She did not wake during the long road home, nor when he carried her to her room, nor even when put her in her bed and sat beside her to divest her of her coat and boots and unlace the ties of her bodice so she could breathe without restriction. The only time she stirred, was when he rose from the bed to leave.

Her fingers curled around his wrist. “Stay,” she whispered.

She’d never asked him to stay before. Ever. And how shocking that such a tiny little word, such a small, whispered request, could rob the strength from his body and leave him trembling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed. He pulled away only long enough to pull off his boots and clothing, then he crawled into bed and gathered her in his arms, spooning his body against hers. “Sleep, min ros.” He brushed the hair back from her still-overheated brow and rested his head against hers.

Long after she surrendered to sleep, he remained there, holding her close, breathing in the sweet aromas of her scent and basking in her radiant warmth. He’d been so cold for so long. So numb to any feeling but vengeance and hatred, both of which had burned like icy blue flame in his heart, their bitter, frozen brittleness consuming more and more of him by the day.

Valik and Laci he loved dearly, but only with Khamsin did the ice retreat. Summerlander and daughter of an enemy king she might be, but she was also the only one left in his life who could make him feel again. Truly feel, as he had before the day of Garrick’s death, before he drank the Ice Heart. There was no doubt in his mind that the fiery, irresistible passion that raged between them was all that was keeping the Ice Heart at bay.

And now, understanding that, he also understood the real reason he’d stayed away from her for so long. It wasn’t just because he feared losing control of himself. It wasn’t just because he feared he might hurt her. He’d stayed away because of a deeper fear, one he would never admit aloud: that he might surrender himself to Khamsin’s beguilement only to find her as false as Elka had been.

Elka’s betrayal, he had survived. Khamsin’s would destroy him.

Wynter nuzzled the soft, curling mass of dark hair, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent that had lodged so deep in his olfactory memory that no other woman would ever supplant it. No amount of willpower or self-denial could change that. Wynter now accepted the truth he’d suspected since the day Khamsin had been poisoned and her blood stained the snow scarlet.

His wolf had recognized Khamsin as its mate.

She might betray him to her family, torment him unto madness, bring his kingdom to ruin, but come good or ill, love or hatred, trust or betrayal, Wynter of the Craig would never take another woman to wife.

Because when snow wolves mated, they mated for life.

“Whatever you do, Khamsin, don’t betray me,” he whispered. “Don’t ever betray me.”

CHAPTER 19

Shades of Belladonna

For the first time since bringing his Summer-born bride to Gildenheim, Wynter did not return to his own bed before dawn. Instead, he remained in hers, holding her as she slept. He dozed lightly only when his eyelids grew too heavy to stay open, but otherwise remained content with the quiet peace of lying beside her, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, trying to reconcile the profound desire to protect her with the fear that her loyalty belonged to her brother before him. Verdan Coruscate, he knew, had no hold on her, but her defense of Falcon earlier at the pond had made her feelings for him equally clear.

If she had to choose between the enemy king she’d been forced to wed and the brother she’d idolized all her life, whom would she choose?

The sun was just rising when the bedroom door latch opened with a click and the door swung inward.

The sound fired in his brain like a hammer stroke shattering glass. He had one split second of frozen incomprehension followed by a reaction that was more instinct than thought: Protect Khamsin.

With a roar, he sprang up from the bed and landed on the floor between the bed and the door, shielding his wife from view and buffering her from any would-be attacker. Before the door swung more than a few inches inward, his eyes were already blazing with Ice.

“Bella!” Khamsin, who must have been awakened by Wynter’s shout, grabbed his shoulder.

That slender hand on his shoulder saved Bella’s life. He squeezed his eyes shut to block his Gaze. When he opened them again, the Summerlander maid was standing in the frost-coated doorway, her mouth gaping in shock, staring at him and Khamsin.

“Get out,” he growled. His teeth were bared in a snarl, and there was such naked menace in his voice that even without the added lethal force of his Gaze, it was a wonder the maid didn’t expire on the spot.

The girl gave a squeak and stumbled backward, closing the door with a slam.

The tension stayed with him for several seconds after she’d gone. He was scarcely aware of the threatening, warning growl that still rumbled in his throat as he waited to see if the interloper would return.

Beneath him, Khamsin made a muffled sound that sounded like a sob. He shook his head to clear the Wolf from his mind and glanced down in concern. Her hands were clapped over her mouth, and her eyes were squeezed shut. But then she drew her hands from her face, and the sound pealed out without restraint, and he realized she was not sobbing.

She was laughing.

Not wickedly, not with sarcasm or arrogance, but with delight. Her eyes were dancing with mischief. “Did you see her face? And yours? I don’t know which one of you was more shocked.” She laughed again with such helpless abandon he could not take offense. The sound broke over him like a warm summer rain, and just like that, he wanted her.