Page 98 of Wicked Prince of Frost

The ice and snow from the storm have melted, soaking through my clothes. My teeth chatter as I cross the room to the fireplace. I thank the saints that the last tenant left the flint sitting on the mantle and the dry wood piled beside it.

I make quick work of it and soon, a fire lights the room, crackling and snapping, as the dancing flames chase away the chill in the air.

After removing my outer layers, I pause as I reach for the ties to my dress and look over my shoulder.

Joon’s eyes are closed. All the tension has leached from his muscles as he slumbers.

I strip out of my clothes until I’m only wearing a thin slip, then drape them over the rocking chair beside the fireplace to dry.

While Joon sleeps, I quietly move about the room, searching for anything left behind. There’s precious little and nothing that we can use in the dresser, but I do find a white shirt hanging in the closet, which I fold and leave beside Joon.

I lift the lid of an intricately carved hope chest at the footof the bed. The hinges squeak, and I cringe, but Joon doesn’t stir.

Inside, there are three thick fur blankets. I pull them out and pile two in front of the fire, then sit on top of them with my knees pulled to my chest, wrapping the third blanket around my shoulders.

Once I’m warm again, I let the blanket slide off my shoulders and pool around me. I lean back, propping myself up on my hands, and stretch my legs out.

I watch the flames dance and crackle, letting them hypnotize me, until the wild storm and horrible demon howls fade from the outside world.

“Violet?” I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here before Joon’s voice drags me from my reverie.

“You should be resting,” I admonish gently. “I left a clean shirt for you beside the bed.”

Joon settles beside me, his upper torso still completely bare.

Instead of responding, he brings his hand to the back of my head. I wince at the light touch. Pain shoots through my skull, condensing where it hit the ground after being thrown from the horse. It fades in seconds as he heals it.

“Thank you.”

He huffs a humorless laugh. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s part of our bargain to keep you safe.”

“Would you have agreed to bargain with me if there had been another flower?”

“Yes,” his answer is immediate.

“Why?”

“Because you said please. Because of every time you have said please.” There’s a depth to his answer that holds far more than he gives voice.

“You need to siphon.”

“I have taken enough. We cannot risk you having another episode. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

I shake my head.

The intensity of his gaze, traveling from my face down my torso and legs, leaves behind a phantom caress. His eyes darken, and I see a desire in the blue depths that matches my own.

I twist and lean forward, pressing my hand to his chest, sliding up over his shoulder and around his neck. “Then you can stop if it gets to that point.”

His skin is smooth and warm, filling me with the sudden urge to run my palm over his defined muscles. Instead, I pull him down as I lean in the rest of the way and kiss him. When Joon doesn’t respond, I pull back, releasing him.

Between one heartbeat and the next, his fingers wrap around my wrist and tug me closer. His mouth crashes down on mine. Firm and demanding.

I melt against him with a sigh. He takes full advantage, slipping his tongue inside and claiming my mouth.

It takes me entirely too long to realize that he’s not siphoning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN