Chapter Three: Frost

BAILA'S POV

Baila had a strange dream about a man with eyes so blue they frightened and entranced her at the same time.

At first, he was a blue-eyed boy who got excited at the little things. His excitement and curiosity were infectious. Baila could hear his laughter as he ran through the meadow. Soon, he was a man with the same bright blue eyes.

The only difference was that he had lost his excitement. His laughter was not as genuine and wild as it used to be.

She felt it.

The emotion that swallowed him whole was not sadness or trauma.

It was loneliness.

She could feel his pressing need to have someone and to belong somewhere. Baila wanted to hold him. She reached out for him but the world swirled into different colours around her.

The dream changed and she was drowning under the moon. She smiled up at the stars as hands reached down and pulled her to the surface.

Frost. She heard the wind whisper.

Air filled her lungs and Baila gasped awake. The bed was warm and comfortable.

Bed?! Baila sat up, looking around.

Someone had saved her. She wasn't dead.

She let out a loud squeal and bounced back in bed before jumping out of the bed. She was in the largest room she had ever seen. A wall and an open door separated the room from a long table covered in papers. It looked like a drawing room of sorts. The bed took up most of the space in the room.

Baila spun around, a man was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.

A man in a chair! She yelped, pausing to look at him.

Was he the one who saved her? She watched him cross his leg and lean back in the chair. His chest rose and fell heavily. Baila was sure he was asleep.

How did he fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position? Baila took slow small steps towards him. He wore a white shirt and had an arm over his eyes. His brown hair was dark at the roots. Baila was curious about how he looked.

When she was only one foot away from him, she contemplated lifting his hand to take a peek at his face. She frowned when she saw the slash of red on his tunic shirt.

Was he hurt? Did she hurt him? Baila backed away, shaking her head.

She needed to leave. She couldn't go back home. The witches would kill her for jeopardizing their future. She was sure even her mother hated her but Ayesha's mother must have hated her more. Tears welled up in Baila's eyes as she realised that she had nowhere to go.

Perhaps, she could leave the realm like other witches had done. But realm travel was a dangerous affair and she did not know anyone who could take her through the golden sea and smuggle her through the portal.

Goddess! Her life was ruined. What had she done? Where was she? She had climbed over the black wall and fallen in the stream. Obviously, the sleeping stranger had saved her but where was she?

Baila looked out the broken window. There were wolves right outside the window.

Wolves? Wolves weren't on this side of the realm.

Baila gasped. How far had she travelled?

She couldn't have.

No.

It wasn't possible but as Baila watched a wolf shift into a man, her heart stopped.

Goddess!

She had made everything worse.

She was in Northwood. The city of wolves. No outsider had been to Northwood since the treaty was signed and she, a witch, had trespassed into the territory of the creatures who betrayed the witches.

If she didn't die in the river, she was about to die anyways.

But why would he save her if he wanted her dead? Maybe he wanted to know the witches' hideout.

Baila scoffed, glaring at the man. He could forget about it. She had done enough harm. She was not about to send everything to hell by telling him the location of the last surviving witches. She needed to leave and she needed to do it soon.

With sore feet, Baila hurried to the door. Her hands had barely grazed the handle when a gust of wind blew her hair into her face and the sleeping man stood between her and the door. Baila breathed, ready to rip off her necklace if necessary. She reached for it instinctively but the man simply shook his head.

His tired blue eyes looked down at her. "I only want answers to my question," he spoke softly, stepping away from her.

"I'll answer what I can," Baila ceded. He had saved her life. Werewolf or not, she owed it to him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and staggered back. For a moment, Baila feared that he would collapse but he straightened his back and stood taller. "I heard your voice last night. I saw through your eyes. I....why?" he asked.

Baila frowned. She had screamed for help in her head. He couldn't have possibly heard her.

How did he see through her eyes? It was new to her and didn't know what to tell him. She wished she could help but unfortunately, she did not have answers to his questions.

"I don't know," Baila whispered.

"Did you cast a spell on me?" he asked, his eyes desperate for an answer.

Was he hoping she would say yes? Or was he hoping she would say no?

Baila was confused, she had never been in a situation like this before.

She had been weak and dying. She didn't have the strength to wake her demon or cast a spell.

"I did not," she replied.

The man's face fell and he took several steps away from her. He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair and tugging on it violently.

Baila was worried. She hadn't said anything wrong.

"You're a witch," the man muttered, turning his back to face her. He walked into the room with the table and poured himself some wine.

Had he gone mad?

She watched in horror as he ripped open his shirt and flung the pieces away. He gulped down the wine and walked across the room to a shelf facing the long table. When he turned sideways to reach for a book on the shelf, Baila saw it. It was only a brief moment but she would recognize that tattoo anywhere.

On the left peck of the man's chest, swirling ink formed a huge snowflake with a snarling wolf. She knew that picture. It was the sigil of house Caldore. She had seen it in books and read about it in stories. The older witches whispered it in the tales they told her village at night.

Wolves with hearts as cold as ice and skin that snow melts upon. She was in Northwood and what was worse was that Baila knew the man who was rummaging angrily through the books in his room. She should have realised it the moment she saw his glowing blue eyes.

This was him. The lycan king.

It was tradition for the lycan kings to have the sigil of house Caldore imprinted on their chest.

Frost.

The name slammed into Baila's chest so hard, she staggered back. She decided to take her chances. She didn't know why but she called out to him.

"Frost," her voice was so soft, she thought he didn't hear her but he paused and looked up from the books scattered on the table. Baila walked through the door and into the room with the long table.

"Frost," her voice shook. She was scared out of her mind. What was she doing calling a man by a name she heard in a dream?

"I'm Nolan" he shook his head, "Nolan Caldore,"

Goddess. Baila really did know how to find trouble.

"I'm sorry for calling you that," she said. "I thought you were someone else"

"It's fine," he replied, going back to his books.

Now Baila did not know what to do. She had nowhere to go and no idea of how to fix the mistake she had made.

"You're certain you don't have answers to my questions? You didn't cast a spell by mistake?" Nolan asked, breaking Baila's train of thought.

Oh yes.

He had heard her voice and seen through her eyes. Perhaps it was an accident that happened every thousand years and it had happened to them because Baila had never heard of such a thing. A lycan seeing through a witch's eyes.

"I was too weak to cast a spell but perhaps, it is possible," Baila responded.

It seemed as if Nolan wanted to hear that she had cast a spell on him, forcing him to save her life. Baila sighed, she had more important matters to deal with.

Should she head back home?

No.

She was an outcast by now.

Yet, home was the safest place for her at the moment. If she went back home, the high guards would hunt her down and if they found her, they would kill anyone she was with.

The room went quiet. When Baila looked at Nolan, she noticed he had stopped flipping through books.

What was he looking for?

He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked up to her. "I need to figure something out. I need to know the truth about something very important. Can you help me?" he asked in a pleading tone.

Baila lost herself in his bright blue eyes.

"You saved my life. I will do whatever I can to help,"

"Can I kiss you?"

That was certainly not the kind of payment Baila had in mind. She furrowed her brows, searching his eyes to know if he was serious.

"Not the way you think," Nolan chuckled.

"It is only a kiss,"

Twelve blasted hells!

A kiss in exchange for her life was a tiny price to pay. Baila stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Before she could change her mind, she pressed her lips to his.

He growled, pulling her closer to him. Nolan wrapped his arms around her back and waist. Baila felt a hum in her gut. Slowly, it became a tingling sensation that wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed it tight.

Her demon stirred and Baila shoved Nolan away. She turned her back to him as she felt her eyes glow their usual red color.

What the hell was that?

Her demon had not woken up but it almost had. Baila took in deep breaths, thinking of a time when this happened to her but she found none. It had never happened to her before. She turned to face Nolan who was still breathing heavily.

His blue eyes were glowing brighter. "You can't leave," he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Baila didn't know why but that small gesture of him wiping his mouth had hurt her.

"Why not?" she frowned, focusing on the situation at hand instead of how his lips had tasted. He tasted like rain and wine.

"I don't know," Nolan replied. He looked genuinely confused.

Baila thought things through. Until she figured out a plan, she needed a place to stay. It would only be for a few days. But as Nolan's eyes returned to normal and he still looked at her with that broken and tired expression, Baila felt a strange sense of foreboding.