Lick of Frost

  "What do you plan tae do when it's time tae mate her? Did you think of that, Lycae? The moon will force you tae take her, even as your dick freezes and rots from frostbite. And that's an injury no amount of magic in this world will heal."

  "There has to be something you can do.” Luke narrowed his eyes in turn, unwilling to back down. “Warlocks are more powerful than wizards or witches. And you're a Judge, for Christ's sake."

  "Do no’ stroke my goat, Luke. Save that for the ladies. You are in the shit up tae your neck with this one."

  Luke met the Warlock's eyes, needing to know. “Does that mean there's nothing you can do for her?"

  Trevor broke the stare as his head drooped between his shoulders. He drew in a deep breath, staring at the table, and then sighed loudly. “Her crux canna be broken by another. When Alexander scattered his soul, he ensured a portion of himself remained. Curses can only be severed when the caster responsible has passed over or his power is given tae another."

  Shamelessly, Luke entered Trevor's mind, listening to his chaotic thoughts. He wasn't lying. The fact that he couldn't intervene both infuriated and intrigued him. As a Judge, he was excited by the challenge of confronting other magic-casters, especially when the odds were not in his favor. They were the strongest of the magically inclined, weaker only to the demons they once destroyed. It wasn't about being the strongest or most powerful—it was about being the best and the smartest.

  "I'm sure that's how they've kept her all these years. They knew just how clever their leader is. What a witty fucking bastard.” He glanced at Trevor's pensive face through his lashes. “Maybe I should go see Louisa Marx. I hear voodoo magic is more powerful than that earth, wind, and fire garbage."

  "Voodoo?” Trevor nailed him with an eat-shit-and-die glare. “Doona even go there with me, pup. Those that lack magic within practice voodoo. It's a sacrificial religion, but nothing more."

  He shook his head and then shrugged. “Something is better than nothing."

  "Doona try tae goad me. It willna work."

  "I'm not trying to do shit,” he growled and rose, inspecting the slightly pink but totally healed flesh of his hand. “But I won't let her return to that asshole or the minions that worship him. She's so tired, Trevor. She's been alone for so long she's forgotten what it means to hope. If you can't help, I'll have to find someone that can."

  "Damn you.” Trevor spoke sharply, snatching his wand from the table. “Your pack does no’ pay me enough for this bullshit! I could kill Cricket for falling in love with that Alpha of yours. If it were no’ for her, I'd say tae hell with it. You mongrels are like a batch of fleas latched tae my ass and sucking out my fucking soul! And I never said I did no’ want tae help her. Some things are quite simply beyond my power."

  Luke watched quietly as Trevor retrieved his coat from the kitchen counter and slung it over his arm before turning around. He didn't have to read the Warlock's mind to know he was positively seething. Referring to the Sheriff as a practitioner less powerful than someone who borrowed magic instead of creating it pissed him off more than Luke ever could have hoped for. The desire to prove him wrong was overriding the Warlock's judgment, urging him to take a calculated risk just to prove a point.

  "Stop reading my mind, Lycae.” Trevor's voice was scathing, his Scottish brogue heavy. “That's one thing you doona want tae do with me. If I want you tae know what I'm thinking, I'll bloody well tell you."

  "I'll make you a deal.” Luke folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me what you're planning, and I won't listen in to what you obviously don't want me to hear."

  "I'm going tae see Helen Tex.” Trevor sighed, slapping the wand on the counter and shrugging into his coat. “The altercation at Greyson's tells me she knows why they are here. Perhaps there is more tae the trip than a little soul collecting."

  "And then?"

  Trevor grasped the wand and turned. “I doona know. For the time being, we need tae worry about the more pressing issue. I canna trust you not tae touch that female upstairs. I'm well aware of how you behave when you've mated. Replacing a door is one thing. Repairing your body is something else altogether.” He motioned, entreating Luke closer with his wand. “Come here, Lycae. I doona know why I'm willing tae give you something like this. It will drain me more than cloaking that pack of yours did, and I have a feeling I'll need all the magic I can get."

  The white orb pulsed once, then again, and a blinding light covered the room. Luke staggered to his knees as he felt as if his body erupted from the inside, his large palms against the cool tile holding him aloft. The pain was gone in the instant it arrived, leaving him shaken. He lifted his head and noted the beads of sweat marring Trevor's forehead, his eyes bright and slightly dazed. He was breathing hard, panting as he wobbled on his feet.

  "The gift won't last.” Trevor's voice was shaky, and when he lowered the wand, his hand trembled. “But it will buy you time, Luke. And I suggest you put it tae damned good use while you're able. By the time the sun comes up, the magic will begin to wane. God willing, I'll be back before then."

  He stared down at his hands, opening and clenching his fists.

  He felt exactly the same.

  Uncertain, he peered up. “What have you done, Sheriff?"

  "It's the same magic we bestowed upon the innocent in the days of old, something intended tae protect the fragile from physical harm."

  Luke cocked an eyebrow and asked, “And why do I need that?"

  Trevor's caustic answer rocked his entire body, sending blood pounding in his ears and pure need radiating throughout his entire frame.

  "Tae mate her tae you, you bloody idiot."

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  Chapter Four

  As always in her dreams, Onyx yearned for touch. Be it from a billowy soft kitten her mind conjured, a wiry-coated hound from days long past, or the light tingles of the legs of a butterfly perched on the end of her finger. Her limited nineteen-year knowledge was distant and impossible to grasp while awake, but in sleep, she remembered every tiny detail.

  But more often than not, a person invaded the sanctuary of her dreams. It was a part of her punishment. A way for her to remember what she so heedlessly cast away.

  When the first brush of heat against her forehead came, she turned to it, desperate for more. Unwilling to mar the sensation by opening her eyes and facing Alexander's exuberant face, she kept her eyes firmly closed and allowed the contact but detached herself emotionally from the implications of it.

  He was not meant for her, and never would be. No matter how much he wished it or tried to influence fate. But in dreams, he was always happy to remind her that she would never know the comfort of another, teasing and tormenting her with the only touch she might ever experience.

  His.

  And even as she tried to convince herself that anything was better than the shadow of isolation she always wore, she inwardly hated and detested herself for the weakness that drew her to him.

  Just as he knew it would.

  Damn him.

  The fingers traveled from her face to her hair and then burrowed inside the strands, massaging her scalp. Her hair separated and parted, and she shivered in bliss. She groaned at the unbelievable pleasure, shocked as Alexander only chose to touch and caress her in sexual ways. The erogenous zones were his favorite places to torment. He constantly fondled her breasts, pinched her nipples, or cupped her bottom. Though she detested and despised him, she allowed it.

  Any kind of touch—painful or pleasurable—was preferable to none.

  A throaty growl of fury nearly disrupted the dream, but it quickly faded as a warm body pressed against her, another hand coming up her spine to cradle and palm her head. Her face met the smoothness of hard flesh, the muscles pronounced against her cheek. She pressed against the skin, turning her nose from side to side and brushing the tip against the flesh, breathing in the distinct smells of woods, earth, and fresh rain.

  She frowned.

&n
bsp; Something's not right.

  Alexander stank of sulfur and amber from demon conjuring. Not the arms of the earth.

  The hands in her hair continued to massage and scrape gently, the soothing pads of confident fingers causing her to tremble. Plush lips came down, hovering just over her mouth, and when warm breath caressed her lips, her eyes flew open.

  Hunter green stared back at her, trapped inside the face of the captivating man at the bar. The events outside of the cemetery returned, as did the image of his concerned face as he peered down at her, his husky voice deep and calming.

  The shock of seeing him was nullified by the fact he was not only holding her, but he was touching her.

  She tried to scramble away, to keep from harming him with the deadly taint of her skin. She arched her back to sever his hold and used gloved hands to force him away.

  "Shh,” he said in a soothing timbre. “It's all right."

  "Let me go,” she gasped, struggling to get free. “I don't want to hurt you."

  "You won't,” he murmured, holding her closer. He gently probed the skin at the back of her head, searching for and finding what was obviously a healing wound. “How do you feel?"

  Disbelief kept her silent while arousal stilled her frantic thrashing. He was even better up close, even more breathtakingly male. The elder warriors she trained with as a girl looked like him, with broad shoulders, taut muscles, and an impressive build. There were none of the mages’ gangly limbs and thin torsos she had grown accustomed to. The tanned skin of his chest was smooth, with a thin speckling of hair across the center. She wondered what he would taste like, if he would be salty or sweet.

  "Keep thinking like that, and I won't be able to control myself, darlin',” he murmured, lowering his eyes and staring at her lips.

  Puzzled, she asked, “Thinking like what?"

  "About how good I taste."

  "What are you?” she whispered, awestruck and captivated.

  "Haven't you seen a Lycae before?” he asked playfully, lifting those glorious emerald irises to study her.

  A Lycae.

  She figured as much.

  Wolfkind were known for their sexual prowess and unbelievably good looks, but if she had ever encountered one, she never would have known it. She was intended for one reason and one reason alone—to protect the coven until released from her service. She tangled with hired thugs and thieves without home or obligation. Pack creatures were too close-knit for mercenary work. That meant no time to explore or learn about the world.

  "You're a loup-garou?"

  He nodded and pulled his fingers from her hair, cupping her chin and brushing his thumb across her jaw. Her eyes slid shut, and she sighed, lips trembling.

  It felt incredible to be petted.

  "How are you . . . How can you . . ."

  "Touch you?” he finished, smiling when she opened her eyes and intentionally massaging her scalp.

  She wasn't imagining or dreaming.

  He could touch her.

  A pool of heat coated her sex, her newly enraptured heart increasing in tempo. Need, want, and desire came together, a heady mixture destined to change her life forever. For a brief moment, she reminded herself of the penalty for what she was about to do. Her first partner would be her only partner—forever. It was the way of the Covenant, a safeguard to protect from bad decisions or rash impulses. Her kind were only destined to feel an intense attraction to those meant for them.

  But if she chose this path, she would never be free of the ice locked inside her. Only Alexander had the power to remove the curse, and he would never dream of doing such a thing unless she agreed to give herself over to him.

  She met those shifting green eyes, mesmerized.

  The Lycae could touch her. Who cared if the curse was never lifted?

  She frowned when another, less appealing thought surfaced.

  What if this wasn't the same for him? He wouldn't want to be saddled with a clingy lover from the past when he discovered his mate. He would send her on her way even as she begged to stay.

  Then where would she be, and what would she do?

  Doomed to an eternity alone.

  She didn't even know his name . . .

  "My name is Luke Trevlian. I'm the Beta of the Bacchus pack of New Orleans,” he answered before she could speak and then dipped his head down to brush his lips lightly across hers, sending pure fire raging through her bloodstream. “And you can put that mind of yours at ease. There is no other for me. You're mine, darlin'."

  He flipped her onto her back in a seamless motion, and she realized he was completely naked when he came over her and settled his weight between her legs. His lips crushed hers, and his tongue slid past, pillaging and tasting the softness of her mouth. She moaned into his lips, writhing against him as she raked her leather gloves into the contorting muscles in his back.

  She froze, going still as the reality hit.

  If he could touch her, she could also touch him.

  She wanted to cry at the realization.

  Her hands trembled violently as she struggled to remove the gloves covering shaking fingers, desperate to make contact against skin willingly for the first time in centuries.

  Luke lifted his head. Those green orbs were sparkling brilliantly, and his incisors were tipped. He helped her remove the leather gloves and then placed her hands directly on his chest, over the strong beating of his heart. She closed her eyes as weighted tears of gratitude slid free, her entire body quaking at the first contact with another person in two centuries.

  She was no longer alone. Not anymore.

  "You'll never be alone again, Onyx.” Luke's voice was throaty and deep. He nuzzled her nose, kissing away the crystalline tears winding down her face. When he rose above her and met her eyes, he promised hoarsely, “Now that I've found you, I'll never let you go."

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  Chapter Five

  Trevor grumbled to himself as he strode down the darkened alleys, cursing Arden and the luck that placed her with a Lycae mate. The Dhampir girl had weaseled her way into his heart shortly after she saved his life, holding him in the palm of her hand and melting his Kevlar shell like a ripe M&M. Now the wolves slobbered up the leftovers, keeping him on his toes.

  It wasn't supposed to be like this.

  He was due some kind of peace, all things considered. He rescinded the title of Sheriff and Judge after his family and kin died, releasing their souls from the abyss created by the demon that plagued them all. He had earned the right to retire. Too much destruction came from the magic of which he was capable. Though intended to protect, his magic had the power to harm and destroy and was especially dangerous to those he cared for most.

  Sarah.

  The thought of his lost fiancee sent tremors of outrage soaring through him.

  Her death was foolish, something that never should have happened. All of the power in the world hadn't done shit to circumvent her fate.

  The woman he intended to love for an eternity.

  Now, he was back in the shit. Weaving spells and lending magic to furry critters that offered a level of protection for the girl he viewed as family. Keeping Arden safe from all the creatures she'd managed to piss off in the past didn't come cheap, especially as the Lycae pack that claimed her managed to wipe out a majority of the vampyren population in the process of Wolfe's ascension to Alpha.

  "Fucking mongrels,” he muttered, dodging a homeless man snoring in a heap to the left of the alley.

  "What did you call me?” the old fart demanded, now fully awake.

  "I was no’ talking to you,” he snapped without turning around.

  Excited voices carried from a few streets over, yet another Halloween extravaganza taking place. The disturbing booming from subwoofers combined with piercing shrieks of drunken females was offset by the eager hoots and hollers of men hoping for a piece of ass.

  He shook his head, thinking and growling, “Bloody idiots."

  H
alloween always brought out the oddness in mortals.

  "Should just call Cricket and tell her I willna do this any longer,” he mumbled.

  Helen Tex's very neglected colonial home looked as gloomy as he was sure the former priestess intended. Old Spanish moss covered the wrought-iron porch and balcony overhead, a few pieces latched onto the window shutters. The once pink stone was now faded to a girly tan. A large wooden sign hung from the balcony, swaying slightly.

  Helen's Charms and Fortune Telling.

  Glancing at the sign, he scowled and repressed the sudden desire to upchuck. Helen was once a powerful witch who creatures in the Quarter didn't fuck with. Then she had fallen out of favor with the coven in the area and reduced herself to this. If it were him, he would have moved and said to hell with it. Nothing was worse than cynics who didn't believe in real magic but wanted to know what the future held.

  He didn't bother opening the gate, grasping the railing in one hand and vaulting over. His trench coat rippled around him, worn brown leather crackling. Each footstep brought him closer to the cracked door and the laughable sounds of soothing yet creepy mood-altering music.

  When he neared the porch, the sound vanished, and the door opened wide. Helen was waiting, dressed in a long black velvet robe. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back, and her chocolate brown eyes were darkly kohled. She was dressed for a seance or a decent fucking, but he wasn't going to ask for clarification.

  Now was not the time for distraction.

  "Expecting me?” he asked and started climbing the stairs.

  "Didn't you see the sign? I see all.” She laughed and stepped aside, holding the door open.

  The laughter told him something was wrong. Helen was a bitch, not a hostess. After being tossed aside and left to fend for herself, she had been forced to live and learn the hard way. He didn't blame her. All creatures—magically inclined or no—did what was necessary to survive.

  He waited until he was safely inside and the door was closed before he asked, “Is your home soundproofed?"