Page 39 of Kiss of Frost

I turned back to Graeme. “You can be done with this in the next few seconds if you throw me from this tower. I’m a witch. As you’ve so helpfully pointed out, my strength is nothing compared to yours. I probably won’t survive the fall.”

Graeme’s eyes glinted. He lifted a hand like he might brush at his chest, then seemed to catch himself and lowered it. “I…”

“Kill me,” I said. “I’m nothing to you.”

His brows pulled together. Emotions raced through his eyes. Anger. Confusion. Hints of fear. He blinked rapidly, as if the swift parade startled him. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded like it was scraped from the back of his throat. “I…will not.”

Relief tried to loosen my knees, but I stiffened my spine. Somehow, I kept my voice steady. “If you’re not going to kill me, I’m taking a bath. Your mattress sucks, I haven’t showered in forty-eight hours, and I’m in the throes of caffeine withdrawal. Any dragon stupid enough to get between me and hot water is going to spend the next month as a toad.” I turned to Callum and adopted the imperious tone my mother had used whenever she was fed up with lesser immortals. “Take me to the caldarium.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He proffered an arm. As I took it, Graeme stepped forward with a growl.

“You’re not going down there alone.”

I curled my fingers around Callum’s bicep and gave Graeme a pointed look. “Then I guess you’d better come, too.”

Callum moved us toward the door that led to the stairs. Steps from the threshold, I looked over my shoulder at Graeme, who stared back at me with a mix of anger and bewilderment on his rugged face.

Suddenly, my fickle power was an asset. Rumors of my clumsiness and magic-fueled catastrophes had plagued me my whole life. My parents had done their best to quiet the whispers, but word had leaked out. When witches from other houses visited, they often tried to test me. I wasn’t a legend like my parents, but I was still their daughter. Power was half skill and half reputation. If you acted like someone who could level a city with a tornado, people tended to treat you like one.

I held Graeme’s gaze and raised a brow. Sell it, sell it. “Well, dragon? Are you coming or not?”

Chapter Twelve

CALLUM

The air in the caldarium was oppressively warm. Torches sputtered along the walls. A thick mist floated above the ground, ferrying heat and moisture. Carved from the rock under the White Gate, the place was a welcome respite from the rest of the frozen fortress.

But it did nothing to assuage the chill flowing between me and Graeme.

We faced each other across a small antechamber outside the bathing room. Georgie had taken one look at the enormous square pool filled with steaming water, murmured “viva Roma,” and left Graeme and me to each other’s company.

Probably not the wisest decision. Training with Bram McGregor, I’d learned that a cool head was the best defense in battle. Then I watched a male threaten my mate. The fact that the male in question was also my mate didn’t seem to matter.

He leaned against a wall that still bore chisel marks from when it was carved, his thick arms folded over his broad chest and a glower on his face.

I returned the favor from the opposite wall as soft splashing sounds and the floral scent of Georgie’s shampoo drifted from the bathing chamber. Irritation prickled through me at the thought of her luscious body slick with soap and warm water. She probably looked like a mermaid with her black hair plastered to her head and her firm tits bobbing above the water. Those pink nipples ripe as little berries through the steam. I should have been washing her back. Instead, I was locked in a staring contest with Graeme Abernathy.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

Graeme raised a brow. “Problem?”

“Aye. You.”

He flashed a tight, humorless smile. “I must not have heard you correctly. It sounded like you’re blaming me for problems you created.”

“No, you heard me just fine.”

A blast of chilly air rolled off him. “The only problem here is you, boy.”

Deep in my chest, my dragon lifted its head. I pushed off the wall and stalked forward, all my cool-headed training evaporating. I stopped inches from Graeme and showed my teeth. “I’m getting really tired of you calling me boy.”

“That’s a shame.”

My temper spiked. “It makes sense, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” He unfolded his arms and stepped into me, his chest brushing mine. “How so?”

He had a couple of inches on me, and I had to tip my head back to meet his stare. “Fate gave you two mates, and you’re scared out of your mind. But you’re too much of a fucking baby to face your fears, so you resort to childish insults and throw a temper tantrum every time your dick gets hard.”

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