“Aelin,” I gasp when he trails his mouth down my throat, his fangs—when did those appear?—scraping lightly over my pulse point. The sensation sends fire straight to my core, and I arch against him, desperate for more contact.
He makes that growling sound again, deeper now, more animal than man. His hand slides down from my hip to grip my thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist, and suddenly we’re pressed together in ways that make me see stars.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes against the sensitive spot beneath my ear, his voice rough with need. “How long I’ve watched you, wanted you. How badly I want to claim you right here in the snow.”
The image his words paint—him taking me against this tree, in the open forest, wild and primal and completely his—makes me dizzy with want. I can feel myself getting wet, my body preparing for him even though we both still have too many clothes on.
“Then do it,” I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Claim me.”
He pulls back to stare at me, his eyes blazing gold in the moonlight, pupils blown so wide they’re almost black. For a moment I think he’s going to do exactly that—tear away our clothes and take me against this tree like the beast he’s trying so hard not to be.
Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, his whole body going rigid with the effort of holding back.
“Not like this,” he says, but his voice cracks on the words. “You deserve better than a wild rutting in the snow.”
But I can feel how much he wants to. I can feel his body shaking with the effort of restraint, can smell the musk of his arousal mixing with pine and winter magic. The knowledge that this powerful, ancient king is barely holding himself back because of me is intoxicating.
I reach up and cup his face in my hands, feeling the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the way his jaw clenches as he fights for control.
“What if I don’t want better?” I ask, pressing closer until I can feel every inch of him against me. “What if I want wild and desperate and completely yours?”
He makes a sound like I’ve wounded him, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. “You’ll be the death of me,” he whispers, and I can taste his breath on my lips, can feel the fine tremor in his hands where they grip me.
“Or the life of you,” I suggest, and feel him smile despite everything.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” I challenge, and feel something shift in the air between us.
The change starts in his eyes—gold deepening to amber, then to something that burns like flame. His pupils elongate, becoming more cat-like, and when he opens his mouth, I catch a glimpse of fangs that definitely weren’t as pronounced as before.
Magic rolls off him in waves now, visible as frost that spreads from his feet in crystalline patterns. His antlers seem to grow taller, more elaborate, and the marks on his skin glow with their own inner light.
He’s shifting, I realize with a thrill that’s part fear, part fascination. Not fully, but enough that I can see the predator beneath the civilized facade. The beast that he keeps so carefully leashed.
“This,” he growls, and his voice has picked up harmonics that seem to resonate in my bones. “This is what I am. What you’re binding yourself to.”
I should run. Every survival instinct I possess is screaming at me to flee, to put distance between myself and this creature who could tear me apart without breaking a sweat.
Instead, I reach up and cup his face in my hands, feeling the heat of his skin against my palms.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, and watch his eyes go wide with shock.
“Beautiful?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m a monster, Jessa. A thing of claws and fangs and winter storms. I am not?—”
“You’re mine,” I interrupt, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Whatever you are, however dangerous—you’re mine. I can feel it.”
The truth of it settles over me like a revelation. This is what I’ve been missing my whole life. Not just love or companionship, but this—this primal recognition, this sense of two halves of a whole finally finding each other.
The Yulebond. I can feel it now, humming between us like a live wire, binding us together with threads of magic and desire and something deeper than either.
Aelin stares at me for a long moment, his breathing harsh in the cold air. Then, slowly, carefully, he leans down and rests his forehead against mine.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmurs, but there’s wonder in his voice now instead of fear.
“Or the life of you,” I suggest, and feel him smile against my skin.
We stand like that for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, wrapped in each other’s warmth while the winter wind whispers around us. The bond pulses between us, stronger now, more solid. I can feel his emotions like echoes of my own—desire and terror and hope all tangled together.
