Page 20 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

I lay blinking up at the sky for more minutes than I cared to count.

My senses picked up on the other supplicants. Rilk’s wheezing breath came from somewhere to my left, but far enough away not to be an immediate threat. Somehow, he’d made it through. If my body was wrecked, I could only imagine the state he must be in.

Of course, the Gates would require physical strength and endurance. And without my power to bolster me, I was too fucking vulnerable.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Rilk had seen my power. He’d already shown himself to be a snake by making a deal with that monster, Nash.

Soon, he’d spill my secret to the rest. I lacked pointed ears, so there was only one other thing I could be.

So much for that tin of paste still tucked in my pocket.

Covering my coven mark was now the absolute least of my worries.

I couldn’t keep laying there so openly exposed. I would be too easy to pick off once the others recovered. Dark God, spare me. The fae female didn’t look like she needed any recovery time at all.

Every muscle screamed, but I forced myself to sit up.

I shivered and moved to pull my cloak tighter around me, only to remember ripping it from my shoulders on the ice wall.

Fucking great. I might not technically be able to freeze to death, given that frost ran through my veins, but I could still feel the cold.

Steps crunched in the frost, someone else dragging themselves up to stand. My power rose despite the exhaustion. If there was anyone I could muster the energy to kill, it was that fae bitch.

But the weight of the steps was too heavy, and I knew exactly who it was that stopped a few feet short of me. I could already feel the bruises forming around my wrist from where his hand had gripped mine as I dragged him up over the ledge.

I did not waste any more time panting on the ground. I would not give Garrick the Red the satisfaction.

The ground was slick and my muscles so tired, I stumbled half a step as I dragged myself up to stand. I lurched forward into his space, but he didn’t so much as flinch. When I lifted my head so I could glare up at him, the corner of his mouth had quirked upward.

I glared harder.

His eyes raked over me for half a second before he shrugged. “You’re alive.”

“That is all you have to say? You are only alive because of me .” I could practically feel my eyes bugging out of my head.

But the bastard was completely unruffled.

He looked like he might have rolled out of a particularly rough romp in bed—pale hair slightly mussed, lower lip swelling, buttons on his leather vest torn askew.

I was not picturing Garrick in bed. Not after what he’d just put me through.

He rolled his neck along the back of his shoulders, giving me the absolute bare minimum of his attention. “Did you expect a thank you?”

Frost curled around my fingertips.

“I expect nothing from you,” I said through gritted teeth. “Get yourself into a situation like that again, and I will happily let you die. There is only one Mercy Gate.”

His eyes paused on mine, and for a fleeting moment, the turquoise almost seemed to glow. My stomach lurched in traitorous response. I blinked, and he wasn’t even looking at me any longer. It was nothing but a ridiculous trick of the light.

I forced myself to look away from him. The gate had dropped us into a snow-covered meadow.

Garrick and I were near the southern edge, the rest of the surviving supplicants spread out across the clearing.

I counted quickly—six remained. Everyone but the doe-eyed young woman who I’d seen fall—the one that Rilk had thrown to her death.

How was that mercy? What had Rilk done to prove himself to the Goddess of Mercy?

I’d saved Garrick, but the fae female he’d been so chummy with the night before hadn’t stopped to help him.

Nimra had let the girl get away, for all the good it had done her.

Nash had given Rilk his last arm up over the ledge.

But what about the others? What had Seraxa seen that had proved them worthy?

Fuck, I was spiraling. I could not let that happen—not with that behemoth of a man looking on.

A cramp burned in my side as I tried to take a deep breath. Maybe the true mercy would have been if I’d fallen down into that crevice. My coven sisters wouldn’t be sent on hopeless treks to give me even more hopeless challenges, and Kyrelle wouldn’t have to deal with my twisted loyalty anymore.

A growl of surprise echoed from above me—just as a cry peeled from my own lips to match.

My arm burned, a plume of fire from my shoulder down to my fingertips. I ripped off my fingerless glove, expecting to see my skin searing red. But my palm was pale, and the sizzle disappeared as quickly as it had come on, narrowing to a single point of familiar burning pain.

My stomach dropped to the icy ground.

I’d felt that burn once before in my life—or rather, in my death. Power and magic always came at a price.

With my glove gone, I could see it clearly. There, inked on the inside of my wrist, was a new tattoo.

“The Lifebind.”

No, it was not possible.

“Most consider it a blessing from Seraxa,” Garrick said, lifting his own arm to the gray light overhead to examine the mark closer.

Most. Not him, and certainly not me.

“Most people save the life of someone they actually care about,” I bit back, snatching the edge of my sleeve and dragging it down over my wrist. Unlike Garrick, I had no desire to examine the new brand inked on my skin.

That was what it was, a brand that declared two things—the favor of Seraxa, and the new bond between Garrick’s life and mine. My stomach flipped; I wasn’t sure which would be more dangerous. The gods were jealous beings. But now there would be no escaping him. No avoiding him.

“Why? Why?” I yelled, first to him, then up at the sky as if the Goddess of Mercy could hear me. “It was the Mercy Gate! Saving him was an act of mercy! It was the bare minimum, not deserving of this!”

Garrick’s brows, two shades darker than the pale hair on his head, lifted in amused unison. Unlike me, he apparently did not feel the need to yell.

“You exposed yourself for my sake,” he said. “They all know your secret now.”

I knew that. But I followed his gaze, tracking Rilk, who’d recovered enough to crawl across the meadow to his new master, Nash.

I should have let Garrick die, I realize.

That would have been the best thing for me.

My secret would have died with him, and I’d have eliminated a dangerous competitor.

He’d boasted that the gates would kill me.

But if at any point he’d seen me as a threat, I knew he was more than capable of doing the job.

But none of that had entered my mind when I offered him my hand or when I’d used my power to help us reach the gate.

How many times would I play out this same series of disastrous decisions? Had my death not been enough? My banishment?

Offering him your hand was a decision made by your heart, not your mind , a barely remembered voice whispered from the recesses of my consciousness.

My heart was dead, the one part of me that had not been resurrected. I had to stop pretending otherwise.

Garrick jerked his sleeve back down, covering the Lifebind tattoo.

“Congratulations, Koryn. Now you have a protector and you can use your witch magic freely.” The way his eyes narrowed kept me from correcting his words.

Witches were gifted power by the Dark God.

Fae were born with magic. I expected someone who’d made a life off of Velora’s misfortune to know that key difference.

A knot formed between his brows as he looked me over, considering. “Perhaps it was not such a merciful act, after all.”

He was more than just a hulking behemoth with a reputation for violence. He was an absolute ass.

Frost leaked from my hands, spreading across the already ice-drenched snow at my feet. “I did not ask for this.”

I’d saved his life and been rewarded with a L ifebind . Which meant that until he repaid the favor and saved my life in turn, his life depended upon mine. If I died, he died.

That sounded a lot more like his problem than mine. I whipped away from him—wishing I still had my cloak for dramatic effect—and stomped toward the edge of the meadow. The Justice Gate was northeast. Time to start walking.

“You didn’t choose the gift from your Dark God, either.”

Three hundred and seventy-seven years of mostly-failed practice in self-control was the only thing that kept my hand at my side, instead of lifted to my forehead. Or swinging around to connect with his face.

No. I had not chosen to be resurrected as a witch. But Garrick-the-fucking-Red was not entitled to any of my thoughts or feelings on that.

“This,” I scowled at my wrist as I shoved my glove back over the blasted mark, “changes nothing. Stay away from me.”

He was behind me too fast, his movements over the snow so quiet they defied reality. His fingers curled around my wrist, pain searing up my arm as he tightened his grip around the bruises he’d left behind when I’d foolishly saved his life.

I thrashed against him, but he spun me easily, dragging me up so that my face was mere inches from his and we were forced to share breath.

“On the contrary, Koryn. I think you will find that this changes everything for us.”