by J. A. Saare
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Amira Press
www.amirapress.com
Copyright ©
First published in 2009
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
About the Author
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Lick of Frost
Copyright (C) October 2009, J. A. Saare
Cover art by J. A. Saare (C) October 2009
Amira Press
Baltimore, MD 21216
www.amirapress.com
ISBN: 978-1-935348-74-0
No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Amira Press.
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Dedication
Mom, this one's for you.
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[Back to Table of Contents]
Prologue
Charleston, South Carolina, 1860
Alexander Clarisse remained still as a servant applied pressure to the thin wound across his chest, swiping at the death blow caused by a cursed blade inflicted by the woman kneeling before him. She waited quietly, her chin held high and steely grey eyes unrepentant. Glorious strands of blue-black wound down the length of her back in large, bouncy curls, the color stark against her smooth porcelain skin. She didn't fidget or squirm, her small, muscular body clad in leather completely motionless amid the chaos behind her.
His coven, whispering and speculating quietly, waited for his decree. Some demanded that she be killed for her betrayal, while others called for the lives of her entire Covenant as penance. It would serve her right to see the fall of her brothers and sisters by way of her hands.
A worthy punishment she would endure for an eternity.
But he knew one pain burned deeper than the loss of those loved and cherished, a bitter sting he'd become accustomed to shortly after falling in love with the breathtakingly beautiful Onyx Blackthorn.
That agony was called abnegation.
He pined for her, wove spells and contracts in order to claim her as a protector of his coven. It was an attraction that had become an obsession, initiated the very first moment he beheld her at sixteen.
His goal was simple—to win her as his own.
Once they made love, Onyx would be bound to him irrevocably. It was the law and way of the Covenant—those born to protect magic-wielders such as him. Once committed by body to your liege, thus is your heart. But she had rejected his advances, rebuking him time and again under the pretense of finding true love of her own. He had tried to woo her, determined he could make her care for him. But when she had screamed her denial and disinterest, he lost control and attempted to force that which was never intended to be upon her.
Then, and only then, had she struck with a cursed dagger that never failed to poison and destroy its intended target.
He studied her exquisite face, as he had so often in the last months, and felt a shard of sympathy. Because of his foray into the madness that is love, she had been forced to kill him. And he, the very man who once sought to love and cherish her, would be the one to determine her fate.
"What would you have me to do, beloved?” he queried quietly, motioning his servant away and peering down. “How would you punish your actions if given the opportunity?"
"A life for a life is the just penalty,” she answered in a voice that matched her expression, without emotion.
"You're right, of course.” He nodded. “But I'm not sure if dying is an equal punishment to what I've endured for you, Onyx."
Those large grey eyes flashed silver, and her full lips thinned. “You tried to force yourself upon me, my lord."
"Nay.” He rebuked her harshly, bitter and angry. “I only wished to love you."
"You don't love me.” Her voice was tense, syllables tight. “You only want what you can't have."
"That's where you're wrong. The moment you struck me down, you became mine. Your people will be appalled to learn you attacked your very own foresworn. You have broken your vows, and because of it, they will not intercede on your behalf. That's a fact you'd do best to remember."
The rebellious fire lingered in her eyes, but she remained silent, studying him as she awaited her sentence. Holy Freya, but she was beautiful—a mere girl of nineteen who had yet to achieve the immortality that would arrive at any given time—with her long and graceful neck, pale alabaster skin, eyes that went from dove grey to mirror silver, and her perfectly formed heart-shaped face with ruby red lips.
His very own ice princess . . .
The punishment for her crime came with that simple thought. What better way to trap and torment this enchantress than to bestow the very same treatment she had shown him time and again?
"My wand,” he ordered. The servant at his side scrambled away to do his bidding, and he gazed at the beauty at his feet. “You would prefer death, then?"
She averted her gaze, nodding. “Yes."
"I don't think death suits you, beloved,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I believe something else is in order."
Her eyes jerked to attention, and she frowned, eyes darting from side to side in confusion. He extended his arm for the wand and clenched the solid wood within his fingers when it met his palm. The golden orb at the end shined as he called upon the magic within to enhance and shape the spell he sought to weave.
"My coven, heed me. From this moment forward, none shall touch, comfort, or love the woman kneeling at my feet. She will remain as your loyal servant, protecting us as intended by the gods, but nothing more."
"Sire,” his second, Terrence, interrupted, “you cannot allow her to stay among us. She is a danger to the coven."
"Silence!” he ordered, facing his congregation. “You will listen and heed my decree! I am not dead yet, and this is my order to make."
He returned his gaze to the sublime creature at his feet and pointed his wand, standing above her and evoking the spell as he revealed her punishment. The blood trailed down his bare chest, the thin ribbons of black-tinged death marring the perfection of his smooth, fair skin.
"Onyx Blackthorn, blessed chosen of the Covenant, as punishment for your crime you will wallow in the innocence you've remained so determined to maintain. You will never again know the comfort or love of another. From this moment, you will look but never touch. You will smell but never taste. And you will witness but never know what it means to take refuge and love from another."
The energy blasted from the orb and dissipated in a brilliant white cloud around her. She gasped and fell to the floor, writhing in agony as the magic took root and latched onto her body. The muffled cries from her lips were pitiful, the stinted gasps coming in short spurts. Thick, dark curls swiped the floor, her delicate hands forming contorted fists. She thrashed and writhed uncontrollably, screaming as if on fire.
Then suddenly, she went still.
It was done.
"Dedrick.” He called his servant to him and watched as Onyx struggle
d to her knees. “Assist her."
The young man rushed to do his bidding and grasped Onyx by the leathered arm before taking her hand in his own. A loud cry of pain sounded from him, and he shoved her away, sending them both barreling to the floor. Dedrick landed at his feet as Onyx crumbled to the ground near the coven, coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs.
She lifted her head, perplexed eyes finding his through a veil of raven black.
She was exquisite, even in dishevelment, and that beauty would become her prison.
"Your hand, Dedrick,” he ordered. “Display it."
Trembling, the youth lifted his frostbitten hand and displayed it to the coven. Several fingers were blackened, the skin surrounding the wounds blistered and red.
Alexander pointed the wand once more at Onyx and warned, “None will ever touch her. To do so will mean nothing but pain and ultimately death. Her skin is as her heart, as devious and chilling as a lick of frost."
He returned to his place at the top of the stairs and listened to the disbelieving whispers while accepting the hollow comfort of his soon-to-be passed-down throne.
"My brethren, my most trusted brothers and sisters,” he announced, waving his hand at the crumbled body at the foot of the stairs. “Behold the Ice Princess."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
New Orleans, Present day
"Contact Sheriff McAvoy with your problem. If he can't help, then you can call me back."
The line went dead and Luke Trevlian snapped his cell closed, slid it into his leather jacket and cursed his Alpha while scanning the room. Wolfe's time away with his mate couldn't have come at a shittier time. New Orleans was a deadly place for immortals around Halloween, especially when unexpected visitors arrived in the city.
He studied the group crowding the corner of Greyson's Pub, covered in flowing robes and reeking of sulfur and amber. The coven of wizards and witches was not unexpected. Magic-wielders made a killing in the Quarter by offering readings and prophesying the future. But these folks were new to the area. Since it was that time of year again, his gut told him something was off.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?” Greyson asked from just behind him on the opposite side of the bar.
"Sure am.” He nodded and turned, facing the elder Lycae and noting a new spattering of grey at his darkened temples.
"I've never seen them before, and I never forget a face,” Greyson muttered, swiping the counter with the rag clenched in his hand. “You should have Wolfe get his ass back here."
He shrugged and snagged a peanut from one of the bowls along the bar. “Wolfe wants me to contact the Sheriff."
"Then I suggest you do it."
Luke turned from Greyson and popped the kernel into his mouth, allowing the shell to drift from his fingers to the littered floor below. There were over a dozen of them, a mixture of male and female. Their voices were soft and their demeanor nonthreatening. Perhaps they were in town to mix with another coven, performing a ritual of some kind.
He retrieved the RAZR from his jacket, searched through the numbers, located Trevor McAvoy's, and pressed the small green button. He shifted his weight back, reclining on the counter as the signal clicked over and started to ring.
"What do you want?” the Warlock barked when he answered.
"We have visitors."
"And that's my problem how?"
"An unknown coven has just shown up in your city, Sheriff. Need I say more?"
"Damn it, I doona go by that title anymore!” the Warlock snapped. “And let them come. Who gives a rip-roaring fuck? No’ me. I can tell you that!"
"Have you marked your calendar recently?"
"Why do you ask, Luke? Are you throwing a costume party and want tae invite me?"
"Stop being a smart-ass,” Luke growled. “I need you down here, pronto."
"Well, tough shit. I've just settled in with a kettle of corn and a six pack of Tennent's Super. I have a date with the Married with Children marathon that I canna miss."
"I suppose I should just call Arden, then,” Luke offered amiably. “She was really excited about time alone with Wolfe, but they can call the trip short. It won't be the first time."
"You're an evil fucking shit, do you know that?"
"Sure do. How soon can you get to Greyson's?"
A heavy sigh sounded from the phone. “I'll be there in ten."
"See you then."
Luke returned the phone to his jacket, rotating his torso around and plucking another peanut from the bowl. He knew it was cruel, using Arden as blackmail. But she was the only reason Trevor agreed to assist the Lycae in the first place. The Warlock loved his Alpha's mate like a sister.
Thank God.
The transition from Alpha to Beta had been a remarkably easy one thanks to Wolfe's mate. Luke's wolf wasn't ready to lead a pack, and he knew it. He was the youngest of the Trevlian legacy at a mere quarter-of-a-millennium old and needed time to grow and mature. But things wouldn't have occurred so smoothly if Trevor hadn't helped them destroy the vampyren that threatened to destroy everything. In the aftermath, they had formed a tentative agreement with the Warlock. Trevor would lend a hand with Lycae dealings so long as Arden remained protected among the pack.
A server walked to the table with a tray laden with drinks. Bodies parted, shifting away. Hoods rippled as faces were revealed. The men all kept with the wizard fashion—super short hair trimmed neatly and faces cleanly shaven. The women kept their hair short as well, the pixie cuts markedly longer and shaggier.
People conversed among one another while he popped peanuts into his mouth and swigged the thick Smithwick's Irish ale. In less than twenty-four hours, Halloween would come and go, and he could breathe easy. No more prowling the city, keeping the peace.
Movement from the left got his attention. Helen Tex, one of the longtime witches from the Quarter, decided to mosey on over with her Chimera escort. It wasn't unusual to find Chimeras hired as servants to witches or wizards. The big bastards were as deadly as the Lycae and more than proficient when it came to killing. The male's tight black leather pants and skin-hugging turtleneck revealed all of his brawn, which was generally enough to keep the undesirables away.
They stopped at the end of the table, the witch appearing impossibly tiny next to her bodyguard. Their voices remained too hushed to understand, and he realized they used magic to shade themselves.
"That can't be good,” Greyson muttered as he came around the side and stood next to him.
"Nope,” Luke agreed.
The face of the wizard seated in the center became angry, a red stain creeping onto his cheeks. Although he was obviously yelling at Helen as his mouth widened and his throat strained, the sound was muted. He grasped the mug of ale before him and threw the contents at her, coating the front of her dress in dark amber. The Chimera lurched forward, his massive arm extending across the table.
"Fucking hell.” Greyson cursed, readying to move, but the Chimera's hand never made it to his intended destination.
A female appeared, snagging the male by the very wrist hovering over the table. Her leathered hands flipped the arm over and then under, forcing the appendage into an awkward and painful position against his lower back. Though markedly smaller, she managed to bury his face into the table with a loud crash, sending glasses scattering. Long, dark hair hung to her lower back in thick, rounded curls, the strands emitting a blue-black shine in the dim lighting. Voices emerged from the group, and he knew the spell used to shield their voices was lifted.
"Are you going to behave,” the female demanded into the Chimera's ear, her voice featherlight, “or am I going to have to carry you out of here?"
"Let me go, bitch,” the Chimera thundered. “Before I eat your sweet ass."
A soft chuckle, then. “Wrong answer."
She kept the arm locked at his back but snagged a handful of the Chimera's long blond hair at the nape and forced him up and away. It should have be
en impossible. She was too small to have that much strength. She whipped them around, and Luke's heart slammed into his throat.
Gorgeous didn't even begin to describe her. Her large silver eyes were offset by long, dark lashes and black brushstroke eyebrows that arched ever so slightly. Her nose was small and slightly upturned, accentuating much fuller red-hued lips. She glanced at him only so long as it took to pass, forcing the Chimera to the door.
He found himself rushing ahead to block her path. “Let me help you."
She cocked one of those dainty eyebrows and asked, “And why would you want to do that?"
"Because he's a Chimera and will rip your head off when you let him loose,” he answered automatically.
"Ah,” she said and smiled lightly, plush lips curving at the corners.
He nearly groaned at the sight, his cock surging to life and pressing against his slacks. He inhaled deeply, scenting the air. Beneath the stench of amber and fire, he smelled fresh rose petal and a touch of lavender. He tried to replace the leathered hand locked onto the Chimera's wrist with his own, eager to make some kind of contact with her, but was thwarted when she started forward, moving the asshole along without him.
"I appreciate the offer, but I don't need your help."
Luke started to argue when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He frowned down at the wizard who caused the earlier disturbance and growled softly.
"Heed her, Lycae,” the wizard said quietly, releasing him and stepping back. “She needs no assistance from you or any other in this establishment. If the Chimera attacks her, she will end him."
"She's just a girl."
"No, she isn't."
The wizard walked away, returned to the group at the table, and slid back into his place at the center of the booth. When the door opened, Luke turned, eager to set eyes on the breathtaking female once more. Instead he was graced with the passable face of a very unhappy and disgruntled Warlock.
"This had better be good,” Trevor grumbled and strode past him, sidling up to the bar. He flagged down a waitress. “Give me a Guinness on tap."
