The North Wind (The Four Winds, #1)

by Alexandria Warwick

Here is the god of darkness and death, the devastating fist of winter. His words snap like bone and ring like metal forged. He has lived millennia while I am but ice beneath a summer sun. To stand in his path is to be cut down.

I have always fought. I have never given in. Always, I have pushed through darkness and cold, toward a fire I cannot see. Why did I stop? Why did I continually make myself smaller, less than? If I am going to die, it will be on my terms. On my feet, not on my knees.

“You are my wife,” he continues, “and my word is law.” I bite the inside of my cheek so I won’t dissolve into laughter. Truly, he’s quite harmless. Like a kitten.