Shadow and Ice Read online

  Gena Showalter, the New York Times bestselling author who brought you the Lords of the Underworld, introduces a scorching new paranormal romance series...Gods of War

  Knox of Iviland, the most ruthless warrior in All War history, has spent his life fighting others to the death, winning new realms for his king. Now the stakes are higher than ever. If he prevails in the battle for Earth, his slave bands will be removed. Victory is his sole focus...until he meets her.

  On an arctic getaway with her foster sister, street tough but vulnerable Vale London is shocked to stumble upon a cave filled with ancient gods waging epic combat. When she is inadvertently drawn into their war, she is forced to team up with an unlikely ally—the sexy god who makes her burn with desire.

  Though Vale is his enemy, Knox is consumed with lust and a fierce need to protect her. But only one combatant can triumph, and he will have to choose: live for freedom, or die for love.

  Also available from

  Gena Showalter

  and HQN Books

  The Darkest Warrior

  Can’t Let Go

  Can’t Hardly Breathe

  The Darkest Promise

  The Darkest Torment

  The Harder You Fall

  The Hotter You Burn

  The Closer You Come

  All for You (anthology featuring “The One You Want”)

  The Darkest Touch

  Burning Dawn

  After Dark (duology featuring “The Darkest Angel”)

  The Darkest Craving

  Beauty Awakened

  After Moonrise (duology with P.C. Cast)

  Wicked Nights

  The Darkest Seduction

  The Darkest Surrender

  The Darkest Secret

  The Darkest Lie

  The Darkest Passion

  Into the Dark

  The Darkest Whisper

  The Darkest Pleasure

  The Darkest Kiss

  The Darkest Night

  The Vampire’s Bride

  The Nymph King

  Jewel of Atlantis

  Heart of the Dragon

  Twice as Hot

  Playing with Fire

  Catch a Mate

  Animal Instincts

  The Pleasure Slave

  The Stone Prince

  From Harlequin Nonfiction

  Dating the Undead (with Jill Monroe)

  From Harlequin TEEN

  Everlife

  Lifeblood

  Firstlife

  A Mad Zombie Party

  The Queen of Zombie Hearts

  Through the Zombie Glass

  Alice in Zombieland

  Twisted

  Unraveled

  Intertwined

  And look for the first story in Gena Showalter’s all-new The Forest of Good and Evil series,

  The Evil Queen,

  coming soon from Inkyard Press!

  Gena Showalter

  Shadow and Ice

  To Jill Monroe, brainstorming champion of the world! Thank you for all the amazing things you do.

  But mostly, thank you for being the best friend

  a girl could have.

  Contents

  1026 AA (AFTER ALLIANCE)

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  LIST OF COMBATANTS, AS DICTATED BY KNOX OF IVILAND AND VALE OF TERRA

  WARNING—SPOILERS AHEAD!

  103RD ALL WAR KILL TALLY

  EXCERPT FROM THE EVIL QUEEN BY GENA SHOWALTER

  1026 AA (After Alliance)

  To: Members of the All War Alliance

  Welcome to the 103rd All War.

  We are pleased to announce a new realm has been discovered, known by its citizens as Terra, Midgard or Earth. The next battle is set to begin.

  You don’t want to miss this one!

  You’ll find: Inhabited and uninhabited territories teeming with resources. A climate and terrain for every preference. Massive bodies of water—both salt and fresh. Mountains. Flatlands. Swamps. Forests. Ice lands and deserts. Whether you prefer animal or plant, there’s an unending supply of food.

  This world is a prize among prizes, but only one among you will earn the right to rule it.

  In one week, a fight to the death will commence, winner takes Terra.

  Currently, there are thirty-eight thirty-nine battle-ready realms recognized in our alliance. A single representative from each location must portal to Terra. (Date and coordinates enclosed, Addendum A.) Choose wisely, for your warrior must go head-to-head with every other.

  Your combatant is allowed to bring one item from home. ONLY ONE. No exceptions.

  *Supernatural abilities inherent to genetics/race/breed do not count as a weapon.

  *A “matching pair” is acceptable.

  The rules are simple:

  (1) Once they enter Terra, the combatants may not exit the realm until the war ends.

  *Time isn’t a factor.

  (2) A monthly Assembly of Combatants is mandatory. (Addendum B.)

  (3) Warriors may choose to withdraw by carving the Mark of Disgrace on their forehead and contacting the assigned Enforcer for transport home.

  *Kings and queens of each participating realm are responsible for punishing the disgraced.

  *The disgraced cannot reenter the war, or participate in any other battle.

  (4) After making a kill, your combatant will be granted the power needed to activate and use the victim’s chosen weapon.

  *A kill is rendered through decapitation, removal of the heart, and/or burning the body to ash.

  (5) You may not send anyone or anything else to Terra. However, you may communicate with your combatant to (a) learn the status of the war and (b) offer instruction.

  Those who violate these rules will be hunted, captured and punished by Enforcers.

  May the best realm win.

  Happy warring!

  High Council of the All War Alliance.

  PROLOGUE

  AD 701, human timeline

  103rd All War, Month 5

  Terra

  TWENTY-FIVE COMBATANTS stood between Knox of Iviland and victory.

  He waited on a mountain plateau, a dagger clutched in each hand. Shadows bathed him, frigid wind battering his bare chest. One of his myriad trainers once told him he was as cold and treacherous as the icy world now surrounding him.

  The trainer wasn’t wrong.

  Over the centuries,
other Iviland soldiers had called Knox sadistic, barbaric and pitiless. They weren’t wrong, either. Or alive. They had died painfully, by his hand. As practice.

  Live a violent life, suffer a violent end. Sow seeds of suffering, reap a harvest of the same. One day, Knox would meet the same end as his victims, could not avoid his dreaded fate.

  He might meet his end tonight—assembly night.

  In eleven minutes, forty-three seconds, green and purple lights would set the night sky ablaze, and the next Assembly of Combatants would begin. A time mockingly dubbed “check-in.”

  You check in, and help others check out.

  Acid coated the inside of his chest, scalding him, but not by word or deed did he reveal his discomfort. With combatants, perception was vital. Reveal a weakness, become the day’s target.

  An assembly lasted an hour, occurred once a month, and helped hurry the war along. Attendance was mandatory, forcing every participant in the Terran All War to visit this icy tundra, even the cowards and hiders.

  Stroll in one second late, and you would be disqualified. A fate worse than death. You were hunted by an Enforcer who had the means to track you and disable any special abilities—your own, and those of your weapon. All because of a mystical tattoo.

  Before the war, every combatant was permanently marked. The ink permitted the Enforcer to link with you anywhere, anytime. Supposedly this allowed the High Council to facilitate a fair war. Knox had his doubts, and suspected the ink did so much more. Considering he bore the mark on his left shoulder—a tree inside a circle—there was nothing he could do about it. He was as vulnerable as everyone else.

  Removing the tattoo wouldn’t help. The ink got in your blood. Running from the Enforcer wouldn’t help, either. When he caught you—and he always caught you—he would chop off your limbs, and nail what remained of your body to a wall of ice that was within sight of the assembly. While you were still alive.

  You were to serve as a cautionary tale.

  If your limbs regenerated, the Enforcer removed them again. However many times were necessary. You were executed only after a winner was declared.

  Sometimes combatants set traps before an assembly to encourage others’ tardiness without actually breaking the rules. The very reason Knox had yet to move from this spot high on a cliff, hidden by boulders and trees. Last month, Zion of Tavery managed to trap him in an ice pit; by some miracle Knox had climbed out and crossed the threshold with eight seconds to spare.

  Most of his opponents congregated in a clearing below him, imprisoned by walls of energy. However, the warriors themselves remained visible. They were loaded down with weapons, and trash-talking.

  “Hope you enjoyed your last day on Terra.”

  “Your severed head will look amazing on my mantel. Note to self. Get a mantel.”

  “I need a new workout song—your screams should do the trick.”

  The Terran All War had kicked off five months ago, and hostilities had blazed hotter every day since. The combatants had only one thing in common—their hatred for Knox, Zion and Bane of Adwaeweth.

  Understandable. Knox was ruthless beyond compare, a four-time champion who’d already eliminated three men. Both Zion and Bane had taken out three, as well. A handful of others had made a single kill.

  How many warriors will attack me when the assembly ends?

  Last month, he’d had to fend off twelve at once, nearly losing an arm in the process. He dreaded assembly day...and greatly anticipated it.

  For one hour, the Enforcer would telepathically communicate with the High Council, letting them know who lived and who had died, and bloodshed would be prohibited. Powers and weapons with any kind of supernatural capability were deactivated. Knox wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder, expecting an ambush. He could scheme, even nap, or silently rage about High Council members who were luxuriating in opulent homes while honorable men and women were forced to commit terrible acts in order to win new territories for a king or queen just as despicable as the High Council members.

  Hate the High Council. They governed those kings and queens, while supposedly remaining unbiased about each All War’s outcome. Knox suspected they’d cheated a time or twenty, but voicing such an accusation would get him killed sooner rather than later. He’d seen it happen time and time again, good soldiers taken out under mysterious conditions after daring to speak the truth.

  A worry for another day. Survive now, thrive later.

  When the assembly ended, the ban on fighting would lift. Between one blink and the next, everyone’s powers would reactivate, and warriors would spring into action. There would be casualties.

  Eight minutes, twenty-eight seconds until check-in.

  Knox scanned the battlefield, not yet catching sight of his prey. He rolled his head left, right, popping bones and stretching his muscles, preparing. I won’t hesitate. I’ll do what’s needed, when needed.

  His gaze snagged on the Enforcer who’d been assigned to Terra. He was known as Seven. Every Enforcer had an identification number rather than a name. One through ten. The higher the number, the more vicious the individual. There were hundreds of thousands of men and women who bore each number.

  Seven wore a hooded black robe, his face obscured by darkness. Like a grim reaper of legend, he carried a scythe.

  Knox sympathized with the death dealers, knew they were slaves, just like him, their pasts as fraught with violence as his, but he’d never met one willing to go against orders, even for the safety of another living being. They were brainwashed as children, and grew up to serve as the arm of the High Council, a seemingly undefeatable force that ensured every realm obeyed every edict, no matter how big or small.

  Some Enforcers possessed special powers, some didn’t. You could win against one, even twenty, but overcoming the force as a whole was impossible. There were simply too many, unshakably loyal to each other and their leaders, and they couldn’t be reasoned with or swayed from a chosen task.

  Six minutes, fourteen seconds.

  Behind Knox, ice crunched. His muscles knotted, his body preparing to strike. Someone approached.

  He used his ability to control shadows, forcing darkness to rise from the ground and surround him in thick waves, until he blended into the landscape. This particular skill had saved him over and over again.

  He could even make the shadows spin, creating a vortex that flung opponents hundreds of yards away.

  He was on alert... Waiting, ready...

  Finally, Shiloh of Asnanthaleigh appeared.

  {No malice or threat detected.}

  During Knox’s second All War, he’d developed an eyaer, or hard-core battle instinct with one purpose, and one purpose only: to ensure he lived. To the eyaer, he didn’t even have to live well.

  Despite the instinct’s reassurance, Knox trusted no one, ever, and kept his guard up.

  Shiloh stopped at Knox’s side, radiating wariness as he studied the clearing.

  Knox maintained a mental file about every combatant and constantly added details, tallied who had killed whom, who possessed what weapons and supernatural abilities, preferred climates, lovers, potential lovers, and who had formed alliances or vowed vengeance.

  Different facts about the six-foot-eleven male raced through his mind. Comes from a heavily forested realm. Good with swords and daggers. Avoids battle if innocents are nearby. Sensitive to the plight of others.

  For his home-weapon, the Asnanthaleighling selected special eye lenses that allowed him to see through anything, even Knox’s shadows.

  I want. I take.

  Patience.

  “Hello, my friend.” Though Shiloh spoke a language Knox had never learned, the device surgically attached to the inside of his ear translated each word. Thanks to technological advancements gained every time a new realm was discovered, every combatant had a similar device, and it updat
ed automatically.

  “I’m not your friend,” Knox replied. “If you trust me, even for a moment, you’ll regret it.” That wasn’t a threat, but a fact.

  Before the war, their kings had come to an agreement—Knox and Shiloh would work together to reach the final two. An unprecedented development. Most other-realmers despised Ivilandians, often referring to them as “gutter rats.” The insult wasn’t unearned. To evade a deadly topside environment, the citizens had flocked underground, where they’d lived ever since. They were led by Ansel, the king of gutter rats. He kept his word only when it suited him.

  Just before Knox had left for Terra, Ansel had told him, Slay Shiloh as soon as you feel it’s necessary.

  When the time came, Knox would strike, and he would strike hard, compelled by a force greater than himself.

  But here was the kicker. No matter Ansel’s order, Knox would do anything to advance his personal agenda.

  Some men had moral lines they wouldn’t cross. Knox found the concept of moral lines confusing. Not do everything possible to win? Foolish.

  “Yesterday, I beheaded Ammarie,” Shiloh said, continuing on, ignoring Knox’s warning. “She attacked me. I merely defended myself but...”

  Knox updated his tally. Twenty-four combatants stood between him and victory. “Guilt is pointless. You survived.” Shiloh had also gained custody of a mystical bow and arrow known as The Bloodthirsty. That arrow chased its victims like a heat-seeking missile, increasing in speed and ferocity with every kill it made.

  I want. I take.

  Soon...

  Shiloh’s shoulders slumped. “She had a daughter.”

  Knox’s hands curled into fists. Ignore the heartache. “Learning about her family was your second mistake. You cannot allow another warrior’s loved ones to mean more than yours.” Bitterness laced his tone, icing every word.

  “If that was my second mistake, what was my first?” Shiloh asked.

  “Having loved ones at all. Family and friends are one of two things. Anchors that weigh you down with worry, distracting you, or they are leverage that others can use against you.”

  Knox had firsthand knowledge of the latter. Once, he’d had a daughter.

  Oh, yes. Once.

  Blessed and cursed.

  A sharp pang of sorrow and grief tore through him, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. One day, Knox would avenge her and slay the king of Iviland—and he would make it hurt. Ansel was the one who’d forced him to fight. The one who’d allowed his baby girl to die while he performed his “duty.”