Frost (Queens of Hell Book 1)

by Liza James

  “Rowan means far more than nothing, Na’amah—”

  “Alca.”

  She scoffs, clear annoyance thick in her voice as she speaks. “Fuck you, Alca. Listen to me.”

  I whip around at the swift bite to her voice and verbal attack. I find myself moving without preamble, without thinking my actions through, I shove her back against the stone wall of the hallway beside us. Her body pressed tightly to the surface and pinned up against my chest. My hand launches forward and wraps around her throat, my fingers holding her jaw in place as I force her head up to meet my gaze.

  “Do not ever speak to me like that again,” I grind out, letting my other hand fall to her waist while my fingers dig into her flesh. Her heart pounds as she watches me, her eyes bleeding with anticipation and tension in every passing moment. My knee shifts between her thighs, moving up subtly with every heavy breath I release. Her chest grazes mine with her own rapid inhales, the surge of tension between us flows through her blood and I scent her even more. I can’t help it, I lean forward, dragging my nose along her heated skin and up into the strands of her auburn hair. “Do you understand me?” I breathe in, deeply, wholly. Relishing in the ways I can practically taste the honey of her blood already.

  She’s my addiction. My fixation. My absolute and utter obsession.

  “Learn to listen to the words I say, and I’ll start respecting you in the ways you demand.” Her voice is curt, holding an authority all her own that somehow lights me on fire even further.

  Most girls don’t talk to me this way. But there’s a fire inside of Skilla, the shadows of pain and abuse strengthening her fight against me.

  Oh shit, a realization suddenly strikes me. I pull back, meeting her eyes while my hands remain firmly on her body. I search them, watching the forest derived shades shift into power and passion all at once. My own gaze narrows as I remember the ways I so easily wrote her off when I first met her. I was so positive she was too weak, too fragile to be broken, or to handle and survive the Bite.

  But my perception was completely off. My assumptions absolutely incorrect in what I thought I knew of her.

  Skilla is stronger than any girl I’ve ever broken before. Her power is tangible, her effervescent energy spilling into those around her. The ways in which she deflects, or pushes back are signs of any weakness or lack of vitality.

  No fucking way.

  She’s steadfast in her identity, powerful in her own making, her own fucking story.

  My eyes narrow as my head tilts to the side and I slip my thumb over her lower lip, tracing the plump line and feeling the heat of her breath wash over my skin.

  “I don’t think you even know it,” I whisper, awe silking my tone as everything clicks together in my mind.

  Her brows pinch together in confusion and she pulls back just slightly so she can move out of my hold. “What?”

  I’m falling. Far too quickly. Far too intensely. And suddenly, I’m terrified I’ll lose control before I can protect her in the ways this Fated connection will need.

  My heart is racing in my chest. Everything around me feels…small. And yet grand at the exact same time. The atmosphere presses against my skin, my insides and the pressure of Na’amah against my body is as liberating as it is drowning.

  I can’t breathe.

  And yet it feels like oxygen is filling my lungs for the very first time.

  She doesn’t answer my question—I’m not surprised though. When does she ever?

  The last week has been filled with far more questions than resolutions, more lingering thoughts, pleas for a single touch that leaves me hungry for anything she’ll give me.

  Which is nothing…as of late. Ever since she snuck into my room that night, since I lost control completely and handed everything over to her.

  I’ve been given nothing.

  I’m a fucking idiot. Once again, losing myself to someone who actively chooses another. Why is this the type of person, the type of relationship I continually manifest? What fucking lesson is the Universe deeming necessary for my goddamn evolution?

  I shove her away from me, stepping around her before turning and crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “If Rowan is there, he’ll try something.” I stammer, unsure of how to explain exactly what I’m concerned over. “With you, or with me. I don’t know. He’ll want me back though, and while I realize this place—” Lifting my hands, I motion around me. “—Isn’t ideal for me. I don’t want to go back to him either.”

  Na’amah watches my every move, her gaze following my hands, moving to my lips, dropping to my chest, and then meeting my eyes again. She listens…just as I demanded. To every word being spoken of my tongue into the thick energy around us.

  “Rowan won’t touch you,” she replies flatly, as if there was never another option available to us. Her low, raspy voice licks across my skin and sends a wave between my legs as she speaks. I stand in silence, disbelief leaking into my stomach as the memories of my step-brother flash through my mind. “You have my word.”

  “How do I trust your word, Na’amah?” My head spins, racing with hypothetical scenarios of what we could be walking into. Me, in a home, with both of my monsters. How do I save myself? When I’m the prey and they’re the killers.

  When both have taken so much from me already, in very different ways. But stolen none the less.

  Suddenly, Na’amah steps forward. Her towering frame stands so easily above my own, her wide shoulders leading to those powerful arms. Her creamy skin, glowing in the dim lighting along with her electric blue eyes.

  Those eyes. I wish I could read them easier than I do now. Shadows dance along the walls on either side of us, casting rays over her frozen gaze as she continues stepping forward until my back is pressed against the wall once again. This time however, she doesn’t pin me in place, she doesn’t use her strength to force me into submission.

  No, instead, her hands fall to the wall on either side of my face, She leans down, her lips only millimeters away from my own. I gasp, and as I do, I taste the sweetness of her cold breath blowing against my skin. I can’t get enough of it, and I dangerously edge closer to her, already imagining the feeling of her hands on my skin.

  Her tongue in between my legs.

  Her fangs in my throat.

  Slowly, she lifts one hand and drops to my own, lifting my fingers and dragging them up her body in a paced, and tentative touch. My fingers glide up the soft, rippled abs of her stomach, grazing over the slight swell of her chest, and I instantly sense the natural cold her bodies holds where mine remains hot and heavy,.

  I can’t even believe she’s allowing me to touch her like this, and I’m clinging to this piece of vulnerability she’s gifting me.

  “Tell me you’ve ever felt this before,” she urges, and her words prick along my skin in a way I’m unfamiliar to.

  “What do you mean?” I press further, hoping she’ll give me a deeper explanation.

  “How do you feel when you’re near me, Skilla?” She uses my name this time, it’s rare that she does that. And somehow, hearing my name off her lips is meeting a deep need I didn’t realize I so recklessly held.

  But it’s her question that has my mind churning and my natural instinct telling me to step back from this moment. I don’t want to face this, open myself up to the reality of how I feel around her.

  I’ve done that before, and every single time I’m the one left alone and abandoned while they move on with someone else.

  “No,” I whisper, refusing to answer her. “I don’t want to talk about this.” I drop my gaze from hers and attempt stepping away, but Na’amah is directly on me again, her hands slipping to my face as she tilts my head up and toward her.

  “Look at me,” her words a hushed, but not any less commanding. It holds the same intoxicating rasp of hedonistic whiskey, working over my skin and through my ears in dangerously enticing ways.

  “No.” I close my eyes. I’m not doing this, not again. Not ever again.
<
br />   A heavy silence settles in the air and everything drops a few degrees lower. Na’amah doesn’t move, not in the slightest, and my heart hammers against my tight skin as I strain to hold my ground.

  Without a word, the energy in her hold shifts. It turns from something full of authority, to a far gentler touch. Her thumb strokes the soft skin under my jaw, her fingertips press into the nape of my neck. I dare not open my eyes, positive that if I make a single move, the magic here will break and I’ll be forced to face whatever this is.

  But she continues touching me, one of her hands falling down to my chest and over my heart, as if she’s feeling for the frantic thud of my heart. Her head leans closer to me, I can feel the chill of her breath falling closer to my jaw. Her lips slowly fall next, moving across my skin in subtle sucks and then nips while the palm of her hand presses firmly over my heart beat.

  The rhythm quickens as her lips fall lower, moving over the narrow column of my neck and down to the delicate curve of my shoulder. I notice her fangs next, and it peaks my heartbeat even more as my nipples quickly stiffen and pull tight against the thin fabric of my top. Everything she does evokes an instinctual response from my body. Like we’re tied together—she pulls I follow, I push she draws back.

  A tether, a binding of synchronized desires, universal connections that work in symbiosis with each other.

  Magic. A symphony of the sounds she draws from my lips, and the surrender I believe I’m earning from her.

  “Say it,” she whispers, as her fangs press into my skin without break the surface. “Please,” her tone turns pleading, and I’m caught off guard so incredibly that I almost buckle at the knees when I hear it. Without clarifying what she wants, I already know, and the tiniest crack in my facade begins showing.

  "Bite me,” I reply instead, asking for something just as important to me as this must be for her. Hopefully, this will distract her enough that I can continue hiding from my own truth.

  “No,” she responds on a groan, but I slip my fingers over the back of her neck and draw her even closer to me. I tilt my head to the side, the sting intensifying just slightly as I anticipate the upcoming break. She scoffs, just slightly as she continues speaking against my skin in between nips and kisses. “You have no idea how tied up the concepts we are both asking of each other are.”

  “If I tell you, will you Bite me?” I ask, inhaling heavy breaths while my arousal slicks my inner thighs and my pussy begins pulsing in need to be filled. My nipples scrape against hers with every inhale, and I arch my back in search of more.

  “No.”

  The single word crashes through me like a bucket of ice, anger and irritation winning in the war of lust and fight.

  “Then I’m not saying it,” I sigh out and open my eyes, forcing myself out of her hold as I step away from her. “Let’s go.”

  As if everything has changed again, all at once, Na’amah easily steps past me and leads the way down the remainder of the hallway and past the large, expansive dining hall I’ve never seen before. I pause as we come up to a set of grand, large golden doors spread wide open and peek inside, noticing countless—for lack of a better word—people running about and preparing for the upcoming event. I’ve known about this from the beginning, but I haven’t heard of the details now that we are approaching it tomorrow.

  I don’t ask however, the moment for answers has passed and Na’amah and I are clearly lost to the turmoil of whatever this is between us.

  We finally reach a set of doors just past the main dining hall, this one narrow and small. A dark wooden entrance with black iron bolts in four corners of the panel. Na’amah easily pushes on the iron lever and opens it, leading us to a space outside the castle grounds.

  Outside. Holy shit.

  It’s the first time I’ve been outside since I was taken. The scent of fresh air, of trees and nature and spring flowers blow all around me. The breeze is slight, but wildly refreshing, and I find myself taking large, deep breaths as I close my eyes and listen.

  Birds.

  Actual birds. I had no idea those existed here…or what kinds of animals can be found in this place.

  When I open my eyes again, I find Na’amah standing several feet away from me. She’s simply watching, her hands tucked into the pockets of her black jeans, her eyes relaxed in a way I’ve never seen before. My gaze falls to her lips, her usual pale pink now a dusty rose after her exploration of my throat.

  My skin heats again already, and I nervously lift a hand to run my fingers along the places she was kissing me only moments ago.

  “Come on,” she finally demands and turns on her heels without another word. I follow her in silence, our quiet steps only met by the sounds of nature around us. I observe as we move, nearing the forest I sometimes notice from inside my bedroom window. I swear the colors here are indescribably more vibrant. Greener greens, bluer blues, richer hues on the flowers scattered across the ground and darker darks as we approach the treelike ahead of us.

  A strange and eerie shiver races over my spine as we near it. My stomach twisting in something uncomfortable and alarming with every step closer. Those alarms sound in my mind once again, telling me to stop, to slow down and not enter this decidedly evil expanse.

  “Wait,” I start, but Na’amah is already stopping just before we enter the forest. She turns around and comes back toward me, moving to stand behind my back as she leans down and speaks into my ear directly.

  “Do not ever enter this forest,” she warns and the genuine threat in her tone has the hair standing up on the back of my neck and my pulse gaining speed. “This belongs to Lucifer. It’s his forest, and only darkness resides beyond this point. You will never enter this place.”

  I nod my head in silent agreement, too nervous to speak as stronger, unsettled waves wash over me. I want to get away from here, and it’s in the next moment I turn toward Na’amah.

  She moves quicker than I can anticipate, her arms swiftly wrapping around my shoulders as she speaks the word I haven’t heard since I first arrived here. “Salman.”.

  Everything happens just as it did before, and I wish I could adjust easily to the way we hastily fall through the ground and whip through unknown and mysterious spaces. But I can’t, and I’m clinging to Na’amah for my life as brief instances pass before we arrive exactly where we left the last time.

  In the field across from my home, in the dark night of my city. I’m struggling to catch my breath as Na’amah releases me without a second thought, stepping away and immediately moving toward the house I’ve spent so much of my adult life in. I lean over and rest my hands on my knees, trying to still the spinning in my head and the nausea rolling through my stomach. When I feel it’s passed, I stand and scan the front driveway, looking for the sleek black Lexus RC he’s been driving lately.

  I don’t see it however, and my heart beats a liberating rhythm at the realization that we can sneak in and out without any sort of confrontation with him.

  “He’s not here,” I yell toward her, lifting my hand and cupping the outside of my mouth. My shoulders shiver slightly at the cold, but I can’t tell if it’s the actual weather or the wake of Na’amah’s detached and cold nature striding ahead of me.

  “I know,” she replies arrogantly. “I don’t hear his pulse or scent his blood.” She walks up the several steps leading to the doorway, and without waiting for my approach, twists the door knob and throws her booted foot into the latch, breaking it open until it swings wide.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath as I hurry up behind her.

  “Will be of absolutely no help to you.” Her voice is offhand, her tone impassive as her towering figure strides through my doorway and into my house. I vaguely process what she’s saying, as if she knows Jesus Christ on a personal level.

  The sudden recognition that could actually be true pulls at the religious foundation and trauma I was raised on. I don’t even know how to process that reality in this moment, especially since I�
��ve written off religion my entire adult life.

  I watch as her head slowly scans back and forth over the area, and I step up beside her in order to gauge what her reaction holds.

  A completely stoic and unresponsive face. Her features masked perfectly to show no signs of what she’s feeling. The only indicator of her emotions is the way I feel the air drop several degrees in the house, even with the low rumble of our heater running in the distance.

  Na’amah slides her hands into her pockets as she glides forward and toward the small long decorative table resting against the wall across from where we stand. We have several pictures lined up in custom frames—of Rowan and I, our parents, us as a family and then individuals.

  I never look at those images anymore.

  Too much pain. Too much neglect. Too much resentment.

  “Is this your mother?” Na’amah bends at the waist, leaning closer to the second image of my mom and I alone. Her head tilts to the right slightly, as if she’s absorbing this new information with vested interest.

  I don’t want to answer her, however. So, I turn on my heels and step up the staircase instead. “My room is up here. I’ll start gathering my things,” I reply, pretending I hadn’t heard her question to begin with. The floor creaks with my first step, and I’m surprised when sudden flashes of my last night with Rowan spring to the forefront of my head. I halt my paces, my chest quickly swelling in rapid breaths and my palms going slick as I tightly shut my eyes.

  The feeling of his hands on my skin, his tight hold around my ankles as he tried dragging me down the stairs. The memories of past encounters and the things he would force me to say to him, force me to do in order to get him off.

  Nausea rolls through my stomach and bile rises up my throat as I force it back down. I lay my other hand across my chest, rubbing my palm over my heart in absent hope it helps slow the pace.

  “Tell me.” Na’amah’s abrupt and rough voice grazes over my ears like ice chilling my veins. I feel the swift winter of her body as she comes up behind me, the simple nearness of her surrounding me is filled with peace and possession. I cling to that, because now, it’s become a staple in keeping me calm. I can’t even believe we’ve made it this far in this short amount of time, but I’m grateful to have her safety as these nightmares run rampant in my head.