Deep Kiss of Winter (18 page)

She was fatigued from her labors, but pleased with her progress. Icicles embellished all the woodwork and doorways, and ice sheets covered each of the walls.

Yet then she frowned. The glazed walls looked faceless, the flawless ice seeming barren to her.

Those unbroken sheets bothered her, like an off smell or a discordant sound would. And the irritation was sharp, as strong as the pull she'd been feeling to this place.

She rose and crossed to the bedroom window, looking at the dark woods surrounding the lodge, then back inside at the walls. Out, then in.
Wrong.

Unable to stand it any longer, she fashioned a spear of ice, galvanizing it with layer after layer, honing it.

Once finished, she took her makeshift chisel to the wall, stabbing the glaze. Then again. And again, until peculiar markings began to take shape.

•   •   •

Murdoch would
not
return to Siberia.
I've made it seven days, I can make it seven more.

He'd finished chasing his leads for the night, and
dawn was approaching—Lukyan and Rurik had already returned to Mount Oblak.

But it would be dark in Siberia.

Lulls in action were dangerous for Murdoch. They made the temptation to return to Daniela harder to resist.

No, he
refused
. Because of the blooding, he was just supposed to succumb? To tolerate this total loss of power? Welcome a complete personality rewrite?

He was determined not to go to her like some lovesick lad, especially since she obviously couldn't have cared less when he'd been about to leave that last night. And she hadn't called him once.

Part of him resented how easily she'd manipulated him. Another part resented her encroachment. But that didn't mean he had bachelor's panic, as she'd accused—which, he'd noted, handily placed all the blame on him for this, while ignoring the difficulties she presented as a Bride.

In any case, if a woman's toothbrush was this age's symbol of female encroachment, try two stuffed suitcases.

So for the last week, he'd kept himself occupied, endeavoring not to think of her at all. With Lukyan and Rurik, he'd been following the leads she'd helped generate, closing in on Ivo with each one. He'd tried repeatedly to see Nikolai, but his brother was usually . . . engaged with Myst.

During this time, Murdoch went to bed exhausted every day, hoping that he wouldn't dream of Daniela.
But he always did. And each time, that strange voice asked:
What would you sacrifice? What would you do for her?

He glanced at the lightening sky once more, feeling nearly powerless not to return to her, to check on how she was settling in, to see if he'd imagined the blue of her eyes or her crisp, clean scent.

In his homeland, the fall came with a pounding rain, scouring the countryside. Then one morning the rain would be gone, and they would wake to a white landscape. The air would be briskly clean, carrying the slight tang of the nearby northern seas.

Daniela smelled like those rare mornings. The ones he had never forgotten.

Wait—maybe she hadn't been able to recall his number. What if she'd wanted to contact him but couldn't? He should go just to check on her. Yes, to make sure she had everything she needed. He traced back to the lodge.

Murdoch's jaw went slack at the scene that greeted him.

The windows were all open and ice was . . . everywhere. She'd spun it all over the manor like a spider spins a web.

He'd been raised on the Baltic in the seventeen hundreds. Keeping a home warm had been paramount. Yet now ice arched in the doorways, rounding out the square doorjambs. Icicles dangled from the ceiling and descended from the windows like curtains. The walls were covered in a white glaze, and she'd carved primitive-looking symbols into the ice.

She had no right.
Bachelors panicked over a toothbrush? Try having an otherworldly
female
leave a permanent ice storm in one's
hunting lodge
.

Who
wouldn't
panic?

And she was nowhere to be found. As he stalked from one empty room to the next, the level of disappointment he felt both staggered and perplexed him.

When he reached his bedroom, he saw that she'd been sleeping there—she'd stripped the bed of all its blankets. Why would she stay here and not in the room where he'd initially put her bags?

She's been sleeping in my bed?
That knowledge did something to him, touching some dark, primal drive within him. The thought of keeping his female protected within his property, in a stronghold won by his sword . . .
aroused
him.

Sleeping in
my
bed.

He gave himself a shake, then turned to one of her unpacked suitcases, finding a couple of erotic novels with titles that had him raising his brows and a collection of lingerie he'd be imagining on her for years to come. He picked up one of her silk nightgowns, inhaling her scent.

Not surprising, he grew hard as rock. But his fangs also sharpened. Why was she the only one who tempted him to drink from the flesh? He'd never been tempted before her and hadn't had the slightest urge all week until now.

Setting the gown away, he opened the second bag. It was filled with containers of
salt
. What could she need so much of it for?

He crossed to the dresser. Atop it sat her sat-phone, which he checked in case she'd been unable to contact him. Not a chance—fully charged, the ringer muted, the screen displaying numerous missed calls. He scrolled through her contacts, finding his number saved as V
AMP
P
HONE
. She could've called, but hadn't.

Tethered to the phone was a rugged-looking laptop, apparently ice-proof. At times, the world of the Lore proved boggling for him; the idea of internet capability in this lodge ranked right up there with the notion of an otherworldly ice being inhabiting it.

Once he entered the bathroom, he discovered what she used the salt for. A container was opened beside the old fashioned bathing tub. Daniela needed salt so she wouldn't freeze her bathwater. He dimly thought, No wonder she smells like the sea.

This was too bizarre to be believed . . . .

The north wind gusted through the window, blowing snow inside. Without thought, he rushed forward to close the window, but it was frozen open.

He stared out into the harsh, wintry night. She was out there, somewhere, the little Bride he could never touch. Everything about her, about this situation, was unfathomable to him.

And all the ice was a blatant reminder that he could never drink her.
You have bloodlust for her. Leave this place.

His chest felt like it had a band tightening around it.
He traced away, out of breath and mystified by the female living in his manor.

I'll be damned if I ever return.

Murdoch glanced at his watch yet again.

The night was waning, and still he waited on Rurik and Lukyan. They were to meet here in the Quarter to investigate a new lead, and it wasn't like Rurik to be late.

Lulls in action were
still
dangerous for Murdoch—even after his ill-fated trip to the lodge a week ago. Yet he was determined to fight the unnatural pull toward Daniela. Yes, he'd experienced mind-blowing pleasure with her. But that just brought into relief how much he missed sex. The driving need, sweaty bodies writhing, hips pumping. And kissing. God, he missed kissing.

No, there was no future with her. Monogamy was not his way. He'd seen it destroy better men than he was.

And she iced my goddamned lodge.

After leaving Rurik another message, Murdoch leaned against a light post. He caught the eye of an attractive brunette in a low-cut top. She cast him a lascivious smile, but all he could think was that she wasn't
a fraction as comely as Daniela. He turned away.

In fact, over the last two weeks, he'd compared all women to Daniela, and without exception, they were all lacking.

But at least they could potentially be touched.

When his gaze wandered back over the female, she stared at him with undisguised interest. No, he hadn't wanted to be blooded, but now that he was, he might as well enjoy it.

He knew from experience that he could have that woman with little more than a crook of his finger. Old habits rose to the fore, even as he told himself he didn't have time for this. He needed to give his undivided focus to finding Ivo.

But without Rurik and Lukyan, Murdoch could do nothing but wait, and he needed to slip the leash Daniela had put on him.

If he could blunt this need, he'd be more focused, more effective. A tall brunette seemed just the thing. . . .

•   •   •

“May I wear it, mama?” Danii asked. Svana had just taken her crown out of safekeeping for her upcoming trip. As ever, Danii was fascinated with it.

“Just for a bit, dearling,” Svana told her as she placed the band of ice and diamonds atop her braided hair. Jewels dropped down over her forehead. “There. My little winter princess.”

“I want to show the other Valkyrie.”

“But they would be spellbound.”

“I'm not.”

“No, daughter.” Svana smiled as she adjusted the crown, but it was too large. “Because our kind comes from a land of diamonds and ice.”

“Is that where you're going now?”

Her beautiful face had grown grave. “Yes.”

“When will you come back?”

Svana knelt before her. “Daniela, I might not make it back.”

“Then why do you have to go there?” Danii asked, beginning to cry. “Just stay with me.”

“I must reclaim my throne. I'm a queen from a long line of queens. And one day you will be, too.”

“How will I find you?”

“If I don't return to you here, you must promise me, my love, never to follow me. Never, never go to Icergard. Not until you're shown the way . . . .”

Danii shot up in bed, awake in an instant.
My gods.
She'd just recollected more of that fateful day when her mother had left her.
Not until I'm shown the way?

Who exactly would be directing Danii to Icergard? And why was she only just remembering this?

The dream had been so realistic, she could almost feel the weight of that crown on her head. Svana had worn it when she'd gone to meet her destiny, even knowing she'd likely die. How brave she'd been.

Danii rose, feeling a pleasant jolt as her bare feet met the freezing marble, then crossed to the open window. The north wind blew with a proud gust as if embracing her. She closed her eyes, swaying with it.

The vampire—who had yet to return—had talked of dreams. Now she'd been awash in reverie
each night. Was it the cold or this particular place that drew forth her memories and dreams?

She loved it here. The frigid winds affected her like adrenaline, each flake of snow a balm on her soul. For two weeks, she'd indulged in ice hunts, followed whispers, explored the countryside. And she'd continued to carve arcane symbols into any ice face she'd come across.

The markings were simple in form, like the inscriptions on ancient rune stones from northern lands. She didn't think she'd ever seen these designs before, and had no idea how she knew them.

Eventually, she'd begun creating her own ice tablets to carve on, some as large as a table, later placing them in different parts of the forest and snowdrifts, settling them just so. She didn't know why she did this, just felt compelled to.

With each day here she was growing stronger, thinking more about this puzzling new pastime—and less about the vampire.
Yes. Some minutes less than others.
At first, she'd wondered if her carving was merely a desperate bid for distraction, like a Valkyrie/Icere equivalent of downing a gallon of Häagen-Dazs.

But she'd concluded it must be more, because the compulsion intensified—even as her desire for him should've begun dwindling . . . .

•   •   •

Murdoch kissed three different women that night.

Mere minutes after spotting that first brunette, he'd found himself with her in an alley behind a bar, taking her lips with his own.

And still he'd thought of Daniela. Ultimately, he'd broken away with a muttered curse. “Sorry, sweet. Have to go.”

She'd clung to him, begging him not to stop. What should have excited him had wilted any arousal he might have managed by imagining it was Daniela he kissed.

The second woman had been passable, but there'd been no distinct intelligence shining in her eyes. So different from his Bride. He admired Daniela's tricky mind, liked the way he could rarely read her expressions.

The third smelled of cloying perfume and whatever she'd dined on earlier. Such a contrast to Daniela's clean scent. . . .

Now as he thought back, he realized that not one of the three had tempted him to take her neck. Another reason he needed to stay away from Daniela.
Easier said than done.
He felt as if he was waging a losing battle, and in his life, he'd bloody had enough of those.

He'd died in one.

Why fight this? It would
have
to be easier to resist drinking her than to go without seeing her face again—which was proving impossible . . . .

He pictured his Bride sleeping in his bed, as if she were awaiting him. If he were going to settle down, why not with the most exquisite, intelligent female he'd ever known? Even if she was an ice being. He recalled the supernatural scene that had greeted him at the lodge and came to a determination.

It'd never be dull with her.