Page 25 of Jilted By Jack Frost

“My mom died when I was young. Cancer.” I trace the rim of my glass. “The nurses who cared for her—they made her last days bearable. I wanted to do that for others.”

“Yet you seem unhappy with your choice.”

“I love nursing, but lately...” I sigh. “It feels like I’m just going through the motions. Like there should bemore, you know?”

Jack’s fingers brush mine across the table. The touch sends that now-familiar spark across my hand. “I understand the weight of duty. The loneliness it brings.”

“Is that why you shut everyone out? Because you’re lonely?”

He withdraws his hand. “I shut people out because it’s safer.”

“Safer for who?”

“Everyone.” His voice carries centuries of isolation. “My power—what you saw tonight—it’s dangerous. Uncontrollable sometimes.”

“Bullshit.” I grab his hand back. “You had enough control to protect me. To create that ice dome and transport us here.”

“That’s different. You’re—” He stops, staring at our joined hands.

“I’m what?”

“You’re my mate.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “My power responds differently to you.”

My heart skips. “Is that why I feel warm around you? Even though you’re literally made of winter?”

His thumb traces patterns on my palm, sending an enticing mixture of warmth and chill up my arm. “Yes.”

“Jack...”

His eyes meet mine, and for once, they’re not cold. They burn with something that makes my breath catch.

He pulls away suddenly, standing. “This is dangerous.”

“What is?”

“This.” He gestures between us. “Getting close. Sharing... things.”

I stand too, moving closer. “Maybe dangerous isn’t always bad.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand.”

But he’s already backing away, his walls slamming back into place. “Good night, Violet.”

He disappears in a swirl of frost, leaving me alone with two half-empty wineglasses and more questions than answers.

Chapter twelve

Violet

Steam rises from my tea as I stare out the library window. The twin moons hang low in the morning sky, casting an eerie glow over the snow-covered landscape.

“Finally found you. Did you sleep at all?” Cora sets a plate of pastries beside me.

“Not really.” I pick at a flaky croissant. “Keep thinking about Alana. She must be worried sick.”

“Your friend from home?” Cora slides into the chair across from me. “Tell me about her.”

---