CARESSED BY ICE

Unable to resist this chance to get even closer, he crossed the carpet and looked down at her. Under her lids, her eyes moved in the rapid movements that denoted deep sleep, perhaps a dream, but there was no sign of fear in either her face or her body. In other words, she was perfectly fine and didn’t need him standing watch. He told himself to move, that this fascination he felt was exactly what he’d been trying to head off out in the snow.

Instead, his fingers curled as he fought the urge to reach out and test the fragile shadows thrown on her skin by her lashes. At that moment, Brenna gave a choked little cry, her skin suddenly marred by wrinkles that spoke of pain. Shivers followed, her whole body trembling despite the warmth of the laz-fire.

He knew what a changeling male would’ve done in this situation. It was the same thing his instincts were telling him to do, no matter that the action would undo any good the cold outside had done. The dissonance disagreed, shooting hot darts of pain into his eyes.

Then a sob caught in the back of her throat, making his decision for him.

Getting on the bed, he propped himself up on one elbow beside her and stroked his free hand over her hair in a gentle caress, excruciatingly aware that his body was a bare inch from hers. “Shh. Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” It was a promise he’d give everything to honor.

Her trembling stopped after a few seconds and she closed that one-inch gap to press into him. The heat of her seeped through her T-shirt, the blanket, and his sweater to burn his skin. Impossible. Yet with Brenna, it wasn’t. When her hand rose out of the blanket to curl between their bodies, it was all he could do to keep from taking her into his arms.

Every warning beacon in his head flashed red. To expose himself to more contact would spell trouble for both of them. So he kept his distance—except for the fingers stroking through her hair—and watched her sleep.





Brenna knew she was dreaming. She also knew she couldn’t try to wake. There was something she had to see, had to understand.

It was a true dream. Fractured, fragmented. But the strange thing was that it was black-and-white. She’d never dreamed in monochrome before. Her dreams were drenched in color, in scent. But this place was cold . . . metallic.

Power.

She had such power. And it was so finely controlled. One thought and the target’s heart simply stopped beating. The man was dead before he hit the ground. She’d killed before. This one had been almost too easy.

For her people.

She did this for her people.

The cold water was cutting against her skin, but she had to wash away the blood. Blood no one else could see. Because she had executed an innocent. They’d— Fragments of sound dampened by shadows of black and white, icy clawing fingers born of her own mind. A sense of danger closing in.

But no fear. No rage. No anger.

And that was when she knew.

This wasn’t her dream.

Her heart began to race the second she opened her eyes. Until the moment she’d woken, it had been absolutely calm. Frighteningly controlled. She blinked several times to clear the images that continued to dance in front of her eyes, slowly becoming aware of the glow of the laz-fire in the hearth . . . and the fact that she was no longer alone in the bed.

Judd. His familiar scent calmed her panic before it could begin. Rising onto her elbow, she found him asleep on top of the sheets. One arm lay along the back of her pillow, while the other was braced over his forehead. He was still. Silent.

She couldn’t even hear him breathe.

It scared her. “Wake up.” She touched her fingers to the roughness of his cheek. It was the first time she’d seen him less than clean shaven. “You’re having a nightmare.”

His hand closed around her wrist with such unbelievable speed that she actually squeaked in surprise. He released her as quickly. “I apologize.”

She put that same hand on his shoulder when it looked like he was planning to get up. “Stay.” For a long moment filled only with the sound of her breathing, she didn’t think he’d acquiesce, but then he gave a slight nod.

She didn’t move her hand off his shoulder, hyperconscious of the muscle and strength beneath the black of his sweater. “Want to talk about it?”

“About what?” No tremor in his voice, nothing to betray the impact of a dream that would have terrified her had it been her own.

“Your nightmare.” She knew what she’d seen even if she couldn’t explain how.

“I told you, Psy don’t dream.”

Sighing, she snuggled impossibly closer, the wolf in her craving contact. It probably made Judd very uncomfortable, but he didn’t make any move to break away. “Liar.”