Chapter 3
THREE
JACK
The forest is empty, silent. Dark and devoid of all life this late at night in the dead of winter. The sole sound is that of my boots crunching through the snow below. Crystallized drops glimmer along the barren branches in the moonlight. A smile pulls at my lips as I soak it all in.
Then the smell hits me again, ruining the moment. The stench of human wickedness cuts through the cold air. I’ve been following this trail for hours, the scent of the naughty deeds getting stronger and stronger. Someone has been up to something truly vile out in these woods.
Behind me, a twig snaps. It’s faint. Almost faint enough not to hear.
But I hear all, see all. A solitary crow swoops down, landing on the branch in front of me.
The inky darkness of its wings is a stark contrast to the white washed winter world around me.
Its dark eyes focus in on me, assessing me. I immediately recognize the bird.
“Volva,” I greet the old woman approaching me from behind.
Her silent steps falter slightly. Clearly, she believes she caught me off guard. She should know better by now.
“Faeir,” she greets me in return.
The familiar takes off from the branch above, his dark wings flapping lazily across the night sky.
I follow his path, turning to watch as he lands on the shoulder of the hag.
The witch is old, not nearly as old as I, but old enough for one of her kind.
We’ve crossed paths many times over the past few centuries as she roamed my woods.
“What brings you out here in the cold tonight, Volva?” I inquire as I take her in. The spark in her eye tells me that she’s up to something.
Fucking witches.
“You sense it, don’t you, Faeir?” The crow’s eyes narrow on me as she asks. I have no idea how much the bird understands but it’s clearly enough.
“Naughty, wicked deeds out in the woods.” I nod in agreement. The witch and I may not always see eye to eye, but when it comes to human wickedness that threatens the safety of our sacred woods, we find our common ground. “I’ve been following the scent for hours.”
She looks at me quizzically for just a moment, chewing on her words. Her lack of response causes unease to grow inside me.
“They took something which is not theirs to claim.” She pauses for a moment, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Something which belongs to you.”
An unholy feeling twists in my gut at her words.
All I have is the winter, the cold, bloodlust…
There are very few things that are truly mine in this world.
A creature as old as I am has very little need for things.
Her words make no sense, and yet, I can’t seem to shake the feeling growing inside me—possessive, obsessive rage pulsing through my veins.
The monster simmering beneath the surface of my skin roars to life.
“You may see all in these woods, Faeir Vetr. But the gift of foresight was reserved for us Volva,” she coos as the crow begins to beat its wings anxiously.
Her cryptic words rattle around in my head.
I am Father Winter, ruler of the snow and ice.
I am Jack Frost, the harbinger of righteousness at the end of the year.
Her powers do not exceed my own… at least, I don’t think they do.
I can’t help the growing eagerness to figure out what she means. Curiosity gnaws at my insides.
“Just a little further, Faeir, and you’ll find the cabin,” she cackles before disappearing into the darkness and shadows of the night.
Something about the intricate structure of the frost has always been so fascinating to me.
No two patterns are ever the same. The way the water freezes, fractures, and then restructures itself upon the frozen surface is a completely new combination every single time. It’s the complex beauty of nature.
You don’t see the sun pulling that kind of shit.
I stare through the frost on the window into the house beyond.
The witch hadn’t lied; my destination was merely a few miles further ahead.
Tucked deep into the trees, surrounded by the unmistakable scent of evil, I found this tiny little log cabin.
It’s basic but set out deep enough into the forest that no one can hear the screams. Dipshit dead boy wasn’t wrong when he said there were others participating in this string of attacks on foreign exchange students.
“You can just drop her in here,” a blonde male states, pointing to a small bed inside.
He’s tall, not as tall as me, of course, but for a human, he’s large.
He has an angular face and dark eyes. His pale skin is pristine and his square jaw is free of hair.
If I were to guess, I’d say he’s most likely in his twenties, but I’ve never been good at assessing human ages.
However old he is, he stinks of wickedness.
I’m going to enjoy feasting on his flesh.
“You got it, boss,” the other, smaller male says as he hoists the girl he’s holding off his shoulder and throws her onto the bed.
She’s a pretty thing. Blonde, fair, with pouty pink lips. My cock twitches thinking about those lips wrapped around my cocks, tears and spit streaming down her cheeks and landing on her ample breasts.
Mine. The all-consuming urge to possess, to claim, hits me hard and fast. I haven’t wanted a human woman in a very, very long time. But there’s something about this little Snow Angel that has me pulsing with need.
The two men loom over her passed-out form, leering at her. The way they’re looking at her has my rage building. The temperature drops and more ice coats the glass in front of me. I want to rush in there and rip them limb from limb, but I need proof of their evil first.
It’s my gift and my curse—bound to the Winter in an eternity of frozen solitude. I am the keeper of the cold and deliverer of justice for the wicked of the world. But everything in nature requires balance. I may have a frozen heart, but that does not mean I am unfair.
“So, uh, do I get to you know, test out the goods this time?” the smaller of the two asks. I can see the way his pants tighten as his cock thickens.
If he lays a hand on my sweet little sleeping snow queen, I will strangle him with his own intestines.
“Not this time, she’s going to be my little Christmas present to myself.” His smirk is sinister, pure evil. My talons elongate and my muscles groan just at the sight. The monster inside is itching to be unleashed.
Most of the time I’m Father Winter—human-looking enough to pass through the world without anyone chancing a second glance.
My chestnut beard and warm eyes are soft and trustworthy enough to make others nod and smile as they pass me by.
I welcome the winter to the world in the cycle of life that nature demands.
But simmering beneath the surface is my true form, my monstrous other, Jack Frost—a demon made of ice and blood.
Not only do I welcome winter, I purge the earth of that which has been rotting the woods for the last year.
And this motherfucker in front of me is certainly rotten.
“I paid a pretty penny for this little virgin, and I intend to have that ripe blood staining my cock on Christmas morning,” the taller one states, his dark eyes alight with lust.
Virgin. She’s a virgin? Gods damn. My monster cocks would tear her apart. Her warm blood mixing with my frigid cum inside that tight little pussy—fuck yes. Just the thought has my beastly appendages thickening in my pants.
She stirs slightly, a sweet little whimper slipping from between her pretty pink lips. The sound makes my cocks jerk. I wonder if she’d whine like that for me as I slowly shoved inside her. Would her pussy welcome me, or would it try to fight the intrusion? Fuck, I hope she’d fight me.
“She waking up?” the smaller man asks. He almost looks nervous, as if a conscious woman scares him. This motherfucker has more to fear than her. He’s got a seven-foot demon of the winter who’s ready to feast on his entrails.
“Nah, she’ll be out for hours still,” the taller male says as he gently, almost lovingly, pushes a lock of hair from her face.
“You want me to tie her to the bed, Hans?” the smaller one asks.
Hans. That must be this asshole’s name. It’s clear that he’s one of the leaders, if not the ringleader, of the ones responsible for kidnapping and murdering women in my woods.
A quick search of the area around the cabin had revealed a collection of bodies in the ground, all in various stages of decomposition. All women. All beautiful.
He might think he’s the Fenrisúlfr, but he’s about to learn that there’s only one real monster in these woods.
“Not this time,” he states before running his thumb across her lower lip lightly. I barely stop the low growl that wants to rumble from my chest. “Not like she could get away out here anyway. Drink before you go?”
The smaller man nods in agreement and they leave the room,turning off the light and closing the door as they go.
The girl on the bed twists uncomfortably, and her face contorts into something scared. She must be having a nightmare. My cocks throb at the thought. I do love a good nightmare.
Enjoy your drink tonight, Hans, for it might very well be your last. As much as I’d love to slaughter you tonight, it looks like I have better plans.