Page 16 of A Snowed in Valentine's

This time, he did scoff.

Set everyone free?

Was she trying to mess with him? Witches didn’t help people. The more powerful they were, the more likely they were to use their power to crush everyone else around them.

“I thought I’d cast the spell to open a portal and get here, but it was the wrong spell,” she went on. “I didn’t even realize it until seconds ago. Or, well, days ago, I guess. Time works differently in both worlds, it seems.”

She frowned, and for a moment, all he could think about was how tired she looked. She seemed to have aged a few years. For someone who looked like she was barely in her thirties, which didn’t sound old, August knew she must be under a lot of stress for it to be so obvious. His gut clenched. All that rest had done her little good, it seemed. Whatever was going on with this woman was draining her.

“I still don’t understand what you mean,” he admitted.

“The spell I cast split me into two halves,” she told him. He swallowed as she tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “It happened right before we hit the portal, so there’s still a part of me back home. And then there’s part of me right here. I’ve been going back and forth between bodies. It’s why I keep passing out.”

It sounded completely absurd. No one who’d found themselves on Frost Mountain ever got to return to Earth. He’d learned that much from a young age. Daphne was suggesting the impossible.

But as insane as it sounded, he believed her. It had to be dark magic. With dark magic, practically anything was possible. The dead could rise again. An entire dimension of snow and rock could be manifested. Dark magic had few limitations.

“Things are getting pretty tense back on Earth,” she said. “People are worried. And I think my neighbor called the cops on me or the feds. Whatever. The thing is, I’m under arrest. It looks like I’m a prisoner here on Frost Mountain and Earth.”

She smiled, and August felt a sharp tug in his stomach. She sank her head into her hands, raking her delicate fingers through her blonde hair.

“All I wanted was to fix this problem once and for all,” she said. “And now I’ve created another one for myself.”

Looking at her, August couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy.

She’s a witch,he reminded himself.

Just then, she lifted her head and glared at him. “I might’ve actually been able to undo everything if you hadn’t bound me. I’ve been arrested, and God only knows where they’re taking me.”

“That’s not my fault,” August heard himself say.

She blinked at him. “What?” The momentary confusion was quickly replaced with anger. She lifted her hand, showing him the Kane insignia on her wrist. “You—did this to me!”

“And I would do it again,” he replied evenly, feeling his annoyance growing. “You’re lucky you’re still alive. Nothing good ever comes out of letting your kind roam free. You witches kill. You take. You destroy.”

“You’re the one who tried to kill me.Youtook away my ability to use magic. Maybe if you destroyed yourself, I’d have one less problem to worry about.”

Irritation filled his chest. He briefly considered dragging her by the hair to the fireplace to give her a little scare, but the thought of his fingers running through those blonde locks elicited a different reaction in his body.

“I’m not unbinding your magic,” he told her. “Not now, not ever. I don’t trust you. You’re the reason we’re snowed in right now. I don’t trust you to try to fix that.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, thanks,” he said with a smirk.

He saw her eyes widen as she realized what he meant. Her face reddened. August felt his amusement grow, but so did his desire. He felt a familiar stirring in his trousers. He found himself wondering how she would have looked like sitting there if he hadn’t put her clothes back on. An image filled his mind then, causing him to lick his lips, but he forced it down, feeling ashamed of himself.

Another thought occurred to him just then, and the smirk disappeared from his face. He frowned at her.

“How come you’re so sure you could fix the problem of Frost Mountain?” he wondered aloud.

She regarded him for what felt like a full minute before responding. “Because I’m a descendant of Eleanor Emerson, one of the witches who created Frost Mountain.”

Chapter Six

Fun With Agents Carter and O’Hara

The second she opened her eyes, Daphne knew she was in major trouble.

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