Page 23 of A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn

A mischievous grin spreads across Throk’s face as he scoops up one of the magically-formed snowballs. “It would be a shame to let all this ammunition go to waste...”

He launches the snowball at Atlas, who catches it squarely in the chest. The snow explodes in a shower of sparkles.

“Oh, it’s on now.” Atlas grabs two snowballs, tossing one to Grizelda. “Teams of two. Choose your partners, but watch out for my wife’s belly.”

The party erupts into chaos as everyone scrambles for cover and ammunition. Bram tugs my hand. “Quick, behind the Heart of Haven. Best defensive position in the square.”

We dash for shelter, ducking as snowballs whiz past our heads. The magical snow leaves trails of colorful sparks in its wake, turning the battlefield into a glittering wonderland.

Laughter erupts around me as the snowball fight begins in earnest. Bram tugs me toward the shelter of the ancient oak tree. We dash across the square, ducking and weaving to avoid the barrage of sparkling snowballs flying through the air.

“Quick thinking,” I say, breathless from our sprint. “I didn’t peg you for the hiding type.”

“It’s not hiding. It’s strategy.” Bram’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “I’ll have you know I was the undefeated snowball champion three winters running.”

“Oh, really?” I raise an eyebrow, scooping up a handful of the magical snow. It tingles against my skin, cool but not cold. “Care to put that title on the line?”

Before he can respond, I smoosh the snow directly onto his nose. It explodes in a shower of purple and gold sparks, leaving Bram sputtering and wide-eyed.

“That’s cheating,” he protests, but he’s laughing too hard to sound genuinely offended.

I grin, already gathering more ammunition. “All’s fair in love and snowball fights, my friend.”

Bram’s expression softens at the word ‘love,’ but there’s no time to dwell on it. A volley of snowballs comes sailing over our heads, courtesy of Throk and Suzette.

“You call that aim?” asks Throk. “My great-grandmother throws better, and she’s been dead for two centuries.”

Bram and I exchange a look. “Truce?” he asks.

I nod. “Truce. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

We emerge from behind the tree, snowballs at the ready. The square has transformed into a winter wonderland battlefield. Grizelda hovers a few feet off the ground, using her magic to direct snowballs with pinpoint accuracy. Her husband Atlas acts as her shield, his massive form easily deflecting incoming fire.

To our left, Bella Brewster lobs snowballs that leave trails of steam in their wake. “Careful, dears,” she calls out. “These are extra hot chocolate flavored.”

I duck just in time to avoid one of Bella’s steaming projectiles. It sails past me and catches Etienne St. John square in the face. The vampire splutters, his usually slicked-back hair now a chocolatey mess.

“My coiffure,” he wails dramatically. “Crystal, avenge me.”

His wife materializes behind us, moving with supernatural speed. Before I can react, she dumps an entire bucket of snow over Bram’s head. He yelps, shaking like a dog and showering me with icy droplets.

“Sorry,” Bram apologizes, brushing snow from my shoulders. His touch lingers, warm even through my coat.

I’m about to tell him not to worry when a flash of movement catches my eye. Across the square, I spot Candice backed up against the gazebo. Ronan, the lycan lumberjack, looms over her, but rather than looking frightened, Candice gazes up at him with a mixture of anticipation and desire.

Ronan leans in, his lips mere inches from hers. The rest of the chaotic square seems to fade away as I watch, holding my breath.

Then, with deadly accuracy, Bram launches a snowball. It arcs gracefully through the air and explodes against the side of Ronan’s head just as he’s about to kiss Candice.

The lycan jerks back, sputtering and shaking his head. His eyes narrow as he spots us, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

“Oh, no,” I mutter.

Ronan scoops up an enormous armful of snow, his muscles rippling beneath his flannel shirt. With a mighty roar, he hurls the entire mass in our direction.

“Incoming,” shouts Bram. He wraps his arms around me, spinning us both so that his broad back takes the brunt of Ronan’s snowy revenge.

We tumble to the ground, landing in a soft snowdrift. I’m sprawled across Bram’s chest, our faces inches apart. For a moment, the chaos of the snowball fight fades away. I’m acutely aware of Bram’s warmth, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his amber eyes seem to glow in the twilight.

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