The moon hung low over the Snow Kingdom, casting a pale blue light across the mountains that surrounded Jasper's estate. Inside the manor, the fire crackled steadily, but the warmth it provided couldn't pierce the cold knot forming in Jasper's chest.
Nicole lay still on the ceremonial altar—her body lifeless, her skin pale and luminous. The ritual was over. Blood had been offered, ancient words had been spoken, and magic old as time had answered. Yet, what rose was not the woman Jasper loved.
She stirred with a gasp that felt like a thousand shattered voices. Her back arched, her hair whipping as if caught in a storm. Her eyes flew open—twin pools of molten gold, crackling with flame and shadow.
Jasper reached for her. "Nicole?"
But her lips curled into a slow, terrible smile.
"Hmm," the voice that followed was not Nicole's—but something regal, ancient, and cruel. "So this is what it feels like to be whole again…"
Jasper stiffened.
"Chantelle," he said, voice low.
