Finding Fiona Read online

  “Tell me about it. So, ladies. What would you like me to do?”

  They broke it down. With Westa’s luck and Valentine’s ability to sense a match, they had found matches for several of the males. What Fiona needed to do was to take the information they gathered and to find the physical location of the woman in question. Once that was done, Hannah would take over and get all the small details of her life, like where she lived and what she did for a living.

  “Okay. Let me have the first file.” They handed her a non-descript file of plain kraft brown. Inside however, it was nothing more than magical. Myron Northiwyk was an elf with some ogre heritage, looking for a wife in the Pacific Northwest. He wanted some freedom to roam and woman who enjoyed the outdoors. A generous spirit would be good, as well as acceptance from the human that he mated with.

  Valentine and Westa had come up with his match. Nora Wyngate. She was smart, adventurous, had a loving heart and family in the northwest. She loved tall men with accents and broad shoulders.

  A pen was suddenly in Fiona’s hand. Nora Wyngate. She ran her fingers over the name and suddenly her mind was blurring through pathways she could not even imagine. She did not see the woman, she just saw her location. It was how her talent worked. “I think I have it.” She looked down and was surprised to see the street address, city and state listed on the paper, beneath the name in a separate pen colour. The colour of the pen in her hand.

  “That was fantastic Fiona! Perfect.”

  “I will call it perfect when I find out if she is truly the one for him.” She handed the folder to Hannah who was holding her hand out for it.

  “My turn.” Her hand held a pencil and she closed her eyes as she ran her fingers over the writings of the other ladies. For long moments she was motionless, then began to draw. A woman with plain but dependable features was taking shape, she had a twinkle in her eye and the start of a smile on the edge of her mouth. With the face smiling, she went from plain to lovely.

  Hannah documented addresses beneath the picture. Places of business, places of amusement. In another ten minutes, and one more cup of tea for Fiona, Hannah was back in her body and looking at her handy work. “She’s pretty. If he can make his case, he will be one lucky ogre. Fiona. Your work was exact. Not only was the address correct, but the path you took was left open enough for me to get through. Nice one.”

  “You followed my pathway? Cool. Shall we do another?”

  The ladies grinned at her. “It is addictive isn’t it?”

  “It is. Let’s do some matchmaking.” She rubbed her hands together. Until she was back on her feet, this was as good as it got.

  * * * *

  “Well, Fiona. Your feet are almost healed.” Mythos was peeling her bandages off and, if she weren’t head over heels for another elf, he would have made her heart swell ever so slightly. He was adorable. Soft golden curls, mocha skin and tender green eyes, the colour of leaves. He could have stepped out of a tree and put on some clothing. She hadn’t seen his file, but Fiona suspected that was the closest anyone would come to his origin. “That is fantastic. When can I start walking? Today?”

  “You will have to be careful and confine your walking to the home for three more days, but if you rest every two hours and don’t stay on your feet if they start to hurt, you should be fine.” He was washing his hands in a basin and the assistant he had brought with him took the shredded bandages with him. A nod from her healer and she was alone.

  She bent her knees and took a look at her very pink feet. Red stripes ran in random patterns across them, but the skin was intact and there were no more open wounds on either her feet or her calves. She was just in the rather involved process of standing when Ander came in through the door to the sitting room.

  “So, he has given you leave to wander around and toughen your feet up?”

  “He has indeed. Yippee. I am trying to decide where to go first. The living room or the kitchen?”

  “How about the master bedroom?”

  There was a heat in Ander’s eyes that woke and answering flame low in her belly. “Um. I haven’t been in there yet. It might be a good place to start the tour.” She walked slowly and carefully toward the door and after that the stairs.

  Ander walked with her the whole way.

  The smooth wood under her feet was almost warm, it had absorbed the heat from the earlier sun and was radiating it gently into the bottom of her soles. She had expected Ander to try and carry her off, but he simply paced next to her, occasionally extending his arm to her so she could balance.

  His bedroom was the final goal. She had no idea of where she wanted to go after that, but she wanted to see his room. It was light and airy. Oak and cream. The surprising touches were a blue and violet splashed pillow on his bed and a comforter in matching colours folded at the foot of the four-poster.

  She hobbled to the side of his bed and asked, “May I sit?”

  “Of course. Are your feet sore?”

  “A little. More of a throb than a pain.”

  “I am having that problem myself.”

  “What?”

  He ran a hand across his obvious erection behind its denim prison. “More of a throb than a pain.”

  “Ah.” With her hands braced behind her, she hopped up into his bed. It was as if she had given him some signal, because he gripped her ankles and rotated her so that her head was on the pillow. He bounced into bed next to her, still fully clothed.

  “Do you like it?”

  “What? The bed. Yes. It is very nice.”

  “No, the house.”

  “Of course I do. I love living in a turret.” Her smile was genuine.

  “I had hoped that would be the case. When we were given styles to choose from, we had to guess at what the ladies would like.”

  “I like your house.” She used her hands to cup his face and drew him down for her kiss. “I like you. And I want to try to feel you in me, on me and around me without our lives being at stake.”

  His eyes flared with heat, “I have been imagining you in a bed. Naked, dressed in nothing but your hair and my kisses.”

  “That sounds good. Go with that.” He was already undoing her shirt and unsnapping her trousers. “Will you be naked as well?”

  “Eventually. I have to pace myself or I will explode.”

  “What a shame. How long would it be before you could go again?”

  “A quarter of an hour or so.”

  “Well then. By all means, pace yourself.” He was delicately tracing the tips of her breasts with his fingers, learning her body as the experience in the cave had not let him do. She closed her eyes and let one sensation after another wash over her.

  His lips at her breasts, trailing up her neck, while his fingers learned her crevices and folds along with the curves of her hips and thighs. She didn’t lift a finger. This time he was going to do all the work. Her body began to rise and fall with the strokes of his fingers and, all too soon, she was crying out her completion.

  So, he had to start again.

  This time. His clothes came off before he started and every inch of her body was stroked and caressed in its turn, building the recently banked fires of arousal far more quickly than she imagined possible.

  When she was once more arching against his hands, he moved over her. And waited. And waited. Finally, she opened her eyes and met his dark gaze with all seriousness as he drove inside of her with short thrusts that allowed her body to adjust more rapidly. As soon as she closed her eyes, he stopped.

  It was a pattern that he followed in the next hour. Every time she closed her eyes. He stopped. Mid thrust, while turning her on her side, but twisting her so he could watch her eyes, he would stop.

  The only exception was while she was in the grip of her orgasms, he would continue then. She was exhausted and drained, but he was glowing. As he began his final flurry of thrusts, she almost sobbed with relief. When he came and his own eyes rolled back as he arched and spent within her, she felt li
ke cheering. Sometimes, too much was more than enough.

  * * * *

  She couldn’t sleep. He was still bringing a new meaning to afterglow.

  Ander gripped her shoulder and turned her toward him. “Fiona Matthews, will you marry me?”

  Exhausted, delighted, in love and still practical, “If I say yes, will you want to make love right away again?”

  “Probably.”

  He nudged her when she closed her eyes.

  “Well?”

  “I’ll tell you in the morning. After tea, or perhaps on a walk to city hall. I don’t want you to get over stimulated.” His delighted laughter made her smile. Now she could sleep. And, as she started drifting off, she felt him slip a ring onto her finger. Just before sleep claimed her, she heard his whisper soft at her ear.

  “Thank you for finding me, Fiona.”

  About the Author

  Viola Grace was born in Manitoba, Canada where she still resides today. She really likes it there. Her hobbies have included cross-stitch, needlepoint, quilting, costuming, cake decorating, baking, cooking, metalwork, beading, sculpting, painting, doll making, henna tattoos, chain maille, and a few others that have been forgotten.

  Her writing actively pursues the Happily Ever After that so rarely occurs in nature. A brilliant mind, with a twisted sense of humor.

  Viola can be reached at this email:

  [email protected]

  Viola’s website is located at:

  http://www.violagrace.com