Page 12 of Frost
Did this idiot just call a centuries-old god of frost and snow, a demon of the winter woods, a monster of ice and blood, adude?
“But you need to leave our property,” he finishes as he grips Elisa’s arm and jerks her roughly towards him.
She sucks in a sharp breath, like he hurt her. I can’t stop the growl that escapes from me as I take a step towards them. No one, and I mean no one, lays a fucking finger on my girl.
“It’s okay,” Elisa reassures me with a small nod.
She slides out of my coat and tries to hand it back to me but I shake my head. “I like how you look in my clothes, Snow Angel.”
She blushes and smiles before Hans drags her to the snowmobile. I watch as they drive back to the cabin and head inside. My chest feels as though it may very well cave in as I watch the door close behind her.
“You can’t leave him alone long with your mate,Faðir,” the hag states as she comes to stand behind me.
I’d felt the eyes of the witch watching this afternoon. I’d seen her crow sitting among the branches. But even so, her presence is startling. It’s rare for anything to be able to sneak up on me. What she wants right now is beyond me. Usually, witches come and go quickly, moving on to the next house in search of what they seek. She must be after something here.
“What is it you want,Völva?” I ask her in annoyance. I have enough to deal with right now without a witch putting her nose in my business.
“I have been called here,Faðir Vetr. I do not question the call.”
Whatever the hell that means.
“You need to claim your mate,Faðir. That man means to harm her,” she informs me as if I don’t already know this.
And then her words hit me.
“Mate?” I swing towards the witch, my eyes wide.
A human mate? My mate? It would explain the intensity of how I feel for her. But could it really be? After all this time?
“Don’t let your rage blind you to your fate,Jokul,” she chuckles as her form begins to thin. Like smoke in the wind, she slowly fades and then floats away, the sound of her laughter lingering on the frosty air.
Fucking witches.
EIGHT
ELISA
“Please tell me you’re not a lightweight,” Hans laughs as he downs another shot.
I’m not a lightweight but this shit is… strong. I heave slightly as the smell of the next shot hits me. Whatever this Norwegian herbal shit is, it’s potent. But after Hans dragged me away from my forest friend earlier, I’ve felt the urge to prove to him that I’m not some meek, weak little thing.
The man in the woods flashes through my mind again as I down the shot and revel in the combination of the cold, herbal liquid on my tongue and the burn it creates as it creeps down my esophagus. I can’t seem to get him out of my mind—that rough, dark beard and shoulder-length hair made him look wild, like he belonged in the woods. And those eyes. Fuck, those pale blue eyes that pierced me deeper than the cold. He was fucking hot. Imean, he was definitely older, probably too old for me. But when he stripped off his warm coat, I could see the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders bulging against his shirt. I’m a curvy girl; those little twig guys aren’t for me. I need a big man, one who can throw me around, and he’d certainly be able to do just that with those damn shoulders of his. Like, seriously, who has shoulders as wide as I am tall? I’m pretty inexperienced when it comes to men, but I can’t help but wonder how that big beard would feel nestled between my thighs. Would the coarse hair scrape my sensitive flesh? I squirm in my seat at the thought.
What is happening to me in these woods? First, I’m dreaming of sucking off double-dicked monsters, and now I’m ready to climb some random mountain man like a damn tree. Is there something about these woods that makes you horny as hell?
My eyes fall back to Hans’ smug smirk. Nope. Looking at him doesn’t fill me with the same, all-consuming,need. I mean, sure, he’s attractive, but he’s still just meh. He looks like he has weak shoulders.
“How are you feeling?” Hans asks me, pulling me from my thoughts.
The room spins slightly and I blink swiftly to clear my mind. Maybe I do need to slow down.
“I—I—uh.” I stumble over my words as I grip the edge of the worn couch, trying desperately to ground myself and find my footing.
“Maybe we should get you to bed,” Hans chuckles as he stands. “Don’t worry, you held your own, American.”
He’s been calling me that all night—American, as if that’s my entire identity. He’s getting on my nerves more and more as the night wears on. At first, when we got back inside, he was kind, attentive, and caring. He’d acted protective as if the man in the woods was a threat to me and he was trying to keep me safe from that threat. But the more time we spend together, the moreabrasive I find him.
“I’m good,” I whisper as I push myself up to stand.