Dead of Winter (26 page)

Aric had grown up in that age, and yet I'd expected him to act like a modern boyfriend? That he'd come this far was astounding. “What was your mother like?”

“She was merry, quick to laugh. She and my father always wanted another child, blaming it on me: ‘If you weren't such a wonderful son . . .' I could ask for no better parents.”

“You miss them.” After all this time?

“Every single day out of hundreds of thousands.”

What could I say to that? Anything I came up with sounded trite. Silence fell over us.

Aric drank, lost in thought. And I knew he was remembering the night he'd killed them. . . .

Hot water poured over me in the upstairs bathroom, but it did nothing to shower away my buzz.

Or my confusion.

After dinner, Jack hadn't checked in, and worry preyed on me. So I'd grabbed my bag and told Aric good night.

As I'd left the kitchen, he'd said to my back, “You once told me I was so good at this game because it's all I'll ever have.” The sadness in his voice had drawn me up short. “Your words were true, though I didn't wish them to be. Not then. Or now.”

I'd heard Aric enraged, playful, fierce, in pain, and in lust. I'd never heard this soft sadness before.

In a murmur, he'd added, “I am ready to defy the will of gods and the dictates of fate to possess you, and yet a mere mortal stands in my way.”

My shoulders had stiffened, and I'd hurried away as if chased.

Now as the water sluiced over me, I raised my hand to my mouth, tracing my lips. My emotions might be in total turmoil, but my body wasn't. I equally desired Aric and Jack.

I adored Jack's raw passion; I craved Aric's seething intensity.

Both had given me pleasure—and heartache. . . .

Once I'd finished with the shower, I returned to my room. I locked the door behind me and removed my hoodie to bundle up for a pillow.
Lying back in my sleeping bag, I stared at the ceiling. What was I going to do?

I felt connected to Aric in inexplicable ways. At his castle, he and I had settled in together. We'd read in his firelit study, talking through the night. We'd been happy, his home nearly becoming my own.

Jack and I had never lived together per se, always out on the road—

My bug-out bag! I'd left it in the bathroom, forgetting Jack's harsh lessons. Maybe he should've been harder on me.

I rushed from the room, skidding to a stop in the hallway.

Aric had just exited the steamy bathroom. He wore a towel. Nothing else. His lean face was clean-shaven, his wet hair in disarray, his cheeks tinged with color.

He spied me there, his lips parting. His eyes began to glitter, and I was momentarily blinded by the sight of him. Like staring at the sun.

Glorious man.

When my gaze dipped, his magnificent body tensed, as if I'd struck him. Sinews of muscle contracted, making the black slashing tattoos across his torso appear to move.

I'd wanted to kiss every inch of those runes. I'd never had the chance.

A drop of water trickled down the center of his chest, past defined pecs and rigid abs to his blond goodie trail. . . . My mouth went dry.

He rasped, “You want this?”

I raised my gaze, gasping at the dark hunger in his expression. My mind blanked. Want his body? How could I not? He was pure temptation.

“I meant
this
”—he held up my bag—“but I could easily be persuaded to share anything else my wife might desire.”

Say something, Eves. Words would be good here.

He closed in on me, all lethal grace and harnessed power. I realized I'd been backing away from him when I met the wall. He kept coming until we were toe to toe.

The damp heat from his skin was like an embrace. Up this close, I could see the blond tips of his eyelashes.

He tossed my bag past me into the bedroom. Then his gaze dropped to my tank top. It hugged my breasts, outlining them.

“I recognize these clothes. It fills me with satisfaction to see you dressed in them. Not as much satisfaction as when I undress you, of course.”

He might be inexperienced, but he was naturally sensual—his every movement, his expressions, even the cadence of his accented words brought to mind promised pleasures.

I was out of my league.

“A week ago, you were naked in my bed for the second time. I kissed you. Petted you.” He eased down to say at my ear, “I was about to taste you once more.”

My breaths shallowed. “B-but then you broke my heart.”

“I'll mend it. I'll repair the damage I've done between us. In these games, I've trusted you when I shouldn't have, and didn't trust when I should have had faith.” He cupped my face with both palms. “If you could see your way to forgiveness . . .”

I bit my bottom lip. “I can forgive you. But that doesn't mean I want to put myself in a situation like that again.” When he leaned his head in, I said, “Aric, we can't kiss. I'm not doing anything with you. With either of you.”

Was he gauging my resolve? “Then we won't kiss. Just let me touch your stunning face.” He caressed the backs of his fingers over one of my cheekbones, then along my jawline. “It's a luxury I will always savor.”

I had to fight to keep my eyes open, to keep my body from moving against his.

“So beautiful. I won't stop until you're mine. I won't ever rest.
Es tevi mīlu
.”

I breathed, “What does that mean?”

He smoothed his elegant fingers over me the way a sculptor would touch his statue. “I love you.”

Answering words bubbled up, but I couldn't be in love with Aric.
“There's a difference between love and desire,” I said, reminding him—and myself.

“If all I wanted was a bedmate, then why do I feel such jealousy? Why was I racked with misery to be parted from you? For one like me, a week is a blink of an eye, yet it felt interminable.”

He laid his palms over my shoulders, ever so lightly grazing his thumbs over my throat. His hands shook, as if he was handling the most priceless treasure in the entire world. “By all the gods, I desire you, but you must know that you have my love. It's given,
sievā
. Wholly entrusted to you. Have a care with it.”

I struggled to resist him. To remember why I should.

“Our bond goes back over lifetimes; you must feel it.”

I shook my head hard, an unspoken lie. I felt endless years between us, a tie that never died or faded. Something that endured epochs. Something mysterious and . . .
good 
?

I thought, I
feared
, that he was my . . .

Soul mate.

“These days without you have been more miserable for me than all the centuries before.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, making my heart race. “Tell me you'll be mine. Tell me I'll never have to know this desolation again.”

At that moment, I wanted to tell him anything he needed to hear—

Without warning, he lifted me against the wall, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck.

“What are you doing?” I inhaled sharply as desire flooded me. His addictive scent swept me up.

“I need to be closer to you. Why can I never get close enough to you?” He glanced down. His chest had dampened my tank top, which was now see-through. His eyes flared bright, his voice roughening as he said, “You tempt me beyond measure.” He pressed harder between my legs.

When my head fell back, he nuzzled my neck, giving me only hints of kisses. Warm breaths feathered over my throat, making me shiver with need.

Why had I told him we couldn't kiss?

This closeness was as arousing as the real thing. More so. Knowing he longed to press his lips against me—but was restraining himself—drove me crazy.

He continued his ghost of a kiss until I was panting, my arms tightening around his neck. I could feel his muscles shudder against my body as he held himself in check.

He dragged his head up to face me. Our breaths mingled as I stared into his starry eyes, lost in them. Still he didn't take my mouth. Just made me yearn for more.

Which I couldn't have. Not tonight.

The ribbon I carried in my pocket seemed to burn me.
Just doan give me anything else to hurt on.

“Aric, you have to let me go.”

“Is that what you truly want?” Confusion shone in that glittering gaze.

“Please.”

He lowered me to my feet. “I release you. For now. But you will be mine,
sievā
.”

As I pressed him away, the sight of my pale hands against him hit me again. How many times had I clung to his bare chest, desperate to get closer?

When he stepped back, I turned toward my room in a daze. I shut the door, then leaned against it, trembling.

After that, everything seemed to be in slow motion: walking to my sleeping bag, checking the battery light on the transceiver, bedding down.

I stared at the ceiling again, trying to ignore my overheated body. What felt like hours passed before my eyes closed.

Just before I drifted off, I sensed Aric in the room with me.

Was he gazing down at me? He thought I was asleep!

In a soft rasp, he said, “There's so much about the game I could teach you. So much about life you could teach me. Let's begin this, little wife.”

I dreamed of Death, reliving a memory of his from when he'd been close to my age. Was this one of the visions Matthew had wanted to give me before it was too late?

The scene was night, the wind whipping off the Baltic in a frenzied summer storm. Aric was returning from an errand of some kind.

As I ride past familiar rune stones, my stallion's hooves pound the ground, rivaling the gods' thunder.

The gods that have cursed our settlement with sickness.

Were they angered by the lavish festivities my family held two days ago? Is the House of Domīnija guilty of hubris?

Though I want to follow this line of reasoning, to deduce a cause, my thoughts are too chaotic. Some malady has befallen me as well. Yet instead of suffering like the others in the village, I feel strong.

Stronger than I ever have.

Earlier, I crushed a rock in my palm, crushed it to dust. Each day my power and speed escalate. I am nearing some dark precipice, but I know not what.

When I arrive home, I have to conceal my unnatural swiftness, lest a vassal see. I stride along a stone lane to my father's hall. Just beyond the front doorway, I find him pacing, awaiting my arrival. “Did you employ the physic?” he asks.

Aric's father is a towering blond man with broad shoulders. Though his eyes are ice-blue to Aric's amber, there is a distinct resemblance to his son. I understand their language as if it were my own; Matthew must've bridged this vision for me.

“He is already tending the sick.” How can my father look a decade older than he did just yesterday? “I took him directly there.”

“Good, good,” Father says, his mind distracted. “I'll return anon.”

“But you're exhausted. You need to stay strong for Mother. Is she resting?”

He nods. “I insisted upon it.”

“This can't be easy on her.” Many of those who visited our hall were
stricken, their daughters especially. “I shall return in your stead.”

His forehead creases. “But if something happened to you . . . if you were beset . . . I couldn't bear it.”

“I've never been sick a day in my life. I've made my decision not to start now.”

With that hint of a grin, Father looks more himself. It's been strange not to hear his laughter in our hall, a welcome accompaniment to Mother's.

I put my hand on his shoulder, holding his gaze. “Mark my words, we will get through this.”

His blue eyes glint. “Have I told you how proud I am to be your father?”

I cast him a feigned look of grievance. “Daily. Since memory. It's ingrained in me, as if carved into a rune stone.”

“But not yet today.” Father clasps his hand over mine. “Son, I'm so proud . . .” He trails off with a frown.

“Father?”

His gaze widens, his skin paling. When his expression grows agonized, panic grips my chest. “What's happening?” I lay my palm on his cheek; angry black lines begin to branch out over his face.

Like those of the afflicted villagers.

“S-son?” Suddenly his fists clench, his muscles seizing.

“What is this, Father?” I enfold his convulsing form in my arms, easing him to the ground. “What is happening?” As I gaze down at him, a beatific light spills upon his anguished countenance. It shutters . . . when I blink? “Tell me how to help you!” I beg him, “Please, please tell
me!”