Page 14

Zoey

“Wait,” I force out, but Aerix’s lips are already trailing down my neck, tracing the spot he always lingers over before feeding.

I clutch at the bed sheets, my mind spinning in a hundred directions at once.

I could let go. Give in to the rush of need pooling low in my stomach, to the way his hands are already mapping out every inch of me, to the way his body fits against mine like he was made to ruin me.

But I need to stay in control. Keep him on his toes, craving my presence.

So, even though my heart’s pounding so hard that it’s pushing against my throat, I press a hand to his chest, coaxing him to slow down.

His breath hitches, and for a second, I think he’s going to ignore me.

But then, he lifts his head.

“Do you need more juice?” The corner of his mouth twitches up, mocking but indulgent. “Another cookie?”

“No,” I manage, swallowing hard, forcing myself to focus on his eyes and not his lips. “There’s actually something on my mind. Something I wanted to ask you about.”

He stills, and curiosity flickers across his perfect features, sharp and calculating.

“What is it?” he finally asks.

“Kallista,” I say, and he frowns, tension ripples along his muscles.

“What about her?” His voice is quieter now, laced with caution.

“She was important to you.” I steady my breathing, praying he’s not going to snap at me like he did when I touched the base of his wings. “And I keep thinking about her. Wondering if I’ll ever live up to…” I gesture vaguely at us. “Your expectations, I guess.”

His expression sharpens, like I’ve cracked open something he’s spent a long time keeping locked away. But then, instead of pinning me beneath him again, he shifts and rolls onto his side, shoulder to shoulder with me, still close enough that his body makes it impossible to think.

Electricity crackles between us. But I sense him reining it in, using his magic to pull that current of desire under tighter control.

“You remind me of her,” he finally says, and I roll onto my side, facing him, giving him a full view of the person who reminds him of the woman who apparently still haunts him to this day. “Physically, I mean. Your hair, your eyes, and your expressions. I saw you by that waterfall and it felt like seeing a ghost.” He drags a hand through his dark hair, regret crossing his eyes as he ruffles it in obvious frustration.

“Is she still here? Alive?” I ask, bracing myself for him to shut down this conversation at any moment.

Instead, he exhales, shifting his weight so he’s leaning on one elbow, facing me fully now, as if deciding how much of himself he’s willing to give away.

“I wouldn’t know, although, I hope so,” he says, and I watch him carefully, my heart beating faster. “You know that all night fae started out as winter fae, right?”

I nod, since that much has become clear to me since I arrived.

“Well, before I was turned into a night fae, I wasn’t anyone important,” he continues, and I can’t help it—I smile.

“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly—not in irritation, but in curiosity.

“It’s just that I can’t imagine a universe where you aren’t ‘anyone important,’” I say, since even without his wings, I know he must have turned heads. Many, many heads.

At first, his expression doesn’t change.

Then, slowly, he smirks, the faintest tilt of his lips that sends a low, knowing heat curling through my stomach.

“Then don’t imagine it,” he says, moving closer, apparently taking my confession as a way to end this conversation.

But I shift back, just enough for him to notice. To make him chase.

“Why imagine it when you can tell it?” I challenge, and his eyes flicker, dark amusement dancing in their depths.

“You seem very confident in my storytelling abilities,” he says slowly, as if he’s teasing me—or taunting me. Probably both.

“As confident as you were in my painting abilities?” I ask, since he made his opinion of my artwork quite clear when he added pure, dark red blood to the fountains I was re-creating.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, as if hearing something I can’t. A whisper from the past—something clawing at the edges of his mind.

The playfulness between us flickers, then dims.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. Not softer. Just… edged in something worn thin.

“I was an ordinary soldier in the Winter Court’s militia,” he starts, and I blink, the words not matching the man in front of me.

But Aerix isn’t looking at me anymore. Not really. His gaze is fixed somewhere else—on a past that feels so far away, I wonder if he’s convinced it was ever real.

“My father was a fisherman, and my mother a seamstress,” he continues. “We lived in a small settlement on the outskirts of court. But Kallista was different. A noblewoman. The daughter of a minor lord, but still far above my station.”

I inhale quietly, letting him see the interest in my eyes. The invitation.

“I’m guessing she had the sense to see you as someone who was very, very important?” I ask, keeping my voice light, my expression just teasing enough to make the question feel like a compliment.

Flattery is my sharpest weapon right now.

“We fell in love,” he says, flat and resigned. “I planned to propose—in secret, of course. But she cared about her status. She was always worried about what her father might say, or what her noble friends would think. So, I started asking around for some potions or enchantments that might help her open her mind.”

“You mean like a love potion?” I ask, baffled by the fact that someone as beautifully tempting and regal as Aerix would ever need a love potion.

He exhales sharply, his lips pressing together before curving into something almost self-deprecating.

“Yes, it was foolish,” he admits, “but I was desperate.”

I study him carefully. Because desperate isn’t a word I would ever associate with Aerix. At least, not with this version of him.

“Go on,” I say gently, still extremely aware of the closeness of his body, and the way mine wants to cling to the tension thrumming in the air between us.

As he thinks, his eyes trail along the curve of my neck. Slow, deliberate, and dangerous.

I brace myself for the possibility that he might decide he wants some dessert.

He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s contemplating it, too.

But then, he continues.

“A friend of mine—my best friend—claimed she knew of something that might help. She offered to take me into the Wandering Wilds to find the ingredients.”

His gaze drops to the silky sheets between us, like the memory is something he wishes he could press into the fabric and bury beneath him.

“I trusted that friend completely,” he continues. “But she led me straight into a group of night fae. She wanted to join them, and they promised her she could if she brought someone with her. Specifically, someone from the Winter Court’s militia. They turned us on the spot. I never got to say goodbye to Kallista. Never got to propose. Once I was turned, returning to the Winter Court was out of the question.”

I stare at him, his words coiling in my mind. All of it—his past, his transformation, his ruthlessness—woven into something far more complicated than I expected.

And then, I realize something important. Something that shifts the game entirely.

“Your friend is also here.” The words slip from me carefully, like a knife gliding across glass. “The one who tricked you.”

“She was a farmer’s daughter in the Winter Court,” he says, cold and controlled. “Now, she goes by Princess Cierra Nightborne of the Night Court.”

I suck in a sharp breath, remembering the fight he and Cierra had here, in this room, when she almost killed me.

More importantly, I remember how close he was to strangling her with his bare hands.

“Did you and Cierra ever…” I drop my gaze to his still-bare chest, figuring that’s enough to get the message across.

“No.” He smirks, and the certainty in his answer sends warm satisfaction curling through my stomach. “But you, Zoey,” he continues, pausing to trace his fingers along my lips in a way that makes my heart race even faster. “You have nothing to worry about. Because yes, I was entranced by Kallista. But when it came down to it, she was weak. She let her family and friends control her. You, on the other hand, don’t let anyone control you.” He lowers his voice, almost reverent now. “Which makes you far better than she ever was.”

A prickle of satisfaction needles through me as I return his hungry stare, hanging onto his every last word.

“Does that mean I have nothing to worry about when it comes to measuring up?” I ask, although I already suspect what the answer will be.

His smirk darkens. “You threatened me with your dagger in the bunker, and you took a rake to the boy who was confessing his love for you in the garden,” he says, giving me a slow, assessing once-over that makes my skin tingle. “And that’s far more compelling to me than anything a frightened noblewoman could ever do.”

In a dark, twisted way, it might be the best compliment I’ve ever received.

“So…” I smile at him, trailing my fingers along the lines of his sculpted chest. “Are you telling me that the way to your heart is through threats and gardening tools?”

“It’s not just the weapons, Zoey,” he murmurs as he leans in, his lips brushing my ear, his voice a caress of ice and promises. “It’s that wild streak. That fire in your eyes when you argue with me—when you fight, when you create…” He pauses, then smirks. “Even when you create a painting so offensively bad that I fear for my eyesight.”

I frown, although it quickly turns into a smile.

“And yet, you were so inspired by said painting that you added your own flair to it—along with your signature,” I say, light and teasing.

“What kind of artist would I be if I didn’t leave my mark?” he says, his fingertips tracing a slow line across my cheek. “Especially on something I intend to keep.”

Then, his lips crash against mine.

There’s no hesitation this time. No restraint.

For a moment, I let myself forget the game. Forget the strategy.

But in the Night Court, there are only two choices. Dying, or thriving. And I choose the latter.

So, I pull back slowly, dragging my fingers down his chest one last time before pulling them away.

“I should go,” I say, even though the last thing I want to do right now is go.

His midnight eyes darken. “You could stay.”

“Not tonight.” I stand, smoothing my dress, giving him a look that says maybe soon. “But as always—the cookies were sinfully delicious.”

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he stretches out on the bed, wings spreading behind him like a dark canvas.

“Playing hard to get?” he asks, and there’s something dangerous in his voice. Something that says he enjoys the chase as much as the capture.

“Not playing anything,” I reply with a coy smile, making my way across the room. “Just being... strategic.”

He laughs—a rich, dark sound that fills the space between us. “Then by all means, continue with your strategy,” he says. “I look forward to seeing how it unfolds.”

I pause at the door, turning to take in the sight of him one last time. The defined planes of his chest, the predatory grace in his posture, the way his wings cast shadows that dance in the firelight. He’s beautiful in the way that deadly things often are—captivating and lethal in equal measure.

And as the door closes behind me, I can’t help but smile at my victory.

Let Victoria worry about her position. Let Henry scheme in the shadows. Let the entire Night Court whisper about the human who’s caught their prince’s attention.

Because if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Prince Aerix Nightborne would burn this entire court to the ground before letting anyone harm what belongs to him.

And after getting him to confide in me about Kallista, I’m one step closer to checkmate.