Page 72 of Kiss of Frost

And fell.

The North Wind shifted, rippling and swirling. Its blue light pulsed again, and the scene changed. Now, Hamish lay on his back in the snow at the base of the tower. He blinked, clearly stunned, as he roused from the impact. His heart dangled from a long, thin thread of pink tissue that protruded from a gaping hole in his chest. The icicle still speared his heart, which had ceased to beat.

But it wasn’t enough to kill him. Not an immortal. Certainly not a dragon.

“Shite,” he said weakly, his face tinged green as he stared at his ruined chest. He frowned, then turned his head.

The scene panned slowly to the right, revealing what lay in the snow next to him.

Me.

I stared at myself lying on the ground, my head severed from my body. My eyes gazed sightlessly at the Arctic sky. My expression was empty. The stump of my neck was crusted with frost. My body was frozen solid, my lips blue and cold.

“Graeme!” Hamish screamed, the sound hoarse and wrenching.

Abruptly, the vision wavered, cutting off his cry, and I realized the North Wind had spared me the agony of watching my mate’s dying moments. The scene skipped, revealing Hamish sprawled dead on top of me with tracks of frozen tears on his face. Suddenly, my body under him shifted into Circe, who had glamored herself to look like me. She shoved Hamish off her, stood, and straightened her gown.

The scene shifted. Now, Circe strode across the snow, her skirts sweeping a path through the ice. She entered the caldera and lifted her hands. Wind screamed toward her, but she threw it back, her power fueled by madness. She harnessed the North Wind—and imprisoned it between pillars of ice.

The scene skipped forward, and I knew what came next.

I saw myself stumble into the caldera, my hands stained with Hamish’s blood. I lurched across the snow he never got a chance to cross and went to my knees before the Oracle he never got to petition. Instead of asking it how to save our females from death, I pleaded with it to bring my mate back to life.

The curtain of mist was silent. The Oracle didn’t grant me an audience. But it did sometimes. I knew that. I knew that it might speak to me one day. Maybe it would hear my petition if I served it. Protected it. I didn’t have much time. My mate was dead. I would follow shortly, my soul consumed by sorrow. I had to hurry.

Again, the scene skipped.

Now, I stood before the Grand Master of the Brotherhood, my eyes wide as I stared at my bloody heart in his hand. Ice crept over the pulsing, steaming organ, arresting my sorrow and binding me to the Oracle I’d pledged to serve.

Binding me to a lie.

The scene blinked out of sight, and the North Wind twisted into a column of icy wind once more. At my sides, Georgie and Callum vibrated with rage.

But their anger was nothing compared to mine as I turned my gaze to Circe. “You killed my mate,” I said, wrath spreading inside me.

Tears filled her eyes. “I did it for us, Graeme. You were supposed to be mine.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded. “You barely know me. I met you a handful of times as a boy—”

“Yes!” she said, an odd, unsettling smile spreading across her face. Her eyes were large and overly bright. “And you were unforgettable. My people don’t wed halflings, but I knew you were mine from the moment I met you. I sensed your strength and your power. You wield the elements of winter the same as I.” She swallowed, and her gaze filled with something yearning and desperate. “Don’t you see it? You took the vows of the Brotherhood so fate could bring us together.”

“I took vows to find a way to bring Hamish back to me.”

Her white brows drew sharply together. “That’s not possible, and you know it. You needed time to accept how perfect we are for each other. But your wait is over. We can be together now. I’m your match, Graeme. I’m your fate.”

Shock, anger, and disbelief swirled in my chest. Memories of the Winter Court flooded my brain. Hamish and I had spoken with Circe. We’d asked her to help us stop our females from dying. She’d sent us away.

And then she’d tracked us down and murdered my mate. She tricked him. Made my bold, loving Hamish think I was dead. She’d broken his body and crushed his heart.

“I’m going to kill you,” I told her. “But first, I want you to look at something.” I lifted Georgie and Callum’s hands, which were still entwined with mine. “These are my mates. My most precious gifts. Fate delivered them to me, and they delivered me from the living death you condemned me to endure for over a thousand years. I love them with all my heart. I want you to know that before you die.”

Circe’s eyes went wide. For a moment, genuine pain shone in the sapphire depths. Then her expression changed, shifting into something so dark and malevolent I almost took a step back.

“Precious gifts?” she asked silkily. Her eyes slid to Georgie. “A witch who can’t control her element”—she looked at Callum—“and the weakest, most worthless kind of dragon halfling.”

Callum stiffened.

Circe’s lips curved in a cruel smile. “An incubus,” she drawled. “Among the fae, we keep them as slaves.” She raked a dismissive gaze down Callum’s body. “I’m sure the boy is good for pleasure, but his kind has little else to offer.”

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