Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,30

your questions will be answered. Trust me for a while longer.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You will...hear things about me there.”

“Let me guess.” I chuckled. “I shouldn’t believe them because they aren’t true?”

When our gazes met, something old and tired drifted behind his eyes.

“Believe the worst of me,” he said at last, “and I will never disappoint you.”

“Lucky you, I come standard with daddy issues. I don’t trust easily.” I couldn’t afford to in my line of work. “That goes double for fae men.”

“Even Shaw?” he asked softly.

Frowning at Raven’s back, wondering how much he knew about us, I told him the absolute truth. “Especially Shaw.”

I almost froze to death before we reached the Halls of Winter.

Twelve steps outside of the jungle, the sheet of mirror-smooth ice had started. A moat he said. Skating across had been fun. The humid breath of the forest interior still curled over the ice to warm me. I even laughed.

I was an idiot.

The solid moat led to a castle built from colossal blocks of ice, mortared together with snow. I screamed on the first step onto the snowbank surrounding the fortress. Tears froze in my eyes. Their glassy shine distorted my view of what came next. An ornate door to one side of the structure swung open when we reached it. Hard to tell for sure, but I saw no one responsible for our welcome.

Inside was bliss. I collapsed in a heap before Raven caught me. I shoved him away and sat there, soaking in the warmth of the room’s blazing fire as my skin thawed. I reached an icy hand toward its beckoning heat but was too exhausted to walk the requisite steps to sit in the chair before the hearth.

Rather than argue or manhandle me, Raven snapped his fingers.

The fire stood up on flame-kissed legs and walked to me, leaving sooty footprints in its wake.

“T-t-thanks.” I stretched my fingers and let my joints thaw. “F-f-fire elem-m-mental?”

“He is.” Raven left me on the opaque tile floor and crossed to the chair, which he angled toward me before he sat. “He’s been with our family for centuries.”

Footsteps rang out behind me. I was too weary to check who they belonged to.

“Shall I warm some broth for the Cú Sídhe?” a cultured voice asked. “Or for you, my lord?”

“Thierry, are you hungry?” Raven rose and crossed the room to a cabinet, where he poured three fingers of amber liquid in a squat glass that resembled the iced block walls. “Drink this. It will help.”

I accepted the drink, swirling the contents. “What is it?”

“Single malt whiskey.” He took the glass from me and sipped. “It’s not poisoned or spelled.”

I stuck out my hand, trusting he wouldn’t kill me or let me die before he got what he wanted.

The first swallow lit my throat on fire. The next sent my chest up in flames. The third ignited in my stomach and the fourth simmered the numbness from my limbs. A fifth would have rendered me to glowing embers. Good thing Raven pried the glass from my hand and polished off the amber dregs.

A throat cleared behind me. I was thawed enough to turn this time.

“Whoa.” I covered my mouth. “Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”

The servant didn’t smile, but amusement thawed the chill in his eyes.

He was tall and lean—definitely sidhe—but was as colorless as the heart of winter. His skin was as pale as Raven’s, his outline limned in faint silver light. His irises were ivory. Even his hair, the same length as his master’s, was snow white with silver strands threading the queue down his spine.

“I set two places in the dining hall.” He bowed to Raven. “I will serve, if it pleases you.”

“Leave the tureen. We can serve ourselves.” Raven extended his hand and pulled me onto my feet. He eased into my line of sight, forcing my attention onto him. “Bháin, you are dismissed.”

I peered around Raven’s shoulder. “What is he, if it’s not rude to ask?”

“He is a servant of winter.” Raven grasped my elbow. “His kind seeded the lore for Jack Frost.”

“That is amazing.” My part of Texas didn’t see snow often, which explained why I experienced wonder when those rare flakes fell instead of swearing when forced to procure a shovel or a bag of rock salt.

Raven steered me down a long hallway lit with peculiar spheres of light. “I suppose.”

Portraits decorated the hall. The décor could be summed up in one word: macabre.

Battle scenes raged