Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) Read online

  ROSES & RYE

  By

  HEATHER R. BLAIR

  KINDLE Edition

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  KINDLE Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  © 2016 Heather R. Blair

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This one is for Lizz, because with a good editor, all things are possible. Or at least grammatically correct.

  Sing a song of sixpence,

  A pocket full of rye.

  Four and twenty blackbirds,

  Baked in a pie.

  When the pie was opened,

  The birds began to sing;

  Wasn’t that a dainty dish

  To set before the king.

  Prologue

  Twenty-six years and some odd months ago…

  The whispering in my ear. It won't go away.

  I don't even know when or where it began anymore. Like a ghost that you can't see or touch, but that you can feel hovering, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

  But now it's growing louder.

  …the King of Winter falls. Sisters four.

  …destroyed. The witch Queens. Summer.

  Vanquished.

  …the King of Winter falls.

  I'm the King of Winter and I feel like I've been falling forever. Just to reach this moment where everything stops. Stops and condenses into a pair of big blue eyes. Eyes belonging to the baby in the cradle below.

  The tattoos carved into my skin turn white-hot and try to bring me to my knees. I refuse.

  And so it begins.

  Ten years and a few months ago…

  I haven’t always been a king.

  Elementals are born of magic more than biology. Sex itself, even between gods, isn’t enough to create one of us. There must be a binding of power, a link that goes beyond flesh. The gods that made me didn’t do so out of love or passion, but something colder.

  Fitting, really.

  Mythology calls us demigods, but we call ourselves elementals because each of us starts out commanding a single magical element. If we’re lucky and strong and wily, we might add another. If we’re crazy or ruthless enough, we could go for three. Like me.

  Wind, ice and the magnetic power of the poles. I’ve commanded the trio for eons now.

  To a human, that last piece doesn’t mean much more than I can color the sky with pretty neon lights, but to those who wield magic, it means a whole lot more. Geomagnetic energy is essential to a lot of beings in our world, most particularly air-focused elementals, like Loki was once upon a time. They use magnetic bearing to focus their magic. When it goes crazy, so do they. That’s why Loki likes to dig at me where and when he can. He remembers too clearly when I could fuck with him. Back before the little shit was a god.

  It’s also why very few in our world fuck with the likes of me. If I go for a fourth, I would be more than a king. Like Loki did not so very long ago, I’d become a god.

  I’ve never wanted it, but neither do I want this. Being sucked into the ridiculous human world again. I grimace at the sound of traffic, the stink of exhaust sharp in my nose, trying to focus on her.

  Blond hair the color of corn silk falls to her shoulders. She's incredibly petite, with curves that hold the promise of being lethal someday soon. The flash of awareness annoys me. Everything about her and this situation annoys me. Why in the name of the gods should I be bothered with one little witch?

  Laughing, she slips onto the back of a scooter, wrapping her arms around another girl, this one with short, dark hair and fine features. But all I can see is the blond. Persephone. Familiar blue eyes seem to flash my way, but I know that's impossible. She can't see me. Those eyes are the exact color I remember, a perfect cornflower blue that shades to periwinkle at the edges.

  The tattoos on my forearm clench tightly, a warning I don’t need. I know who she is now—and what she’s capable of. I turn away as the scooter pulls away from the curb.

  "She's beautiful," Snegurochka says, one eyebrow raised as she flutters next to me. "At least this won't be a completely onerous chore."

  "She's a fucking child." I stride back into the woods.

  I stop short when Rochka flies in front of me, putting up a small hand. Scrubbing both hands over my face, I lean back against a nearby tree. Fairy bells ring in my ear as she alights on my shoulder.

  "She's no child, Jack. She's the witch that can kill us all. This isn’t going to be as easy as you seem to think." Rochka is right about the witch thing, at least. Persephone is destined to be one of the most powerful ever born. To destroy her, I need to negate that power as much as I can. My solution is simple and elegant.

  Cruel, too. But then again, that's magic. And that's me.

  "I know what she is."

  Despite Rochka’s concerns, I see no problem doing what needs to be done. This is me, too. No fire, all ice. Cold to the bone. Persephone must be destroyed, like any other threat; a consensus has been reached. Her innate magic may not be fearsome, but it is wily, and so is her mother. Everything sent at Persephone when she was a child failed or was destroyed before it could ever reach her.

  The others have wondered out loud if perhaps that hasn't been for the best. Oriane could always have another daughter who could become Summer if this one is killed before her ‘crown’ is assured. I see their point, but I feel it in my bones. Persephone is the one.

  And it’s my existence she threatens most directly, my name in that damn rhyme. Or at least my title. So we’ll be doing things my way.

  Cerunnos agrees, which means everyone else will fall in line. The rest of the Dark Council does whatever he wants these days, no matter how crazy that is. I don’t care for the man any more than I care for the rest of his plans. To be honest, I don't care about much. Rochka and my own existence are about it. It was only for Rochka that I joined the Dark Council in the first place.

  It’s certainly not about saving the world.

  I repress a shudder, though, thinking about the things we were shown. Life and death, mixed up and inside out. The utter wrongness of it all. All due to the girl-woman in front of me.

  My plan is for the best. And far kinder than she deserves.

  I watch her over the next few months as winter’s grip tightens, trying to get a hold on this witch who would become queen. I even start calling her ‘princess’ in my head to remind myself that will never happen. Not if I have anything to say about it.

  She’s a puzzle I have sworn to unlock and destroy, but finding the key is the first step. Persephone may not be human, but she sure acts like one.

  I don't like humans. Maybe they amused me once, but that was long ago. Before the werewolves and the razing of Rochka’s home. I can still remember making my way through the decimated trees, the scorched earth, ash swirling through the air. The smell of burnt pine and fear sour on my tongue. Finally catching a glint of purple on the surface of a hidden pond, one tiny arm flung over a twig…

  The one creature I care about in the world al
most died at human hands. Spending time with them now isn't in the least appealing.

  I've forced myself to absorb their current culture these last few weeks, though. Preparing for my role. It’s been surprisingly easy to fool them into thinking I’m one of them. Or maybe not so surprisingly. The days when they believed in me and my kind are long gone.

  The humans may be a cinch, but a witch, even a young one, is bound to be trickier. Then there are the confines of the spell itself. I frown, watching her spin on the ice with her friend. She lifts her face to the falling snow, her eyes closing as heavy flakes settle on her lashes, a smile on her lips as she twirls, blond hair flying.

  Five minutes later, the one thing I’m not prepared for happens.

  She approaches me.

  I don’t realize what she’s up to at first, she’s that slick. Persephone comes down the sidewalk, skates in hand. She looks intent on someone or something behind me, but at the last second, she turns and peers right into my face.

  "I've seen you here before.” She’s disconcertingly direct, those blue eyes sparkling.

  I don't deign to reply, wondering what she knows. She waits a beat, then huffs out a breath.

  “Hello, Mr. Tall, Dark and Quiet? I’m talking to you.” Cool, impatient fingers tap my forearm. Under her touch, my tattoos instantly hum and try to twist away.

  Her eyes fall to the runes in surprise. She pulls her hand back slowly, her mouth forming an O. "Wait a damn minute. You’re Jack Frost, aren’t you?"

  "Guilty as charged.”

  She jumps at the sound of my voice, raising her eyes from my arm to my face. “My mother warned me about you.”

  Oriane warned her about me? That’s not good, though hardly a surprise. Her mother is the witch of witches, after all. No telling what Oriane knows, or suspects. I raise my eyebrows.

  “Don’t mothers always warn their daughters about men like me?”

  She flushes. Ahh, that’s better. Now she’s acting like a teenage girl should. But flustered or not, she’s persistent. “No, I meant you in particular. Jack Frost. ‘Stay away from him, he’s trouble.’ She was very clear.”

  “Was she now?” What exactly does Oriane know about the prophecy… or my part in it? I’ve always dismissed her as a bit dim, but there is no denying the woman is a force to be reckoned with. If she suspects my plans for her daughter… But if she does, surely she’d have done more than merely warn the girl. More like lock her in a tower somewhere guarded by a couple of fire-breathing dragons. I study the bright young face looking up into mine. A twinge of what might be guilt pings in my chest, jarring, like a piano key struck in an abandoned room.

  I force a smile. “So why aren't you running in the other direction like a good little girl?”

  Persephone returns my smile with a dazzling one of her own. “I like trouble, Jack Frost. It's a flaw. I've quite a few.”

  I’m taken aback again. What is this? I expected shy and naïve, unsure, like that blush. Now I'm the one left feeling awkward. It pisses me off. Hell, I haven't seduced anyone properly in centuries. Maybe Rochka has a point—do I remember how to do this?

  As if in answer, my lips curve again, this time of their own volition.

  "Curious?" I say, making a question out of the word.

  “About why she thought I needed a warning about you.” Her big eyes are amused, but I see the shiver she can’t hide when her gaze drops to my mouth.

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “Far be it from me to say.”

  Her lips twitch at my obvious evasion, but I can see that curiosity sharpen. She's intrigued…and more. Exactly what I’m after. I'm feeling almost smug at how simple this was, when she looks back at her friend and frowns.

  "Look, I actually came over here to ask …a kind of a favor."

  I fold my arms and stare down at her. Gods, but she’s a little thing.

  Her eyes dart away and she blushes again, a touch of rosy fire blooming in her cheeks. "I may have made a bet."

  It’s a compulsion many of our kind can’t resist, particularly witches and fairies. I frown, thinking of Rochka and the trouble she’s gotten in over the habit. "A bet?"

  "With my friend." My expression seems to make her nervous. Or something has. She jerks her head at the brunette, who is smirking behind her hands as she watches us. "See, she thinks I have it too easy with guys.”

  “And is she right?” I raise an eyebrow.

  She smirks. “I can’t help it if guys are easy. She seems to think you’d present more of a challenge.”

  “Is that so?” I can’t help but laugh at that bit of irony. “What’s the bet?”

  “Whether I can get you to kiss me or not.”

  Damn, she’s bold.

  I keep my face blank, considering this unexpected opportunity. “And if I do, wouldn’t that make me easy?”

  “Somehow, I doubt there’s much that’s easy about you, Jack Frost.”

  She has no idea. I study her for so long she starts to lose her nerve. Her lips tremble and she looks down at the ground, pale golden waves hiding her eyes. I resist the sudden baffling urge to smile, instead tilting her chin up with one finger.

  "I’m not going to kiss you”—her blush deepens and she tries to jerk away, but I won’t let her, tightening my grip—“but I will let you kiss me.”

  She blinks behind those glasses as I drop my hand. No doubt she was hoping I would do her dirty work for her, but that would be too easy.

  For a second I think she's going to turn and run. I’m actually disappointed.

  Then her jaw firms and she goes to her tiptoes, one hand braced on my chest, the other sliding to my shoulder, fingers curling into my jacket.

  Her lips skim over mine, soft, lighter than air. Hardly a proper kiss. But there'll be time enough for that later. My jaw tightens. Persephone doesn't know it yet, but she's going to be doing a lot more than just kissing me.

  She increases the pressure a touch, her breath sweet and cool. Swaying slightly, she tightens her fingers in my shirt to keep her balance. Without a thought, my hands fasten on her curvy hips, but I don’t attempt to draw her closer. Too soon. There is a fine line I have to walk here and no one knows that better than I.

  Before I can pull away though, she does.

  “Thanks for the kiss, Jack Frost,” Persephone says softly.

  “Glad to be of service.”

  She studies me before walking away, a small smile playing over her mouth, a new light in those eyes.

  Perfect, I think.

  Rochka is wrong. This is going to be ridiculously easy.

  Almost seven years ago…

  What am I doing?

  What the hell am I doing?

  I stride across the backyard, looking up at the darkened house above me. If Oriane is home, or Ana…or Jett…and they look out here…

  I’ll be lucky to escape with my balls intact. Even Carly would probably eviscerate me on sight nowadays.

  But I can’t help myself. I hunch my shoulders and keep walking. Until I see her, then I stop in my tracks.

  Just the faintest glimmer of moonlight on blond hair, but I know it’s her. Seph is curled up on a hammock slung between two maples. How can they let her sleep out here, with nothing but a blanket between her and the night? Don’t they understand the kind of danger she’s in?

  Fuck. Of course, Oriane’s wards keep most of those dangers out. But not me. There is nothing that can protect her daughter from me anymore.

  I watch her sleeping for a moment. It’s got to be cold out here. Not that I can feel it, but she must. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are pink. She looks thinner. My lips tighten. She’s probably drinking too much again. She should be over that shit by now. Over me and what I did to her. It’s been almost three years. The pain should have faded for her.

  Even if it’s as sharp as ever for me.

  I resist the urge to touch for as long as I can. Just like I do every time I ‘visit.’ Never more than once a year. Anything more
would be too dangerous.

  For both of us.

  I’m still not sure the exact moment I fell in love with her. Only that I did. Elementals don’t fall in love often or well, but when they do it’s damn well for eternity. I close my eyes, listening to her breathe.

  I think it started with the way she’d light up every time she saw me. That little glow in her eyes that was all mine. It’s hard for a man not to puff up just a bit when a woman looks at him like that, even a cold-ass bastard like myself. Not that she was ever clingy, not my Seph. Even as a teenager, she was never dependent on me or anyone else for her happiness. She finds happiness everywhere, and if there isn’t any to be had, she makes it up as she goes along. I laughed more in my six months with her than the last few centuries combined.

  And I haven’t laughed since.

  It got worse the longer I was around her. Or better, depending on your view. The littlest things about her started to fascinate me. Like her obsession with those crazy moving pictures. From goofy and sweet to ridiculous and bloody. I’d roll my eyes sometimes at the sheer stupidity of the horrorfests, but she’d giggle and throw popcorn at the heroines when they’d walk into the inevitable dark basement, or through the mysteriously opening door.

  Someone’s gonna get it, she’d singsong, then shriek and jump into my arms when the monster popped out.

  And she’d cry at the end of The Iron Giant. Every. Fucking. Time. I’d never met someone in our world so damn soft, yet so strong at the same time. So full of life it hurt sometimes to look at her.

  In the end, that’s what did it. That spark of hers just pulled me in, deeper and deeper. Until I was so tangled up in her, I couldn’t get loose—and I didn’t want to. The biggest fish she ever landed and she doesn’t have a clue. She thinks it was a lie. Everyone does.

  And that’s the way it has to stay.