The Ice Prince’s Fated Mate (Hollow Earth Ice Dragons #2)

Prologue

Twenty-Seven Years Earlier.

“Careful with that one, Lorenz, the Fae’s a spitter.”

Laughter echoed over the crackle of the fire and the hiss and spit of the fresh underboar meat roasting over the flame. The Hunters would be eating well that night.

Grange leaned back against the rock that he had claimed as his, stroking his thick beard and listening to the squeal and curses of their most recent capture. It had been a good expedition so far. Better than most.

He counted off their trappings: Three Clippys, including a woman in her prime who had already been sent back to the markets. A double brace of feral wolves that had been running as a pack, terrorizing outlying farmsteads, and best of all, a rage-Fae.

The skin on Grange’s forearm tingled. The Fae had gotten him good with her sharpened teeth before he’d tossed her into the iron cage that now held her.

Grange contented himself with the hefty fee he’d get for selling her at the market in Kylma, capital of the Ice Kingdom.

Fae as strong and feisty as her were rare indeed. A bonus would be due his men as well.

Speaking of his men.

“Nihgard, Lemue, go find Tavie,” he barked, frowning at the missing Hunter’s presence around the fire. “He should be back from the river with water by now.”

The pair of Hunters grumbled but got to their feet to go search for the comrade. Grange nodded. He’d put together this team with an emphasis on “if everyone helps, everyone earns more,” and so far they had responded well. This was their third, and most profitable, trip yet.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Kroven asked as he rotated the flank of meat to ensure it cooked evenly.

“Northwest,” Grange grunted, staring into the flames. “We’ve driven enough before us, we could be able to trap them between the Great Abyss and the northern mountains. Hopefully net us a little easier hunting.”

The others nodded. They liked the plan.

“Meat’s ready,” Kroven announced a few minutes later, peeling strips off and tossing them around.

Grange snatched his out of midair with ease, but his focus wasn’t on food. Frowning, he got to his feet, looking around the campfire.

Lorenz was still with the Fae, judging by the sounds coming from that section of camp. But there was still no sign of Nigard, Lemue, or Tavie, all of whom should have returned by now.

“Where are the others?” he grunted and got to his feet, tearing off a piece of meat and chewing steadily while looking around.

The others were watching him. None had an answer.

A shift in the wind brought cold air drifting down from the northern mountains.

“Something’s out there,” Grange hissed, a new scent on the wind. The others instantly came alert, looking out into the dark beyond the firelight.

A soft scrape off to his left alerted him, and he whirled around as an object came bouncing out of the dark to stop at his feet.

Grange stared down at the decapitated head. Tavie stared back up at him. He was missing his lower jaw as well, his eyes open wide in death, filled with fear.

“Is that—”

“Silence,” Grange hissed, shutting down the outburst. But he knew what it meant. What the two crossed lines carved into the dead Hunter’s forehead meant. They were a sign. A calling card.

The Clippys called him Cerberus. Their guardian. A hero championing their freedom.

The Hunters called him Death. Where he went, no hunter remained.

And now he’d come for Grange.

***

Gasping in pain, Grange crawled forward one arm at a time, forced to turn his head left and right to see completely. His one eye was a mess, the giant wound down the side of his face evidence of the claw that had ripped the eyeball clean out.

But he was alive. Somehow, Cerberus had shown him mercy.

For now.