Before sunset, a violent windstorm had howled through the realm. With the barrier protecting the temple, the weather shouldn’t have affected it, yet the wall near the dais had cracked, and the wind had instantly ceased. If Killian had been there, he would’ve suggested they head home—he and Sable to the House of Ice, and Levon to his mysterious home somewhere in the Outlands—but because only Sable and Levon were here, they’d investigated.
And because it seemed like fate had brought her to the book, she snatched it right out of Levon’s clenched hands. “It’s mine now,” she declared. “Damn the consequences, and whatever spoke that language you heard.”
Levon’s eyes were as cold as their color, but as Sable stared him down without blinking, his expression thawed. “Let’s go, then,” he said, and then he leapt to his feet. “Looks like another storm is coming.” Despite that his tone was gentler than before, his jaw remained clenched, and his hands hung at his sides in loose fists.
Sable rolled her eyes but lifted herself to her feet, her one hand clasping the book and the other fiddling with the iron necklace she always wore. The iron kept her fire magic from rearing its ugly head and burning people she had no intention of harming.
“A storm is always coming in the Realm of Ice, Outlander,” she said. “Perhaps I should come home with you tonight.” As soon as the words were out, her face warmed with embarrassment.
But Levon continued to stare into the distance, his mind elsewhere.
“You can never come home with me, Sable.” His expression was grave.
Despite that this was something he had no control over, she whispered, “Why not?”
Finally, he looked at her. “Because if my family ever finds out where I’ve been spending my time, they’ll skin us both alive.”
13
The Wolf of Winter paced in front of the snow-brick fireplace in the empty Great Hall. His hands were sweating inside his moleskin gloves, the heat from the fireplace stifling.
An hour had passed, and there was still no sign of Nocturne. After Twyla had informed him of Nocturne’s disappearance, he hadn’t bothered to undress. He’d barely managed to eat, especially after dining with the king and the Dragon. Under their ever-searching gazes, he’d barely managed to choke down his supper. He could hardly recall what he’d eaten, and he certainly hadn’t tasted any of it.
That girl was destroying him. The funny part about it was that he’d never experienced anything like this before. Sure, he never hesitated to bed beautiful women from time to time, but Nocturne was different. Since she’d arrived at the House of Ice, a territorial need to protect her had surged through his veins. Now, she was all he saw.
He was still reluctant to consider what that might mean. What it might entail.
He stopped pacing and glanced out the wide window at the end of the long room. It was dark now, but snowflakes still blew in a blinding fog.
If he didn’t go looking for her, she wouldn’t survive the night. In fact, he would be lucky if she hadn’t already died. There were plenty of ways northerners could cross the Great Divide, some worse than others.
There were the Silver Maidens, shadows with glowing eyes and oblong mouths lined with razor-sharp teeth. There were water nymphs that took pleasure in drowning the lost and the weary, and starving bears in search of scraps to survive the coming Long Winter. There were the creatures of the Unseelie Court and the Hidden Folk—Fey whose boredom often sent them looking for trouble. And the ancient Children of Light only offered aid if a person had something to give in return, something rare enough that the odds of possessing such a thing were slim.
Worst of all were the Crows—a cannibal species that dwelled in the darkest caves in the Bluehorn Mountains. When blizzards hit the area, the land surrounding the House of Ice became their hunting ground. The vile, beaked creatures wouldn’t balk at the chance to take down a Northern Wolf, and without a Skin, Nocturne wouldn’t stand a chance against them. Even with a weapon, she would be horribly outmatched, and they hadn’t brought any with them to the clearing today…
Without another thought, Kit stalked out of the Great Hall, shouldering open the red glass doors. Even though he knew what it would cost him if anyone discovered what he was about to do, he didn’t care. In his excruciatingly long life, he’d done more than his fair share of turning the other cheek when tragedy struck. His greatest regret was not doing anything when Sable had been locked inside the mask—and when her brother’s mind had been erased. If Nocturne died tonight, while he sat here in the House of Ice doing nothing, he would never forgive himself.
The corridors passed by in a blur, and he made it to the front doors of the House in under a minute. Just before he reached them, boot buckles jingled behind him. Kit didn’t even have time to roll his eyes before the Dragon spoke.
“Out for a stroll?” Killian drawled from where he was munching on an apple several feet away. His gold eyes flicked to the crescent-shaped window beside the door. “It’s not exactly the best weather. Am I right, General?”
“I’m looking for someone,” Kit said, making use of the threatening tone he reserved only for the times when he needed it. He had to give Killian credit for not blinking at the acid in his words; most people would’ve balked.
But the Dragon was not most people.
Kit continued, “One of my new pack members didn’t return with the group.”
The Dragon took another bite of the apple; thecrackof his teeth piercing the skin was loud in the silence. “The one the king callsthe dark-haired vixen.” He chewed, his eyes trained on Kit’s, and then he swallowed and said, “The girl who cannot shift. The girl with no Skin and no will to live, let alone fight with your army. The omega.”
A muscle worked in Kit’s jaw.
“The runt,” Killian added as he bit off another chunk of apple.
Kit’s upper lip pulled back over his teeth. “What’s your point, General?”
“My point is that I don’t see why you’re bothering.” His eyes shone with mischief.
As if he knew exactly why he was bothering.
