Page 163 of Winter Gods & Serpents

“I am not joking, I never joke. Do your worst, Snow, I am ready for it.”

“Given up so soon, no more pleas, lectures, moral and sweet words to have me realize what a terrible person I am?” I didn’t want for him to give up. I needed him to fight me, surrender under my fright, crumble by my vengeance. I mean to spare no one—I didn’t mean to spare him, why did I wish to spare him, an Adriatian?

“No more.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That is not an answer.”

“What do you want to hear, Snow?”

“Enough with that ridiculous answer, you aggravating bastard.” I almost shouted, panting. “Why is it always what I want to hear and not what you think? I never know what you think—I have no idea what you think, ever. Do you hate me a little, a lot, maybe less sometimes and more at others? Answer me properly so I know. I want to know.”

Unnameable amount of time passed with him studying me, as if preparing for a reaction and then just says, softly almost quietly, “You will not like the answer.”

Seething in frustration I contained the grit of my teeth, the strength of my fist ready to wound me, soothe me. “I am tired—so very tired and I don’t need you atop of all of this, get out of my head.” A plea, maybe a prayer, I needed him out of my thoughts before he became one of them.

He rose his hand to me, his knuckles brushing the side of my head. “Why am I in your head?”

I swallowed the pressure behind my throat and said, “You will not like that answer.”

He rested his palm at the small back of my neck, and I could not think straight. “Because you hate me?”

“Yes, deeply, badly—desperately. I desperately want to hate you.” I admitted, shocking myself more than him. I didn’t hate him, that was the issue, I could not believe I just realized that. How could I not hate him, he was—he was…what was he? Why did I have to make a list to justify what he was—he was Adriatian. When I swore to destroy them, I had no intention on sparing anyone, no intention on sparing Kilian or Mal or Amerie or anyone, why would I want to spare them in the first place?

“There,” he said. “Overthinking again. If one thing requires that much processing, you are thinking it wrong.”

“What the hells do you know, Kil?” It had slipped out of me, freed out of my tongue probably muscle memory at the considerable number of times I’d spoken that name to myself, perhaps at times for hours to no end.

He smiled, eyes alight too. “There, see how easy was to make me happy?”

Heat speared all through me. “Don’t say things like that.”

He reached to move a strand of my hair out of the way like he usually did—too often, often enough that I thought about it excessively. “I don’t like this,” he said. “You, torn.”

You tear me. You are tearing me. “You should not like this. Me, ready to find reason to tear you, because I will. Don’t get close, Adriatian, you will burn.”

“Such lovely flames.” He swept a hungry look over me, closing a step so near that I only breathed him. “If they could only sleep and rest and eat properly, they would burn brighter.”

“Enough,” I said, too meekly. Breath caught inside my rib cage.

“Why?” His voice feverish and I felt his gaze trail over my skin, prickling. “You want to burn me anyway.”

“Enough,” I repeated this time only almost a whisper.

“Don’t fade, Snow,” he said, tracing a finger along my jaw and over my lip. “Don’t fade or I will think I am frost. Don’t fade or I will think you cannot burn me and step closer. And if I am frost, I don’t want to douse you, so burn bright and burn me away.”

Heavens, seven hells, nine guardians of Nubil, gods of Ithicea, bloody Numengarth and all the damned insufficient air in this corridor. I was drowning. Deluging in his stare, presence, and his words. Saturated and fading. What was I doing? Why was I growing lighter? Why was I sullying the memory of my beloved?

A shiver crept at my own thought. Bile raising, revolting on my throat. “Enough,” I called loud, almost panting in realization.

He smiled and retreated a few steps. “There she is. Now I am back to being timber.” He was always timber, but there was another fire he’d ignited.

“Those pretty words,” I said retreating to my bedroom. “They will one day become the death of you, and your death the pleasure of me. Don’t crave my temptation, mercy is not what I am known for.”

He smiled again. “Sleep, pretty liar.”