Read Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) for Free Online

ex-lovers—whatever, I don’t know how it works, no one’s cared to explain. Besides, the Warlock is dead—and by Jasmine’s own hand, in fact. She javelined a sword through his beady little face.
    “She is, on the contrary, more than up for the journey. A distraction is just what she needs.”
    Some distraction. Jasmine may be ready, but … “I don’t understand why I’m going. You ought to go. Or Marigold, for all her charisma. Or that big guy who makes gloves and boots—whatever his name is. Or even—”
    “You’ll be passing by the old Human camp,” Helena presses on, ignoring my protests. “The city is not much farther north from there. It is called After’s Hold and it’s where Grimsky was Risen.”
    I was about to interject again, but at the sound of his name … Grimsky … I find myself frozen in place. I loved Grim. At least, I’m pretty sure I did. I’ve tried not to think about him since the day we threw him out of Trenton. I see his eyeless face, and the little emerald Warlock-eye I set into it. I still see the glimmer of that green Lock’s Eye, wondering if it worked, if I’d restored the vision the Deathless took from him. I thought I could feel him looking at me, looking into me. “Didn’t work,” he had whispered, but I wasn’t convinced. I undid his binds and set him free. I could’ve ended his existence right there, just as we did with all the other Deathless, but Grim … Grim was different. “Deathless I am.” That’s one of the last things he said to me. And then: “Goodbye, Winter.”
    “Grimsky,” I say aloud. Helena’s studying my face, likely wondering where my mind just went. “I hadn’t thought about him since—”
    Oh, who am I kidding. I’ve given a thousand thoughts to Grimsky since he left. Thoughts like, where is he? What’s become of him? Was it a mistake to let him go?
    “I know,” says Hel, interrupting the turmoil of my thoughts. “I cannot easily trust the place that Raised him, but they are our closest and most practical neighbors. If there’s anything amiss, your presence will be needed. You have a connection with the Deathless that no one can match. It’s imperative that you’re there … just in case.”
    Those are the three most deadly words in this world. Except for maybe: no more chocolate. “I understand. I’ll go. What else am I going to do?” My insides are wrung up like a wet washcloth. I bury my face in my hands. I think I still smell the blood on them.
    Then the front door creaks open and John’s standing there, eclipsing the sunlight with his brawny frame.
    “Helena,” he says, a cold courtesy.
    She simply nods at him, then turns to me to say, “Don’t underestimate yourself, Winter.” She gives me a wink. “You have a talent for managing disaster. Speaking of which,” she leans in, her pointy nose nearly stabbing me in the eye, “don’t forget about the Brains issue.”
    My voice low as a breeze, I reply, “And what, exactly, am I supposed to do about the Brains issue?”
    “A good mother always knows,” she says unhelpfully.
    And with heels stabbing the floorboards, Helena rises, crosses my little house and shows herself out. John closes the door gently behind her, then just leans against it, his shoulders slumped, watching me from across the room.
    I peer outside anxiously, avoiding whatever words John has for me. The silver of the sky is returning. The blue is laying itself to rest and I’m turning dead again. I am both relieved and miserably disheartened by this.
    I’m making this worse by being a creepy quiet thing. “Hi,” I offer, still staring out the window.
    He clears his throat, wipes a sheen of sweat off his forehead with the back of a dirty hand. “Hi.”
    He says nothing more, but just keeps staring at me. I realize I can’t even ask what happened after I left. That’s a horror-bucket waiting to be dumped. I can’t ask how Gill is doing, or whether or not the wife survived—I suspect I