realized she was alone and wondered where Finn

had got to. Sitting up, thinking of going to find him, she listened for any sound from the

rest of the house, but got only the impression of emptiness. There was no light showing

under either of the doors to the living room or bathroom, and Finn had pulled dark

drapes across the window to block out the lingering summer sun before they went to

sleep. She’d never experienced darkness quite this complete. Like a blanket it covered

everything, so that as wide as she opened her eyes, as hard as she stared, she couldn’t

make out even the silhouette of the furniture.

In the city there was never an absolute absence of illumination. With street lights,

security lights and the lamp she kept on, dimmed low so she could make her way to the

bathroom, she could always see. Now the night seemed to press down on her, and she

slowly lowered herself back down and under the covers, holding perfectly still, as the

hair on the back of her neck started to rise.

Don’t be stupid. You’re spooking yourself.
But the reprimand did nothing to quell the cold rush of fear slowly, inescapably

creeping through her.

Close your eyes, go back to sleep. You can’t see anything anyway.
Tasha tried to take her own advice, but instead found she was straining to see, her

gaze darting from side to side. Shivers chased each other up and down her spine, and

her scalp contracted, the tingling sensation adding to her growing sense of terror.

A faint glow in the corner of the room caught her attention and she blinked, sure it

was just a result of keeping her eyes open for so long. Then, as the glow got brighter,

resolved itself into the shape of a person, she blinked again and again, biting her lip to

stop the scream bubbling in her chest from escaping.

The Inuit woman stepped forward, crossed to stand at the foot of the bed. Dressed

in traditional clothing, the wolf-pelt-lined hood of her parka was pushed back to reveal

a beautiful, stoic face.

For what seemed like an eternity they stared at each other, Tasha unable to look

away, her teeth beginning to chatter with reaction. Was it imagination that made the

other woman’s expression seem to soften, the stern mouth open slightly, as though to

speak?

Between one rapid blink and another darkness returned, enfolding her as

completely as before, and Tasha released the breath she hadn’t even known she was

holding. A muffled sound came from the living area, and a sliver of light—from a lamp

Anya Richards

by the gentle glow—outlined the closed door. Lying on her side, Tasha traced the

rectangle of yellow with her gaze, trying to stem the fear still holding her in its claws.

It was just a dream.
But as the light in the other room winked out and the door opened almost silently,

she was hard pressed to believe what she’d seen hadn’t been absolutely, completely

real.

Although she couldn’t see him, she heard Finn cross the room and go into the

bathroom. As the door closed behind him the terror returned, almost full force, and she

threw back the covers to bolt from the bed. The shower was already going when she

opened the door and stepped through, her gaze arrowing in on Finn’s silhouette

through the clear plastic shower curtain. Both hands planted on the tiles, head hanging

down, he was leaning into the water, and something about his almost dejected posture

chased the cold from her belly.

Maybe it was the movement of the air that caught his attention, for he suddenly

turned his head. Stepping fully into the room, she closed the door, just as he pulled

back the edge of the curtain.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He sounded rueful and Tasha shook her head, moving closer. “You didn’t. I woke

up and wondered where you were.”

Finn smiled slightly, but his eyes were shadowed. “I couldn’t sleep, went for a

walk.”

“At this time of night?” She was right outside the shower enclosure now, wanted to

get in, be held and reassured, but a strange reluctance held her back. “Aren’t you afraid

of being attacked by wild animals? I know it’s too early for them, but I thought I saw a

polar bear the other day.”

“Don’t you know the most dangerous beast out there is man?”
There was no interpreting the expression in his eyes, the strange twist of his lips.

Tasha shook her head, covered his hand where it rested on the curtain, unsure why she

now felt the need to reassure instead of seek comfort from him.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, forcing a note of humor into her voice. “I’m the

woman who thinks sleeping in a motel is roughing it, and decided Churchill was the

armpit of Canada when I couldn’t get my Timmies’ coffee. Anything out there,” she

gestured with her chin toward the window, “whether with two legs or four, is bound to

be more dangerous than me.”

Finn shook his head, turning his hand to grasp hers. And, as he guided her into the

shower to join him, he murmured, “I don’t know about that. Sometimes I think you’re

the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met.”

With gentle pressure she turned him back into the spray. “No more dangerous than

you are to me, Finn.”

Arctic Destiny

He snorted, then moaned as she took the soap and started to slick it over his back in

a motion meant to be more of a massage than a true effort to make him clean. Melting

warmth filled her as she absorbed the sensation of his skin beneath her hands, the

ripple of muscles as he shifted. Finishing with his back, she moved lower, caressing the

taut buttocks then leaning against him as she soaped his thighs.

“You better stop, Tasha, or you might get more than you bargained for.”
“How do you know what I’m bargaining for?” Using the suds as a lubricant, she

slid against his skin, letting her palms cover as much territory as possible.

“I know you must be sore, sweetheart. I’ve hardly given you a chance to breathe

since you turned up. We should stop, before things get out of hand.”

But he made no move to step away. Taking shameless advantage Tasha pressed

closer, slicking her hands up the front of his thighs until they converged on his erect

cock. His moan of delight was the sweetest sound, and she fisted both hands around his

length.

“I think you’ll agree I have everything well in hand.”
And she realized she was wrong to think the sound of his pleasure was the sweetest

thing she’d heard. His slightly rough laughter was even more delicious.

His hips were moving in time with her pumping, circling fingers when he pulled

her hands away from his body and turned to drag her against his chest.

“You’re bad,” he growled, before taking her mouth in a slow, thrilling kiss. When

he lifted his head, his eyes were gleaming with intent. “And I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Finn.” They were skirting around an emotional minefield, and

she suddenly desperately wanted to avoid going further into it. Arching her hips out of

the way, she reached again for his cock, but at the first contact of her fingers he grabbed

her wrists and pulled her hands back. She didn’t try to struggle free, but didn’t relax

either. Keeping her arms stiff, she let him know that if he released her she would go

right back to what she’d been doing. Caught in an impasse, neither able to touch the

other, they stood locked together by his implacable grip, the beat of the shower

surrounding them in a sensuous waterfall.

“Tasha…” His eyes were midnight-dark and the plea in his voice obvious, although

no more than that one strained word seemed able to pass his lips.

“Let me. I want to do for you what you did for me in the bath,” she whispered, and

saw him shudder in reaction. “I want to know I can drive you crazy, the same way you

make me lose control.”

“You already know that.” He shook his head, but his grip loosened slightly. “You

must know the effect you have on me.”

Love for him rose up inside, clogging her throat for an instant, and she almost tried

to turn away, not wanting him to see the emotions overtaking her. But his fingers

tightened again, keeping her in place, and she lowered her face to avoid his searching

gaze. But suddenly she was tired of having to hide, to pretend all she felt was the

Anya Richards

physical enjoyment of their lovemaking. The barriers inside cracked and she lifted her

chin, allowing him access to whatever was displayed on her face.

“I need the proof.” Tasha hesitated and then shrugged. In for a penny, in for a

pound. “I need reassurance that just because you were able to walk away without a

second glance, it wasn’t because I couldn’t please you.”

“No.” Finn’s lips moved but hardly any sound emerged, and his expression—a

mixture of horror, anguish and despair—wrenched her heart. In the harsh light of the

overhead bulb he suddenly appeared haggard, as though her words had fallen on him

like blows and left him sick with pain. When he spoke again, she had to lean closer to

hear him over the patter of the water. “How can you even think that?”

Much as she wished she could, it was impossible to shrug or smile it all away. Now

they’d started down this road, there was no going back. The emotions she’d held inside

for two years were clamoring to be expressed, and she blinked back incipient tears.

“That’s what it felt like. Even though you told me from the beginning you would have

to leave in a couple of months, there was still a part of me that hoped—dreamed—you

would change your mind. And when you didn’t, that same part said it was because I

wasn’t good enough.”

“No, no, no.” Finn’s voice rose a little with each repetition and he shook his head in

time with the words, so emphatically it should have looked overdone. But Tasha

couldn’t ignore the bleakness in his gaze, the tight cast of his face. “If there were any

way I could have stayed, or asked you to come with me, I would have. I couldn’t offer

you anything. No future, not even a promise of one. It was all on me, Tasha, and when I

walked away, I left my heart behind.”

No way to stop the tears filling her eyes from overflowing, or hold back her

instinctive reply. “And you took mine.”

A flare of something primitive and wild crossed Finn’s face just before he jerked her

against his chest and wrapped his arms around her so tightly she couldn’t move.

Beneath her ear his racing heart thundered and waves of tremors rippled from him into

her body.

But even as joy at the thought of his love lifted her heart, something about the way

he held her—the almost desperately protective curve of his shoulders perhaps, or how

he hid his face in her hair—brought it back down to earth.

When his arms finally loosened slightly, Tasha took a deep breath and, without

lifting her head to look up at him, said, “None of this makes a difference, does it?”

Finn stiffened, didn’t answer for a long moment. The shower curtain had become

foggy, and Tasha thought there were figures moving in the mist wreathing the room

beyond. She closed her eyes.

When Finn finally answered, she could hardly hear anything but the desolation in

his voice.

Arctic Destiny

“Knowing you love me, being able to admit how much I love you makes all the

difference to me. But you’re right. It doesn’t change what I said before. I still can’t

promise you a future, no matter how much I want to.”

“Will you at least tell me why?”
She didn’t want to beg, but the appeal in her voice was obvious even to her, just as

his anguish was when he whispered, “I can’t.”

In an instant her choices became clear and she opened her eyes, followed for a

moment the swirl and dance of the ribbons of humidity beyond the curtain. The tears

had passed. There was no time for them now. Taking a deep breath, she cupped Finn’s

cheeks and lifted his face so he was forced to look at her and understand.

“As much as I love you, as much as I care and want to know why, I can’t force you

to tell me anything. I know and accept that, just as I did before. But if I have to try to put

my life back together without you in it again, I can’t stretch this out.”

The shadows in his eyes were as painful to her as the deep ache centered in her

heart. The sight of his stark expression was like a punch to her solar plexus, leaving her

gasping and bereft.

“When?”
He didn’t need to elaborate. In Toronto he had given her a timeline—I’m only here

for two months, he’d said, and then I have to go—and now asked for the same. In a way it

made things both easier and harder but, even knowing it was too short and yet could

never be long enough, Tasha didn’t hesitate. There were limitations on what her heart

could take.

“I’ll head back in a couple of days.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, the muscles in his jaw moving rhythmically, as

though he forcibly held back words surging to his lips.

Then he turned away, reaching back to stop the flow of now-cooling water before

silently easing her out of the shower. Neither of them spoke again as they dried off, or

when they walked together back to the bed.

Everything that needed to be said had been, she thought. But the conversation

between them continued with the frantic pace of their lovemaking, the harsh clutch of

hands, and kisses that already tasted of the awful loneliness ahead.

Pressing Finn back into the bed, glad of the darkness that hid the agony she knew

must show on her face, Tasha straddled his hips. He was right, she was sore, but still

she took him deep, rode him hard and fast, wanting to brand the memory and sensation

of her onto his body, so he would never forget.

Despite their foreplay, release was elusive, her body refusing to relinquish the

tension and pain of the moment, unable, or unwilling, to give in to the pleasure. Finn

thrust up to meet one of her downward plunges then gripped her hips, holding them

together, refusing to let her move. Shuddering, she absorbed the pulses of his cock,

Anya Richards

knew he was close to orgasm, and couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t let her finish

what she had started.

With a sudden heave, he sat up to wrap her in his arms, his hands racing over her

skin with desperate, uncoordinated movements. His heat coiled around her, flooded

her system, making her gasp and pull him closer yet. Each expansion of his hair-

roughened chest abraded her breasts. Every harsh exhale echoed into her soul. Hot and

moist, his breath scorched across her neck as he trembled, seemingly lost in the

moment.

“I love you, Tasha.” His agonized words struck like lightning, tearing through the

barriers she had, in her misery, thrown up against him. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

And she found the pleasure she’d thought wouldn’t be hers, the rush of orgasm

taking her by surprise, making her cry out his name through the tears she hadn’t even

been aware of shedding.

Arctic Destiny

Chapter Seven

Despair sat on Finn’s chest like a boulder, and each breath seemed laced with tiny

shards of glass that lacerated his already mangled heart. It was impossible to sleep. He

didn’t want to. Afraid to miss even a moment with Tasha, he held her spooned to his

chest or fitted his body to hers when she rolled over. Exhaustion tugged at him, but he

fought it, dozing intermittently, ignoring the whispery movements of the spirits within

the room.

Wishing they could go back to the moment before he pulled her hands away from

his cock was fruitless, but he did anyway. The intensity of the attraction between them

had been his ace in the hole, used to distract her, and him, from the painful truth. In his

heart he’d known she loved him, but until he heard the words he’d been able to pretend

it was just infatuation and sex. His own heartache was bearable when he could ignore

hers.

He’d never truly thought himself a coward, but now acknowledged when it came

to Tasha whatever courage he might have once possessed deserted him. He’d used the

incredible lure of their passion as a way to avoid telling her his unbelievable story,

knowing if he tried to she’d turn against him in fear.

That, more than anything else, would destroy him.
Better to have her think whatever was going through that beautiful head than try to

explain the reality. Better to take the couple of days she’d promised than jeopardize or

waste even a moment.

Yet when she untangled her limbs from his the next morning he stayed limp,

pretending to be asleep. And he remained that way until after she’d gone into the main

part of the house. Rolling onto his back, he contemplated the small sickle of sunlight

coming through the blackout curtains and shining on the ceiling. Not knowing what to

expect after the revelations of the night before kept him lying there until, damning his

spinelessness, he gave in to the need just to be near her.

After a quick shower he tugged on a pair of jeans, but when he walked out into the

living area it was empty. The front door was standing open, allowing a swirl of breeze,

rife with birdsong, into the coffee-scented house. Already the summer temperatures

were dropping, giving a brisk edge to the air and hinting of autumn to come. Prowling

closer to the kitchen, he saw a bowl on the counter, filled with batter. His heart

clenched. When stressed or upset, Tasha always cooked, and the evidence of breakfast

became just another symbol of the turmoil he’d brought into her life.

He found her just outside the door, facing the sun, standing barefooted on the

gravel, one of his Dene fur throws around her shoulders. For a moment Finn simply

watched her, his heart aching at the gleam of the light on her skin, the peaceful beauty

Anya Richards

of her upturned face. Although unaware of it, he must have made a sound, because she

turned her head to smile.

The wealth of love—of yearning—in her expression knocked the breath right out of

him, but he forced his trembling legs to move. Going to her, he enfolded her from

behind and she leaned against him, laying her head right over his fractured heart.

“Good morning.” Tasha’s voice was a little hoarse, bringing to mind both her tears

and the way she’d screamed his name in ecstasy the night before. “The pancakes are

almost ready for the griddle.”

Her attempt at normalcy reminded him of his own avoidance, and perversely

struck a spark of irritation in his belly. Tightening his hold on her, Finn bent to nuzzle

her neck. “With so little time, I think I want you for breakfast instead.”

She stepped away and he let her go, feeling the chill left behind where her warmth

had just rested.

“You might not be hungry for food, but I am.” The look she threw him over her

shoulder was studiously unemotional, and he wondered if she would even let him near

her again before she left. Then she smiled and turned toward the house. “I don’t get

some fuel you’ll be making love to a zombie. One whose stomach does the groaning.”

Relief flooded him as he followed her back inside.
Tossing the throw back onto the couch, Tasha crossed to the kitchen, and Finn

realized all she had on was one of his t-shirts. Beneath the thin blue cotton her breasts

swayed, puckered nipples clearly visible. The hem reached only to the tops of her

thighs, and as she walked the delectable lower curves of her ass twitched in and out of

view. Need—insatiable and raw—heated his system, bringing with it the urge to brand

her with his love one more time.

They’d be lucky to make it through breakfast without him spreading her out on the

table and making a meal of her body.

Taking a deep breath, he went to the cutlery drawer and took out knives and forks,

studiously concentrating on the chore. Yet his awareness centered on the flow of

movement as she turned on the burner under his old cast-iron griddle and reached for

the bowl.

“I saw you have some maple syrup in the cupboard, but it was too high up for me

to reach. Could you get it down?”

She stood right under the cupboard in question, dipping up some of the batter.
“Sure,” he replied, moving behind her and stretching up over her head to grab the

knob. Unable to resist, he shifted so their bodies came into contact, letting her feel his

erection. Her hand bobbled, and the pancake she was creating suddenly grew a nose.

Instead of pulling away, her ass gently undulated against his cock and Finn realized

he’d been hoist with his own petard.

Laying his hands flat on the cupboard door, he rocked his hips, and a growl rose in

his throat as she swiveled hers in return. Looking down over her shoulder, he could see

Arctic Destiny

the quickening rise and fall of her breasts, and the jerky, mechanical motion of her hand

as it moved from bowl to griddle a couple more times.

“Breakfast will burn if you keep this up.”
He loved the way her voice dropped low, became as heated as the pan over the fire.

Loved the evidence of her desire, the way it rose so quickly to match his. Dipping to

find the spot beneath her ear, he set his lips to it and reveled in her little shiver of

reaction. “Can we continue this…discussion…later?”

“I insist upon it,” she replied with one last teasing swirl of her ass.
He nipped her lobe, and then straightened to open the cupboard door and take

down the jar of syrup. Behind it was a familiar green-and-gold can, and he took that

down too. When he set it on the counter, Tasha gave a little squeal.

“Oh my God, is that golden syrup?”
The surprised pleasure in her voice made him grin. “Yep. Good old Tate & Lyle, at

your service. I take it you like it?”

“I love it. My granny, the British one, used to give it to us on toast or pancakes. I

haven’t had it in ages. Every time I see it in the store I remind myself that it’s nothing

but straight sugar and never buy it.”

Finn grabbed a spoon from the drawer and started prying open the lid. “An

occasional dose of sweetness doesn’t hurt. This one’s been here for a while. I hope it

isn’t all crystallized.”

“‘A little of what you fancy does you good’, Gran used to say.” She flipped the

pancakes. “And golden syrup is so sweet, you really only need a little.”

Finn gave a grunt of disappointment. “It’s gone hard. I’m sorry.”
“I am too, but never mind. I love maple syrup almost as much.”
But there was a wistful note in her voice, and his heart clenched again. Everything

they did and said for the next two days would be laced with the need to make it special,

to make memories that would have to last a lifetime, however long that turned out to

be.

As Finn finished setting the table and sat down, Tasha pushed aside thoughts of

their onrushing goodbyes, determined to make the most of the time they had left. It

hurt to think he loved but didn’t trust her, but the pain in Finn’s eyes seemed to go

much deeper than just the situation between them. While she was still determined to

ask him about Martha, and hoped to gain some insight into the rest of his story that

way, she also just wanted to be with him. Let tomorrow take care of itself.

She surreptitiously watched Finn as he ate, noticed how little syrup he used. That

was something they didn’t have in common. On her plate, the pancakes practically

floated in a sea of maple-y goodness. There were, in her estimation, few things that

weren’t improved with a little sweetness on the side. She’d happily coat Finn with the

stuff and lick it off.

Anya Richards

The thought made her have to stifle a snicker, and Finn looked up. “What?”
Closing her utensils, she pushed her plate away, feeling a wave of heat rush up into

her face. The images that were going through her mind were too much, even for her.

Yet, they were on countdown, and she had nothing to lose by taking the chance that

he’d be horrified by anything she did.

Before she could change her mind, she asked, “Do you remember teasing me about

liking sweet stuff with my meals?”

Finn chuckled, nodding. “I remember. You even adored that god-awful sweet

potato and pineapple casserole with marshmallows on top. I don’t know how you could

stomach it.”

“Hey, don’t dis Gran’s Sweet Potato Surprise. It’s not her fault you have an

uneducated palate. Lucky for you, I don’t.”

Finn tilted his head, obviously not catching the drift of the conversation. “Why does

that make me lucky?”

Pushing her chair back, Tasha smiled, as slow and sexy as she could, feeling the

heat flooding her face increase. If he didn’t get the drift of what she was implying soon,

sheer embarrassment would make her have to stop.

“Well,” she drawled, letting the word hang for a moment between them. “I was

thinking how nice the maple syrup would be as a glaze.” Leaning forward, she pulled

the jar of syrup toward her and dipped her finger in it. “That led to me thinking it

would be nice with almost anything…salty.”

Lifting her finger, twirling it to get the viscous syrup up to her second knuckle, she

popped it into her mouth. Finally, understanding flared in his gaze, and she shivered as

he started to get up, moving slowly as though giving her time to back down.

“I’d offer you something better than that finger, but I’m afraid you’ll think I’m

kinky.”

Heart racing, she let her gaze trail over his beautiful bare chest and down to linger

on the bulge in the front of his pants. Beckoning with the still damp finger, she said,

“Come get kinky with me.”

“Anytime,” he said, and then grimaced slightly, as though realizing this would be

one of the few opportunities left for them. He shook his head, and somehow she

believed he truly meant it when he repeated, “Anytime. Any way you want.”

Without replying, she hooked her finger in his waistband and tugged him close.

Behind the denim she encountered the head of his cock and she looked up at him,

eyebrows raised.

“Forgot something this morning? Like undies?”
“I was in a hurry.” He shrugged, but behind the attempt at nonchalance he vibrated

with arousal. She teasingly brushed back and forth, barely touching the crown, and it

grew slick beneath her fingertips. “I didn’t think anyone would mind.”

Arctic Destiny

With a flick of her thumb, Tasha undid his snap, glancing up at him through her

lashes. “I’m not complaining.” The rasp of the zipper going down was exceptionally

loud. “Saves me some time and effort.” Guiding him to stand between her knees, his

back to the table, Tasha pushed his pants down, her body going into overdrive at the

sight of his thick, straining cock.

“Anything I can do to be of service,” he said, lifting his feet one at a time as she

tugged the jeans off. “I’d been fantasizing about spreading you out on the table. I hadn’t

expected to become the feast instead.”

“Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you.” Tossing the pants aside,

she gestured with her chin. “Sit.”

For a moment she thought he’d had a change of heart, the look on his face causing a

shiver up her spine. Then he shook his head, took a deep breath, and lowered his butt

onto the table.

Nudging his legs farther apart and scooting her chair closer, Tasha met Finn’s gaze.

Reaching for the syrup she tried to let him know, without words, he was in for a wild

ride. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d given Finn a blowjob, but every other time he’d

stopped her before he came.

That wouldn’t happen today.
“Hmm.” Dipping the spoon they’d been using earlier into the jar, she collected a

small dollop of maple syrup on the end. “Sweet,” she murmured. Leaning in, she held it

over the head of Finn’s cock, where a bead of pre-come had gathered. “And salty.”

The syrup was extra thick and took time to drip from the spoon. When it hit his

flesh, settled into the slit, air hissed through Finn’s teeth.

Fascinated, turned-on by the sight, Tasha watched it mingle with the pre-come and

both began a slow, downward slide.

“Let’s see how that tastes,” she whispered.
Catching the syrup halfway down his cock, she licked all the way up and swirled

her tongue around the head. Finn growled, deep and low, his cock flexing under her

lips. She couldn’t resist licking the head again, taking it just a little way into her mouth,

savoring both his taste and reaction.

Drawing back to reach for the spoon again, she looked up at him, trembled at the

feral expression on his face. “That was delicious.”

This time she put a bigger dollop of syrup and watched it slowly creep almost to his

balls as she put down the jar. Finn held on to the edge of the table, knuckles white with

the force of his grip. His body was growing tighter, back arching, head going back, toes

curling, and his cock pointed straight to the ceiling, hard and delicious.

When she leaned in again he closed his eyes, the muscles of his thighs shivering

beneath her hands. Using just the tip of her tongue, Tasha brushed back and forth with

almost featherlight touches, moving the syrup around, sipping at it. Finn’s breath

Anya Richards

alternately hissed in and rasped out as she teased his arousal higher, but she wanted

even more.

She wanted to hear as well as see what she was doing to him. Wanted to touch and

excite him in ways she never had before. While no other man had ever given her as

much pleasure as Finn, there were so many things they’d never done, and she wouldn’t

get another chance.

“How about here?” She pushed his thighs wider apart so her tongue could stroke

and roll his balls unimpeded. Pulling away, she looked up. “Do you like that? Tell me

that you like it, or I’ll stop.”

He lowered his head, eyes mere gleaming slits in his tight, flushed face.
“You know I love it.”
“Really?” Blowing a puff of air across his sac, she watched it draw up even farther.

“You were so quiet I thought you’d gone to sleep.” Blowing on the damp flesh again,

she held his gaze. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want your mouth on me, Tasha.”
His hoarse confession made her tremble, but she didn’t move, just raised her

eyebrows. “Where?”

The gleam in his eyes intensified, until she felt it scorching into every corner of her

body. For a moment he didn’t respond verbally, but his cock pulsed, releasing another

bead of pre-come, and she knew he’d give her what she wanted.

“I want to feel you licking and sucking my cock, my balls—anywhere on my body

you want to put that beautiful mouth.”

Wicked, utterly lascivious ideas formed in her head, making her squirm and press

her thighs together to try to alleviate the deep throbbing in her pussy. Tilting her head,

she looked at him through her lashes. “Anywhere, Finn? Like here?”

Snaking her tongue behind his balls, she pressed and licked, fluttering close to his

ass. Finn stiffened, a harsh growl of pleasure breaking from his chest. His hips tilted

and she went deeper, then they rocked back and she lifted her head.

He was staring down at her, his breath racing, hesitancy in his eyes. For a moment

she hesitated too. But something inside her made her push, wanting to see if, despite his

reticence, he would trust her completely with his body.

“Stand up.”
It was a command, but she let a questioning note linger underneath. Again he

hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second, and as he levered himself off the table she

released the breath she’d been holding. The arousal in his eyes was as erotic as the

thought of what she was planning to do next. Scooting her chair back a little more, she

rubbed both hands down the front of his thighs, then up the backs, until she cupped his

taut ass. It tensed under her caress, and she smiled up at him. “Turn around, baby. It’s

time to get really kinky.”

Arctic Destiny

Finn reached out to grasp her chin, run his thumb over her lower lip. “Will I get to

return the favor?”

She shuddered, imagining being bent over the table under Finn’s mouth. She had to

swallow against the sudden dryness of her throat before she could reply. “You don’t

like sweet and salty.”

He shook his head. “Just salty. That’s all I want. And lots of it.”
Another shiver racked her frame, making her hands tremble and the pulse between

her legs escalate even further. “As much as you want.”

He turned to face the table, gave in to the pressure of her hand between his

shoulder blades urging him to bend forward. The drip of syrup, trickling down into the

crack of his ass made him stiffen, and it took a moment for him to relax under the

coaxing of her hands. As soon as she felt the tension ease, Tasha swirled her tongue

between his ass cheeks.

It felt like Finn was going to jump out of his skin. His body jerked forward, away

from her, but she followed his retreat, holding his hips, circling the puckered hole again

and again. He cursed, bracing his upper body on stiffened arms, and she thought he

might reach back to push her away. Instead, he rocked his hips toward her, as though

wanting more.

So she gave him more, flicking and sucking and working her tongue against him

until he cursed again and her tongue slipped inside.

A shudder ripped through him, so powerful she thought he’d come. Reaching

between his legs to grasp his cock, she found it was even harder than before, slick with

pre-come but still sticky with the syrup, so her hand couldn’t slide easily along its

length.

His hips were pumping in time with her tongue, ripples of reaction making his

muscles shiver beneath her hands, and she knew his orgasm was imminent.

When he came, she wanted him in her mouth.
Drawing back, she tried to speak, had to catch her breath first. The thunder of her

heartbeat was almost deafening, the clamor of her body almost too strong to be ignored.

“Come to me, Finn.” Holding one hip, she coaxed him to face her, looked up to

meet his passion-glazed eyes. “Come for me.”

“Tasha—”
His voice faltered, and he swallowed. She didn’t give him a chance to find the

words he was seeking. It wasn’t the time for them. Before he could even try to gather

his thoughts, she engulfed his cock with her mouth.

The mingled taste of syrup and Finn burst over her taste buds, making her moan

with pleasure. He was trying to hold still, his hands once more clenched on the edge of

the table, but his hips were rising and falling in an ever-escalating pattern. Taking his

cock in as far as she could, she slicked her tongue from side-to-side along the base, felt

Anya Richards

him push even deeper. Body impossibly rigid, muscles locked, he jerked, cried out her

name, and exploded into her mouth.

She held on, kept him between her lips until the last spasm had passed. By the time

she pulled away he was limp, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, hanging on to the

table as though afraid he’d slide down to the floor if he let go. His body shuddered

again and again with the aftermath of his orgasm, and a flush of triumph and desire

skittered over her skin.

To know she’d reduced him to this quivering mass of satisfaction was heady

indeed.

Finally Finn opened his eyes and pushed away from the table. For a second or two

he simply looked down at her, his expression unreadable, and Tasha’s heart faltered.

Had she gone too far? Was he, despite his obvious satisfaction, a little disgusted with

her?

A strange, feral smile tipped the corners of Finn’s mouth, and he said, “Your turn.”

Arctic Destiny

Chapter Eight

They spent the rest of the morning and into the afternoon making love. Gone was

the frenzied desperation of the night before. Coming together with tender ferocity, they

touched and explored each others’ bodies, as though it were the first time they’d been

together.

There was no talk about what would happen later, no questions or demands except

for more, harder, yes, there. For those hours the shadows receded from Finn’s eyes, and

Tasha gave herself over to him, completely. Soon enough they’d have to come back to

reality. Now was only about sharing pleasure, whispered words of love—making

memories.

As the afternoon shaded to evening, Tasha filled the bath and sat behind Finn in the

water. Taking off the leather thong holding his braid together, she slowly unplaited his

hair, running the thick, silky strands through her fingers.

“You’re the first man I’ve been with whose hair is longer than mine.”
The muscles of his back flexed and he tilted his head back, giving a soft moan as she

began massaging his scalp.

“I don’t mind being the first, but if I had my way, I’d be your last—for everything.

The last man to touch or kiss you, and whose name you cry out as you come. If I could

have anything in the world, that’s what I’d ask for—a lifetime, just one, with you.”

Tasha stilled, hearing the truth in his words, feeling the insistent echo of them in

her heart. If she had her way, he’d be her last, her only from now until the day she died.

He was everything she needed, everything she wanted.

She felt the ideal they’d built over the past hours slip away. They’d both been

running—her from insisting on the truth, him from even trying to explain it—and she

couldn’t do it anymore.

Finn was too important. The love they shared was too special to discard out of

cowardice or fear. No matter what he was hiding she was willing to give him the

benefit of the doubt, but only if he could trust her with the truth.

This was their last chance. If she couldn’t convince him to divulge the secrets he

was hiding, she’d leave the next day and all of this would be lost.

It was tempting to stay where she was, behind him, giving them both the chance to

hide, but she was done with taking the easy way out. Rising, she stepped out of the

bath, stood for a moment looking down at Finn. He turned to see what she was doing,

his face framed by the raven’s wings of hair growing at his temples, and she saw within

his gaze the growing realization of what she was about to do.

Anya Richards

He stood, stepped out of the bath. Turning his back, he reached for a towel, and a

chill raced down her spine.

It wasn’t too late to hold her tongue, to stop his retreat.
Then Tasha knew, for her own sanity, for the chance to be with him, it was already

too late.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “You could be my last, my only. That’s all I want

too. Why won’t you fight for it, Finn? It’s right within your grasp.”

He flinched, his hands stilling for a second, and she could see tension tighten the

muscles of his shoulders and back.

“If it were that easy, don’t you think I’d have grabbed hold and never let go? From

the moment I met you, you’re all I’ve wanted.”

He wouldn’t face her, and the anger vibrating in his voice was both a warning and a

goad. Stepping up beside him, she held on to his arm, wanting him to look at her, have

this out while she could see the expression in his eyes and he could see hers.

“Then why can’t you be honest with me? We belong together. Don’t give up on us

so easily.”

He didn’t answer, didn’t look around, but he didn’t move away either, and she took

heart from that. It was better than nothing.

“Let me start then.” She was pleading with him, desperate now for at least a chance

to open a dialog. “Let me tell you why I’m here. You asked me, but I never answered.

Will you let me do that, Finn? Can we start there?”

Finally he looked at her, and when she saw the hollowness in his eyes, she almost

gave up, walked away. It was like once more looking into the void where his soul

should be, and she had become the instrument of his pain. It was too much, for her and

for him. But before she could say anything, tell him to forget it all, Finn stepped past her

and walked toward the living room.

“Yes,” he said, but the flat, lifeless voice didn’t even sound like his anymore. “Let’s

start there, and see where the hell it all goes.”

In his heart he’d known it couldn’t last, not even for the two days she’d said she’d

stay. Tasha wasn’t really the kind to let sleeping dogs lie, irrespective of the way things

had gone before. The conversation they were about to have wouldn’t lead anywhere but

to heartbreak, and an entire day sooner than he’d thought to face it. That knowledge

numbed him, although he knew the agony of loss was all too close.

Ignoring his nudity, he strode across to the dining table and sat down, waiting for

Tasha to join him. When she came out of the bedroom, she was once more wearing his

t-shirt and, as she took the seat across from him, there were lines of strain etched beside

her mouth, between her brows. Her eyes were dark as the taiga at twilight, when the

shadows between the trees are beautiful, mysterious and hint at unseen dangers. His

Arctic Destiny

love for her threatened to explode the wall surrounding his emotions but he shored up

the barrier, pushed the upwelling pain aside and let her take his hand.

“I came to see you because I’m writing a paper on Martha Okavik’s life and work.

During my research I was given a journal, written by one of her caretakers.”

She paused, her gaze flickering down for a second before lifting back to his, and a

ball of cold fear opened in Finn’s gut. What had Martha’s caretaker said that could have

made Tasha seek him out?

“In it the nurse, Karen, documented some of the stories Martha used to tell her. The

stories were about a man named Fingal MacEwan, who was the human embodiment of

Nanuq and guardian of her family. How he used to visit her, and had visited her family

throughout the decades.”

Again she paused, as though waiting for his response, but he couldn’t move or

speak, frozen in place by the ice spreading from his belly out into his limbs. With a

small shake of her head, Tasha continued.

“Karen documented everything, more as a way to show Martha’s mental state than

anything else. In her notes she pointed out that Martha was adopted, so even if the

stories weren’t impossible to begin with, there would be no way for her to know what

had occurred in her birth family. But the nurse was quallunaat.” Tasha used the

Inuktitut word for “white” unselfconsciously. “She wasn’t familiar with the Inuit

tradition of adoptions within families. It was absolutely possible for Martha to have

heard stories about her birth family from the ones who raised her.”

Finn nodded. It was all he could do as he wondered what else she would say—what

else Martha might have gleaned over the years. Which other stories she might have

been moved to tell.

“I knew the name, of course, and suddenly our meeting at Martha’s exhibit didn’t

seem like coincidence. That, along with the fact you lived up here in the north made me

wonder if she was referring to you. Then I found a record of a Fingal MacEwan who

was a whaler reported lost in Cumberland Sound at the end of the nineteenth century.

Something more I couldn’t dismiss as coincidence.

“It made sense to talk to you, to see if you were related to that earlier Fingal even

though I couldn’t find a solid link. And, if you were, ask what connection, if any, you

had to Martha and her family. When I got here and saw the graphics…”

She didn’t need to continue. Finn’s gaze trailed hers to the picture visible from

where they sat, the lines and splashes of colors blurring before his unfocused eyes. Did

Martha tell her nurse the story of creating the graphics as a way to appease Nanuq?

Finn’s heart had almost broken when he realized Martha had made only one copy of

each beautiful print and then destroyed the hand-carved stone templates. No matter

how he’d tried to tell her he wasn’t the Great Spirit, that he was just a friend coming to

make sure she was all right, Martha didn’t believe him.

To her he was Nanuq, the Great Spirit of the polar bear, a being to be feared and

placated, and that was all there was to it. Toward the end he’d taken to checking on her

Anya Richards

from a distance, using others to ensure she was well cared for, that she was given the

freedom and opportunity to create despite her mental health concerns. He couldn’t bear

to see her fear when she looked at him.

“Will you tell me about her, Finn?” Tasha’s voice was soft, but under the simple

question lay a bigger one—one that made the icy sensation holding him captive

sharper, more distinct. “Will you trust me that far?”

The pain in his chest intensified, her question stabbing like a knife between his ribs.

He couldn’t even look at her, closed his eyes against the self-directed fury burning away

the ice inside. Why had it never occurred to him that, for her, it all boiled down in the

end to trust?

Seeking her gaze, he blindly reached out and found her other hand, clasping his

fingers around hers, never wanting to let go.

“It isn’t a matter of trust, sweetheart.” If nothing else, he had to convince her of that.

“Believe me, if I could make any of it make sense, I’d tell you everything.”

Disbelief sparked in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. “What can you tell me

then?”

The familiar frustration, the knowledge that truth was a maze he didn’t know how

to navigate anymore, made it hard to breathe. One piece of information, answering one

question, would lead to others. Where to start, how to end, were the conundrums he

had to unravel before he could say anything at all.

But not to speak would be tacitly implying he didn’t trust Tasha. He’d already hurt

her with his secrets and silence. He couldn’t knowingly do it again. But the trail was

long and twisted. Perhaps she would be content just to see the last turn before it got to

the end?

“Martha suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome. Both her mother and father were

alcoholics.” Even as he said it, the old sense of failure came over him, and he had to

swallow before he could continue. “Her father’s family adopted her when they realized

her parents couldn’t cope. She had problems, including an inability to connect

emotionally with others, so perhaps those stories, like her art, were her way of making

sense of the family tales she’d been told.”

Tasha sighed, and there was sympathy in her voice when she said, “Poor Martha.”

But Finn heard something else too—an underlying indictment, probably of Martha’s

parents, and he couldn’t let that stand.

“You have to understand. Her mother was sent to a residential school, and never

really recovered. They even gave her a new name, Mary, but it didn’t help her when

they sent her and her husband Enoch back to Naujaat. They’d been taken from their

parents when they were little more than babies.” He squeezed Tasha’s fingers, trying to

make her understand. “How could they be parents if they never had parents of their

own?”

Unable to sit still, he released Tasha’s hands and stood, but immediately missed her

warmth. He didn’t deserve the comfort her presence gave, so he paced to the front door

Arctic Destiny

and stood looking out. The days were already getting shorter, and a sharp breeze set the

twilight shadows dancing. Just beyond the scrub-line bordering the driveway he sensed

the presence of the spirits waiting, watching.

“How do you know all that, Finn? You weren’t even born then. Is there a

connection between your family and hers? Are you related to the whaler whose name I

found in the archives?”

Finn took a deep breath, but it hurt too much to hold it. Clutching the doorjamb so

hard his knuckles ached, he fumbled to find an answer.

She couldn’t know what she was asking, how impossible it was for him to untangle

one set of circumstances from the next. For others the past went back only so far. As

memories faded and elders passed away, the stories got confused or were lost, answers

replaced with shrugs or myths dreamed up in the throes of speculation. When he

looked back, what he saw was the chain linking each action, each person, to the next.

Martha was scarred by her mother Mary’s sadness and loss of self. But Mary ended

up in the residential school because her mother, Aasivak, left the safety of the far north

to hide from her father Ohitok. Ohitok, whose anger had led to the death of his brother

Joanasie, who, in turn, was his mother Anuniaq’s favorite. Anuniaq, the little girl

Tulugaq gave birth to. John’s daughter.

The stories stretched back, intertwined with his own, forming a noose around his

neck and heart.

“Finn.” He hadn’t heard Tasha move, only realized she had when she spoke from

right behind him and he felt her arms around his waist. “Tell me, baby. Whatever it is,

please, tell me.”

Impossible. But he wanted to. The truth burned to be let out. Even if she thought

him crazy, or thought herself insane when he was done, he didn’t want to hold it inside

anymore.

John, Tulugaq, Anuniaq, Joanasie and Ohitok, Aasivak, Mary, Martha. Their trail

had disappeared into darkness, just as he believed he was destined to disappear. Tasha

represented the light, and even if it wasn’t his destiny to live in her glow, he had to

reach for it, take the chance.

But his heart was pounding, the familiar ache drumming in his temples, and

everything he knew and felt became a jumble in his brain. Tasha shivered, her arms

tightening until he could feel the entire supple length of her body against his back.

Outside, the wind picked up and the spirits drew nearer, grew more solid. They called

to him with wordless pleas, as though in opposition to his determination to set himself

free. The failures of the past at war with hope for the future.

Tasha somehow thought the truth would be a portal to that future, but in his heart

he didn’t believe it possible. Telling her would change nothing, except to kill the love

between them.

He imagined telling her who he really was, trying to explain, and knew how

preposterous it would all sound. Of course he could show her, and he immediately

Anya Richards

imagined her fear and disgust. There was nothing normal about him, about what he

had become and continued to be. What would the truth do except completely destroy

the one point of beauty in his life?

“I can’t do this.” He didn’t mean to say it out loud—didn’t mean it—but the words

echoed into the night, seemed to hang in the air like snow on an almost still winter’s

night.

Tasha’s arms fell away and she stepped back. Finn shivered at the sudden loss of

her warmth.

“Okay, Finn.” There was nothing in her voice. Neither sadness nor resignation to

show she cared one way or another, but the flat tone itself spoke volumes.

Part of him insisted he face her, the other told him to get away before he gave in to

the insane urge to let it all out and shattered her love. Thinking her final memory of him

would be one of terror broke him completely. It would be easier, better, to withstand

her disappointment, even her anger, than have to live with the knowledge of her fear.

The coward’s way out.
Bracing both hands harder on the doorjamb, he sucked in a deep lungful of the

cooling air. The spirits had retreated once more, but he felt them waiting and knew he

would heed their call. Yet he also felt a lingering hint of heat along his spine, as though

Tasha’s spirit still rested there, reminding him of the light he was leaving behind.

“I need to clear my head.” It was a cliché, but no less than reality. The pounding in

his temples had the power of a sledgehammer. The cool shadows of nightfall beckoned,

although it offered only partial peace. Levering himself upright, he finally turned.

Tasha had moved back to the middle of the room, stood there shivering, and his heart

contracted with an ache so deep he could hardly breathe. “I’ll be back.”

She didn’t answer, her silence damning him far more effectively than any invectives

could, and he couldn’t bring himself to try to convince her he meant it.

He wasn’t completely sure he did.
Stepping outside, he closed the door and fled, the spirits dissolving like smoke in

the face of his instinctive charge. But when he got to the scrub-line they were there,

waiting, and he wondered if they always would be.

There is nothing more I can do. I admit my failures, but can never make them right. Will

you go now?

They didn’t answer. Still and silent, they crowded closer, surrounding him, and he

could read nothing in the fathomless eyes. Desolation took hold of him, ground into his

soul the knowledge there was no escape, no matter how far he might run.

Shedding his human skin, he walked into the darkness—west, toward Wapusk,

where the rest of his brothers waited. The bears knew nothing of heartbreak, of

promises or love. All they knew was instinct, the acts that assured survival, and were

content.

He would do anything for even a fraction of their tranquility.

Arctic Destiny

Chapter Nine

Tasha stared at the closed door, unable to move, frozen with the enormity of what

had just occurred.

I won’t cry. I won’t regret trying.
But the sobs tore at her throat, fighting for release, and in the deepest part of her

heart lay the wish to erase everything that had just happened.

Finn had walked naked into the night rather than tell her the truth.
Rather than trust her.
It was the lack of trust that hurt the most, because his inability to confide in her also

spelled the end of their affair. And knowing what they had was over tore her in two.

He said he’d be back.
Did she believe him, or at least the implication that when he did they would

continue the discussion?

She couldn’t allow herself to hope. There was no more of her heart available to

break.

Tremors fired one after the other through her body, making her teeth chatter as

though a winter’s wind filled the room.

I can’t stay here.
She looked around, suddenly overwhelmed, the memories she’d been so eager to

make now a source of agony. Finn’s spirit inhabited each corner. Their passion filled the

air. Even Martha’s graphics took on new meaning.

Drawn against her will, Tasha moved toward the nearest print, examined it even

closer than before. When she’d first seen the artwork it registered in her mind as an

indication she was on the right track. Finn wouldn’t have them if there wasn’t a close

relationship to Martha.

Why had it never occurred to her to compare the stories found in the journal to the

prints?

Another sob rose in her throat, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She’d been

too distracted by Finn, by her need for him, to even be logical.

Snippets of the diary entries came to her, little clues that now took on greater

importance as she fitted them to what Martha had created. The graphic she was looking

at had a sailing vessel lightly stenciled in the distance, and an Inuit family standing on

shore, watching it approach.

He first came disguised as one of Niviarsiang’s children, returned from across the sea…

Anya Richards

In that legend Niviarsiang’s husband was a large red dog. She had given birth to

ten children, five who were dogs. Those children, for their safety, were eventually sent

across the sea. According to popular thought, they symbolized the start of the European

races. To the Inuit, the arrival of white men to their homeland meant Niviarsiang’s

children had returned to give back to their mother’s people. Was that what Martha tried

to depict in this work?

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand Tasha realized she didn’t honestly care

anymore, and that was almost as frightening as the heartache gnawing away at her

insides. When she left Manitoba and returned home to Toronto, work would be all she

had left. It was what kept her going after Finn’s departure two years ago. If she couldn’t

hold on to some semblance of interest, her prospects for any kind of future happiness

were bleak indeed.

Taking a steadying breath, she used the hem of the t-shirt to dry her face.

Straightening her shoulders took more effort than it should, but she forced her body to

its full height. Broken she may be, but she would practice hiding it from now on.

She needed her notes and the photocopy of the journal she’d brought with her. It

took her a moment to remember she’d left the knapsack containing them in the pickup.

Stupid now to think she hadn’t wanted Finn to see them. How much heartache she

could have saved them both by being honest on the first day she’d arrived. He would

have freaked out then, and she would have left. They wouldn’t have had the chance to

get under each other’s skin again, break each other’s hearts so completely.

Fighting the tears trying to overcome her once more, she crossed to the door and

wrenched it open. The last rays of the sun still shaded the western sky rose and gold but

already twilight was giving way to night, pitch-black shadows lengthening, closing in.

The glow from inside illuminated the way to the pickup, and Tasha moved gingerly

over the sharp gravel to the vehicle.

Opening the door, she climbed on the running board to stretch in and grab her bag

from behind the passenger seat. Tugging it closer, she unzipped it and glanced inside.

Beside her spiral-bound notebook were two manila file folders. One had the copy of

Karen’s journal. The other was stuffed with documents she’d unearthed on the internet

and printed out just before she left Toronto. She’d carried the knapsack on the plane

with the intention of going through them, but she’d been too keyed up to even open the

bag.

Suppressing a sigh, Tasha stepped down onto the driveway and turned toward the

house, slamming the pickup’s door shut behind her.

Halfway to the house a strange noise sounded over the muted, constant hum of the

generator and she froze, a shiver of apprehension tightening her scalp and trickling

down her spine. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and without turning, she

strained to hear something more.

The wind had died, leaving an almost preternatural calm. All she could think of

was awaking to see the Inuit woman’s spirit in Finn’s room. There was the same

Arctic Destiny

sensation of being watched, of forces outside of her control or understanding being in

play. It was unsettling, especially amplified by her solitude.

It took every ounce of courage she possessed to look over her shoulder and scan the

line of stunted, wind-sculpted trees and scrub. Her gaze darted from shadow to

shadow, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It hopped from one patch of darkness

to the next before her mind could register what she had seen.

Slowly, in complete disbelief, she looked back at the spot, sought and found the

object once more, confirming what her frantic brain was trying to impart.

Standing perfectly still in the bushes, the great head lowered, watching her, was a

polar bear.

For a moment, even with the evidence right in front of her eyes, her mind refused to

accept what she was seeing. The breath seized in her chest, her heart stopping and then

beginning to pound with a sudden deafening roar. When the adrenaline hit her system

she didn’t think, didn’t even hesitate, but sprinted full speed for the front door.

Yet it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. The doorway receded until it

seemed a hundred miles away. There was no way to know whether the bear was

coming for her, since she kept her terrified focus on the door and could hear nothing

but the frantic thumping of her heart.

Strange the thoughts that went through her mind as she ran. Stranger to realize she

had time to think them.

It’s too early in the year—
You shouldn’t run from predators—
I let him leave when I was angry—
Will it hurt when it takes me down—?
I wish I’d told Finn I loved him, one more time.
Then the door was there and Tasha went through, grabbing at the handle as she

went by, skidding on the mat, her bag flying out of her hand as she instinctively fought

for balance. Somehow, although she didn’t know how, she slammed the door shut,

turned the lock with one hand, shot the bolt with the other. Expecting to feel the bear

trying to crash through at any moment, she leaned on the door, as though her puny

weight would make a damn bit of difference if it tried. Once she realized how stupid

she was being, Tasha backed away. Turning, she made a dash for the bedroom, catching

her foot on her knapsack and sending papers scattering across the floor as she kicked it

out of her path.

The bedroom door was within reach when the next thought struck her—
Finn!
He was out there, naked, alone with a fucking bear, and she’d just locked the door.
She spun so quickly one ankle twisted beneath her weight, but she didn’t feel

anything other than a jolt of anger at the millisecond wasted as she righted herself.

Anya Richards

Nothing else mattered other than getting back across and unlocking the door, somehow

warning him, saving him.

Now, when she was desperate to get the job done quickly, efficiently, her fingers

wouldn’t cooperate. And as she struggled with both the lock and bolt at the same time,

she gave in to the screams rising in her throat.

“Finn. Finn. There’s a bear out there. Stay away from the house, baby. Be careful.”
Finally the locks clicked and she wanted to fling the door open, make sure he could

hear her screams. But the part of her that believed in self-preservation said she couldn’t

open the door without a weapon, couldn’t help Finn if she couldn’t help herself.

Still screaming at the top of her lungs, she looked around for something, anything,

she could use.

The cast-iron skillet, still sitting beside the sink where she’d left it to dry.
Racing back across to the kitchen, she skidded around the low island, had just

grabbed the skillet when she heard the door open. Spinning around, she clutched the

pan with both hands and lifted it like a tennis racket.

“Finn!” A rush of relief left her completely boneless and the pan clanged to the

floor. He started toward her, and she found herself screaming, “Close the door. Close

the fucking door.”

Clutching the counter, all she could do was watch as Finn kicked the door shut and

strode across the room. He got to her just as the adrenaline dump struck, and if he

hadn’t caught her, she would have ended up on the floor.

“It’s okay, Tasha.” He’d pulled her tight to his chest and his voice rumbled into her

ear. But it couldn’t soothe her. Fear still rampaged through her blood. “I’ve got you,

sweetheart.”

She wanted to ask if he’d seen the bear, if it was still out there, if he was all right,

but bile rose in her throat, choking off the words. Struggling free of his arms, she turned

to the sink and hurled. Finn supported her from behind, the heat of his embrace finally

percolating into her clammy skin. She began to tremble and he pulled her closer.

It took two tries before she could turn on the tap to rinse her mouth and splash

some of the cold water on her face. When she was done, she leaned on the edge of the

counter, head hanging down, trying to catch her breath. Images flashed in her head. Of

Finn being mauled, dying, dead, gone forever beyond her touch. They were so intense

she suddenly couldn’t inhale, her chest and throat locked tight with a rush of agony.

“It’s over. It’s over.”
He was trying to soothe her again, but Tasha was shaking too hard to reply. It really

was true. You couldn’t truly appreciate what you had until you lost it—or almost lost it.

Even with his arms around her, his warmth flowing into her skin, the fear of losing him

turned her belly to a hollow, icy pit and kept her heart racing. Finding strength from

somewhere, she turned into his embrace, locked her arms around his neck, silently

swearing never to let him go.

Arctic Destiny

Lifting her, striding through the papers so they fluttered and drifted across the

floor, Finn crossed to the couch. Sitting, he held her on his lap, tucked in close against

his chest, and reached for one of the throws. As he put it around her, she placed her feet

flat on the couch and, when pain shot up her leg, drew in a sharp breath.

“You’re hurt.” Finn drew back slightly, tilted her face up to his. “Where?”
“My ankle.” It hurt to speak, her throat raw and aching. “But it’s not too bad.”
“Which one?”
“The right. But really, it’s okay.”
Ignoring her, Finn moved the throw away from her legs and palpated the slightly

swollen joint, his fingers warm and gentle. “We should put some ice on it.”

She tightened her grip on his waist and buried her face in his neck, just wanting to

hold on, not let go. “It’s fine.”

“Tasha, let me look after it for you.”
She shook her head, rubbing her lips across his throat with each movement. There

was a strange scent coming off his skin—an earthy tone just beneath the one she

recognized as his, and she pulled more of it into her lungs. “I just need you to hold me

for a while. I was so scared.”

Impossible to articulate the depths of her fear, but being in his arms allowed it to

recede.

“You didn’t have to be.”
“Don’t.” Anger stirred at his tone, although she wasn’t sure why. “Don’t pretend I

imagined it, Finn. I know what I saw.”

“It wasn’t—”
“Don’t patronize me.” She cut him off, the words just gushing from her lips. “There

was a bear out there. I saw it. Maybe that’s not something you find unusual or

frightening, but I do.”

He tightened his grip on her, kissed her damp cheek. “I understand, sweetheart.”
“No.” She leaned back so she could cup his cheeks, found regret and sadness in his

eyes. “You don’t understand. This changes everything.” When he tried to speak, she

placed the fingers of one hand over his lips, held his gaze. “I won’t say I don’t care what

your secrets are, or it doesn’t matter you won’t share them with me, but it isn’t

important anymore.”

Taking a deep breath, fighting welling tears, she traced the line of his scar with her

finger. “When I thought I might have lost you, imagined you out there, maybe hurt,

maybe…” A sob choked her, and she shook her head, unable to say it. “I don’t care

what I have to do so we can be together—stay here, wait for you in Toronto—whatever

you need. I love you. I need you. Please, we can work it out.”

“Tasha—” The look in his eyes flayed her, and she tried to interpret it. Fear, pain, or

longing? Perhaps an amalgamation of them all. “Don’t make promises you might not

want to keep.”

Anya Richards

She had laid herself bare, was too exposed to even feel anger, but couldn’t stop

herself from asking, “You think so little of me you believe I’d go back on what I said?”

“No.” He shook his head slowly, still holding her gaze, and she saw the truth of

what he was saying on his face. “But when you hear what I have to say, you’ll think I’ve

lost my mind. When I prove it, you might think you’ve lost yours. I won’t hold you to

what you said, sweetheart. Just remember I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone,

and I’d never hurt you. Not intentionally.”

Despite the gravity of his expression, Tasha’s heart leapt. He was finally going to

trust her. “You can tell me anything, Finn.” She needed him to believe this, if nothing

else. “I know the man you are. Whatever you tell me won’t change how I feel, what I

know about you.”

Finn closed his eyes, his hand coming up to cradle hers more firmly against his face.

“Oh, sweetheart, I pray that’s true.” The roughness of his voice scraped over her heart

and when he kissed her palm, the sensation warmed her as much as the enveloping fur.

“It is, and always will be.” Leaning fully against his chest, she kissed him, gently,

letting her lips linger against his. “I love you, Finn. I don’t want to lose you again. Tell

me what’s going on, so we can face it, put it behind us if we can, deal with it together if

we can’t. That’s what people who love each other do.”

The sound he made wasn’t a chuckle—there was too much bitterness—but echoed

with resolution and resignation. His arms shifted, moving her so she half reclined

against his shoulder, and he looked down at her for a long, silent moment. Then his

gaze began to roam the room as though he were gathering his thoughts. Tasha didn’t

try to hurry him. Obviously whatever he had to say was difficult, and she couldn’t stop

her mind from turning over the possibilities. There were some she wouldn’t even

entertain. They were too far outside the realm of possibility for a man like Finn.

The sudden jerk of his body, the way it stiffened until it almost vibrated with

tension took her by surprise, and when the blood drained from his face, she sat up.

“Finn, what is it?”
He was staring down at the floor near his feet and, as she turned to see what he was

looking at, he extended his foot and touched a fanned pile of papers from her knapsack.

“What are these?”
Glancing up at his grim expression and then back at the papers, she tried to make

sense of his sudden question.

“Um…” She leaned forward to see. “Some documents I downloaded before I left

Toronto but I’m not sure exactly what I got. Why?”

“What kind of documents, Tasha?” The same tension tightening his body reduced

his voice to a low growl.

“I was browsing some genealogical websites and got a couple of hits on family trees

with men named Fingal MacEwan. I thought I could maybe start from the past and

work forward, since I hadn’t been having any luck going the other way. I’d found one

Arctic Destiny

from Glasgow and another from Edinburgh, and just printed everything posted about

those families, but I don’t know if what I found is of any use.”

“It’s of use.” He leaned over, holding her with one arm so she didn’t tumble off his

lap, and reached for the stack of papers. When he straightened up, he had one page in

his hand. “You found what you were looking for.”

“What?”
He held out the page and she automatically took it, but didn’t look down until he

gestured for her to do so. There were two pictures, one of a lady in Victorian dress, the

other of a man in a uniform, like a merchant seaman, his cap tilted back slightly, his

face—

“Oh my God. Finn, he looks exactly like you. This must be your ancestor.”
Excitement made her want to laugh, but when she looked up he was shaking his

head and whatever else she was going to say died in the face of his bleak, taut

expression.

“No, sweetheart, he isn’t one of my ancestors. That is me.”

Anya Richards

Chapter Ten

“That’s impossible.” She waited for him to say he was joking, even while deep

inside knowing he wasn’t. Drawn against her will, her gaze lowered to the paper in her

hand. “Look.” She pointed, hand shaking uncontrollably. “Look at the caption, ‘My

great-great-great-granduncle Fingal MacEwan before his 1886 voyage to the Arctic’.

There’s no way that’s you.”

“Look at it closer, sweetheart.” His voice was little more than a whisper, and he

lifted his hand to touch the scar running through his eyebrow. “I’ve had this since I was

sixteen.”

She didn’t want to look but, compelled by his bleak expression and tone, she

glanced down and found she couldn’t tear her gaze away. It wasn’t just the scar, which

could be dismissed as a flaw in the photograph. Something about the Victorian

gentleman, the way he held his head, the slight smile tipping the corners of his mouth,

held her attention, made her heart jolt. Cold blossomed in her stomach, seeped in

chilled ribbons through her veins. The paper wavered, and she wasn’t sure whether it

was because she couldn’t focus or because Finn’s hand was unsteady.

“My mother and I had these pictures taken on the same day. She was so worried

about what I was doing but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It seemed like a gift

from God.”

He traced a tender line along the jaw of the woman in the other picture with one

finger, the wistfulness in his words causing Tasha to have to swallow the lump rising in

her throat. “What seemed like a gift, Finn?”

“The opportunity to join a whaling expedition to the Arctic. We didn’t know my

father had invested almost all his money and lost it until after he died. Everything was

gone. I came down from university to find some way to support my mother and sister.

When Captain John Crawford offered me a berth on the Airdrie Lass, I jumped at the

chance, invested almost all the little capital we had left. There was money to be made in

baleen. Even if I only spent two or three seasons, I could make enough to start

rebuilding our family fortunes.”

He was still looking at the picture, but Tasha could see he was actually far away,

lost in his thoughts. If she didn’t know it to be impossible, she’d think he was reliving

the moments.

“There was no way to know what would happen. It seemed an adventure, a way to

begin making my way in the world. If I worried at all, it was the vague thought that I

might die. Instead, it was John who died and, before he did, elicited a promise from me

that would change my life forever.”

Arctic Destiny

She wanted to tell him to stop, that she didn’t want to hear anymore of this

unbelievable tale, but something kept her quiet, her eyes riveted on his pale, agonized

face.

Suddenly he looked directly at her, and the desperate plea in his gaze made the

breath catch in her chest.

“You have to understand. Things were different then. Honor was all a man had. I

would have fulfilled my promise, but Tulugaq didn’t understand that, and I can’t blame

her. So many quallunaat men came to the Arctic, took Inuit wives then abandoned them

and their children. Even John, who charged me with the care of Tulugaq and her

unborn child, was making plans to return to Scotland and marry another.”

The words were coming in a rush, made no sense. “Wait, Finn. I don’t understand.

What did you promise?”

He was breathing hard, took a moment to inhale, swallow, before he spoke again. “I

promised John to look after his Inuit wife, Tulugaq, and the family he had started with

her. How to do so, when I had already decided it was time to go back to Scotland, I

didn’t know. But I would have found a way. Tulugaq—” His voice faltered and he

shook his head. “I don’t blame her, really I don’t. I just wish she could have found

another way. Even with all she did, it still didn’t work. I failed her, and John. Martha

was the last of their descendants.”

Tasha’s heart beat like a jackhammer. Her mouth was dry. She was shivering

despite Finn’s proximity and the fur still tucked around her body. When she finally

found the courage to ask the question ricocheting in her head, all she could do was

whisper, “What did Tulugaq do?”

“She called on the spirits for help, and they answered.”
“How?”
Before he could reply there was a sudden howl of wind, a rising roar outside that

sounded like the approach of a tidal wave, and the front door flew open. Finn moved so

quickly Tasha found herself on the couch, with him standing protectively in front of

her, before she even knew what was going on. The lights dipped, flashed, and then

went out, leaving them in complete darkness.

“Finn.” It came out a strangled shriek, and she fought to free herself from the

throw. “Where are you?”

A blue glow lit the room. Beyond Finn’s silhouette she could see the spirit woman

she’d seen in the bedroom and, behind her, other spirits. She couldn’t see their faces,

just the outlines, but they seemed to move closer.

“Stay away from her.” Finn’s voice was a growl, and he crouched slightly, as

though ready to spring. “This has nothing to do with her.”

The wind was still howling, tossing the papers through the air, but Tasha heard a

voice over it, speaking in Inuktitut.

“No, Tulugaq. Don’t,” Finn shouted, pleading. “Don’t. It will frighten her.”

Anya Richards

The spirits moved closer, became clearer, and with a shock of recognition Tasha

saw Martha Okavik in their midst.

“Why?” Finn screamed, clutching his temples. “Isn’t it bad enough that because of

what you did I can’t have the only woman I’ve ever loved? Why scare her like this?”

His words were slurred and as the blue haze rushed toward him he dropped to his

knees. Instinctively Tasha shrank against the back of the couch as Finn bellowed, and

then she froze in shock, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

His body wavered, bulged, grew. Between one moment and the next he

disappeared and in his place was a bear, its white coat gleaming blue in the glow still

enveloping him. Disbelief at what she was seeing made Tasha lightheaded, as though

she were about to faint.

The polar bear shifted as the massive head swung to look back at her, revealing a

black smudge along its flank. Tasha’s heart stopped then came back to life with a jolt

that rocketed out into her blood and arrested the breath in her lungs. She could read no

emotion in the animal’s gaze, saw no hint of humanity, but what she did see was the

scar running alongside the dark, staring eye.

A scream began building in her chest, threatened to break free. But fear kept it

trapped—a hard, spiked ball tearing at the lining of her throat.

It is still Fingal, and he would never hurt you.
She didn’t know whether the man’s voice came on the wind or sounded only in her

head, but it drew her panicky gaze to the group of spirits. Another had stepped forward

alongside the woman—a man dressed much as Finn had been in the old picture. As she

watched, he placed his arm around the Inuit woman’s shoulders.

With one last howl the wind died, leaving complete calm. The only sounds she

could hear were the wild thudding of her heart and deep breaths, almost growls, of the

polar bear. The great head dipped and, perhaps stupidly, Tasha read desolation in the

angle of the neck, the slight slump of the muscular shoulders. All she had heard and

seen swirled in her mind, a murky stew threatening to boil over into madness.

But one thought came to the forefront, and ignited such anger in her the heat of it

forced her larynx to work.

“How could you do this to him?” Her throat was thick with tears but her voice was

surprisingly forceful in the quietude. “Whatever he promised, whatever you want, he

doesn’t deserve this. You let him go.” How she wished she had the courage to rise and

stand next to him, but strong as her rage was, it couldn’t overcome her paralyzing fear.

The echo of her screams seemed to hang in the air, mingling with and pushing at the

blue mist so it retreated slightly. Emboldened enough to make her arm move, she

pointed at the Inuit woman, shouting, “You have no right. Leave him alone—leave us

alone.”

The spirits began to fade, the blue glow receding, leaving a tingling sensation

skittering over her skin. As it went, the bear seemed to dissolve to mist and flow after it,

leaving Finn behind, naked, human and vulnerable.

Arctic Destiny

Cradling his head in his hands, he groaned, and Tasha finally found the strength to

move. Her legs were shaking so hard it was an effort to take the two steps necessary to

kneel beside him, reach out to touch him in the fading glow. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”
But he was shivering and she grabbed the throw to wrap around his shoulders. The

room was lit with only a vague, lingering wash of color and Tasha glanced up in time to

see the spirit figures disappear. As the last of the light faded, Tulugaq’s voice

whispered through the air, and Finn stiffened.

“What did she say?”
He didn’t answer immediately and as silence stretched between them, thick as the

impenetrable darkness, she thought he might not at all.

“She said you needed to see, to know the truth of what I am.”
Tasha tried to hug him but Finn drew back, just as the lights flashed back on and

the hum of the generator became audible again, as though it had always been there.

Tasha blinked against the sudden brightness, feeling as though she were awaking from

a dream, still not able to process exactly what had just happened.

Finn’s face was turned away, hidden by the fall of his unbound hair. The strange

scent she’d noticed on his skin was even stronger than before, the earthy musk filling

her head. Once more she reached out, this time to pull back the thick strands masking

his expression and, although he didn’t appear to move, she felt him recoil. For some

reason his retreat steadied her, and her hand only trembled slightly as she smoothed the

hair over his shoulder.

“I don’t understand.” It was an understatement of gigantic proportions, but she was

struggling not to fire questions at him like bullets. “What just happened? What did she

mean?”

“You needed to see what I am, what she turned me into so as to ensure I would

honor my word.” He still wouldn’t look at her, and his voice lacked all expression. “The

polar bear you saw outside earlier was me, in my other form.”

His words literally rocked her back on her heels, pushed a wave of numbing cold

through her body, and her hand fell away from his shoulder. “That’s impossible.”

He looked up, and his face was as expressionless as his voice when he replied, “You

saw it for yourself, right here, but still don’t believe it?”

“That was…”
But there was no sane explanation of what had happened and Finn’s lips quirked in

a parody of a smile, acknowledging her dilemma.

“That was me. What Tulugaq’s appeal to the spirits made me become.”
Tasha’s legs were trembling too much to keep kneeling and she sank down to sit on

the ground. Still staring into Finn’s eyes, she shook her head. “No.”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them to meet her gaze

again. “I didn’t know Tulugaq had shamanic powers—not that I would have believed

Anya Richards

in them even if I had—and didn’t know her pleas to the spirits would have any effect.

When I realized what I had become…” For the first time since he’d started speaking his

voice faltered and the shadow of that old terror shimmered behind his eyes. “I didn’t

know what was happening. I stared at my reflection in the water, at my shadow, at the

body I was trapped in, and thought I had gone insane. Perhaps I had lost my mind, was

actually back in Scotland, locked away in a lunatic asylum. Or trapped in a nightmare

and would awaken. But I didn’t.”

Finn’s voice faded and he glanced away. Unbelievable as it all was, his story stirred

something in Tasha’s brain, a memory of the strange dreams she’d been experiencing

since coming north.

“I roamed the ice surrounding Kekerten Island, watching the village, sneaking into

it at night. The Inuit hunters sometimes saw me but, as though I was somehow

distinguishable from other bears, they never tried to kill me. I was close enough to hear

the first cries John and Tulugak’s daughter, Anuniaq, made when she came into this

world. But it wasn’t until spring approached that I was able to see her for the first

time.”

Looking just over her shoulder, he slowly shook his head, shadows flickering like

ghosts behind his eyes. There was no more than three inches between them, close

enough for Tasha to feel the heat from his thigh against her knee, but a chasm of

unreality had opened between them. As though feeling it, Finn shifted away, widening

the gap.

“As the winter went on, I began to range farther afield, becoming more bear than

man. Then one evening an overriding impulse to return to the island overcame me, and

I found myself going back. When I got to the settlement Tulugaq was at the open door

to her cabin and, as I walked inside, I was suddenly once more human.”

Emotion tightened his face into a brief, hard wince, and Finn turned his head away,

hair once more flowing down to hide his face. She wanted to touch him, offer some

kind of comfort, but Tasha was numb, neither brain nor body seemingly able to

function properly. Impossible to comprehend what he was saying, what she had seen.

Finn had warned her, but nothing would have been sufficient to prepare her for such a

tale, or for the experience of seeing the ghosts that haunted Finn’s life.

“Now you know why I left you in Toronto, why I said loving you—being loved by

you—didn’t make a difference. I’m a monster, Tasha, and there’s nothing I can do about

it.”

The soft, flatly spoken words acted like an electric shock, shattering the bubble

surrounding her emotions. Tasha gasped, the short, sharp breath almost burning as it

entered her throat. “Don’t say that.” Anger surged, making her voice harsh, and she

reached across to grab his hand, held on when he would have tugged it free. “You’re

not a monster, Finn.”

He faced her once more, the look in his eyes as fierce as her words, pain etched

around his lips and between his brows. “How else would you describe what I am?

Arctic Destiny

Werewolves have been the stuff of nightmares since time immemorial. Isn’t a werebear,

neither fully man nor fully bear, just as horrific?”

The memory of seeing him change flashed through her mind, making her hesitate,

and a chill of terror skittered down her spine. He saw her shudder and the spark of

anger faded from his face, leaving it bleak and distant. All she could do was fumble for

words, feeling him slip away, not wanting to let him.

“Finn—”
He shook his head, cutting through whatever she was about to say. “I thought

when Martha died I would be released. After all, there was no more reason for me to

remain this way. I had no one left to protect, to oversee. But, as you saw for yourself,

my…” He faltered, waved his free hand toward his body. “My condition remains the

same.”

“As do you.” She wasn’t sure where the words came from but once they left her

lips, she knew the rightness of them, was even able to smile slightly when his brow

furrowed with confusion. “You’re the same man I met and fell in love with.”

It was, she realized, the bottom line. She was willing to deal with all the rest of it

later. Right now all that mattered was his acceptance of her love, his understanding of

her willingness to work it out, whatever it took.

For a moment something hot and wild flared in his eyes and Tasha’s heart leapt

with hope. Then he pulled away and got to his feet in one fluid motion.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His hand went to his temple as he took a step toward the

door. “It won’t work. Believe me.”

Scrambling to her feet, Tasha went after him, planted herself between him and the

outside world.

“Don’t you dare run away from me again, Fingal MacEwan.” Slapping her palm

against his chest did nothing to alleviate the anger boiling inside. “I know everything

now—tell you I still love you—and all you can say is it won’t work?”

“Tasha, don’t.”
“Don’t what, Finn?” She wanted to scream, but her throat was too tight. “Don’t tell

you how angry I am that you still don’t even want to try? Or that I can’t help

wondering if your professions of love were just a load of crap?” Stepping back, she

sneered up at him. “You know you didn’t have to pretend to care to get into my pants.

I’d given up the goodies easily enough before.”

If she weren’t so enraged the look on his face would have scared her, but as it was

she didn’t really care whether he was angry or not. Besides, there wasn’t time to even

process it before he was on her, grabbing her arms and pulling her up on her toes so

they were almost face-to-face.

“Stop it.” It was a growl, deep, low and furious. “You don’t understand a fucking

thing.”

Anya Richards

“Really?” Not even his rough grip could stop her from raising her eyebrows,

needling him with mockery. “Why don’t you enlighten me? Explain to me why you’re

willing to throw me away again even though, despite the craziness, I’m willing to try.”

“I can’t do it.” He thrust his face so close to hers, his breath scorched her lips. “I

can’t bear to have you, love you, see you get old and eventually die, knowing I can’t

share that journey with you, knowing that even if heaven exists I couldn’t join you

there.” His breath was rushed, as though he’d been running, was still running. “All I

want is one life—just one—to hold you, see you, love you, have children with you and

grow old alongside you. I can’t do it otherwise, Tasha. I can’t—”

His voice broke and suddenly she was holding him, crying with him, knowing she

wouldn’t ask him to change his mind.

She loved him too much to expose him to that kind of pain again, but it wouldn’t

stop her from trying to find a way to help him, no matter how long it took.

Arctic Destiny

Chapter Eleven

He was wrung out, exhausted both mentally and physically, as though he’d been

through a battle and left everything on the field of combat. It was easy now to

remember why despair had overtaken him before Tasha’s arrival. For a while he’d

forgotten—lost sight of reality in the overwhelming ecstasy of having her in his life

again. Now sitting on the floor between her knees while she plaited his hair, Finn held

still, trying not to feel but, at the same time, singularly aware of her every breath and

movement.

Her hands were so gentle, every touch sure and soft. Occasionally there came a little

sniffle, just a hitch as she inhaled, and he wondered if she was still crying. Perhaps he

should feel ashamed of having broken down, but it seemed stupid to worry about

something like that now. Tasha had pushed him past the edge, and that had served its

purpose. At least now she understood completely, would never again doubt the

constancy of his love, even if she also knew its limits.

Wishing for the courage to take advantage of what she offered didn’t help. In his

heart he knew he couldn’t face it. Just the thought of being with her for one lifetime and

then having to live without her sent a shaft of agony through his gut.

“What’s it like, Finn—when you change?”
They had been silent so long the sound of her voice startled him, and he took a deep

breath, trying to find the words, before answering.

“When I choose to change, it’s almost like diving into warm water. It just flows over

me, and I’m there, if that makes sense?”

Tasha took a moment to process that, absently guiding his head lower so as to braid

the ends of his hair. “You don’t always get to choose when you shift?”

“No.” Somehow just talking made him want to touch her, and he wrapped his

fingers around her ankles, caressing the slender joints. As though in response she

moved her legs closer, so her thighs rested against his shoulders. “When the ice starts

building on the bay and the bears begin their migration, the shift comes over me and I

have to go with them. I spend winter on the ice, unable to shift back until spring.”

She shivered, her hands going still for a second before resuming their chore. “And

how is that shift different?”

“It’s a compulsion. For about two weeks before it happens I know it’s coming, can

feel it building inside me. I can’t escape. When it happens…” Hard to find the means to

express something he’d never spoken of to anyone before. “It feels like being turned

inside out, yanked from one reality into another. I tried to preempt it a couple of times,

Anya Richards

shift beforehand and go down to Wapusk where the bears spend summer. I hoped

being already in bear form would make the transition easier, but it didn’t.”

Waiting for her next question he cupped her calves, letting his fingers circle over

the soft skin, trace the lines of muscles and bones. The urge to reexamine every inch of

her was growing, driven by the knowledge it would be his last chance.

Finished plaiting, she smoothed the braid down his back, her fingers pausing at the

end, resting against his spine.

“When you’re…” She hesitated, and he heard her inhale. “When you’re in bear

form, can you still think, feel like a human?”

“It’s still me, inside. But there is also a part of me that is the bear, that’s only

concerned with survival, not all the other things I worry about as a human.”

“So your emotions are dulled?”
The question took him by surprise, and he was forced to think. It wasn’t something

he’d ever considered before.

“Yes.”
She rested both hands on his shoulders, began to knead. The sweet ache of her

fingers finding the tense knots in his muscles made him groan under his breath.

“That’s probably what’s kept you sane all this time.” Tasha shifted forward,

opening her legs wider so as to get closer and put more pressure into the massage. “I

wondered how you managed not to go crazy.”

It would also explain his need to shift over the last couple of days with Tasha. He

was running from the overflowing emotion, not knowing how to deal with the love and

fear tearing him apart. But it hadn’t helped. No matter where he was, what form he was

in, her scent followed him on the wind, visions of her played in his mind and his

yearning never abated.

“I’ve never stopped wanting you.” He hadn’t planned to say it, but felt no regret.

“You have always been with me, in my heart, since the day we met. I can’t escape

you—your smile, the way just the thought or a memory of you makes me weak—and I

don’t want to escape. After I left you in Toronto, I felt like I was being torn in two. The

shift was imminent, pulling me back here, but everything inside was screaming for me

to go back to you.”

“Oh Finn.” He heard the tears in her voice and her arms came around him, holding

him close, her palms flattened against his chest. The brush of her lips over his throat

was as light as a breeze but seared into his skin. “Why is this still happening to you? If

Martha was the last of John’s descendants, shouldn’t it be over?”

“I don’t know.” Covering her hands with his, he lifted first one then the other to his

lips. “I wish I knew why, or what the spirits want with me.”

“What do they say? Doesn’t Tulugaq say anything that would explain it?”
He shook his head, the motion rubbing his mouth across the skin on the inside of

one of her wrists. “She said more tonight than she ever has before. Usually all they say

Arctic Destiny

is, ‘Remember’.” He couldn’t stop the bitter sound that emerged. “As though I can

forget any of it. A man doesn’t forget his failures that easily.”

“What failures?”
The urge to get up, to walk away, came over him, but he recognized it for what it

was, and refused to give in to his cowardice. As much as it hurt to speak of it, he

wanted her to know.

“I couldn’t save them, any of them, and now their entire family is gone.” Pushing

the words out made them sound rushed and rough, and they physically hurt his throat.

“Every year I’d be forced to shift and spend the winter months as a bear. I’d come back

in the spring and try to keep an eye on the family, but I couldn’t help them, couldn’t

keep them from harm. No wonder they haunt me now.”

Tasha was silent for a long moment, but her fingers tightened in his.
“Did you help them when you could?”
It was just a whisper, but Finn heard something underneath the words, recognized

it as Tasha’s characteristic determination. He wanted to tell her not to try—she hadn’t

been there to see all that went wrong, all he failed to do. “It never seemed to be enough.

Each generation had problems I couldn’t solve, no matter how I tried.”

She moved suddenly, slipping from the couch and circling until she knelt in front of

him. Before he could react, she took his hands again and met his gaze, her eyes serious,

almost angry. But her voice was still that low breath of sound when she spoke.

“How could you solve all their problems?” She leaned closer, emphasizing her now

slightly louder words. “You can’t take responsibility for their personalities, or the

troubles they had in their lives. You didn’t create the problems, and you couldn’t solve

them all. As extraordinary as you are, as good and kind, you aren’t a god, just a man.

Now, as sad as it is for you, it’s over. And that isn’t your fault either. You can’t direct

destiny, baby, only watch it unfold and do your best with what it hands you.”

Again that harsh, disbelieving sound broke from his throat, and he saw her lips

tighten. “If that were true, would they still be haunting me?”

Sinking back on her heels, she shook her head, gaze dropping away, long, dark

lashes shielding her eyes.

“I don’t know.” The disconsolate tone would have broken his heart, if there were

anything left to break. “I’ve never heard of anything like this, not even in the legends,

so I have nothing to go by.” Suddenly she straightened, looked back up at him, and the

hope in her eyes made his heart jolt. “I know a shaman, a Dene dreamwalker. Maybe if

we went to see him—”

“No, Tasha.” The wave of anger washing through him took him by surprise, and he

had no time to restrain it. “Do you think I haven’t tried to find someone to help me?”

The gleam in her eyes told him how close she was to matching his annoyance but,

although her voice trembled slightly, she kept her tone level. “Who did you speak to?

What did they say?”

Anya Richards

“They all looked at me with a mixture of pity and incredulity, and told me they’d

never heard of such a thing before, had no idea how to help someone so cursed by the

spirits.”

“Were they all Inuit? If so, what’s the harm in asking someone else?”
It was too much, the hope and determination shining in her eyes. If he thought the

pain he felt before was unbearable, he now knew it was nothing in comparison to the

agony slowly crushing the breath from his chest.

Tasha would never give up.
He could see it, feel it in the barely suppressed energy making her fingers tighten

and relax rhythmically over his. She might pretend to acquiesce, would leave as though

to go home, but it would be a ruse. What she’d really be doing would be trying to find a

remedy to his condition, and she wouldn’t stop, no matter how detrimental it turned

out to be for her life or work.

Somehow he could see her, old, tired, still searching, trying to help him, although it

was too late for them to have the life he dreamt of. She’d promised to love him, no

matter what, and he could see that pledge still in her eyes. Her strength and fidelity was

terrifying.

“Tasha.” He fought for words, knowing she wouldn’t listen. “Sweetheart, don’t do

this, please.”

Her eyes flickered but she held his gaze and lifted her chin. “Don’t do what, Finn?”
“Don’t waste your time thinking about trying to help me. It’s not worth it.”
“Really?” Something in the way she drawled the word, coupled with the combative

tilt of her head, made his heart miss a beat. “Why is it a waste of time?”

“You have a life to go back to, a future. Don’t waste any of that worrying about

me.” Suddenly frantic, not knowing why, he squeezed her fingers. “When you leave

here, you’ll never see me again. I want—I need—to know you’ll go on with your life.”

“Unlike you?”
The words fell between them, seemed to suck the air out of the room. He wanted to

look away but couldn’t, was held trapped by her sad, knowing gaze. And he wanted to

answer, to tell her she was mistaken, but he couldn’t catch his breath to voice the lie. A

small, incredibly cheerless smile tipped the edges of her lips.

“You’re not the first man I’ve seen at the end of his tether, Finn.” The way she

inhaled sharply, the sheen of tears in her eyes, gave weight to her already somber

words. “I never thought I’d be glad of my brother’s breakdown after he came back from

Afghanistan, but I am now. I see the same pain in you, the same hopelessness, and I can

no more turn my back now than I could then.” She shook her head and her tears

splashed onto their joined hands. “I’m not asking you to be with me, Finn. I understand

why you can’t. All I want is a chance to help you. Promise me you’ll give me that

chance.”

“Tasha—”

Arctic Destiny

“Promise me, Finn.”
For the first time in his life he wanted to lie, to make a promise he had no intention

of keeping. The temptation was so strong he actually opened his mouth to voice it, but

more than even the honor ingrained in his character, her expression made it impossible.

Hope and fear warred on her face, each swing of the emotional pendulum clearly

marked in her eyes and the slight trembling of her lips.

He couldn’t face her anymore, but refused to run. Couldn’t give her what she

wanted, and somehow also found it impossible to shatter her hope. Not even Tulugaq’s

curse had bound him as tightly as the woman silently watching him, waiting for his

response.

Suddenly there was a flash of emotion across her face, gone so swiftly he wasn’t

sure what he had seen, and Tasha released his hands.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Resting cold fingers against his lips, she edged nearer

until her thighs touched his crossed legs. “Don’t answer yet. Think about it some more.

For me.”

She cupped his cheek, caressed his lower lip with her thumb, her flesh warming

against his. He tried to read her expression but Tasha had lowered her lids and it was

impossible to interpret the muted gleam behind her lashes. When she traced his

cheekbone, fingers drifting to softly circle his ear, he closed his eyes, and the tender

sensations deepened to exquisite proportions.

Tasha straddled his thighs, mouth replacing fingers, every move searing into his

consciousness. She took his lobe between her lips, the swirling tongue raising a rash of

goose bumps across his back and arms. Gripping her hips, only meaning to hold on, he

pulled her even closer as her lips trailed lower.

“You smell different.” Her whisper made him shiver. “Is that because you shifted?”
“Yes.” The single word was manageable, but only just, his throat tight and clogged

beneath those soft, wandering lips.

“It’s still you, just wilder.” Inhaling deeply, she seemed to suck his soul right out of

his body, hold it inside for a long, beautiful moment. When she exhaled, the warm slip

of her breath over his shoulder was like a brand. “I like it.”

His body was already reacting to her nearness, the weight across his legs, the hug of

knees along his sides, the rising scent of her need. Sliding back, she dipped her head,

taking his nipple between her teeth. Stretching his legs out to accommodate her, he

tried to inhale, was unable to for a long, suspended moment, all senses focused on that

point of intense, arousing contact.

Reaching down, palm skimming his cock, dipping lower to stroke his balls, she

kissed her way across his chest to the other nipple, repeated the skillful torture.

Opening his eyes, Finn looked down, gasping at the sight of her gracefully arched back,

visible even under the thin t-shirt, the rounded swell of her ass peeking out from

beneath the hem. A primal, possessive need rose in his chest, urging him to touch, taste,

take, but he was helpless to act on it, held captive by her passion.

Anya Richards

Lower went her lips, lingering over the trembling muscles of his stomach, her chin

brushing his cock, making a pulse of desire fire through his flesh.

Tasha hummed with pleasure and the sight of her tongue flicking out to gather the

bead of pre-come from the head, the sudden slick, heated contact made him moan in

response.

There was something raw, unrehearsed, about the way she kissed and nuzzled his

erection, as though she sought to relearn every inch through lips, cheeks, fingers and

nose. As wonderful as it felt, as amazing as it was to watch, his desire reached a plateau,

hovered there, his body content to be stimulated without the need to orgasm. When she

finally sat up, he was surprised to realize how close she’d taken him to the edge.

With one swift move, Tasha lifted the t-shirt over her head, tossed it aside. The

sway of her breasts, rising and falling with each rushed breath, demanded his attention.

As his fingers smoothed over the silken skin, found and lightly pinched the dark,

beaded nipples, her head went back, and she sighed his name. Parting her thighs farther

brought the damp heat of her pussy into contact with his leg, and suddenly the need to

brand her, as his own, overcame him.

But even with desire ripping at his composure, he was content to let Tasha set the

pace. She came closer, took his mouth, her kiss going straight to his head, dark and

intoxicating. Everything fell away under the press and give of her lips, the slow tangle

of their tongues, and the first contact of her slick pussy against the head of his cock

made him moan into her mouth. Tasha caught the sound, echoed it back to him, and

Finn inhaled, taking the sound and her breath into his body.

Breaking the kiss, she slid down, taking him deep into her body with one smooth

plunge. Reaching for his hands, Tasha linked their fingers together. He couldn’t stop

looking at her face, the kiss-swollen mouth, the gleam of love and desire in her eyes

heightening the passion swelling and tightening in his belly.

“I’m sorry, Finn.”
Lost in her, insensate to everything but the sweet connection between them, it took

him a moment to process her words, find the wherewithal to ask, “For what,

sweetheart?”

“I know what you want.” Braced against his hands, she began to move her hips in

tight, excruciatingly arousing circles. “You want to be able to think I’ll move on, forget

you and the love we share. I can’t—I won’t. I’ll love you until I take my last breath.”

The words stole his soul. The sudden increase in her movements stole whatever

answer he might have given. She was riding him, holding his gaze, marking him as hers

forever, and a wild howl of mingled triumph and denial rose in his throat. It was

unavoidable, and exploded from him in a sound so primitive as to be frightening. But

Tasha only tightened her grip on his hands, leaned into him, surrounding him in her

scent and heat, taking everything he had to give, giving him everything he could ever

want.

Arctic Destiny

And the last thing he heard as orgasm overcame him, shattering the remnants of his

composure, was her whisper, “I’m fated to always want you, need you, Fingal

MacEwan. And I won’t regret that.”

Anya Richards

Chapter Twelve

Tasha jolted awake and lay still for a moment, blinking against the low lamplight,

wondering what had startled her out of her sleep. But it didn’t take long to realize she

was alone, the house echoing with emptiness, and her heart stuttered. Rising quickly,

she rushed into the bedroom, found it and the bathroom deserted.

Finn must be outside.
Telling herself he was just out for a walk didn’t stop a shiver of anxiety clambering

up her spine and, without taking time to even pull on her pants, she dashed back into

the living room. Snatching up her discarded t-shirt, she tugged it on over her head and,

at the last moment, grabbed one of the fur throws off the couch. Pausing at the door, she

pulled on her hiking boots, yanked the laces tight and, not taking the time to tie them,

tucked them down under the tongue.

Outside, the security light above the threshold was on, and it obscured anything

beyond the circle of illumination. Tasha stepped farther out, wrapping the throw

around her shoulders, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. Although the days were

getting shorter, she knew it was the far reaches of the night, for there wasn’t even a hint

of a glow from the sun. The urge to run, search for Finn, was exacerbated by her frantic

heartbeat and inability to catch her breath.

But she hesitated, looking around, straining to see or hear anything that would

indicate where Finn had gone. Something stopped her from calling out, although she

didn’t know why. Instead she started down the track leading toward the main road,

aware of the way the reassuring hum of the generator began to fade behind her, the

slight rustle of the vegetation as a light breeze played over the land. An almost full

moon was rising over the horizon, sharpening the contrast between the open areas and

thickest shadows.

Now the surge and retreat of the waves on Hudson Bay became audible, and

Tasha’s steps slowed. The water wasn’t visible, but the lure of that rhythmic, inexorable

sound was suddenly undeniable. Taking a few more steps along the track, she found

herself stopping, closing her eyes, her breathing calming until it matched the cadence of

the waves.

The cry of a night bird startled her, but didn’t bring back the overwhelming fear

she’d felt on leaving the house. Around her the land undulated away into the distance

and a sense of timeless, abiding existence wrapped around her, making tears prickle

behind her lids. Struggle all you want, it seemed to say, but what will be, will be.

A sob hitched in her throat, and her legs felt suddenly weak. All her life she’d

gotten ahead by sheer determination. When others said she couldn’t, she was moved to

prove them wrong. Only with Finn had she put those impulses aside. Only for him had

Arctic Destiny

she been passive, accepting whatever came, surrendering to the moments, the

inevitability of what would happen next. Perhaps something in her had recognized,

from the first, that he was a man apart—her destiny—and it was useless to fight against

whatever he brought into her life.

But there was a part of her refusing to accept the thought of him giving up, still

wanting to fight to keep him, if not in her life, at least in the world.

It was, she knew, a selfish impulse. He’d been through so much, witnessing over

and over again the passage of lives lived through times of difficulty. To be charged with

the protection of an entire family when no one, no matter how powerful, can stop the

tide of destiny would be heartbreaking. How he’d survived it without losing his mind,

she’d never know, and if all he wanted was for it all to be over, no one could blame him.

Even knowing all that, she yearned with every beat of her heart to hold on, force

him, somehow, to hope.

Force him to stay with her, irrespective of the pain.
Knowing it was impossible, that the noblest thing she could do was to let him go,

did nothing to dull the agony.

“Oh Finn.” Her whisper seemed to hang on the air for a moment before drifting

away on the breeze. “I love you so much.”

A bird’s screech once more rent the air, and Tasha began to shiver despite the fur

cloaking her upper body, a sense of urgency once more trickling through her veins.

Everything inside strained toward the bay, and she let intuition guide her farther along

the track, eyes straining for any hint of a path through the scrubland.

Suddenly the light seemed to brighten, as though the moon had come from behind

a cloud, and Tasha looked up. On a rise between her and the bay, Tulugaq beckoned

her forward, the spirit’s unearthly glow extending outward, bathing the landscape in

cold blue light.

Come, come.
The spirit woman’s gestures seemed almost frantic and, without thinking, Tasha

turned off the track, felt the brush slapping and tearing at her legs as she began to run.

Sprinting forward, she followed Tulugaq as the spirit moved ahead. Sliding down the

other side of the ridge, she grasped the fur with one hand, grabbed for any handhold

she could with the other. The land rose slightly again and Tasha scrambled through the

thinning shrubs, aiming for the glint of water now visible ahead.

The land flattened out as it ran down to the shore, now denuded of plants, rocky

outcrops dissolving into clusters of freestanding boulders. The bay glistened beneath

the moonlight, almost flat, the waves little more than ripples ruffling the surface. And

standing on the rock-strewn sand was Finn, staring out over the water, his back stiff,

arms hanging at his sides, hands fisted.

Tasha froze, afraid to go forward. His posture, the set of his shoulders, held her at

bay. The thunder of her heartbeat was deafening, and she took a deep breath, trying to

quiet it.

Anya Richards

Finn lifted his head, as though looking up at the sky, held that position for a long

moment.

“I’d know your scent anywhere.” His voice drifted back to her, soft as the breeze

skimming the water. “I thought it was your perfume, or the soap you use. Now I know

it’s just you. Your essence haunting me.”

Tasha shivered, took a hesitant step forward. “I’d know you anywhere too. It’s part

of the bond between us.”

He nodded, and his fingers flexed slightly before balling into fists once more. “It’s

inescapable, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t really couched as a question, sounded more like a statement, and at a loss

for words, she could only make a sound of agreement.

The muscles in Finn’s back rippled as he inhaled audibly. When he exhaled, it came

out on a deep sigh and when he spoke, his voice was harsh.

“I shouldn’t be here, Tasha. What happened to me was abnormal, an abomination

against the laws of nature.” He turned suddenly. Despite the shadows cast by the

moon, his anguish was clear and it almost undid her. “I’ve spent the last hundred and

twenty-five years watching the world change, while I stayed the same. Seeing everyone

I know die, new generations emerge and then also pass away, and still I am here. I am

privy to secrets no one alive should know, have seen atrocities I, because of my own

secrets, have been unable to stop or speak out about. Humans are always striving to live

longer, seek immortality, without considering the cost. Death has its uses. It strips away

a layer of pain, even as it creates a new one. Secrets and mistakes are meant to die with

each of us, so the next generation can continue on, unencumbered.”

He paused, chest heaving, voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “There has

been nowhere safe, no one I could tell. I’ve been forced to constantly move, reinvent

myself, reporting my own ‘birth’ or purchasing new identification so as to keep one

step ahead of anyone who might even begin to guess I am not what I appear.”

His rush of words faded, yet their impact tainted the air around them, seemed to

even dim the moonlight. Or was it her tears that made the night darker?

“I’m sorry, Finn.” There hadn’t been time for her to truly begin to understand what

he’d been through, and now her heart felt ready to shatter at the image he portrayed.

He must be so weary, so utterly exhausted just from the act of staying alive. “Oh baby,

I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, stepped toward her. “When I heard Martha had died, I knew it

was over, and part of me was relieved. I have no place in this new world, where

everyone is no more than a click away from any information they might want, one call

or email away from others. Even here in the Arctic secrets have become increasingly

hard to keep. My ability to sustain the lies has waned, and it seemed, at last, Providence

was smiling on me. It was time to truly test the bounds of my curse, see if the cold

Arctic waters wouldn’t do the job they probably were supposed to have done over a

Arctic Destiny

hundred years ago. Only my promise to John had kept me from walking into the frigid

sea before. Now it is time to seek my rest.”

She couldn’t reply. While her heart screamed for him not to talk that way, her mind,

her soul, understood and quailed at the horror of his too-long existence. He took another

step toward her, and she wished the moon weren’t behind him, that she could see the

expression in his eyes.

“I couldn’t let thoughts of you factor into my decision.” His raw pain echoed

between them, and Tasha thought her heart would simply stop, unable to stand the

agony. “When I was with you, I felt human again, filled with love and hope, as though I

was where I belonged—home. I never wanted to leave you. All that mattered was

seeing your face when I awoke in the morning, hearing you laugh, sinking into your

body and finding both ecstasy and peace. It wasn’t something I ever expected to know

again—that sensation of belonging.”

“I felt it too.” The urge to hold him warred with self-preservation. If he truly

planned to end his life, she couldn’t trust herself to touch him. “But I also felt the

barriers between us. I didn’t know what they were, but knew, instinctively, they were

too big for me to fight.”

“You’ll never know how hard it was to leave you. I felt the change coming, knew

time was running out, but I couldn’t tear myself away. Right up until the last moment I

wanted to ask you to wait for me, promise I’d be back, but I also knew it was a promise

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep. Martha moved around a lot. She rarely stayed in the

same place for more than a year. I had to go where she was, and perhaps the next year

she’d be somewhere other than Toronto.”

“She was, wasn’t she? It was around that time she went to Ottawa.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t why I didn’t come back.” Finn lifted his hands, let them fall

again. “I had nothing to offer you, Tasha. I still don’t. Nothing but trouble and

heartache. I couldn’t tell you the truth and, even if there was some way to do so, I

wouldn’t ask you to live this life, constantly moving, unable to truly settle anywhere,

having to lie and hide, constantly fearful that somehow someone would figure it out.

I’m trapped—in this life, in the Arctic—and I couldn’t ask you to sacrifice your life to be

with me.”

“Even if I offered?” She hadn’t meant to say it, but the words burst from her lips

and she winced. The last thing she wanted was to make it worse for him, but the part of

her that always wanted to persevere wouldn’t let her stay silent. “I’d do it in a

heartbeat. We’d make it work. I know we could.”

As silence fell between them, she could hear the ragged cadence of his breathing,

saw his chest rising and falling, his fingers clenching and flexing, over and over.

“Oh God, Tasha.” He took another step, close enough now that she could almost

see his face. “I don’t have a choice anymore.”

“Finn—”

Anya Richards

One upheld hand stopped her from saying anything more, and it was just as well.

Sobs welled in her chest, choking her, not letting her continue.

“Tonight I realized how glad I am for everything I went through, for all the pain,

the sorrow. Without what Tulugaq called down upon me, I would have been dead for

decades before you were even born, would never have had the chance to know you,

love you.”

With one more step he was within her reach and, in the moonlight, she finally saw

his expression, so full of love and need her heart jolted.

“I’d do it all again, just to be with you. I’ll bear any pain to keep you near, for as

long as we can be together. I’m afraid, feel guilty at even the thought of how being with

me would disrupt your life but, above everything, I can’t bring myself to leave you. I’ll

be with you as much as I can, for as long as you want me.”

Tasha wasn’t sure which of them moved, or if they both did. All she knew was the

sensation of his arms around her, holding her as she sobbed with the most intense relief

she had ever felt. Not even earlier, when she’d feared for his life and then seen him

come through the door, could compare.

“Always, Finn. I’ll always want you.”
His arms tightened, and his lips were pressed close to her ear as he whispered,

“Then I’ll be with you always.”

There was a flash of light, and Tasha felt Finn stiffen. Raising her head and dashing

the tears from her eyes, she saw Tulugaq standing on a nearby rocky outcrop, John

Crawford at her side, their descendants ranged on either side. The Inuit woman

surveyed them for a long moment, the cool blue aura surrounding the spirits pulsing

slightly.

Then Tulugaq smiled, the gesture turning her face from beautiful to breathtaking. A

sensation, like a sharp zap of static electricity, flowed over Tasha’s skin, startling her so

much she gasped. Lifting one hand, as though in goodbye, Tulugaq called out to them,

a whisper that sounded like the soft susurration of wind through pines. Then she

turned away, the others following her lead as she walked over the rocks, fading with

each step, until suddenly, they were all gone.

Finn was holding her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe, and she could feel

shudders racking his frame.

“My God. My God.”
It was a broken whisper, and when he suddenly let her go, Tasha had to step back

to stop from stumbling.

“Finn, what is it?”
He paced away from her, stood a little distance away, and she saw him look up at

the moon, his body stiff and still. When he sagged as though his knees had given out

and sank to the sand, Tasha ran to him. Kneeling at his side, she opened the fur and

enveloped his trembling body, fear causing her stomach to twist.

Arctic Destiny

“What is it, baby? Tell me.”
“It’s over.” She could hardly make out the words through the chattering of his

teeth. “I can’t believe it, but it’s over.”

“What do you mean?” Tasha had to stop herself from shaking him. “What’s over?”
His arms came around her again, and he pulled her close to his chest. His heart was

pounding, the shudders beginning to abate slightly, but the frantic terror holding her in

its grip wouldn’t ease. What was over? Them? The tentative understanding she’d felt

they’d come to? If Tulugaq weren’t already dead, Tasha would be sorely tempted to kill

the Inuit woman herself for hurting Finn this way, throwing one more roadblock into

their lives.

“She said it was time to live for myself. That she could go now, knowing I was

determined to survive.” He drew back slightly, so as to meet her gaze in the moonlight,

and the joy on his face stole her breath. “I tried to change, Tasha, and I couldn’t.”

It was impossible to take it all in, despite his obvious elation, the gleam of triumph

and love in his eyes. Equally impossible to even express the sudden overwhelming

hope spreading a warm tide through her chest, except in the one way open to her.

Tasha burst into tears again.
“Oh sweetheart.” Holding her even tighter, Finn stroked her back and nape, his

fingers warm and tender against her skin. “Please, don’t cry anymore.”

But she couldn’t stop. Not even when he rose and picked her up, began walking

back toward the house.

He took her straight through to the bedroom, left her only briefly to get a damp

cloth for her face. By the time he came back, she’d gotten herself under some semblance

of control. But she found herself watching his every move, still unable to believe the

nightmare of almost losing him was over, that she wouldn’t have to go through the rest

of her life without him.

“It’s true, sweetheart. You can believe in it.” She didn’t know whether she spoke

her fears aloud or whether he’d gleaned them from her face, but she didn’t care, as long

as he was right. “You’re truly stuck with me now, in this life and hopefully the next.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” she replied, reaching up to loop her arms around his

neck, pull him down to lie beside her so she could curl up against his warm, strong

body. Exhaustion tugged at her, but she fought it, not wanting to miss a moment of this

extraordinary, joyous night.

“You were who I was waiting for.” His lips moved against her temple, and he

threw one leg over her, trapping her exactly where she wanted to be. “My lover, my

savior, my heart.”

“Forever,” she whispered, knowing it was true. “Always.”
“My wife?”
Her heart stopped then began to gallop, but she kept her voice level as she asked,

“Is that a proposal, Fingal MacEwan?”

Anya Richards

“Certainly.” There was no hesitancy in his voice. In fact he sounded downright

commanding. “Do you think I’d take the chance of letting you slip easily away?”

A little bubble of laughter caught in her throat, and Tasha let it free. “Oh baby, I’m

not going anywhere.”

With one supple move, he rolled her onto her back and loomed above her, his lips

only inches from her mouth.

“Good,” he replied, lowering his mouth until one tiny movement more would bring

the contact she suddenly craved. “Because you shouldn’t fight destiny.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, and then lost herself once more in Finn’s kiss.

About the Author

After living a checkered past, and despite an avowed disinterest in domesticity,

multi-published author Anya Richards settled in Ontario, Canada, with husband, kids

and two cats who plot world domination, one food bowl at a time. Having trained the

humans around her to recognize the Do Not Disturb vibes she gives off when writing,

she’s still trying to get the cats to honor her need for space. The suspicion is that they

perfectly understand, but choose those moments when she’s most engrossed to once

more prove who wears the pants in the house.

Anya welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

addresses on her

author bio page

www.ellorascave.com

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at

Comments@EllorasCave.com

Also by

Anya Richards

Beyond Prudence

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning

publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC

on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you

breathless.

www.ellorascave.com

Document Outline

Chapter One
“My God. Finn…”
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
“I didn’t want to presume…”
Chapter Four
“Finn—”
“Finn…”

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
Regina Carlysle [High Plains Shifters 05] Lawman [EC Twilight] (pdf)
Lexxie Couper [Fire Mate 02] How to Love Your Dragon [EC Twilight] (pdf)
Camryn Rhys Airship Seduction [EC Twilight] (pdf)
Lexxie Couper [Fire Mate 01] Ty the Sexy Dragon [EC Twilight] (pdf)
Margrett Dawson Jane s Prize [EC Twilight] (pdf)
Dena Garson [Emerald Isle Fantasies 03] Ghostly Persuasion [EC Twilight] (pdf)
Aubrey Ross [Undercover Embassy 03] Codename Spring [EC Aeon] (pdf)
Iris Astres Alien, Interrupted [EC Aeon] (pdf)
Katherine Kingston [Passions 04] Healing Passion [EC Legend] (pdf)
Katherine Kingston [Passions 01] Ruling Passion [EC Legend] (pdf)
Katherine Kingston The Last Candle [EC Moderne] (pdf)
J L Taft Ain t No Angel [EC Breathless] (pdf)
Madeleine Oh [Dominant Lovers 02] Touch of a Dom [EC Taboo] (pdf)
Aubrey Ross [Undercover Embassy 04] Codename Summer [EC Aeon] (pdf)
Emily Ryan Davis [Taken in Bondage 03] Tangled & Bound [EC Taboo] (pdf)
Jaid Black The Possession [EC Taboo] (pdf)
Katherine Kingston Checkmate [EC Aeon] (pdf)
Katherine Kingston Walpurgis Night [EC Legend] (pdf)
Three Strikes Anya Richards

więcej podobnych podstron

Anya Richards Arctic Destiny [EC Twilight] (pdf)

Document Outline