Page 42 of Kiss of Frost

Georgie’s eyes were pools of anxiety. “What if you’re wrong about him?”

“No.” Not after that kiss. I took her hand. “I’m not the best warrior.” I winced. “I’m kind of shite at fighting, actually. My magic isn’t good for battle, but it’s good for this. Sex is more than the physical act, witchling. Desire starts in the mind. Graeme is the finest fighter I’ve encountered, but swords and fists are useless against thoughts. I’m right about us—all three of us. I know it.”

She cupped my unshaven jaw. “You’re not shit at fighting.” Her eyes glittered, and the whispers shivered around us again. “You’re mine, and I wouldn’t change you even if I could. But Graeme is over a thousand years old. Please don’t ask me to watch something like that again.” Her mouth trembled, and she spoke on a broken whisper. “I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

My heart squeezed—and it made my decision for me. Graeme wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, a little distance might be good until the three of us could figure things out. I covered Georgie’s hand with mine. “All right. But you should let me fly us to the Oracle.”

“What about the cold? And your injuries!”

“The Oracle is within sight. I can make it.” I nodded toward the caldarium behind her. “I’ll wash the blood off and be good as new.” When doubts huddled in her eyes, I held up my newly healed arm. “See? Already better. I’m a dragon, Georgie. I can get you to that Oracle. We’ll answer its riddle and be on our way.”

She huffed. “It’s not a riddle—”

“Details, lass. Let’s get there first. Then we’ll figure out how to get your wind.”

She gnawed at her lip. Then she nodded. “Okay. We can try.”

“Do or do not. There is no try.”

Amusement touched her eyes. “Yoda?”

“Aye. I didn’t attempt the voice. You’re welcome.”

The amusement swelled, but worry was swift on its heels. “You promise you’re okay to fly?”

“I vow it. Now, get ready for the ride of your life.”

Chapter Thirteen

GEORGIE

Crossing Gelhella on foot was challenging. Sweeping over it twenty thousand feet in the air was utterly terrifying.

But it was also exhilarating—in the way that speeding through the sky at heights and speeds reserved for helicopters was probably exhilarating. Except helicopters didn’t have glittering green scales and several rows of serrated teeth longer than my body. They didn’t have long tails that lashed the sky or spiky horns that paraded down their backs.

I clasped two of those horns now, my thighs clenched against the scales that joined Callum’s shoulders to his neck. The storm that had loomed in the distance all morning had rolled swiftly forward as we took off from the North Tower of the White Gate.

It enveloped us, turning the air to the inside of a snow globe. Frost coated Callum’s scales, but he pushed forward, his massive wings beating with a powerful rhythm.

Icy wind screamed past my head. Snow pelted my face, invading my nostrils and clustering on my eyelashes faster than I could blink it away. Callum’s head blocked some of the blast, but he couldn’t protect me from everything, and the wind buffeted me like a giant throwing punches.

My father could have blocked it. As a child, I’d seen him heft an invisible shield against the wind. He’d held the currents in thrall and then turned them against his enemies, sending cyclones to decimate anyone who dared to stand against our house. My mother’s magic had been more precise—and just as deadly. She’d been a sniper among our kind, a witch who used air to assassinate in quick, devastating strikes.

My father’s battles were big and bold, but my mother’s were the ones people talked about. They recounted her deeds in the whispered tones people used when they spoke of something dangerous and terrifying.

I used to act out her most famous kills when I was young. At night in my bedroom in House Blackwood, I’d grab wind with a dramatic flourish and hurl it toward an imaginary opponent. After workers repaired the wall for the third time, a servant appeared and said that my mother would like it very much if I stopped.

No matter how hard I trained or how long I studied, I’d never lived up to the hype that preceded my birth. The great experiment of Ramsin Blackwood and Bellona Crane was a great flop.

But I could change it.

A dark wind is coming, Georgie. Only you can harness it.

My father’s last words echoed in my head as I squinted at the Oracle’s blue light. The glow spread across the horizon like a beacon. I was so close. Callum’s wings beat the air in giant sweeps. The wind tossed his big body around like a cork bobbing in water, but he pushed forward as the snow thickened. Every few seconds, the flakes blotted out the Oracle.

Callum lowered his head and leaned into the wind. I plastered my body to his back, hoping to boost whatever aerodynamics I could. Cold seeped from Callum’s body into my layers of clothing. His scales had been hot to the touch when I climbed onto his back atop the tower. Now, a thin sheet of ice dulled the bright green.

I turned my head so I could see his wing. Ice had formed on the membrane and the tips of the claws that decorated each joint. Worry gnawed at my gut. Airplanes deiced their wings for a reason. Callum could only collect so much extra weight before he was forced to descend.

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