Someone -- or something -- is causing magical blizzards at Fairleigh Hall. The estate is suffering, and the Earl has requested assistance. Constable Kit Thompson, of Bow Street’s Preternatural Division, isn’t especially thrilled to be sent out to the country. At least the assignment gets him away from fashionable London society and his own unwanted celebrity after successfully solving a notorious case. Of course, he’s now trapped at a country estate due to closed roads, snowstorms, and magic, but Kit’s always liked solving puzzles. He’s good at using empathic skills for investigations, and this is definitely a challenge. Besides, the Earl’s younger brother is an irritating and delicious temptation, all blue eyes and muscles and boundless enthusiastic optimism. Kit wants to either shake sense into him or kiss him senseless -- and can’t trust him, either, because if someone’s genuinely sabotaging the weather, everyone’s a suspect. Harry Arden, younger brother of the Earl of Fairleigh, has never met a Preternatural Division constable before, much less a famous and celebrated one. He wants to help. And he wants to make that attractive but cynical constable smile, at least once. But the estate hides a family secret, and Harry knows perfectly well Kit doesn’t trust him ... and for good reason. Still, Harry offers to do what he can to assist with the investigation, and if that means spending more time with Kit, that’s a bonus. When Harry and Kit end up caught by those magical storms, snowed in together at the old hunting lodge, they’ll have to trust each other with their secrets ... and their hearts.

Snowed In: Kit and Harry

He took his shields down, cautiously, a fraction.


Ravenous need hit like starvation: a kind of immediate all-encompassing starvation that did not build slowly over days and weeks but burst open full-blown and gnawed through his gut. He was cold, so cold, and so hungry, and this world did not offer enough—he’d thought it would, had thought this place might, this spot where everything shone so bright and golden and tantalizing, ripe and fruitful—


He lay curled in a hollow along a slope, and dreamed of gorging himself, of fire and sun and beating quick motion, soaking it up and drinking it in—


He did not want to move. He wanted to lie here, wrapped up in ever-growing layers of glittering crystal cold, as each breath crackled and sighed, as his hunger reached out into the earth and drew life toward itself. He would never have to get up at all.


Chapter 13