Freydis doesn’t believe in monsters or Fae tales, but the night of the Frost Moon brings great magic, and with it the man she hates most.
Freydis ran from the shelter of the porch to dance beneath the silver moonbeams and watch the shower of ice warriors twisting high above the trees. It was the legend. Yet she knew they were only snowflakes caught in the high north wind. Soon they would flutter harmlessly to the ground. She tilted her face to the sky and felt exhilarated as the crisp breeze caressed her cheeks.
A chill shot down her spine, and she swore she saw a shadow darkening the snow-covered ground. She scanned the woods and the horizon but found nothing there. “All this superstitious mumbo jumbo has gone to your head, Freydis,” she mumbled, then shivered and rubbed her arms. It wasn’t just the cold that caused her to tremble. After another quick glance at the eclipse, she rushed into the cottage and slammed the door because she couldn’t shake the feeling that something or someone was out there watching her.