Page 1 of Kiss of Frost

Chapter One

GEORGIE

Talk to the dragons, they said. No big deal.

“Yeah, right,” I muttered as I stood in the antechamber outside the Great Hall of Castle Beithir. A pair of enormous wooden doors carved with dragons in flight loomed before me. Door handles as big as my head gleamed under the soft glow cast by the chandelier.

Canting my chin up, I eyed the light fixture. At least the place had electricity. When the elders first informed me I’d be traveling to King Cormac’s castle, I wasn’t sure the seat of the ancient dragon king would have modern conveniences. Until six months ago, Cormac was supposedly lost in some kind of fire dream. Then he and his mate, Niall, found their fated female. The news of the dragon king emerging from centuries of madness would have been shocking enough. But his and Niall’s new mate was a fabled female dragon—and her blood had held the key to breaking the curse that wiped all the other female dragons out of existence.

Over the past six months, rumors had flown among the Firstborn Races. Everyone wanted a look at Cormac, the legendary dragon king.

Everyone, that is, but witches. No, my people wanted to see Niall Balfour, Cormac’s half-witch mate. The dragons called Niall “Consort.” But the temperamental head of House Balfour had other names among the witches.

Curse breaker.

Kin slayer.

Master of all the elements.

No one was really certain about the last moniker. But Niall’s grandfather, Mullo Balfour, had possessed all seven elements.

Until Niall killed him.

Nerves prickled down my spine as I gazed at the door handles, which were fashioned to look like flowing water. The design was undoubtedly a nod to Niall, whose root element was water. Of course, if he’d dueled with Mullo, Niall most likely possessed the blood element now, too. Maybe the door handles were supposed to represent blood, the most coveted of all the elements. Maybe Niall would take one look at me and decide I was unfit to lead House Blackwood. He could kill me with a flick of his wrist. Burst the capillaries in my body and watch me bleed out on the flagstones.

Swallowing hard, I smoothed the front of my barasta. The protection spells woven into the fabric sparked against my palms, which had gone clammy despite the castle’s chilly air.

Outside, the wind howled around the castle’s ancient stone towers. To most people, the sound might be unnerving. But I’d been born to wield air. I could travel through it, stepping in and out of currents as easily as someone walking from one room to the next. The journey from New York to Scotland had taken moments. But I could only jump currents to places I’d visited before, so the last leg of my trip had involved scrambling in and out of boats in the freezing waters of the Hebrides until I reached the dragons’ secret island hidden behind a layer of cloaking magic.

My stomach lurched, memories of the turbulent boat trip from Stornoway making me sway on my feet. I swallowed my rising nausea as I held out my hand and felt for a breeze.

There.

A faint, chilly tendril of air curled around my fingers. The nausea receded as I lifted my hand and let the breeze play over my palm. Deep within my chest, my magic sparked. The breeze responded, spiraling into an elegant column and making a smile tug at my lips. A second current flowed through a nearby arrow slit and joined the first. They eddied around each other in a graceful dance.

“Oh, now you’re just showing off,” I murmured, my smile growing as I gave them a push with my magic. The currents built, soaring upward as they hovered above my palm like a tiny tornado. As the wind threaded comforting fingers through my hair, the aches and inconveniences of two days of rugged sea travel faded. The currents spiraled higher, the wind tugging at the hem of my barasta.

Laughter bubbled in my throat as I fed the wind more magic, setting the tower sparkling. Without warning, the magic inside my chest twanged like someone plucking a discordant note on a harp. The column of wind shivered, then listed sharply to one side.

“No!” I cried, bringing my other hand up to steady it.

The wind jumped from my palm, streaked across the antechamber, and smashed into a big wooden cabinet. As the wind dissipated, an enormous vase perched atop the cabinet rocked from side to side.

I leapt toward it. “No, no, no—”

The vase toppled, smashed against the flagstones, and shattered.

I froze, my heart knocking against my ribs. I just broke King Cormac’s vase.

“Fuck,” I whimpered.

“Rotten luck,” a deep, accented voice said behind me.

Whirling, I came face to face with a blond giant.

Well, face to pecs. The giant’s chest filled my vision, the broad expanse covered by a gray cashmere sweater. Tipping my head back—and then back some more—I encountered a pair of honey-colored eyes. They crinkled at the corners as the giant gestured his ceramic mug toward the mess on the floor.

“Dinnae fash yerself about the vase, lass.” One honey-colored eye winked at me. “I never fancied it anyway.”

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