Frost still hangs in the air when I pull back just enough to see her. Her lips are swollen, her breath ragged, and her eyes—Gods, her eyes—hold me like chains I’ll never escape.
And so I give up pretending.
I smash my lips to hers, harder this time. My teeth scrape against her tongue, sharp enough to remind us both what I am. She shudders, and it’s all the invitation I need.
My mouth is cold, but somehow, impossibly warm at the same time. Ice spins from me, tiny crystals that catch in her hair, swirling like a snowstorm conjured only for us. They cling to her lashes, her lips, glittering as if even winter itself wants to touch her.
She presses me against the ice wall, her body fierce and unyielding. The frost bites into my back, but I don’t care. Nothing exists except the heat of her lips, the burn of her hands pulling me closer.
“I’m not sorry,” I rasp against her mouth.
Her whisper brushes my skin. “For what?”
“For kissing you.”
She laughs, soft and shaky. “Pretty sure I kissed you first.”
Her arms slip around my neck, and I know it’s a mistake the moment it happens. A fatal one.
Because I can’t stop.
My lips part, desperate, and I clamor for more of her, my entire being vibrating with a need I’ve never known. Her taste. Her scent. The warmth of her breath against the storm inside me.
Bad idea. Bad idea.
Just a few more minutes. Just a few more stolen kisses. Ishouldn’t. But the excuses come easy. Anything to keep going.
Each kiss unravels me further as I trail them along her cheek, her throat, lower. Each one steals another thread of control until I know the truth—I’ll never forget this. It will haunt me until my last breath.
The taste of her. The weight of her. The impossible dream of this beautiful woman in my arms, our bodies pressed dangerously, deliciously close, and the aching, treacherous thought of a world where she might actually be mine. No past. No uncertain future.
Her mouth is fire and frost all at once. I know I should stop, but her hands are in my hair, her body moving in rhythm with mine, and I’d rather die here than let go.
Then it happens.
My teeth scrape too hard against her neck, and the taste of her floods my mouth—warm, sharp, alive. Blood.
I jerk back, but it’s too late. A few drops coat my lips, a copper tang searing down my throat. My body revolts, except no—it craves. Every nerve sings with hunger, with recognition.
Her eyes widen. “Aric—”
I stumble, clutching at the ice wall, my breath ragged. My vision blurs, silver washing to black as if the storm itself has hollowed me out. The world tilts, and when I finally find my voice, it’s not my own.
“Blood of Odin.”
The whisper scrapes from my throat, guttural, like it’s been waiting centuries to be spoken.
My body trembles with equal parts terror and want. My eyes lock on hers, and for the first time…I don’t know if the monster in me is waking, or if it’s already here.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Aric
Rey glances back at the edge of my ice, then to me and slowly starts to inch away. I don’t blame her. I would, too. I hold up my hands. “Give me a minute.”
“I’ll give you as many minutes as you want,” she rasps. “I’ll just be over here.”
Her mouth is still swollen, and I can see where I scraped her neck. What the hell is happening to us? To me? “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry, I didn’t think your blood would make me react like that.”
