A Touch Of Frost Book Novels & Stories

And that's just the distraction I need for Frostveil to scramble away and escape the beating. I throw off the penguin man and rush her. We tangle in our limbs, my skin getting struck by cold lightning whenever we touch. She shivers too when my hands touch her thighs, her arms, her hard stomach. My hands stay on her ass more than is strictly appropriate but there's also a thrilling moment where she's groping my chest and threatening to have me exposed in front of all these nice people.

His palm hovered near her throat, his face stripped of mercy. Then he touched her face. The contact was gentle. Impossibly gentle. His fingers traced her cheekbone like she was glass, like she was something worth destroying himself to protect. "Seven years," he whispered. "Seven years of this bond like a ghost limb. Seven years of knowing I destroyed what could have been everything." Raven lifted her hand and covered his. The bond flared again, but different now. Less desperate. Deeper. Like two frequencies finally finding harmony. "I still don't forgive you," she said.

I could see the frost climbing the iron gates, the metal groaning as it contracted under the supernatural chill. "Darlene, get inside!" Eryx grabbed my arm, his hand a frantic, burning anchor against the encroaching white. "I can't," I whispered, my eyes fixed on the forest below. The pale, glowing blue eyes of the Frost-Walkers were everywhere, a sea of frozen stars in the dead woods. I felt the child within me stir, but it wasn't the frantic pulse of fear I had felt during the rift. It was a steady, rhythmic heat—a forge fire that was starting to radiate outward from my womb, pushing back the frost in a five-foot circle around me.

He reluctantly let go and padded barefoot toward the refrigerator. "I’ve got it," Val said quickly, crossing the kitchen to intercept him. He was always so damn independent. Val miscalculated in the shadows. His hand clipped the pitcher. Water sloshed over the rim, drenching Finn’s bare torso and soaking the front of Val’s gray sleep-shirt. Val yelped as the ice-cold liquid hit him. "Damn, that’s freezing!" Val hissed. It was cold, but Finn’s skin was burning. The water practically hissed as it ran down his abs. He looked at Val, and his brain stalled. The wet fabric had gone transparent, clinging to Val's chest, exposing the sharp, dark points of his nipples.

The liquid ice feels like molten lead against my skin, sending a violent shockwave of numbing agony straight up my arm as the defensive wards of the pool lash out viciously against my touch, trying to claim my hand as payment for the trespassing. My skin begins to turn a pale, frosty blue, the crystalline chill creeping past my wrist, but I channel every ounce of my starlight essence and pull the flower free, its warm, healing golden pollen instantly melting the ice around my arm and reversing the frostbite with a soothing, golden radiance. The brilliant luminescence of the frost-lily bathes the dark cavern in a warm, amber-gold glow, contrasting sharply with the bleak, freezing perimeter of

Chapter 51 I woke to frost. It covered the inside of my window in jagged lines, spreading from the centre outward like fingers across glass. I sat up. The season was mild. There had been no frost in weeks. My breath fogged in front of me. I reached toward the window. The frost moved. Not melted. Moved. It curled away from my fingers. My hand dropped. "Are you there?" Silence. My medallion was warm beneath my collar.

But what if nothing changed unless I changed it? I lifted my hand and touched the mirror. Maeve’s voice moved through my memory. Fae blood remembers winter even when the world is burning. I had never understood what she meant. Until that night. Cold spread beneath my fingertips. I froze. A delicate white pattern appeared on the glass. Frost. It feathered outward in beautiful branching lines. My heart began pounding. I pulled my hand away. The frost remained. “No,” I whispered. Then something stranger happened. For one heartbeat, my reflection changed.

Its surface felt so smooth, almost as though it was liquid in appearance. But my eyes flickered over to the leather book which Frost had brought with him. Why would she hand such a heavy material to Frost alongside the Crimson Heart? Could there have been precautions or guidelines to using the artifact especially in a time where it was gravely needed? I was curious, and my curiosity had led me to flip the hardback open, and read though its content. With every flip of the next page, my eyes scanned through each line, each visually represented chant or rune. I kept reading until I stumbled upon something that struck my attention.

The nervous atmosphere had been diffused and Liora lightly hit Damien’s arm before allowing him to lead her out of the house and into the car. The Frost Estate looked even more magnificent in daylight. She had only ever seen pictures and videos but had never been there before. Even from outside, she could already feel the ambiance. The gates slowly opened and rows of ancient trees lined the driveway greeted them. Elegant fountains sparkled beneath the afternoon sun and every detail reflected generations of wealth without feeling ostentatious. Liora looked out the window and breathed deeply. She had seen beautiful exotic houses but the Frost Estate just looked breathtaking for several reasons

Warm against my cold fingers. "Stellan," I breathed. He leaned into my touch, and I felt it—that connection, that bond, that thing Maeve had called the moon's choice. It pulsed between us like a heartbeat, warm and sure and undeniable. Then, from the forest, a new sound: More wolves. Dozens of them. Coming fast. The white wolf's head snapped up, his ears pricking, his body tensing. He looked at me, then at the forest, then back at me.