Frost (Frost and Nectar #1)(35)

My feet thudded on the icy earth, and my gaze homed in on the stands.

The king sat calmly on a raised dais, claret silks above him, a silver crown on his brow, and guards all around.

Even if I couldn’t feel the pain from my punctured lung, my breath was rasping. Whistling. My head swam from a lack of oxygen.

A droplet of blood fell in the snow from my lips, but it seemed so distant, layered with shadows.

Darkness filled my vision as I collapsed onto the ice.

As if from a distance, I heard the TV host shout “—the only common fae to make the cut to the next round!”





16

A VA

W hen I opened my eyes, I was being carried. Strong arms cradled me, and my head rested against a man’s chest. He smelled nice, like an ancient forest and the faintest hint of a mountain stream.

Distant screams floated through the air. Not agonized, like before. Jubilant.

Had I lost?

These thoughts were floating by like dandelion seeds on the wind, because the anti-pain potion was beginning to fade. What had been a distant ache now turned hot and agonizing.

I coughed, and my vision flashed white.

Breath warmed the side of my face, and a low voice whispered in my ear, “You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”

That rich timbre…I recognized it, but it couldn’t be Torin, right? I opened my eyes, and my blurred vision focused on a perfect face—cheekbones sharpened by shadows, pale eyes staring straight ahead.

“Torin?” I rasped.

"Don't talk,” he said. “They beat you, just as I was afraid of. You’re badly hurt.”

I tried to form the words to ask if I was still in the running for the fifty million, but my next breath was like swallowing shards of glass.

In this very moment, I was starting to think maybe this wasn’t worth the money. Maybe this was all another very bad decision in a lifetime of bad decisions.

Torin’s gaze swept down over me, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say his forehead looked creased with worry for me. Which made me wonder if I was about to die, and he’d lose his best-laid plans.

When he cupped the side of my face, his skin making direct contact with mine, I could already feel his magic sliding over me. Quietly, he murmured in the Fae language, a low and hypnotic purr that thrummed over my skin. There was something rhythmic about the way he chanted, his skin glowing with magic. It was entrancing, bringing to mind beating drums, fires burning under a starry sky.

His eyes locked on mine, and his hand traced down from the side of my face to my chest, just between my breasts. My heart fluttered. If circumstances were different—if I didn’t know this was all fake, and if my life weren’t a complete mess—I would absolutely fall for this man.

And with every quiet word he uttered, with every light stroke of his fingertips, the pain began to ebb, my muscles growing more supple and relaxed. I felt as if the Seelie king were in complete control of my body now, orchestrating my healing like an artist. And I didn’t hate that as much as I should.

I wondered if he could hear my heart racing again, because this type of magic he possessed had a disturbingly sensual edge, making my body feel full, even if he was hardly touching me.

He lowered his face, his gaze tracing over mine. Studying me again. Reading my body’s reactions.

He wasn’t just taking the pain away from me—his magic was flowing into me. From the point where his hand met my body, tendrils of heat slid into my chest, sliding down into my core.

My mind flickered with images of Faerie—then uninvited images of what I imagined he’d look like without his shirt on, hunting in the woods. Not hunting to kill. Hunting to fuck, to make women moan and fill them with the power he drew from the land.

Gods, the raw power of him, like tapping into the earth itself…

I closed my eyes, growing acutely aware of how my wet clothes felt against my skin, clinging to me, and I had the disturbing sensation that I wanted to tear them off. That I wanted him to see me naked, to use his mouth on me instead of his hands…a real Seelie party.

But I refused to accept the ache that was building in me, because I wasn’t falling for assholes anymore.

Andrew. Think of Andrew. But in my mind’s eye, I could only see Torin ripping through my underwear, spreading my thighs, and taking me hard and fast up against an oak until I forgot my name.

Freaking hell, I’d only been with him one day, and that was all it took to fall under the spell of a beautiful man. What about the pledge I’d made to myself?

Gritting my teeth, I sat up, knocking his hand off me. “That’s enough,” I said, catching my breath. I held up the covers over my chest like I was naked, even though I was still fully clothed. As I was trying to gain control of myself, my voice came out sounding furious. Imperious, even.

Torin arched a surprised eyebrow. “I wasn’t quite finished.”

“I feel fine now. You can get away from me.” I nodded at the door. “I need sleep, thank you.”

Never in my life had I sounded this prim and proper, like an irritated librarian in a convent.

Freaking hell. Maybe he was right about me being judgmental.

My mind flicked back to our conversation earlier, where I’d been making fun of him for hating parties. But who was the prude now?

He’d said, “A real Seelie party.”