“It’s okay,” I tell him as I realize that he’s as nervous about what I’m going to think of his upbringing and the woman who raised him as he is about my safety and the fact that his brother is now hanging out inside me somewhere.

It’s a shocking revelation about a guy who has never appeared anything but confident, and it warms me even as it makes me nervous.

Jaxon nods. “Sometimes she lures tourists in. Sometimes other paranormals bring her ‘gifts’ for her assistance.” He holds my gaze. “Not me, though.”

“Whatever happens in there is okay,” I tell him, leaning forward so that my arms are wrapped around his waist and my chin is resting on his chest. “I promise.”

“‘Okay’ is a bit of an overstatement,” he tells me. “But she is tens of thousands of years old, so it is what it is.” He hugs me back, then steps away. “Also, you need to let me do most of the talking in there. If she asks you a question, answer, of course, but she doesn’t particularly like strangers. Oh, and don’t touch her or let her touch you.”

Okay, now the warnings are just getting weird. “Why would I touch her?”

“Just give her a wide berth, I mean. She doesn’t like people very much.”

“I never would have guessed that, considering she lives in an ice cave in one of the most remote areas of Alaska.”

“Yeah, well, there’re a lot of reasons people live where they do. It’s not always about choice.”

I start to ask him what he means, but he might as well have hung a No Trespassing sign on that statement. So in the end, I don’t push. Instead, I just nod and ask, “Anything else I need to know?”

“Nothing I can explain to you in a couple of minutes. Besides, it’s getting colder. We should go in before you freeze.”

I am cold, my teeth all but chattering despite the many, many layers of clothing I’m currently wearing, so I don’t argue. Instead, I just step back and wait for Jaxon to lead the way.

And though I think I’m ready for anything, I have to admit the one thing I don’t expect is for Jaxon to raise a hand and lift an entire bank of snow several feet into the air. But as he does, he reveals a small opening in the base of the mountain: the entrance to the ice cave.

Jaxon drops the snow behind us, then moves his hands through the air in a complicated pattern. I try to watch what he’s doing, but he’s moving so fast that his hands are little more than a blur. I start to ask, but he’s concentrating so hard that I just stand there waiting for him to finish instead.

“Safeguards,” he tells me as he takes my hand and walks me into the cave.

“To protect people from wandering in?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “To keep my father out.”

Jaxon’s jaw tightens, and I get the sense he really doesn’t want me asking more questions. So I don’t.

Besides, it’s taking every ounce of concentration I have to keep from slipping and sliding down the steepest, narrowest, iciest path I have ever seen. Jaxon holds my hand tightly all the way, using his strength to steady me several times as we descend.

He’s got his phone in his left hand, the flashlight app on to illuminate our path, and we stop several times so that I can get a better foothold. Those are actually the times I like best, because they’re the only times I finally get to really look around the cave we’re walking into…and it is absolutely gorgeous. Everywhere I gaze are beautiful ice and rock formations—some sharp enough to impale a person, others stripped away by time and water to reveal their very origins.

Those are some of my favorites.

Eventually, we get to a fork in the path but continue down the right side.

There’s a second fork at the bottom of that path, and this time Jaxon takes us to the left. We go through another set of safeguards and then suddenly, everything flattens out. We’re in a huge room, filled with so many lit candles that, after the dark, I have to blink against the glare of them all.

“What is this place?” I whisper to Jaxon, because it seems like the kind of place that demands a whisper. Wide open, with high ceilings and brilliant rock and ice formations in all directions, it’s the most stunning natural wonder I’ve ever seen.

The place feels like a dream…at least until I glance toward one of the corners and realize there are chains and cuffs jammed into the ceiling—right above a couple of bloodstained buckets. There’s no one in the cuffs right now, but the fact that they exist at all takes away my awe at the beauty of the room.

Jaxon sees where I’m looking—it’s hard to be subtle when you imagine humans being hung and drained of their blood—and steps forward to deliberately block my view. I don’t argue with him; I already have a pretty good idea I’m going to be seeing that setup in my nightmares for some time to come. I don’t need to see it in real life again. Ever.

Jaxon seems to feel the same way, because he’s tugging me over to the largest arch pretty quickly now, even though the floor is still slippery and uneven.

“Ready?” he asks, right before we get there.

I nod, because honestly, what else am I going to do? And then, with Jaxon’s arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders, I walk straight through the archway to meet the Bloodletter.

31

Welcome to the

Ice Age

I don’t know what I’m expecting when I walk through that frozen archway, but the perfectly put-together living room in front of me is. Not. It.

The room is gorgeous, the ceiling and walls decorated with more rock and ice formations…and behind glass, one very large expressionist painting of a field of poppies in all the shades of red and blue and green and gold.

I’m transfixed by it, much the way I was by the Klimt I saw in Jaxon’s room when I first got to Katmere. Partly because it is beautiful and partly because the closer I get to it, the more convinced I become that the painting is an original Monet.

Then again, when you’ve been alive for thousands of years, I guess it’s easier to get your hands on the works of the masters—maybe even before they became masters.

The rest of the room looks like any living room anywhere—with an upgrade from standard to absolutely stunning. A gigantic rock fireplace dominates one of the side walls. Bookshelves line the room, filled with books bound in cracked and colorful leather, and a giant rug that looks like a bouquet of flowers exploded stretches across the massive floor.

In the center of the room, facing away from the fire, are two large wingback chairs in the same red as the poppies in the painting. Across from them, separated by a long rectangular glass coffee table, is a comfortable-looking sofa in harvest gold.

And sitting on the sofa, legs curled under her with a book in her lap, is a very sweet-looking old woman, with short gray curls and colorful reading glasses. She’s dressed in a silk caftan in swirling shades of blue, and her light-brown skin glows in the candlelight as she closes her book and deposits it on the glass table.

“Four visits in as many months,” she says, looking up at us with a soft smile. “Careful, Jaxon, or I’m going to start getting spoiled.”

Her voice sounds like she looks—sweet, cultured, calm—and I feel a little like I’m being punked. This is the most dangerous vampire in existence? This is the woman Jaxon refers to as the Bloodletter? She looks like she’d be more at home knitting and playing with her grandchildren than she ever would hanging people upside down from the ceiling to drain their blood.

But Jaxon is moving us toward her, his head angled down in the most submissive gesture I have ever seen from him, so this has to be her, fuzzy slippers and all.

“You could never be spoiled,” he answers as we come to a stop right in front of her. Or rather, Jaxon comes to a stop in front of her. I come to a stop several feet back, as Jaxon has deliberately angled his body between us. “I like the new color scheme.”

“I was overdue for a change. Spring is a time for renewal, after all.” She smiles ruefully. “Unless you’re an old vampire like myself.”

“Ancient isn’t the same as old,” Jaxon says to her, and I can tell from his voice that he means it. And also that he admires her a great deal, even if he doesn’t trust her completely.

“Always such a charmer.” She stands up, her gaze meeting mine for the first time. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”

I nod, more cognizant than ever of Jaxon’s warning to let him do the talking. Because while the Bloodletter might look like the sweetest grandma ever, her green eyes gleam with shrewdness—and more than a little bit of avarice—as she looks me over. Add in the fact that I can see the tips of her fangs glowing against her bottom lip in the firelight, and I’m beginning to feel a little bit like a fly to the proverbial spider.

“You brought your mate,” she tells him with an arch look, one that speaks volumes I don’t begin to understand.

“I did,” he replies.

“Well, let me get a look at her, then.” She walks forward, pressing a hand to the side of Jaxon’s biceps in an effort to guide him over a few steps.

Jaxon doesn’t budge, which makes the Bloodletter laugh, a bright, colorful sound that echoes off the vaulted ceilings and ice-hard walls. “That’s my boy,” she says. “Always the overprotective one. But I can assure you this time, there’s no need.”

Again, she presses on his biceps in a very obvious “scoot over a little” gesture. Again, he doesn’t move so much as an inch.

Annoyance replaces amusement in her bright-green eyes, and she sends him a look that, not going to lie, has me shaking a little in my shoes. Certain that she can smell it, I tamp down the small quiver of fear and meet her curious gaze with one of my own.

I can tell she likes that, just as I can tell how unhappy she is with Jaxon’s refusal to bend to her will. Deciding to take it out of both their hands, I step forward and smile at her. “I’m Grace,” I say, and though convention suggests that I offer my hand, Jaxon’s earlier warning still rings in my ears. “It’s really nice to meet you.”