Page 72 of Snowman

I laughed under my breath, my fingers brushing against my lips as the memory of last night flickered through my mind. The way his body moved with mine, the way he left me trembling, wanting for more.

"You coming?" His voice pulled me back to the present. He was waiting near the staircase. When he caught me openly staring, he arched an eyebrow and walked toward me.

Before I could say anything, he scooped me up again, throwing me over his shoulder.

"You know I can walk, right?"

"I know," he said, laughing as he landed another smack on my ass.

He carried me up the stairs, the glass railings reflecting fragments of our steps as we moved. The black and white tiled floors in the hallway blurred together as we passed, hypnotizing me. The house was modern, and clean, but layered withsomething raw. Animal pelts draped over chairs, skulls, and old guns hung like forgotten memories on the walls.

At the end of the hall, a nearly invisible door blended seamlessly into the white walls. He pushed it open and stepped into a bedroom where a circular bed held a court in the middle, its frame made from polished marble as white as fresh snow that covered the ground outside. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling, circling the room, revealing an uninterrupted view of snow-covered meadows and dense woodlands.

"It's beautiful," I said quietly, my hand finding its place against his chest. "Your home is beautiful."

"Ours," he corrected, pulling me closer. His voice dropped as he whispered, "Our home is beautiful. Just like you."

His words wrapped around me, words I was not used to. If they could melt the snow outside, I would have let them melt me, too. He was so kind to me, despite the pain he carried. He still found ways to build something beautiful. And somehow, I was part of it.

But I knew his pain, and that kind of pain had carved itself into me so deeply that I couldn't separate it from who I was. But with him, this pain was bearable, real.

I was falling for him. For aman so cold, a man who lived his life in the dark but made space for me in his light. A man who killed for me. And I know, without question, I would let myself die for him, too.

He moved to a shelf by the wall, where an old radio was. As he turned the button, his voice crackled, and he stood there, listening.

"We can positively confirm that the primary suspect in the investigation is an ex-detective named Isak Storm."

The voice on the radio made my stomach drop.

I turned to him, his name already slipping out in a shaky breath. "Thor? What's going on?"

He didn't answer.

His hand shot out, twisting the radio knob to silence it. He stood there, shoulders low, jaw clenched, his silence pressing against my chest.

"Did you blame it on him?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

He didn't look at me, didn't move. My heart was pounding, and I took a step closer, pushing him lightly. "Thor, did you?"

Still nothing.

"Answer me!" My voice cracked as I pushed him again, harder this time.

Finally, he lifted his head, meeting my eyes.

"I did. He pretended to bemeto get close to you. Don't you think he deserves to pay for that?"

I froze.

I didn't even know how to respond.

He wasn't lying; I knew that much. But he wasn't telling the whole truth either.

Isak wasn't Snowman, Thor was. Thor knew it. I knew it. And still, he stood there, as though nothing about this situation was twisted or wrong.

"It's not right," I said, pushing him again. My hands trembled, but I didn't stop. "You can't just… you can't live with this, and you know it."

"Would you rather it be me?"

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