Killer Frost Outfit Novels & Stories

Lisa had set up a makeshift den for me to change into the sponsored furs. But the moment she gripped the garments provided by the stylist, she snarled and went straight for Zephaniah and the man behind the lens. "We are here to showcase the craftsmanship of these garments, aren't we? This is a frozen tundra with winds that cut like silver blades, and the mercury is at -3 degrees. Do you truly expect Ava to face the elements in a sleeveless silk slip?"

smiled briefly. Then waved. Saeris didn't wave back. Just stared, trying to parse what that smile meant— "You planning to stand there all day, or are we actually leaving?" She turned. Samkiel emerged from the side, and her brain stuttered to a halt. Oh gods, why would he wear a leather vest with his arms completely exposed in such freezing weather? That happened not to be Saeris's focus, she was trying so much not to stare at his biceps, the vest itself being cut low enough that she could see the edge of more tattoos disappearing beneath— She forced her gaze up. To his face. Where he was grinning at her like he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. "See something you like, Foxy?" "

Crash! I stood over the fractured ice once more and swung the axe with every last ounce of strength. I hadn’t removed the camera from my helmet. Immediately realizing what I was doing, Luna screeched, "Sophie, are you crazy?!" I ignored her, continuing to raise my numb arms and swing them down, mechanically repeating the motions until… Crack! With a sharp crack, the ice split completely apart, exposing the heating pipe underneath. Taking aim, I lifted the axe high—

Temperature: -60°C. The Valkyrie (a prototype VTOL dropship stolen from the Syndicate and repainted) roared through the blizzard. Inside, the Shield Team was gearing up. They weren't wearing rags anymore. They wore Mark V Exoskeletons—sleek, insulated, powered armor designed by Sterling Corp. Jack checked his heavy rotary cannon. "I hope they have heat... I hate the cold." "Approaching target," the pilot announced. "Station 5 is dark. No heat signatures."

I was surprised. She looked classic and just like Capon, she adorned her neck and fingers with a little too much jewellery. Different kinds of bangles dangled in her wrists that I imagined the clank clank sound coming out each time she moved her hands. Her face was masked with a heavy makeup that looked cakey and uneven. I couldn't let myself imagine what it would look like if she mistakenly got drenched in rain. It would be a disaster. But that was the least of my worries as she had turned towards me now and was shooting me a glare.

Bold letters marked the sails. F. The Frost Pack. Men stood along the decks, dressed in leather and fur, braided hair whipping in the wind. They looked timeless. Dangerous. Like legends made flesh. Tara's breath caught. Something in her chest tightened painfully, burning as if her soul itself were screaming without sound. "The Frost Pack," Curtis said quietly. "We thought their arrival was just a rumor," Zane muttered. "It wasn't," Curtis replied, his voice grim. Tara glanced between them, unease flooding her veins.

Emerald fingered the leather badge she had been working on. The intricacy of the copper wire stitches. The celtic knots that surrounding the central wolf, the imposing crest of the Frost Alpha. It was the ceremonial badge Zyan was meant to wwear at the last night of the festival, during the awards ceremony.

His expression mirrored mine. We hurried over to the chambers we now shared and dressed in winter gear. My attire consisted of layered petticoats underneath a gray, bulbous sleeved cloak and faux fur lined gloves that matched a warm, rose pink hat. Aldrich wore a long overcoat that matched the gray in mine. With Theo in bed and Aldrich holding off his duties for the day, we hurried downstairs to the back entrance like children.

I can smell him, warm and spicy, which is so funny given his cold, remote personality and his name. “You should stop being such a creeper,” I say, eyes still closed. “One day, you’ll sneak into the wrong room and get a one-way ticket to hell.” He doesn’t respond. I open my eyes and zero in on Frost standing beyond the thick metal bars. His eyes glitter in the ambient light coming from the window, but his body is nothing more than a shadow on a darker background. He’s still in his sweats, snowflakes coating his hoodie and his pale hair like tiny glistening stars.

Five years after my parents' divorce, I met my mother at school. She had just finished a parent-teacher meeting for her stepdaughter, who was the top student in the grade, and was beaming with joy. The moment she saw me, her expression darkened. "Do you always come to school dressed like this? This is how your father is raising you?" She handed me a business card and said in a condescending tone, "Take this. Tell your father that I'll enroll you in the international program right away if he's willing to admit his mistake. It's better than staying in the regular program and struggling." I did not take it and took a few steps back. "No thanks, Ms. Stroll." She frowned, her eyes filled with