Page 34 of Kiss of Frost

The witch’s soft sigh eased through the door. It tightened my jaw as I stared at the scarred, weathered wood. A moment later, the lad’s deep rumble reached me, followed by low, feminine laughter. His laughter joined hers, and then the bed ropes squeaked.

The lad’s muffled, lust-thickened voice flowed into the corridor. “Just like that, Georgie.” A light smack punctuated his words. “Ride me. Oh, that’s a good girl.” Another smack. “Faster, lass.”

The witch’s breathy gasps slipped around the door’s hinges. An ache shot through my jaw as I braced a hand on the wood and lowered my head. Eerie green light spread from under the door. The bed ropes squeaked louder, the sharp squeals falling into a steady rhythm.

“You don’t want her to leave,” Callum’s voice said in my memory. “You want her on that rug, spread and moaning your name as you feast between her thighs.”

But he had her now. She was his feast, in every sense of the word. So very lucky.

Did the lad know how lucky he was? He surfaced in my mind, his green eyes steady and his honey-colored hair glinting in the light of the Great Hall. He had a roguish air about him, playful and irreverent. But his eyes had gone deadly serious when he held my stare across the table.

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

No. The witch was made for him.

The green light spread wider until it puddled around my boots. The witch’s cries grew louder. The lad growled, the sound dripping with satisfaction. More smacks rang out, each one followed by Georgie’s breathless sobs.

My jaw ached. My cock stirred, long-dormant sensations stealing through me. Pressure built between my thighs. It tightened my balls without my permission, building and building until my sack was heavy and full.

It was the lad’s power. It had to be.

But maybe it was the witch. Maybe it was both of them, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut as I curled my fist against the door. Splinters pierced my skin, but I didn’t feel the sting. Sensation centered in my groin, where my dick twitched and strained and…needed.

Gods, I needed—and it had been so long since I needed. It was all-consuming, this need. Obliterating in its intensity.

So very dangerous.

It flooded my dick and my mind, filling my head with visions of plump breasts and smoothly rounded shoulders. Hair-roughened thighs and the elegant arch of a masculine foot. Long, black hair falling forward but not quite obscuring the soft tip of a pert nose. A spray of unexpected freckles. Golden stubble on a firm jaw.

I needed these things. And they were within reach, just on the other side of the door.

More smacks. A woman’s pleasured moans. A man’s grunts as he prepares to come.

The wind screaming down the corridor.

I lifted my head, and the blast caught me in the side of the face. Snowflakes gusted through the windows and made the torches on the wall shudder. The wind howled, tipping the wooden pitcher I’d left on the floor. Beer spilled over the weathered floorboards.

A storm was coming. It had been brewing since dinnertime.

I breathed it in, letting the icy air swirl through my lungs. The cold burrowed under my clothes and eased the tightness in my groin. On the other side of the door, feminine and masculine murmurs mingled. The bed ropes were quiet.

I fetched the pitcher and walked away, snow dogging my steps. The air grew colder as I reached my tower. By the time I climbed the stairs to my chamber, my breath was a steady stream of smoke around my head.

My room was sparse and neat, with only a narrow bed and a row of hooks for clothes on the frost-coated walls. But the study connected to it was a maze of clutter. A stack of books tipped precariously as I shouldered my way through the door, pitcher in hand. I steadied the stack before picking my way around piles of scrolls and other stacks on my way to the big desk under a bank of arched windows.

Wind battered the glass, which was thicker at the bottom due to its age. Outside, the horizon was black with an approaching blizzard. The midnight sun strained through clouds heavy with snow.

The pitcher still held a little beer, and I drank it down, letting the brew warm me. Centuries ago, the Brotherhood had made other things—wines and elixirs that generated income to buy armor and castles. But those days were long gone now, along with most of the Brotherhood. It might have mattered if I’d been capable of loneliness.

But I wasn’t, so it didn’t, and I set the pitcher aside without remorse—or distraction.

The wind screamed louder as I settled behind my desk and gazed sightlessly at the room around me. Row after row of bookcases rose to the ceiling, each shelf stuffed with scrolls and leather-bound books. Some were so old the spines were flaking apart, the letters too faded to be legible. Others were nothing but bundles of parchment held together with thread.

Other items sat here and there among the books. Glass jars and small, jewel-colored bottles reflected the weak sunlight. A bundle of rare herbs from a long-forgotten plane nestled next to a mortar and pestle. A dagger carved from a single chunk of obsidian lay beside a moonstone inlaid with silver. The crimson bones of a phoenix filled half of one shelf. A crystal skull rested on the other half, its wide eyes a kaleidoscope of colors.

Some of the items were so precious their value couldn’t be measured. They were lost things. Priceless things coveted for their magic. Some were so powerful they were the subject of treasure hunts and fabled searches. None had ever brought me the thing I searched for.

But I couldn’t stop. My vows bound me. I’d said the ancient words as the head of the Brotherhood thrust his fist into my rib cage. With my vision swimming and my beating heart steaming before me, I’d promised my service through bloodied lips.

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