Page 7 of From Frost to Flame

There was a loud crack, and a million little pieces of broken glass bit his hand as blue flames shot out of his fingertips. The liquor that splashed on the counter set fire.

“Shit! Sorry!”

“No worries at all.” A young male witch rushed over with a damp rag. “Can I get you a fresh drink?”

“Sure. And leave me a bottle. My friend will pay for it,” he mumbled as he inspected his hand. Burgundy blood pooled on the surface of his palm, and countless tiny shards were buried deep in his flesh. Usually he’d rapidly heal, but the sting of pain stayed.

If I drank too much and fed too little to heal, I definitely can’t teleport home on my own. Fucking wonderful.

In a burst of pink light, an open vodka bottle and new glass appeared. He gripped the bottle in his good hand and drank.

The first gulp was to wash Vega out of his mouth.

The second was to get the pet name “darling” to fade from his mind.

The third made the world blur.

Chapter Three

Silas

Silas cut around acorner, keeping track of invisible signs of Arden. Puddles rippling, dust kicking up as wings flitted by, and the relentless flapping hinted the fae prince remained in his sights.He just had to get close enough to grab him.

“Arden, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

A sharp pain shot through Silas's hand.

With a growl, he pressed himself to the wall and turned it over. Fae conjured magic weapons and had the ability to cast illusions. He worried he had been struck with an invisible dagger. There was no wound, but it stung like his palm was covered in small paper cuts, or like it was filled with splinters.

Illusion magic. Cowardly move.

He shook off the pain as he sprinted onward. Arden led him deeper into the labyrinth of alleys. It was clear he hoped Silas would grow tired of weaving through the maze of buildings, but failure was not an option. Silas refused to return to his throne until he saw his plans through. The compass was coming with him.

He rounded another sharp corner into a dark alleyway and suddenly his boots grew heavy in the middle of his stride, as if he were walking upstream. The resistance forced him to grunt as he stumbled to a reluctant stop.

Now he was certain Arden had tossed magic at his feet from afar, binding him to the ground. The flapping of wings stopped. Silas gripped the hilt of a blade on his hip and narrowed his eyes.

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