House of Burning Frost (The Kingdom of Crows, #5)

by Olivia Wildenstein

Once color returns to her irises, she says, “Your mate will perish if your paths don’t collide tonight.”

And then a deep, pissed-off voice bends into my ear. “I’m no one’s favorite person.”

I live for humor and wit. If my future mate isn’t endowed with both, I will demand a refund.

“A spark is too small a thing for what happens when we collide.” His knees fall open a little wider as though inviting me to step closer. “You, Isla Ríhbiadh, have set fire to my kingdom of ice and torched your way into my frozen heart.”

“Still, I’m sorry for forcing a ring on your finger, I just…” His lashes flutter, revealing a stare that’s as beleaguered as his hair. He seems lost, as though he’s ventured into a territory that he doesn’t govern and from which he cannot find his way back. “I just really wanted to keep you.”

When she’d asked me what my favorite color was earlier, I’d almost blurted, “Your eyes. Your eyes are my favorite color.”

She’s the beautiful one. No, she’s so much more than beautiful. She’s fucking stunning. The most magnificent creature to have ever graced this godsforsaken Earth.

I will never give her back. Not in six months. Not in six years. Not in six fucking centuries. Her mate will have to pry her out of my cold, dead fingers.

I drop my forehead to hers and indulge in her untamed fragrance—sharp yet nectar-sweet, like a midnight wind stirring fallen blooms. It weaves into my breaths and slips deep, until it becomes a part of me that no time and distance can ever fade.

“Isla Ríhbiadh”—I bracket her face between my palms—“I will never have anything better to do than spend time with you.”

Gods, she’s beautiful. A Cauldron-sent angel come to deliver my soul and heart from damnation.

“I yield to no one, not even to you, beloved.”

Till the stars forget to shine, be mine.