The Winter King (40 page)

Kham blinked. “Of course, I—oh!” She started in surprise as the man wrapped his arms around her. But before she could think to fend him off, he’d looped a harness around her waist and thighs and hooked her to a loop in a second rope. He caught her hands, then dropped them with an exclamation of surprise as the remnant heat scorched him through his gloves.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kham plunged her hands into the packed snow to cool them.

“Hold the rope tight, Your Grace, and don’t let go. Understand?”

“I—yes, yes, of course.” She wrapped her now-cooler hands around the rope.

“Good.” He gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “You did good, my queen.” As her jaw went slack in surprise from the unexpected compliment, he cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned back to shout, “Up!”

Kham’s rope went taut, and she fought for balance as she was suddenly hoisted up, off the buried rooftop. When she reached the top of the crater, two burly men helped her to her feet while a pair of well-bundled women freed her from the harness straps and rope.

“Come, Your Grace, quickly. Over here.”

She caught a brief glimpse of Wynter, who nodded approvingly, before she was hustled off to the closest dig site and asked to summon her magic again.

The sun set, and the rescuers broke out torches to light the area. Kham called upon her gifts again and again, melting her way down to the buried homes so the Winterfolk could locate and rescue survivors. Not every hunt ended in joy. Each time the rescuers unearthed a body rather than a living soul, guilt struck Khamsin hard. That pain fed into her power, keeping her going long past the point of exhaustion, but when the Winterfolk urged her to take a break and rest, she waved them off and stumbled to the next flag in the snow. So long as there were people buried beneath the snow, she was determined to do everything she could to help them.

The last house she uncovered belonged to Derik and Starra Freijel. She stood, swaying, by the lip of the pit she’d melted through the snow and waited for the rescuers to dig through the rubble of the house to find the cellar. At last, the couple and their two children were pulled from their icy prison, and the jubilant shout went up, “Alive! They’re alive!”

Thank all the gods.
Khamsin took two steps and collapsed facedown in the snow, utterly spent. The frozen flakes sizzled beneath her palms and melted against her overheated face. Her whole body was running such a high temperature, she felt on fire.

Big hands turned her over and gathered her close against a familiar hard chest. She tried to open her eyes, tried to give Wynter some sort of sardonic quip, but the effort was too much. Her head fell limply back against his arm.

Cool lips touched hers, and a refreshingly icy breeze swept over her, cooling her more. “Do that again,” she mumbled. “Feels nice.” She was rewarded by more cooling kisses against her closed eyelids and hot brow. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I know,
min ros.
I know.” Wynter’s husky voice whispered in her ear. “Tomorrow, you’ll be ready to fight Frost Giants barehanded, but for now, just rest.”

Of the two hundred folk who called Skala-Holt their home, only twenty-one had been lost to the mountain of ice and snow that had come crashing down upon them. It was the most successful avalanche rescue in Wintercraig history, thanks in no small part to Khamsin. That truth did not go unnoticed, and Winterfolk lined up five thick to doff their hats and offer up prayers and thanks as Wynter carried his unconscious queen past. He released her only long enough to mount Hodri, then the gathered villagers handed her back up to him and he carried her before him all the way home, not stopping until they reached Gildenheim.

She did not wake during the long road home, nor when he carried her to her room, nor even when put her in her bed and sat beside her to divest her of her coat and boots and unlace the ties of her bodice so she could breathe without restriction. The only time she stirred, was when he rose from the bed to leave.

Her fingers curled around his wrist. “Stay,” she whispered.

She’d never asked him to stay before. Ever. And how shocking that such a tiny little word, such a small, whispered request, could rob the strength from his body and leave him trembling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed. He pulled away only long enough to pull off his boots and clothing, then he crawled into bed and gathered her in his arms, spooning his body against hers. “Sleep,
min ros.
” He brushed the hair back from her still-overheated brow and rested his head against hers.

Long after she surrendered to sleep, he remained there, holding her close, breathing in the sweet aromas of her scent and basking in her radiant warmth. He’d been so cold for so long. So numb to any feeling but vengeance and hatred, both of which had burned like icy blue flame in his heart, their bitter, frozen brittleness consuming more and more of him by the day.

Valik and Laci he loved dearly, but only with Khamsin did the ice retreat. Summerlander and daughter of an enemy king she might be, but she was also the only one left in his life who could make him
feel
again. Truly feel, as he had before the day of Garrick’s death, before he drank the Ice Heart. There was no doubt in his mind that the fiery, irresistible passion that raged between them was all that was keeping the Ice Heart at bay.

And now, understanding that, he also understood the real reason he’d stayed away from her for so long. It wasn’t just because he feared losing control of himself. It wasn’t just because he feared he might hurt her. He’d stayed away because of a deeper fear, one he would never admit aloud: that he might surrender himself to Khamsin’s beguilement only to find her as false as Elka had been.

Elka’s betrayal, he had survived. Khamsin’s would destroy him.

Wynter nuzzled the soft, curling mass of dark hair, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent that had lodged so deep in his olfactory memory that no other woman would ever supplant it. No amount of willpower or self-denial could change that. Wynter now accepted the truth he’d suspected since the day Khamsin had been poisoned and her blood stained the snow scarlet.

His wolf had recognized Khamsin as its mate.

She might betray him to her family, torment him unto madness, bring his kingdom to ruin, but come good or ill, love or hatred, trust or betrayal, Wynter of the Craig would never take another woman to wife.

Because when snow wolves mated, they mated for life.

“Whatever you do, Khamsin, don’t betray me,” he whispered. “Don’t ever betray me.”

C
HAPTER 19

Shades of Belladonna

For the first time since bringing his Summer-born bride to Gildenheim, Wynter did not return to his own bed before dawn. Instead, he remained in hers, holding her as she slept. He dozed lightly only when his eyelids grew too heavy to stay open, but otherwise remained content with the quiet peace of lying beside her, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, trying to reconcile the profound desire to protect her with the fear that her loyalty belonged to her brother before him. Verdan Coruscate, he knew, had no hold on her, but her defense of Falcon earlier at the pond had made her feelings for him equally clear.

If she had to choose between the enemy king she’d been forced to wed and the brother she’d idolized all her life, whom would she choose?

The sun was just rising when the bedroom door latch opened with a click and the door swung inward.

The sound fired in his brain like a hammer stroke shattering glass. He had one split second of frozen incomprehension followed by a reaction that was more instinct than thought:
Protect Khamsin.

With a roar, he sprang up from the bed and landed on the floor between the bed and the door, shielding his wife from view and buffering her from any would-be attacker. Before the door swung more than a few inches inward, his eyes were already blazing with Ice.

“Bella!” Khamsin, who must have been awakened by Wynter’s shout, grabbed his shoulder.

That slender hand on his shoulder saved Bella’s life. He squeezed his eyes shut to block his Gaze. When he opened them again, the Summerlander maid was standing in the frost-coated doorway, her mouth gaping in shock, staring at him and Khamsin.

“Get out,” he growled. His teeth were bared in a snarl, and there was such naked menace in his voice that even without the added lethal force of his Gaze, it was a wonder the maid didn’t expire on the spot.

The girl gave a squeak and stumbled backward, closing the door with a slam.

The tension stayed with him for several seconds after she’d gone. He was scarcely aware of the threatening, warning growl that still rumbled in his throat as he waited to see if the interloper would return.

Beneath him, Khamsin made a muffled sound that sounded like a sob. He shook his head to clear the Wolf from his mind and glanced down in concern. Her hands were clapped over her mouth, and her eyes were squeezed shut. But then she drew her hands from her face, and the sound pealed out without restraint, and he realized she was not sobbing.

She was laughing.

Not wickedly, not with sarcasm or arrogance, but with delight. Her eyes were dancing with mischief. “Did you see her face? And yours? I don’t know which one of you was more shocked.” She laughed again with such helpless abandon he could not take offense. The sound broke over him like a warm summer rain, and just like that, he wanted her.

“You think that was funny?” He rose to his feet and towered over her, naked and without shame or false modesty, watching her dazzled eyes gaze up at him. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was instead looking up at him with undisguised hunger, and he was gladder than he’d ever been for his height, his strength, the broadness of his shoulders, the muscular build of his warrior’s body.

He bent and swept her up into his arms with effortless strength and laid her on the bed. “Good morrow,
min ros,
” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her lips, then nuzzle the soft skin just behind her ear. “I do believe I could get used to waking up beside you.”

Her arms twined around his neck. “Me too.” She kissed him, and he felt her grin against his mouth as his body covered hers. “But I think Bella will demand hazard pay.”

An hour later, Wynter gave Khamsin one last, lingering kiss, and headed back to his chambers to bathe and dress for the day. She lay there for several, long, lazy minutes afterwards, humming to herself and twirling one long, black curl around her index finger. She rolled over to lay her head on the pillow he’d used, breathing his scent deep into her lungs.

If only all their time together could be as wonderful as this morning. She’d felt so at ease, holding him, touching him, breathing him in, reveling in his closeness. They’d seemed so . . . right. Like two halves of a whole.

It was more than just the sex. Yes, he could just look at her, and she melted. Yes, he made her moan and gasp and explode with a pleasure she’d never thought possible. But this time, they’d seemed . . . closer. Gentler. Instead of their usual rough, wild, passion, they’d shared exquisite tenderness. Afterward, he’d watched her with the strangest expression on his face. As if he was beholding something . . . precious.

Kham ran her hands over her face, letting her fingers linger on her passion-swollen lips. She’d never been precious to anyone. Not that way. Even with Tildy, behind the abundant love had always been a hint of pity, a measure of sadness for the child no one else treasured. With Wynter, there’d been none of that.

Of course, she’d probably misread the look on his face. Or even if she had read it right, the feeling was probably ephemeral—a fleeting tenderness brought on by the glut of pleasure they’d shared and gratitude for the lives they’d saved at Skala-Holt. Not something to trust. Certainly nothing to think would last.

With a sigh and a pout for the cold splash of brutal practicality that seemed determined to dampen her good mood, Khamsin set aside the Wynter-scented pillow and sat up. Time to steel herself for another cold day in Gildenheim. Throwing off the covers, Kham thrust her feet into the slippers beside her bed and reached for her velvet dressing gown.

“It’s all right, Bella,” she called to the still-frosty door. “You can come in now.”

The door cracked open, and Bella poked her head through, casting a cautious gaze around the room. Once she ascertained that Wynter was indeed gone, she opened the door completely and carried in a tray laden with Khamsin’s usual pot of fragrant, steaming jasmine tea and a small repast of smoked salmon, soft, creamy cheese, and thick slices of toasted bread bursting with whole grains and plump nuts. Bella set the tray on the small tea table in the alcove near Kham’s bed.

“I am sorry we gave you such a fright earlier,” Kham apologized as she took her seat at the table.

“No, no, the fault was all mine, ma’am,” Bella demurred. “I didn’t realize the king was here, or I would never have intruded.”

Kham closed her eyes as Bella ran Queen Rosalind’s brush through her hair, enjoying the soothing tug on her scalp. Few things in life were as comforting as having one’s hair brushed. Bella pulled Kham’s hair back and secured it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon, then reached for the teapot and poured a stream of fragrant, dark golden liquid into the porcelain teacup, adding a cube of sugar before handing it to Khamsin.

Kham took a sip and frowned. “How long are you steeping the tea, Bella?”

The maid stilled. “Five minutes, ma’am, precisely as Mistress Tildy instructed. Is there a problem?”

“It just seems a little bitter. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed it.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Bella snatched the pot off the table. “I’ll go make a fresh pot.”

Bella looked so horrified and contrite, Khamsin felt guilty for saying anything. “Please don’t bother. It’s not that noticeable. Leave the pot. Just try steeping the tea a bit less tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Bella set the teapot back on the table. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

Kham turned in surprise to see her husband emerge from the connecting rooms that joined their two bedchambers. He hadn’t bothered to fully dress. A pair of tawny leather pants rode low on his waist. His feet were bare, and so was his chest. Every broad, magnificently muscled golden inch of it.

“Wynter!” she exclaimed in surprise. Then, remembering Bella, she added a more respectful address, “Your Grace. Has something happened? Is something wrong?” Her first thought was that there’d been another avalanche.

“What?” Silvery brows rose over pale eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong. Why would you think so?” He crossed the distance from the dressing room to her breakfast alcove in a few long strides. “Can a man not share breakfast with his wife without causing a stir?” He bent to kiss her upturned lips, started to straighten, then paused and dipped down for a second, more lingering kiss. When he pulled back, she could only gape at him in wordless wonder. He took a seat—dwarfing the feminine chair with his massive frame—and reached out to place two fingers beneath her chin to gently nudge her mouth shut.

“I—” She was at a loss for words. Aware of Bella’s eyes upon them, Kham blushed and blurted, “Bella, fetch the king a plate.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The maid bobbed a swift curtsy and hurried out.

“I think I frighten her,” Wynter murmured. He looked not the least bit remorseful.

“You know you do. Wasn’t that your intention?”

White teeth flashed in a dazzling smile. “Perhaps.” He reminded her of Krysti, with that mischief sparkling in his eyes, but there was nothing boyish about the low, husky voice that made her toes curl in her slippers.

Khamsin cleared her throat and reached for her teacup, taking a quick sip of the bitter brew. “If I’d known you wished to join me this morning, I would have had Bella prepare more food. I don’t normally eat much breakfast.”

He glanced at her plate. “We can share this until she brings more. I’m in no hurry.”

“You’re not?” Gah, she felt like a ninny, repeating everything he said. But this was the first time he’d been in her bedroom in broad daylight, and for some reason it felt so unsettling. She’d grown used to having him in shadows and firelight. In the bright light of day, he seemed bigger, broader, more real. And so desirable, she could scarcely put two coherent thoughts together.

“No hurry at all. Everyone’s been telling me for months to slow down and start enjoying life again.” With deft hands, he smeared the creamed cheese across one slice of the toasted wheat-and-nut bread. “I thought we might ride out together again after breakfast. There’s still much work to be done in Skala-Holt, and the villagers you saved will want to thank you.”

“They don’t need to thank me.”

“Yes, they do. And they will want to. So just say, ‘Yes, husband. I would love to ride with you to Skala-Holt today.’ ” He layered smoked salmon across the cheese-covered toast, then cut the prepared bread into inch-wide strips.

She honestly couldn’t manage a reasonable objection. “Yes, husband. I would love to ride with you to Skala-Holt today.”

“Good. That’s settled.” He lifted the first of the strips to her lips and waited for her to take a bite.

She was intimately aware of his intent, focused gaze as her teeth sank into the moist salmon, cheese, and bread. The combination of flavors burst in her mouth. She chewed slowly and found she couldn’t tear her gaze away as he carried the remaining slice to his own lips. She watched his white teeth bite through the food, and all she could think of was those teeth nibbling at her flesh, scraping across her breasts, his lips tracking lines of fire across her body.

He reached for her teacup, and she almost laughed at the incongruous sight of his enormous hand closing around the delicate cup. In Wynter’s grip, the cup looked like one of those miniature doll’s toys her sisters had played with when they were young. He held the cup to her lips, and she drank without hesitation. The tea could have been as bitter as wormwood, and she still would have drunk it because he had offered it to her.

He turned the cup and, holding her gaze, slowly put his mouth to the spot her lips had touched and drank.

Sweet, smoldering Freika! Kham practically melted.

“If you don’t stop trying to seduce me over breakfast, we will never leave this room today,” she warned him with a rueful laugh.

Even before she finished her laughing admonition, Wynter’s nostrils flared, and his teasing, seductive playfulness gave way to a stiff, distant coldness. His eyes turned snowy, and the tea in the cup turned so abruptly into ice that the delicate porcelain shattered. The frozen brown block of ice that had a split second ago been steaming tea thumped on the tabletop. His fingers fisted around the broken cup handle, and drops of violet-tinged blood stained the tablecloth.

“Sweet Halla!” She jumped up, snatched a napkin from the table, and reached for his hand to staunch the wound. Before she could touch him, his free hand closed around her wrist, and she gasped. It was as if she’d been shackled with an unyielding ring of glacier ice.

“Wynter!” She yanked against him, trying to pull her arm free, but he didn’t budge.

He rose to his feet with slow deliberation, straightening inch by massive, aggressive, all male inch, until he towered over her, forcing her to crane her head back to look up at him. His eyes were pure white now, his face hard as graven stone. Gone was the seductive lover, the teasing mischief in his eyes. He was pure, cold, Winter King, full of wrath and ice.

When he spoke, his voice filled her with dread. “You bound your life to mine.” Each word tore from his lips with a sound like the very earth ripping apart from unimaginable pressure. The low, dangerous rumble shuddered through her, rattling her bones, making the hairs on her arm stand up. “You promised me the fruits of your womb.”

She gaped at him without comprehension. “You said that was what you wanted!” Her throat was dry. The air had gone so cold, each breath scraped through her lungs like sharp knives. What on earth had set him off?

“You smile at me and invite me to your bed. You make me swear to take no other in your place. You act as though you welcome my touch . . . as though you want my child.”

“I did. I do! Wynter, for Halla’s sake, tell me what’s wrong!”

“And all the while . . . all the while as you were smiling so sweetly, welcoming me into your bed and your body, convincing me you were different . . . better than your kin, more honorable and trustworthy . . .
all the while
you were every inch the lying, deceitful, treacherous witch Valik warned me about. A true Coruscate! Corrupt to the bone, just like every other member of your cursed family!”