Page 28 of Jilted By Jack Frost

“Enough.” Jack’s command lacks its usual frost. He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. “I need to handle the border situation.”

But he doesn’t move. Instead, his gaze finds mine again, and there’s something different in it. Something warmer. Like he’s seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time.

“You really felt it? That connection?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Did you?”

He nods once, sharp and quick, as if admitting it physically pains him.

Gabriel clears his throat. “The border...”

“Yes, yes.” Jack straightens, but his eyes linger on me. “We’re not finished here.”

For once, I actually believe him.

Chapter thirteen

Jack

Something is different today.

Through the window of my study, movement catches my eye. Down in the courtyard, Violet kneels beside one of the frozen fountains, her hand hovering over something at its base.

What is she doing now?

I materialize outside, staying in the shadows of a nearby archway. The usual pristine blanket of snow appears... softer somehow. Not melting, but transformed. Small clusters of frost flowers—delicate crystalline blooms that only form in the most precise conditions—dot the courtyard where there were nonebefore.

My boots crunch across the snow as I investigate. The air itself feels charged, alive in a way I haven’t experienced in centuries.

A flash of movement catches my eye—Violet walking among the ice sculptures, trailing her fingers along their surfaces. Wherever she touches, the ice takes on an opalescent sheen, as if responding to her presence.

My chest tightens. She hasn’t noticed me yet, too absorbed in her exploration. The way she moves through my realm, it’s as if... as if she belongs here. The thought sends a jolt of panic through me.

“What are you doing?” My voice comes out sharper than intended.

Violet spins around, her cheeks flushed from the cold despite the elixir’s protection. “Oh! You’re back. What was happening at the border?”

“Nothing of importance.” I step closer, watching her face for any hint of deception. “The eastern border guards were overzealous in their reporting. A minor magical disturbance, nothing more.”

Her presence here unsettles me. The way she moves through my domain with such casual defiance, as if the bitter cold means nothing. Changing things.

Even now, watching her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, I feel my carefully maintained control slipping. Each time she speaks, each movement she makes, it chips away at the walls I’ve built over centuries of isolation. Fucking hell, I need to maintain my distance.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing?”

“Looking at the sculptures. They’re beautiful.”

“You shouldn’t touch them.”

“Why not? I’m not damaging anything.” She presses her palm flat against the nearest sculpture—a towering griffin. The ice beneath her hand begins to glow with a soft, pearl-like luminescence.

I stride forward and grab her wrist, pulling it away. “Stop.”

“What’s your problem?” She yanks free of my grip. “The ice likes it. Can’t you feel it?”

That’s exactly what terrifies me.The ice doesn’t just like her presence—it’s responding to her, changing in ways I’ve never seen before. The prophecy’s words echo in my mind:

When mortal love meets ancient frost, The old ways crumble into dust.

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