Winter's Kiss

Winter’s Kiss

F
E Heaton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The right of Felicity Heaton to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First printed June 2009

First Edition

All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Winter’s Kiss

The tales of the mansion near Nika’s remote Russian village say that its lord drinks blood to live and that the guards are dead men walking, but that doesn’t stop Nika from falling for one of them—a man who seemingly hasn’t changed in twenty years, a man she wishes would be hers. One snowy spring night, her world and his collide when she is attacked by wolves and he rides in on a black horse to rescue her. But her knight in shining armour is far from saintly. He is a vampire, and she is becoming a werewolf, and love between such species is forbidden—the penalty death.

Winter is a commander of the Validus, the most powerful vampire bloodline in Europe. Faithful to his family and his lord since his turning one thousand years ago, he follows the law to the letter and places duty above all else, but his resolve is about to be tested in the most painful way and his world shaken beyond salvation. The girl he watched grow into a woman, a woman who has stolen his heart, is now a werewolf and his dream of making her his has been shattered. Only vengeance can be his now or the Law Keepers will hunt him down and kill both him and Nika.

But Winter’s plan to take Nika home to her family only leads to her witnessing the destruction of her village and the death of her father at the hands of the werewolf trying to claim her, and Winter finds that he can’t leave her. His heart demands that he protects Nika from the werewolf, Willem, by killing him and that he finds her a new home, somewhere she will be safe without him, for he must even protect her from himself. But Nika tempts him more than he can bear and it isn’t long before he finds himself treading the knife’s edge between
upholding the law and succumbing to desire.

Nika does everything in her power to convince Winter to stay with her, to go against the laws and risk death, but in the end will she have done enough? When they reach the last bastion of the werewolves, will Winter leave her with her kin? Will the nights they spend together change his heart and his mind, or will she spend eternity dreaming of Winter’s kiss?

A scream rent the still night air.

Winter raised his head. The brush in his right hand paused against his horse’s sleek black flank. He frowned, calculating the distance from where he stood in the stable courtyard to the person who had shrieked. The human female voice could carry for miles on nights as calm as tonight. If she screamed again, he would be able to pinpoint her location to within one hundred metres.

A Watchman of the Validus bloodline, Winter had spent years honing his skills in tracking, hunting and killing to the highest echelon of perfection. They gave him the ability to ascertain that whoever the victim was, she was over three miles away.

He returned to his work, lovingly stroking the huge beast’s glossy coat and murmuring soothing words to him. It had been too long since he’d had the chance to ride. The rotation of duties within the household and Hyperion’s plan to
spread
their empire wider across Europe had left him with longer shifts at the gate. It was an honour to protect his lord, but long nights spent braced against the freezing winds that scathed the landscape in this part of Russia were tiring and left him little time before dawn to ride. His eyes closed. Honour wasn’t the only good thing to come of standing guard from sunset to sunrise.

He saw her more often.

An image of her flashed across Winter’s mind. Pale blonde hair hanging in waves down her back. Sparkling
green
eyes that glittered under the moonlight. A cherub’s rosy lips that promised sweet kisses and an imp’s smile that spoke of mischief. That image had branded itself on his mind the first night he had seen her as an adult. Every night that she passed and looked at him out of the corner of her eye, she burned her
face
a little deeper into his heart.

His horse kicked impatiently at the floor, scratching the scattered hay away from the dirt and leaving a long groove.

Winter patted Midnight tenderly on the neck and placed the brush down. Gathering the large black saddle, he positioned it on the horse’s high back and let his thoughts wander while he buckled the straps.

They instantly roamed back to her. Many years had passed since Winter had first seen her. She had been a little girl then. Now she had become a beautiful woman. Perhaps soon she would find the courage to speak to him for longer. She had stopped a few times, always singling him out even though his black armour covered him from head to toe, leaving only the section across his eyes exposed. She had spoken to him tonight, asking him why he wore armour and guarded the mansion. He hadn’t answered her. He had no place talking to humans when he was on duty.

There had been a beautiful lack of fear about her. Not even the sight of the naginata that he and the other Watchman held bothered her. Perhaps one day he could turn her. He cursed under his breath and tightened the last strap on the saddle. Those were not thoughts that he should be entertaining. His loyalty was to his lord and his bloodline first and foremost. He had a debt to repay. Once he felt as though he was worthy of asking his lord for permission to court the girl, he would, but until then he had a duty to do.

And that duty came first.

No matter what his feelings for her were.

A ride would clear his head.

A wolf howl sliced through the night.

Winter tensed and instinctively brushed his long heavy black cloak aside and reached for the sword hanging at his side. His fingers closed around the hilt as he calculated the
distance to the howl.

Three miles.

Was the wolf after the woman?

Another scream shattered the returning silence. This time, it was a word.

“Niet!”

Winter’s eyes shot wide, an emotion rushing into his heart that he hadn’t felt in long years. Fear. The girl. He would know her voice anywhere.

With the preternatural speed and grace of his kind, Winter mounted the horse and bolted straight for the stable entrance. Midnight thundered forward, hooves pounding the dirt in a sure confident gallop. The gates barely had time to open as they approached. Winter tucked into the horse, bringing his feet up behind him along with the stirrups. The half-open wrought iron gates brushed his knees as they raced through, almost knocking the guards over.

Someone shouted something abusive in his direction.

He didn’t have time to slow down. The moment they had turned onto the road, he urged Midnight on, lowering his feet again but leaning forwards against its neck. It stretched forwards too, mimicking his move and galloping harder as though it had sensed his desperation.

The bottom of Winter’s chest armour dug into his hips as he rode. His long cloak streamed out behind him. The light flurry of snow became bitter darts of ice that cut into his eyes, forcing him to squint. He changed, his eyes turning purple to reveal his bloodline as his senses sharpened. The thundering hooves of his horse were the only sound in an otherwise still world. Winter snapped the reins. Midnight snorted and galloped faster, heading directly for the woods with no sign of slowing.

Winter willed the woman to make another noise, or the wolves to break their silence. He needed to get a fix on their location but it wasn’t only that driving him to beg the woman to shout or scream. He needed to know that she was still alive.

He hunkered down against his horse’s neck when they entered the thick forest of pines. Snow exploded from the branches as they crashed through them, heedless of the pain it caused them both. His armour would protect him from the whip-like branches of the trees, and his horse, Midnight, would go wherever he bid him to, regardless of whether it hurt.

A branch hit Winter directly across the black leather and metal mask covering his nose and mouth. It smacked the armour against his nose and forced a flinch from him as pain shot out in warm waves across his skull. He turned Midnight to his right and towards a more open area of forest. While the pain didn’t bother him, it would dampen his senses and he needed those as sharp as possible.

He pulled Midnight to a halt in a clearing and scanned the darkness, stretching out with his senses and searching for her. The wintry weather hadn’t managed to penetrate the dense trees and the ground was clear of snow, leaving him without a visible trail to follow. He breathed deep, catching a faint hint of her scent on the breeze. She had been here. He cursed. Where was she now?

Was she dead?

Had the wolves killed her already?

That thought made a dull ache settle in his chest.
Winter
refused to believe it. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw her body for himself. Another deep breath caught a stronger scent. A growl rumbled up through his chest.

Not wolves.

Werewolves.

His eyes narrowed into dark slits between his black helmet and facemask. He stared into the distance as one hand left the reins and closed around the hilt of his sword. Blood would spill tonight. Not only because werewolves had dared to enter Validus territory. If they had killed her, no, if they had even touched her, they would die by his hand.

A distant scream reached his ears.

He pulled on Midnight’s reins.

Midnight reared onto his hind legs, whinnied and then broke into a gallop. Winter sneered behind his facemask, his blood calling for violence.

• *
  

Nika walked the quiet winding path through the woods, wishing she had chosen to wear her thicker coat. Thick fake fur lined the long black coat she wore and it would have been warm enough under normal circumstances in late spring, but tonight was bitterly cold and the icy wind was searching, discovering cracks and places it could sneak into the coat and chill her to the bone. It was strange to have such wintry weather this side of spring. When she had left, the weather had been pleasant enough, and the snow had melted. Now it had come back with a vengeance. She had hoped the weather would be warm and sunny by the time she had returned from the city.

She folded her arms across her chest, trying to keep a little heat in. Her coat and dress reached the floor, both grazing the leaf litter and twigs that covered the path. The wind found its way into there too and blew upwards, snaking around her legs and sending her shivering. Her honey hair blew across her face as she turned and she clawed it away, thankful she’d had the good sense to take two long strands from beside her temples and plait them before tying them at the back of her head. It kept the bulk of her hair in place but left the long strands from that point downwards to dance in the breeze.