Heir of the Dog Black Dog by Hailey Edwards

open when we reached it. Hard to tell for sure, but I saw no one responsible for our welcome.
    Inside was bliss. I collapsed in a heap before Raven caught me. I shoved him away and sat there, soaking in the warmth of the room’s blazing fire as my skin thawed. I reached an icy hand toward its beckoning heat but was too exhausted to walk the requisite steps to sit in the chair before the hearth.
    Rather than argue or manhandle me, Raven snapped his fingers.
    The fire stood up on flame-kissed legs and walked to me, leaving sooty footprints in its wake.
    “T-t-thanks.” I stretched my fingers and let my joints thaw. “F-f-fire elem-m-mental?”
    “He is.” Raven left me on the opaque tile floor and crossed to the chair, which he angled toward me before he sat. “He’s been with our family for centuries.”
    Footsteps rang out behind me. I was too weary to check who they belonged to.
    “Shall I warm some broth for the Cú Sídhe ?” a cultured voice asked. “Or for you, my lord?”
    “Thierry, are you hungry?” Raven rose and crossed the room to a cabinet, where he poured three fingers of amber liquid in a squat glass that resembled the iced block walls. “Drink this. It will help.”
    I accepted the drink, swirling the contents. “What is it?”
    “Single malt whiskey.” He took the glass from me and sipped. “It’s not poisoned or spelled.”
    I stuck out my hand, trusting he wouldn’t kill me or let me die before he got what he wanted.
    The first swallow lit my throat on fire. The next sent my chest up in flames. The third ignited in my stomach and the fourth simmered the numbness from my limbs. A fifth would have rendered me to glowing embers. Good thing Raven pried the glass from my hand and polished off the amber dregs.
    A throat cleared behind me. I was thawed enough to turn this time.
    “Whoa.” I covered my mouth. “Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”
    The servant didn’t smile, but amusement thawed the chill in his eyes.
    He was tall and lean—definitely sidhe—but was as colorless as the heart of winter. His skin was as pale as Raven’s, his outline limned in faint silver light. His irises were ivory. Even his hair, the same length as his master’s, was snow white with silver strands threading the queue down his spine.
    “I set two places in the dining hall.” He bowed to Raven. “I will serve, if it pleases you.”
    “Leave the tureen. We can serve ourselves.” Raven extended his hand and pulled me onto my feet. He eased into my line of sight, forcing my attention onto him. “Bháin, you are dismissed.”
    I peered around Raven’s shoulder. “What is he, if it’s not rude to ask?”
    “He is a servant of winter.” Raven grasped my elbow. “His kind seeded the lore for Jack Frost.”
    “That is amazing.” My part of Texas didn’t see snow often, which explained why I experienced wonder when those rare flakes fell instead of swearing when forced to procure a shovel or a bag of rock salt.
    Raven steered me down a long hallway lit with peculiar spheres of light. “I suppose.”
    Portraits decorated the hall. The décor could be summed up in one word: macabre.
    Battle scenes raged across the walls. Weapons hung on pegs, proud of the carnage they had wrought. Stylized black birds flew on a coat of arms adorning shields and helmets interspersed among the art.
    Yes, it was fitting, but non-death related pursuits were nice too. In fact, I much preferred them. The human in me must be spoiling my gore-loving death dealer heritage.
    I valued life. I mourned its loss. I carried the guilt of every life I ended, and I never forgot my victims’ faces.
    Unnerved by the silence, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Nice portraits.”
    He glanced around as though he had forgotten they were there. “Mother commissioned them.”
    That didn’t surprise me. “Is the macabre not your thing?”
    He shrugged. “I avoid introspection if that’s what you’re asking.”
    I did