Page 31 of Kiss of Frost

“You don’t know that,” Georgie said, clearly forgetting her promise to let me handle Graeme.

He turned to her. “Aye, I do. The Oracle is thirty miles from here, and each mile is fifty degrees colder than the one before it. The snowdrifts soar higher than the tallest mountains on the human plane. Crevasses open regularly and without warning, sending visitors plunging into an abyss so unfathomable even I’m not certain how deep it goes. The only certainty in Gelhella is death. So do yourself a kindness and go home.”

“Go with us,” I said, and I could have laughed at how he’d unwittingly stumbled right into my plan. More than one relationship had blossomed due to forced proximity. If I could persuade him to accompany Georgie and me to the Oracle, there was a chance he’d accept the mate bond along the way. The icing on the cake would be Georgie capturing her wind and taking over House Blackwood. I’d kill two birds with one stone, be a hero, and spend the next six months screwing both of my mates into oblivion (figuratively, of course). Also, the six months was more of a starting point. I was open to longer terms.

Georgie gave me a startled look. Graeme frowned.

I leaned forward and pleaded my case. “You’ve protected the Oracle for hundreds of years. I assume you know the terrain and all its hidden dangers. If you’re worried about us getting hurt, take us to the Oracle yourself. Georgie can do her thing, and then she and I will be on our way.” Which was a slight omission, since Georgie and I weren’t leaving Gelhella unless he came with us.

Graeme’s jaw flexed. A battle played out in his eyes—duty versus desire. I kicked myself for not pressing Niall for details about Graeme’s mate. How had he died? When had he died? If Graeme joined the Brotherhood to stay alive, he must have had a reason. It would have been helpful to know these things. But I never expected to discover that Graeme Abernathy was my mate.

So now I was flying blind, trying to convince an ice dragon to thaw just enough to give me a chance. If he cracked the door, I was confident I could open it the rest of the way.

The wind howled more loudly. In the hearth, the fire responded, the flames soaring upward like they longed to join the screaming current.

Georgie looked toward the blaze.

And Graeme looked at her. His eyes traveled the delicate line of her jaw. Imperceptibly, his expression softened.

Of course. Graeme wasn’t just my mate. He was Georgie’s, too.

And I had my opening.

Working off instinct, I reached for my magic. I spooled out its chain, letting it flow toward the big, bearded dragon with fae powers and a frozen heart.

Show me what you desire. I held my breath as tendrils of my power stretched toward Graeme. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Georgie tense. My clever witchling, sensing magic in the air. I couldn’t manufacture lust or force Graeme to feel. But I could read his desires as easily as plucking a book from a shelf and cracking the spine.

“Tread carefully with this, Cal,” my mother always warned me. Even among humans, stereotypes haunted us. Stories of incubi—and, to a lesser extent, succubi—stealing into beds and feeding off the unwilling or oblivious existed for a reason. Sex was power. It motivated people. Made them act in ways they couldn’t always control. Sex had started wars and inspired epic stories. It could ruin a kingdom…or a man.

The vision appeared in a rush. Graeme’s rough hands slid up Georgie’s pale legs, spreading her wide as he bent his head and kissed his way up her inner thigh. His beard scraped her skin, making her shiver and arch her back. A white fur rug spread beneath her, the color a stark contrast to her glossy black hair. Her pink nipples stabbed toward the ceiling, and her soft cries filled my head. Graeme reached her center and flicked his tongue over her clit.

“But you don’t want that,” I said.

Graeme tore his gaze from Georgie. As soon as it landed on me, he glowered, and I knew my power shone in my eyes. He squeezed the chair, the scars on his hand flexing.

“You don’t want her to leave,” I clarified. “You want her on that rug, spread and moaning your name as you feast between her thighs.”

“Callum,” Georgie gasped, reproach and a hint of fear in her voice as she looked between me and Graeme.

I pressed on. “You want to know what she tastes like but you already know it’s perfect. Because she was made for you.”

Georgie raised her voice. “Callum, stop.”

“You can have what you want, Graeme, but not if you send her away. She’ll leave, and you’ll miss your chance.”

“Callum!”

“Are you really going to risk losing her?”

The chair snapped with a loud crack. Georgie clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling her hoarse cry. Outside, the wind rose to a wail as loud as a banshee. It was impossible, but I could have sworn it buffeted the fortress, setting the Great Hall swaying. Almost certainly, a storm was brewing.

I braced for an even bigger storm—for Graeme to roar or maybe toss the chunk of wood in my face. Instead, he set it carefully on the table. As he stared down at it, a trickle of blood ran down his hand. It dripped onto the floor as the wound closed. When he looked up, his eyes were cold. Dead.

“You were wrong from the start,” he told me. “I’m not worried about you getting hurt.”

Georgie lowered her hand to her throat.

“Your packs are there,” Graeme said, gesturing. “Take them and go.”

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