FIVE
ANNABEL
The snow beat against my heated forehead despite my best efforts to hide in Draugr’s thick mane, and my teeth hadn’t stopped clattering since I’d passed the ridge that protected the Lokisson farm from the worst of the grueling winds howling down from the frozen glaciers.
I’d packed warmer than I’d normally dress back home—because Iceland—but I hadn’t expected a full-blown snowstorm. Even my rapidly increasing fever couldn’t hold off the ice from settling deep in my bones as I drove Draugr forward in a rapid trot.
The dark horse wasn’t keen on our little excursion, and I had to dig my knees into his sides to ensure he didn’t turn around and run straight back to the warm stable.
Back to the Lokisson brothers.
The psychopaths had planned this. For ten long years they’d wait
