Page 29 of Cherished By Her Guardian

“Of course, that’s what we do for family.”

She’d been feeling like an outsider in her own family, wondering if her future mate would be disappointed she couldn’t shift. But Declan’s love had shown her that the right male didn’t care about her deficiencies and would see her for who she was, not what she could or couldn’t shift into.

“I’m so glad I made the mistake of going to Northernmost with that crazy witch,” she said.

Denise gave her a hug. “Honey, I’m so glad you did too.”

Jack Frost had lost a lot on Christmas Day—the pyrite blade, the magical cloak, and his right-hand male. He cared less about Valeth than he did the damn cloak or blade, but still, it was a hassle to lose him.

Azure had stepped right into the number-two role as soon as he’d learned that Valeth was dead, and Thale took over Azure’s place in the hierarchy. It had seemed like a perfect plan—to throw the magical pyrite blade at his brother while he’d been coming into Northernmost. Because his magic would be waning after the long night of delivering toys to all the snot-nosed children of the world, he couldn’t enter the perimeter quickly and had to use most of the remainder of his magic to slow the sleigh down.

Valeth had been under the cloak and entirely invisible, but he must have inadvertently signaled one of the Guardiansbecause now he was dead, the cloak was shredded, and the knife destroyed.

He’d lost a dozen followers, too, and he’d have to replenish those numbers at some point.

Azure appeared in Frost’s office, looking like the cat with the cream.

“Is there anything we can do now, boss?” Azure asked.

Jack took one last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the crystal dish. “Not anythingyoucan do,” he answered. Flicking his wrist toward the door, he sent the male away, waiting until the door was closed before he picked up his phone.

He’d had high hopes for Valeth and the blade.

Those hopes were dead now, and the Well was effectively closed to him until next year. Which was a shit bit of bad luck, when all he wanted to do was rule the magic of the world and turn it dark.

Darkness was more fun, the good magic followers just didn’t know it.

So while he was pissed that his brother was still breathing, it wasn’t the end of the world. That would come later when he had control of the Well and had taken his rightful place as Santa.

In the meantime, he’d reach out to an old friend who owed him a favor.

“Hello?” the gruff answer brought Frost back to the present and out of his lofty ideals of reigning with an iron fist and driving out every ounce of good magic in the world.

“Grim, it’s Frost.”

The most powerful reaper, Grim, was a towering male with hair as black as coal and eyes as dark as a moonless night. Like most reapers, he was neutral in his magic, replenishing through the harvesting of souls. But unlike most neutral reapers, Grim liked darkness just as much as Frost.

Who had saved his ass more than once.

“What the ever-loving hell do you want?”

“I’m calling in one of the favors you owe me.”

Grim sighed. “Fine. I’m in the middle of harvesting a soul.” There was a swishing sound followed by a thud. “I’ll meet you at the ancient church, I’ve got a wayward reaper who has to be assigned there, and I want to scout it first to make sure it’s miserable enough that she’ll want to do her damn job.”

Interesting. But irrelevant to what Frost needed. All he needed was his good friend—okay, decent acquaintance—on his side. With the power between the two of them, they could easily take out Frost’s brother. “See you soon.”

As the call ended, Frost smiled.

Enjoy the year, brother. It will be your last.

Declan hadn’t spent much time with his alpha. When he was younger, the male was larger than life, someone who had earned the title Alpha by proving himself to be the best warrior in the pack. Then he’d left when he was eighteen and headed to Northernmost, not realizing he would spend nearly a decade up at the North Pole.

But he had zero regrets when it came to being in the cold north. If he’d come home at any time and abandoned his post or followed his parents’ path of an arranged mating, he wouldn’t have Winterlyn in his life.

And that was a hell he didn’t want to contemplate.

Alpha Phoenix was in his fifties and had led the pack for nearly three decades. His whole life, Declan had only had one alpha, and Phoenix was a good male through and through. Fair and generous to the pack but deadly to their enemies.

---