Graham turned back to the wolf. She’d already begun to move, padding silently through the forest, barely leaving a print behind.
They moved fast, weaving through gorges, ducking beneath ice-laden branches, skimming the edge of frozen ravines. The forest whispered to itself, its secrets carried on the wind, its breath thick with old magic. The deeper they went, the wilder the world became. No paths. No markers. Just instinct and hunger and the moon.
They broke from the trees at last, the canopy splitting wide to reveal a cliff edge crowned in snow. The wind caught him hard in the chest, cold enough to steal breath.
And there she was.
Raveena stood on the precipice, her back to him, hair whipping like a pale banner in the wind. She was surrounded by wolves, their bodies sleek and still, forming a protective ring around her like living sentinels. The moon bathed her in argent light, casting her in silver and shadow, queen of frost and fury.
"You found me."
"I will always find you, my queen."
The wolves turned as one, ears flicking, bodies tensing. He felt their eyes on him, felt their judgment pass over him like a gust of wind.
Graham stepped forward, slow and measured. One wolf, larger than the others, bared its teeth in warning. Graham met its gaze without flinching. He let them see the fire in him. The devotion that no frost could quell. The tension stretched taut between man and beast—until, one by one, they stepped aside.
He prowled forward until he was within reach of her—until her scent filled his lungs and the cold radiating from her skin made the air between them sting.
"That's your game board down there," she said. "Your seat of power."
Below them, nestled in the valley, was Greymoor. That land was empty of civilization, a canvas ready to be painted upon by men like him. A place without queens and kings. Which lead Graham to question if it would ever be a place for him.
"Want to play a game, huntsman?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The huntsman’s cottage creaked with the weight of time. Its walls, bowed from years of wind and snow, groaned as the door opened with a protesting wail. Dust hung thick in the air, glittering like frost in the weak moonlight that spilled through warped glass panes. There was no warmth waiting for them here—no fire, no fur, nothing but shadows.
Raveena had never needed warmth. She was the winter.
She stepped inside first, her boots cracking over frost-bitten floorboards. Her breath left her in a visible puff. She raised her hands, fingers glinting with ice-laced magic. With a flick of her wrist, the chill in the air recoiled. The cold clung stubbornly for a moment, like a child not yet ready to be dismissed, before it was drawn out through the cracks and seams of the house. Windows fogged, then cleared. Frost retreated from the walls. The air settled, cool but no longer biting.
She turned slowly, her pale gaze catching on the man who filled the doorway like a dark storm. Graham. Her wolf. Her person. Her peace.
She reached for the hem of her gown and pulled the garment up and over her head. The rest followed—layer by layer, eachpiece shed until she stood bare in the center of the room. Then she knelt.
The Snow Queen bent the knee for the only man who had ever commanded her body. The only man who knew how. Her palms rested on her thighs, her spine straight, chin tilted up so her eyes could meet his.
This was their game. Her offering. His power. And gods, how she loved when he took control.
She waited. Breath held. A smile curving like mischief on her lips.
Graham didn’t make the move she expected. That thrilled her all the more. He approached—yes—but not like a conqueror. Not like the wild thing that had pinned her to stone walls and held her down while delivering bruising kisses. He walked past her.
Having him out of sight only increased her desire. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs. She wanted to look down and check if a puddle was forming on the hard floor.
Graham crouched behind her. She heard a rustle of fabric. That's when she turned.
He picked up her gown first. He shook it out with a snap, letting the skirt billow like a wave before folding it along its seams with surprising precision. Fingers rough from battle moved with the delicacy of a court seamstress. He placed the gown on the seat of a rickety wooden chair, smoothing the bodice with his palm until the wrinkles gave way.
He draped her stockings over the high back of the chair so they’d dry in the warmth she had summoned into the room. Lastly, her shoes. He set them side by side beneath the chair, perfectly aligned, as if they were soldiers standing at attention. Then he turned his attention to her.
His prowl toward her was a slow march. His gaze held her captive. When he reached her, Raveena tilted her chin higher, waiting for his command. For the leash of his hands around herneck. For the rough toss of her body on the bed before he fucked her into submission.
“I love you, Ray.”
Raveena flinched. He had never once said those words out loud to her. She supposed she knew it on some level. To hear it tossed at her so casually was a shock to the system.
