“What if it doesn’t?” she whispers back.
The question hangs between us like a challenge, like a promise, like the most dangerous temptation I’ve ever faced. Her fingers are still touching my skin, warm and soft and utterly human, and every instinct I possess screams at me to lean into that touch, to turn my head and press my lips to her palm.
Instead, I catch her wrist in my hand, my fingers wrapping around the delicate bones with infinite care. Her pulse beats against my thumb, fast and strong, and the bond roars its approval at even this small connection.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I breathe, but I don’t let go of her wrist, can’t force myself to break the contact.
“Then tell me.” Her free hand comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel the way it pounds at her touch. “Stop protecting me from choices I haven’t made, yet.”
The demand is so reasonable, so perfectly logical, that I take a moment to realize how completely it undermines every wall I’ve built between us. She’s right—I’ve been deciding for her, assuming she can’t handle the truth, treating her like a fragile thing that needs to be sheltered from reality.
But she’s not fragile. She’s standing here in the snow, challenging a creature that could kill her with a thought, demanding honesty instead of protection. She’s brave and stubborn and beautiful, and the bond has chosen better than I ever could have.
“Twenty-one days,” I say, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. “That’s how long we have.”
“Until what?”
“Until the Solstice. Until the Yulebond either completes itself or burns us both to ash.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, her fingers press more firmly against my chest, as if she’s trying to absorb the truth through touch alone.
“Yulebond,” she repeats. “That’s what this is? What I’ve been feeling?”
“A mating bond. Ancient magic that ties certain fae to their destined partners.” I force myself to meet her gaze, to let her see the hunger and desperation I’ve been fighting. “It cannot be broken. Cannot be denied. If I don’t claim you before the Solstice…”
“You die.” Her voice is steady, but I can see the fear flickering in her eyes now. Not fear of me, but fearforme, and that minor distinction makes something crack open in my chest.
“We both do.”
The words settle between us like stones dropped in still water, heavy with implication. She’s silent for a long moment, her thumb tracing absent patterns against my chest while she processes what I’ve told her.
“And if you claim me?” she asks finally.
“Then you become mine.” The possessive words slip out before I can stop them, rough with want and ancient instinct. “Bound to me, to my realm, to a life you never chose. You’d live forever, but you’d never be fully human again.”
“Would I be happy?”
The question catches me off guard. Of all the things she could ask—about power, about immortality, about the price of binding herself to a monster—she wants to know about happiness.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I would try to make you happy. I would spend eternity trying, if you let me.”
Something shifts in her expression, and suddenly she’s the one stepping closer, closing the last few inches between us until her body is almost touching mine. The bond sings at the proximity, urging me to wrap my arms around her and never let go.
“What if I said yes?” she whispers. “What if I told you I’ve been waiting my whole life for something like this? Someone like you?”
The words hit me like a physical blow, and I have to close my eyes against the surge of hope and terror they bring. When I open them again, she’s watching me with an expression so tender it makes my chest ache.
“You don’t mean that,” I say, but there’s no conviction in the words.
“Don’t I?” Her hand slides up from my chest to cup my cheek, her thumb brushing over the sharp line of my cheekbone. “I’ve been alone my entire adult life. I chose that, preferred it to the alternative of settling for someone who didn’t understand me.But you…” She trails off, her eyes searching mine as if she’s looking for something specific. “You feel like coming home,” she finishes softly.
The admission breaks something in me. Before I can think better of it, I’m leaning into her touch, turning my head to press my lips to her palm. Her breath catches, and I can taste the salt of her skin, the faint traces of lotion she must have used this morning.
“Jessa,” I breathe against her palm, her name a prayer and a plea.
“I know,” she whispers. “I feel it, too.”
For a heartbeat, we stand frozen like that—her hand cradling my face, my lips against her skin, the winter wind whispering around us like a benediction. The bond pulses between us, stronger than ever, and I can feel the exact moment when her resolve shifts, when curiosity becomes decision.
