Lycus prowled through the snow. North. He snorted. The one direction he hadn’t wished to choose, yet of course, he was best suited. His wolf’s paws left prints in the snow that the drifting wind quickly erased.

Lowering his head, he focused ahead. Always ahead. Never backward.

That would only remind him of her, of what he’d relinquished.

The glacial wind wailed around him, but he didn’t suffer its bite. In truth, he didn’t feel much of anything anymore. Certainly not the desperation his bloodsworne siblings did, to recruit an army and revolt against King Minos’s harsh reign.

What was the point?

It was a foolish venture which would likely end them all. His father had been a great warrior and even he had fallen to the Minotaurs. Aye, his father had saved Lycus, but for what? To walk this realm alone, forever?

Not for the first time, he contemplated not returning. Just wandering, endlessly, until his days passed and he fell into eternal slumber.

They would be better off without him. Hunching his shoulders, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. Though in his centaur form he possessed two sets of hearts and lungs, which aided greatly in his endurance, this unforgiving land was better suited for his wolf form. The only people foolish enough to live in this harsh environment were the Hyperboreans—a race of giants. Or so the rumors claimed. Lycus hadn’t encountered anyone in the four months he’d roamed these barren lands. Only ice and snow, infinite miles of both.

Eyes shuttered, he continued onward. Perchance, he’d simply reach the top of the world and fall off. Seemed a better plan than heading to slaughter on Krete.

He lifted his hind left paw right as an ominous clink crossed his ears. Lycus whipped open his eyes but a vice snapped closed around his paw and shot him into the air, dangling upside down.

Bloody hell. A trap? In this remote wasteland. Who had set it?

He winced at the trickle of blood dripping from the trap’s steel claws, down his white fur, and onto the pale snow. This trap hadn’t been meant for something his size, but rather, a creature much smaller, that would have perished upon capture. Grimacing, he swiped at the trap’s latch, but his damned claws didn’t have the dexterity to open it. Trapped like this, he couldn’t perform the morphos into his human form.

“We caught something!” The trill of a feminine voice echoed from below and lithe footsteps crunched across the snow toward him.

Lycus narrowed his stare on the figure. Too small to be a giant.

Two others fluttered around her. “Oh, it’s a wolf.” Disappointment coated her groan. She tugged on a rope attached to a tree and the trap sprang free.

He landed on the dry-packed snow and licked his injury, casting them suspicious glances while the other two braced spears and shoved their pointed tips toward him.

“Ah, he’s injured,” one murmured empathetically.

“What should we do?” The third eyed him nervously.

Lycus contemplated changing into his human form, except these females appeared to be a race of nymph. All pixie-like features and sensual radiance. He’d never heard of them existing this far north, but perhaps they preferred their secrecy. If he hobbled off, they might leave him well enough alone.

They’d clearly been after nourishment and couldn’t harm him anyway.

Baring his teeth, he skulked backward, hoping they’d let him go.

But then, another female joined them. Her sparkling depths and cascading locks were impossible to forget. “What did you catch?” she hummed, striding past the others. Her lips parted, her eyes growing round.

It wasn’t possible, yet there she stood staring right at him. The one person he’d given up hope of ever meeting again. The one person who could make him want to live again.

Thunderous, the pulse of his blood rang in his ears.

Mine.

* * *

Airla gaped at the wolf. It couldn’t be. Yet, those eyes… They were as haunted as those of the lad she’d once known and loved.

Before he’d betrayed her, cursing them all.

She tightened her fist around her spear. Was it him? Dare she find out? Advancing, she wielded the tip of her spear toward the beast. “Go.”

The wolf didn’t flee, just as she feared he wouldn’t. Instead, those piercing pale pools stared at her with all the warmth of the frigid wasteland he’d condemned her to. “Get out of here…Lycus.”

The massive wolf flinched.

It’s true.

She swallowed hard, braver now. So many times, she’d mused about what she would say to him. Yet now, in this moment, none of those glorious utterings came to her tongue. Blast it.

“What is it, Airla?” Syke whispered at her side.

“Oh, he’s hurt. The poor thing,” Carya droned, gliding forward. “We must heal him.”

Airla brandished her spear, blocking Carya’s path. “No. We owe this beast nothing. Let the Hyperboreans have him.”

The others inhaled sharp gasps, but Airla straightened her shoulders and spun on her heel, and they followed obediently.

“Why?” Syke seized Airla’s arm. “We caused him harm.”

“Far less than he has caused us.” She whirled around, pegging her focus on the wolf. “Leave this place, or rest assured, you will encounter your doom here.”

Satisfied, she nodded at her sisters and headed toward their cave. Whatever enchantment Lycus had cast to curse them here didn’t matter. She would determine a way to save them. Without his help.

If he’d come for another reason, he’d soon learn, a century of frozen hell had hardened them. They might be nymphs, but damned if they hadn’t learned how to survive.

How to fight back.

Airla stormed inside the cave, past a hundred other Hamadryades huddled about the scattered fires. “Did anyone find food?”

Silent resignation greeted her. Right. So little nourishment grew in this ice-laden land that they’d had to survive any way they could.

Which often meant, the Hyperboreans.

“Who will seek company this night?” In place of sustenance, nymphs could feed off the erotic energy of virile males. When hunting and gathering failed the dryads, they found other ways, such as trading the only commodity the giants didn’t have.

Females.

Most fortunate for them, the giants had been more than willing to sate the nymphs’ carnal appetites. One night of passions often sustained the nymphs for two or three weeks. Relying on anyone for their survival grated at Airla’s nerves, but they wouldn’t have stayed alive without the giants. In addition to nourishment, the giant King had granted the nymphs fire for warmth, furs for clothes, traps for hunting and protection, and he’d shown them how to carve out shelters within the security of these caves.

She’d embraced his comfort in other ways, too. Though he’d offered for her hand, nymphs didn’t wed. And her heart had already been crushed beyond repair.

How and why was Lycus here? She worried her bottom lip and peeked past the cavern’s entrance. Whatever his purpose, she didn’t care. She wouldn’t care.

“Make ready and join me.” The determination steeled through her veins. Two dozen dryads accompanied her, wearing cobalt-hued, fur-lined capes. Together, they trekked through the tunnels connecting their meadow to the Hyperborean lands. At the lead, Syke carried a torch, its dim light flickering across the stone walls. After half an hour, they emerged on the other side and crossed a snow-covered field toward a massive and foreboding castle. The edifice was four times greater than those on the Isle of Krete, large enough to accommodate the giants in their natural form.

It loomed, dark against the white encompassing them, its walls built of black ice. Two sentinels carved of obsidian guarded the entrance and, at their approach, swung open huge doors to permit them entry.

Tingles of awareness crept along her spine and Airla whipped around to gaze into the white expanse, but spotted nothing. Shrugging, she pressed forward, following her sisters into the giants’ lair.

* * *

A growl rumbled in Lycus’s throat and he limped forward, following the trail of nymphs. Two dozen wearing blue capes formed a line toward the gigantic black fortress rising into the distance. Its towering spires twisted and disappeared into the clouds.

Who lived there? It was so large, it seemed made for giants.

He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Were the nymphs prisoners? Allies? By the gods, why was Airla accompanying them?

He’d hoped for a happy reunion with her, but the coldness in her eyes when she’d spat his name had sliced through his chest, making him suffer so much more agony than he’d ever imagined possible.

She loathes me.

For good reason. What he’d done to her was unforgivable. By Zeus, he’d never intended to send her here. To this frozen, barren land.

What is wrong with me? He grimaced at his paws. Why couldn’t he do as she requested and leave? Instead of stalking her like some pathetic beast.

Ugh. Yet, that was his mate, going inside that foreboding place. His mate, whom he’d believed he’d never meet again because he’d sent her somewhere safe.

Not. This.

What had gone wrong? Gods knew, for he’d never even attempted his powers before he’d cast that spell. He’d been a desperate lad, intent on doing what he deemed was best, without thinking anything through or listening to her.

He ought to turn around and follow her request this time, but… What was she doing in there?

The wound on his paw healed and his gait improved, so he skulked forward. Those imposing doors slammed shut before he could steal inside, but no matter. He transformed into the wind and floated toward an open window. Stealthily, he drifted through the castle, out from one room, into the corridor, and down toward the nymphs. The vast Great Hall brimmed with fifty towering males seated at long tables laden with enough sustenance to fill the nymphs’ cavern twice over.

A sickening dread lumped inside his gut. This was why the nymphs had come. To barter. And hell, but he guessed what with.

The Hamadryades mingled through the crowds of giants, who greeted them with booming joviality. Airla glided toward the main table, where a winged male thrice her size dined, a crown of twisted black gold upon his head and a thick black fur draped across his vast shoulders.

Bile rose in Lycus’s throat. Surely, she didn’t intend to…

Airla marched straight to the male and settled on the seat beside him, resting a hand on his arm and smiling enticingly at him.

Perhaps, they were simply friends. Lycus choked on the ignorant notion.

That giant touched his mate.

And for the offense, the male would die.