The High Pass had always been a place where the wind had teeth and the stars felt close enough to puncture the skin. To Eraz, it was simply home, a brutal, beautiful expanse of white where a man's worth was measured by the sharpness of his blade and the thickness of his furs. He was a creature of the frost, a warlord who had never known a heat he didn't have to fight for.
Until he met her.
Eraz stood on the edge of the cedar porch, the scent of fresh-cut wood mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of an approaching blizzard. Inside the cabin, the hearth was roaring, but the real warmth wasn't coming from the flames. It was coming from the woman sitting by the window, her silhouette framed by the dying amber light of the sun.
