Deep Kiss of Winter / Untouchable Read online

  DEEP KISS

  OF

  WINTER

  ALSO BY KRESLEY COLE

  The Sutherland Series

  The Captain of All Pleasures

  The Price of Pleasure

  The MacCarrick Brothers Series

  If You Dare

  If You Desire

  If You Deceive

  The Immortals After Dark Series

  A Hunger Like No Other

  No Rest for the Wicked

  Wicked Deeds on a Winter’s Night

  Dark Needs at Night’s Edge

  Dark Desires After Dusk

  Kiss of a Demon King

  ALSO BY GENA SHOWALTER

  Awaken Me Darkly

  Enslave Me Sweetly

  Savor Me Slowly

  Seduce the Darkness

  DEEP KISS

  OF

  WINTER

  Kresley Cole

  &

  Gena Showalter

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used

  fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Untouchable copyright © 2009 by Kresley Cole

  Tempt Me Eternally copyright © 2009 by Gena Showalter

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or

  portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address

  Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department,

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  First Pocket Books hardcover edition October 2009

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Deep kiss of winter / by Kresley Cole and Gena Showalter.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4391-5966-8

  ISBN 978-1-4391-6685-7 (ebook)

  1. Love stories, American. 2. Occult fiction, American. 3. Christmas stories.

  I. Cole, Kresley. Untouched. II. Showalter, Gena. Tempt me eternally.

  PS648.L6D44 2010

  813’.54—dc22

  2009031082

  CONTENTS

  Untouchable by Kresley Cole

  Tempt Me Eternally by Gena Showalter

  UNTOUCHABLE

  Kresley Cole

  Dedicated to Lauren McKenna and Gena Showalter, two

  incredible ladies and unstoppable forces of nature, for a

  thousand reasons why (and not just because my fabulous

  editor put me in a book with my favorite author).

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Much love to all my fellow rabid Showalter fans, for sharing a boundless admiration and warm affection for all things Gena. To those of you about to be initiated: Yes, we have T-shirts and we meet in the bar.

  And thank you to Swede, for your wintry insights and nonstop support. You didn’t have to drag me over the finish line on this one, but it means a lot to me that you were ready to.

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS FROM

  The Living Book of Lore

  THE LORE

  “. . . and those sentient creatures that are not human shall be united in one stratum, coexisting with, yet secret from, man’s.”

  • Most are immortal and can regenerate

  from injuries. The stronger breeds can only be killed by mystical fire or beheading.

  • Their eyes change to a breed-specific color with intense emotion.

  THE VALKYRIE

  “When a maiden warrior screams for courage as she dies in battle, Wóden and Freya heed her call. The two gods give up lightning to strike her, rescuing her to their hall, and preserving her courage forever in the form of the maiden’s immortal Valkyrie daughter.”

  • Take sustenance from the electrical energy of the earth, sharing it in one collective power, and give it back with their emotions in the form of lightning.

  • Possess preternatural strength and speed.

  • Without training, most can be mesmerized by shining objects and jewels.

  THE VAMPIRES

  • Two warring factions, the Horde and the Forbearer Army.

  • Each vampire seeks his Bride, his eternal wife, and walks as the living dead until he finds her.

  • A Bride will render his body fully alive, giving him breath and making his heart beat, a process known as blooding.

  • Tracing is teleporting, the vampires’ means of travel. A vampire can only trace to destinations he’s previously been or to those he can see.

  • The Fallen are vampires who have killed by drinking a victim to death. Distinguished by their red eyes.

  THE HORDE

  “In the first chaos of the Lore, a brotherhood of vampires dominated by relying on their cold nature, worship of logic, and absence of mercy. They sprang from the harsh steppes of Dacia and migrated to Russia, though some say a secret enclave, the Daci, live in Dacia still.”

  • The Fallen comprise their ranks.

  THE FORBEARERS

  “. . . his crown stolen, Kristoff, the rightful Horde king, stalked the battlefields of antiquity seeking the strongest, most valiant human warriors as they died, earning him the name of Gravewalker. He offered eternal life in exchange for eternal fealty to him and his growing army.”

  • An army of vampires consisting of turned humans, who do not drink blood directly from the flesh.

  • Kristoff was raised as a human and then lived among them. He and his army know little of the Lore.

  THE NOBLE FEY OF DRAISKULIA

  “A warrior nobility class who ruled over all the demon serfs in their realm.”

  • Were Féodals, an ancient term for feudal overlords, which became shortened to Fey.

  • Masters in the art of poisons.

  • Males prefer to be called Drais.

  • Over time, divided into numerous subsets, including fire, ice, and forest fey.

  THE TURNING

  “Only through death can one become an ‘other.’”

  • Some beings, such as the Lykae, vampires, and demons, can turn a human or even other Lore creatures into their kind through differing means, but the catalyst for change is always death, and success is not guaranteed.

  THE ACCESSION

  “And a time shall come to pass that all immortal beings in the Lore, from the Valkyrie, vampire, Lykae, and demon factions to the phantoms, shifters, fey, and sirens . . . must fight and destroy each other.”

  • A kind of mystical checks-and-balances system for an evergrowing population of immortals.

  • Occurs every five hundred years. Or right now . . .

  “They say I’m as fickle as winter, as shy as frost, and as indifferent as a blizzard. It’s rumored my body is pure as driven snow. Nobody imagines that I might be full of fire.”

  —DANIELA THE ICE MAIDEN,

  VALKY
RIE AND RIGHTFUL QUeeN OF THE ICERE,

  THE FEY OF THE froZEN NORTH

  “Women are like bottles of liquor. They should be sampled, savored, then discarded. Matrimony is for men who can’t handle their liquor.”

  —MURDOCH WROTH,

  EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY WARLORD,

  MODERN VAMPIRE SOLDIER

  ONE

  The French Quarter, New Orleans

  Present day

  “SHE’S . . . near.”

  At his brother’s weak and broken words, Murdoch Wroth’s eyes narrowed in anger toward the one who’d brought the proud Nikolai so low.

  Myst the Coveted, a female immortal with a vicious heart.

  And Nikolai’s fated Bride.

  “How can you tell?” Murdoch asked.

  “Because I can feel her,” Nikolai said.

  Murdoch adjusted Nikolai’s arm, which he’d slung across his shoulders to help his brother walk as they searched. The humans milling all around them merely assumed Nikolai was another drunk.

  Proud Nikolai. He was exhausted from consuming too little blood, his body racked with never-ending need for a mad Valkyrie who delighted in his pain. Nikolai had lost weight, his face turning gaunt, his muscles flagging.

  “Murdoch, when I find her . . . I want you to trace from here.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll stay until you’ve secured her—”

  “No. Don’t want you to . . . see me.” Nikolai’s weary gaze darted away from Murdoch’s. “I will lose control.”

  Which would shame his stalwart older brother as little else could.

  Murdoch couldn’t imagine how Nikolai would react when he found Myst. Five years ago, she had blooded Nikolai, as only a Bride could, bringing to life his dead vampire’s body. She’d made him breathe, made his heart beat, and stoked his newly reawakened lust with no intention of slaking it.

  That same night, another Valkyrie had shot him through with arrows and still another had mocked his desires. Myst had fled with the two, dooming Nikolai.

  A blooded vampire could only take release for the first time while touching his Bride in some way. If she wasn’t available, then he would remain in a state of constant sexual readiness, aching indefinitely.

  Which she well knew.

  “Promise me you’ll leave,” Nikolai grated.

  At length, Murdoch said, “I will.” If Myst was indeed here tonight, it would make sense that there’d be more Valkyrie out on these very streets. More of their deceiving, manipulative, violent kind. “But only to find another one,” he added.

  He could capture one and interrogate her about the Lore, the world of not-so-mythical beings he and his brother were now a part of.

  Murdoch’s knowledge of the Lore was as limited as that of any of the vampires in their warrior order of Forbearers. Their army consisted mostly of turned humans, and the Lore creatures kept their secrets well guarded from them.

  “Don’t underestimate the Valkyrie as I did,” Nikolai rasped. “Else suffer as I have.”

  He suffered because fate had forced this blooding on Nikolai. As if Nikolai needed another burden.

  The blooding process was what Murdoch detested most about being a vampire, even more than never seeing the sun again.

  Though he’d once been a rake, bedding a new woman each night, Murdoch hoped it never happened to him. To be mystically tied to a single woman sounded hellish, especially to a woman he didn’t choose, and one who could spurn him, as Myst had Nikolai.

  The pain had rendered his brother nearly mindless in his pursuit of her. Nikolai wanted retribution, but Murdoch suspected he also simply wanted her. Even after all that she’d done to him.

  “Where will you take her this night?” Murdoch asked. “The mill?” They’d secured an old renovated sugar mill outside the city, staying there instead of the Forbearer castle while they’d scoured these streets.

  Nikolai shook his head.

  “Then back to the castle?”

  When Nikolai didn’t answer, Murdoch said, “You wouldn’t take her to Blachmount?” The ancient Wroth estate—where most of their family had died in a single night of sickness and murder. “Why?”

  “Because that’s where my Bride belongs.”

  Before Murdoch could question his meaning, Nikolai went still, his eyes briefly sliding shut. Then his head swung up toward a rooftop. “It’s her.”

  Above them, a redhead stood frozen, her lips parting in shock.

  Murdoch had only briefly seen her all those years before, and now he studied the details of her Valkyrie appearance. She had delicate fey features—pointed ears and high cheekbones—but he also spied the tell-tale claws and small fangs.

  At the sight of her, Nikolai stood fully, no longer needing Murdoch’s aid. “My Myst.”

  Her face paled, no doubt at the sight of Nikolai, who now looked like the monster she’d sought to make him. His irises had turned completely black, his fangs descending in his mouth, dripping from thirst.

  Her horrified expression almost made Murdoch pity her, but she deserved no mercy. Which was good, because Nikolai would show her none this night.

  Their pursuit of half a decade was . . . over. At last.

  Just as Nikolai tensed to trace to her, Murdoch slapped him on the back, then teleported away as he’d promised, disappearing so quickly he went unnoticed in the morass of drunken tourists. Even if they had seen him vanish, the humans would think they’d imagined it.

  Murdoch materialized in a back alley several blocks away, then walked to the Quarter’s main thoroughfare, Bourbon street. As he moved among the crowds, a warm breeze tripped down the street, dissipating the swampy haze and the fumes from food vendor stands.

  Warm. In February. Good hunting weather.

  Yes, Nikolai would be merciless tonight, as would Murdoch. Now all he needed was to find his prey.

  The hunt is on.

  I’m being followed.

  Daniela the Ice Maiden furtively glanced over her shoulder once more. Again she spied nothing out of the ordinary—tourists milling, witches catcalling to human males—but Danii couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being stalked.

  Which begged the question: what creature would be stupid enough to court a Valkyrie’s wrath?

  Maybe she was just spooked by Nïx’s cryptic remarks tonight. Nucking Futs Nïx, her half sister and the Valkyrie soothsayer, often made off-the-wall predictions. But this one continued to replay in Danii’s mind.

  “Sad, sad Daniela, the broken doll who wants to be fixed. Tonight she might.”

  Because of Danii’s pale, freezing skin—she was part Icere—she was often likened to a porcelain doll. Well, because of her icy skin and because of what would happen to her if she grew overheated. . . .

  But a broken doll? What did that mean? And fixed—for good, for bad? What precisely would be fixed?

  She’d told Nïx, “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about. I’m not broken”—my lonely existence makes me want to tear my hair out— “and I don’t know how I could be ‘fixed.’”

  Perhaps by being able to finally touch another? To feel a man’s skin against her own without being burned, instead of constantly fantasizing about it?

  I would give anything.

  Yet the only males on earth who could touch her were the Icere. Regrettably, they also happened to want her dead.

  Which meant the closest she’d ever get to having sex would be reading about it in the many tomes of erotica she kept hidden in her room or by indulging in her rich fantasy life. Which also meant she was probably the world’s oldest virgin. Merely awaiting confirmation from Guinness.

  And people wonder why I prefer fantasy to reality.

  Her ears twitched with awareness. No, she wasn’t simply spooked; something was happening. Her senses were alert.

  Hastening her pace, she carefully wound around the people on the street, negotiating the ninety-eight-point-six degree gauntlet. Even the briefest contact with another’s skin would burn her
. A conundrum, because she kept cool by baring lots of hers.

  When her frosty breath fogged in the warm night air, she just stifled the urge to scream, and peeked over her shoulder once more.

  This time she spotted a towering male, far behind her. He was striking, looked to be mid-thirties. But there was something unusual about him.

  Was he even human? New Orleans was chock-full of Lore beings. He could be an immortal, maybe even the one trailing her.

  At that moment, he wasn’t looking in her direction, so she took the opportunity to duck into an alley beside a hotel. Leaping up four stories to the hotel’s flat roof, she crossed to a low ledge wall overlooking the street, then crouched between two flags—one had a fleur-de-lis covered in beads, and the other said Pardi Gras!

  Tilting her head, she studied the male below. He had longish dark brown hair, cut negligently, with a lock falling over his forehead. His face was fantasy-worthy, with a strong, masculine jaw and chin.