The trees thin ahead, opening into a clearing I’ve never seen before. Moonlight pools in the center like spilled mercury, and the air thrums with power that makes my teeth ache. This is sacred ground—I can feel it in my bones, in the way the very earth seems to pulse beneath my feet.
I’m so focused on the clearing that I don’t see the patch of black ice until it’s too late.
My foot goes out from under me, and I’m falling backward, arms pinwheeling frantically as I try to catch myself. The ground rushes up to meet me, and I brace for the impact that will leave me bruised and probably concussed, alone in the middle of nowhere with no way to call for help?—
Strong arms catch me, pulling me against a chest that feels like a furnace in the frosty night air.
“Foolish human,” a familiar voice growls in my ear, rough with something that might be amusement or exasperation. “What are you doing out here?”
I look up into golden eyes that glow in the moonlight, and my heart stops. He’s magnificent like this—tall and broad and utterly inhuman, with antlers that branch from his dark hair like a crown of bone and shadow. His skin gleams pale in the silver light, marked with patterns that look like frost crawling up his throat and disappearing beneath his clothes.
“Looking for you,” I whisper, and watch his pupils dilate at the admission.
His grip on me tightens, one arm around my waist, the other supporting my shoulders where I’m still bent backward from the fall. We’re pressed together from chest to hip, and I can feel the heat of him burning through our layers of clothing like he’s made of fire instead of winter.
“You could have died,” he says, but there’s no real anger in it. Just something raw and possessive that makes my pulse skip. “Broken your neck on the ice, frozen to death in the snow. Your human form is so fragile.”
“But I didn’t.” I reach up without thinking, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His breath hitches at the contact, and I feel a surge of feminine satisfaction at the reaction. “You caught me.”
“I will always catch you,” he says, and the words sound like a vow. “No matter how far you fall.”
The promise settles into my bones like warmth, and suddenly I’m aware of everything—the way his thumb strokes absently against my ribs, the scent of pine and snow and something wildthat clings to his skin, the rapid beat of his heart against my chest.
“Aelin,” I breathe, and his name on my lips seems to break something in him.
He pulls me upright but doesn’t let go, his hands sliding up to frame my face. His touch is gentle despite the claws I can see extending from his fingertips, careful as if he’s afraid I’ll shatter.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but he’s leaning closer even as he says it, drawn by the same magnetic pull that brought me into the forest. “It’s dangerous.”
“Everything about this is dangerous,” I point out, my hands fisting in the front of his shirt. The fabric is soft and warm, but beneath it I can feel the hard planes of muscle, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. “That doesn’t make it wrong.”
Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or recognition. “You’re not afraid.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “No. I should be, but I’m not.”
“Yes, you should be,” he repeats, but his thumbs are brushing over my cheekbones now, and there’s nothing threatening in the gesture. “I could hurt you without meaning to. My people—we’re not gentle creatures.”
“Neither am I,” I say, and press closer to him, until there’s no space left between us. “Not when I want something.”
The admission hangs in the air between us, bold and shameless. His eyes go wide, then narrow to burning slits of gold.
“Jessa.” My name is a warning on his lips, rough with want and restraint.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, and watch his control fracture.
He makes a sound low in his throat—half growl, half groan—and then his mouth crashes down on mine like a man dying of thirst. The kiss is nothing gentle, nothing civilized. It’s pure hunger, raw need, the claiming that makes my toes curl in my boots and my core clench with want.
He tastes like winter storms and dark promises, like everything wild and dangerous I’ve been craving without knowing it. His lips are soft but demanding, moving against mine with a desperation that steals my breath. One of his hands fists in my hair, angling my head so he can plunder my mouth deeper, while the other grips my hip hard enough to leave bruises.
Iloveit.
I melt into him, my hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest to tangle in his hair, careful of the magnificent antlers that crown his head. He’s burning hot everywhere we touch, impossibly warm for a creature of winter, and I can feel magic crackling between us like lightning trapped under skin.
When he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to tangle with mine, I actually whimper. The sound seems to shatter something in him, because suddenly I’m pressed back against the nearest tree, his body caging me in, every hard inch of him aligned against my curves.
“Fuck,” he growls against my lips, the crude word shocking from his usually controlled mouth. “You taste like… like coming home.”
His confession makes heat pool liquid and urgent between my thighs. I can feel every ridge of muscle in his chest, the way his breathing has gone ragged, the unmistakable hardness pressing against my hip that tells me exactly how much he wants me.
