Page 30 of Kiss of Frost

She let me help her down the last few steps, her head on a swivel as she took in the fortress’s gray stone walls lined with torches set in iron rings. “Do you know where you’re going?” she whispered as we entered a long hallway.

“No, but most medieval castles built for defense have a predictable layout.” And the White Gate was definitely medieval. The place looked like it hadn’t been updated since it was built. The sound of our footsteps echoed off barren walls coated with frost. Around the torches, water trickled down the stone in rivulets that puddled on the floor. Arched windows allowed weak sunlight to spill over the flagstones. Snow drifted through the openings, which contained no glass to stop the cold and moisture from entering.

The only breaks in the drab gray walls were deep alcoves. Most were empty, but some held ancient-looking weapons fixed to the stone. In one, an enormous suit of armor stood on a pedestal, the helmet’s visor nothing but a dark, narrow slit.

Georgie shivered, and I tangled my fingers with hers and squeezed her hand. “Come on. Almost there.”

We walked in silence for a few more minutes before reaching a pair of massive wooden doors. Intricate symbols decorated the wood, the designs like the ones that covered Graeme from shoulder to wrist.

I looked at Georgie. “I think we found the Great Hall.”

“Should we knock?” she mouthed.

I shook my head. Undoubtedly, Graeme was already aware of our presence. I gave Georgie’s hand another squeeze and pushed the doors open.

Jackpot. The Great Hall spread before us, the large space more impressive than the rest of the fortress. Tapestries depicting knights in battle hung on the walls. The arched windows sparkled with stained glass that cast colorful squares on the stone floors. A fire burned in the hearth, its heat a welcome respite from the deep freeze that gripped the rest of the fortress. Some kind of cooking pot dangled from a hook over the fire. The scent of stew wafted in the air.

Graeme sat at the head of a long, wooden table, his cool gaze fixed on Georgie and me as we entered the room. A pitcher and a wooden cup sat at his elbow. The earthy aroma of beer joined the stew in the air. Our backpacks leaned against one of the table’s thick, carved legs.

“You brought our things inside,” I said, injecting cheerfulness into my tone as I escorted Georgie to the table and pulled out a chair for her. Once she was settled, I met Graeme’s eyes. “Mind if I sit?”

“I have a feeling it doesn’t matter,” he replied, casting a deliberate look over my clothes. “You seem to do whatever you want regardless of others’ wishes.”

“That’s not true.” I sat and slanted Georgie a conspiratorial look. “I’m well-behaved.”

She offered a weak smile before turning cautious eyes to Graeme. The tension was back in her shoulders. Another orgasm was out of the question—at least for the moment—so I offered Graeme my most winning smile.

“We’d like to talk about Georgie’s quest.”

“I gave you my answer,” Graeme said. “The answer is no.” He pushed back from the table and stood, one hand gripping the back of his chair. His big body was wrapped in another set of well-crafted, fur-lined clothes made of some kind of animal skin. The tattoos around his wrists peeked from under his sleeves, the geometric designs sprinkled with dark hair. His were a swordsman’s hands—big and leathery with gnarled knuckles marred by dozens of tiny, silvery scars. It took a lot for an immortal to scar. Whatever had given him those wounds had been a fierce opponent. No wonder he’d dispatched me so easily outside.

Abruptly, I realized he hadn’t really fought me at all. He’d merely played with me, a powerful dragon swatting down an inferior opponent. He’d mastered me with minimal effort.

And didn’t that just get my dick’s attention. It tightened in my borrowed pants—his pants. His scent covered me, smoke and sweat and damp fur. It wasn’t unpleasant. Like him, it was strong and undeniably masculine. If I took his clothes off, I’d still smell like him.

Graeme made a tight, strangled sound. His lips parted as he stared at me, confusion swirling in his pale eyes. They were still cold, but now they went hooded, something predatory stirring in the frozen depths.

Slowly, I leaned back in my chair. “I was hoping you’d consider changing that answer to yes.” I let a lazy smile touch my lips. “Graeme,” I added softly.

Wood creaked. We both looked at his hand, which gripped the chair so tightly his knuckles had turned white. My magic roused, lifting its head and tugging at its leash. Sometimes, the leash was useless. When a person’s desires were powerful enough, they came to me whether I willed it or not. A vision flickered to life in my mind now, the images playing in my mind’s eye.

Scarred hands holding my hips… My own back spread before me, muscles bunching as I absorbed steady thrusts… Me looking over my shoulder just before a big arm looped around my chest and hauled me up—

“Stop it,” Graeme growled.

The vision disintegrated, bits and pieces of Graeme and me fluttering away.

Georgie sucked in a breath.

I lounged in my chair, my gaze locked with Graeme’s. Outside, the wind picked up. It howled down the chimney, making the fire spit and dance. I forced myself to stay still, my posture relaxed and more than a little taunting. Come and get me, my pose said. I was prey, yes, but I wasn’t afraid to be eaten.

Graeme snapped his attention to Georgie. “I’ll have no witchcraft in my home, woman.”

Her eyes went wide. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Leave her alone,” I said quietly, drawing Graeme’s focus back to me. “She’s not using any magic. She needs to get to that Oracle. It’s important.”

“She’ll never survive the trip.”

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