Page 52 of Embers in the Snow

What if he’s…?

No.Impossible.

“And if I refuse?” My lips move before my brain has a chance to apply logic.

I hear Kaithar’s soft snort in the background. Irritation prickles through me. Is there anything the big guy doesn’t find amusing?

The pale demon glowers at me. “Youcan’t.”

It’s both a command and a desperate plea.

My head swims.

What would he do if I refused? Threaten to lock me in the dungeon with my father?

My feet, hitherto frozen, begin to move, even though my thoughts are still encased in ice. Something painfully obvious is staring me right in the face, and I don’t want to even begin to comprehend it.

I follow him.

Across the frost-burnished stone, past the soldiers, away from Kaithar and my father, who looks so pathetic and small.

I’ve never seen father like this before.

In Ruen, he’s the lord of his domain, the ultimate authority. His word is law, and he rules over us with an iron fist.

Here, he’s nothing.

These men of Tyron… they’re wild and hard and they care nothing for the laws of the empire.

And the one that wields authority over them is this inhuman stranger. Whether agent or servant or commander of the seemingly nonexistent Archduke Duthriss, I know not.

All I know is that he walks bloody fast, and I have to quicken my pace to catch up with him, and I can’t help but stare at his back; at his broad shoulders and lean, powerful physique.

In spite of the chill, he’s wearing only a thin white shirt, tucked into a pair of finely tailored deep grey trousers that accentuate the taut perfection of his ass and his long, muscular legs.

His long hair swirls around his shoulders, and the effect on me is mesmerizing.

Seven Furies help me, but I can’t stop staring.

We pass through an arched gateway and take a sharp left turn, disappearing from the view of the men back there.

Suddenly, I feel terribly alone. Vulnerable.

He could do anything to me right now.

And he does.

He turns around, moving so fast I see only a blur of white and shadow and piercing red. He doesn’t care that he moves like a spirit; like the winter wind and the fury of a silent blizzard. He cuts through time itself, and I, a mere mortal, can’t do a thing against him.

It’s so fucking unfair.

I’m in his arms again.

And we fly.

17

FINLEY

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