Page 52 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

The rubber soles of my sneakers—the same ones I was wearing when I arrived, although much shabbier now—move silently against the floor as I slip out onto the stairs from the servants’ dining area. I follow the same path I take every day as I do the rounds of my chores, moving up the back staircase to the second floor.

Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, I creep through the house, my back to the walls, listening for any hint of noise. Outside, the moon shines down on a fresh blanket of snow that reflects the light through the windows, brightening the white walls with their pale blue trim and making the shadows seem even darker.

Ivrael’s study is in the west wing of the manor house on the other side of a long space everyone calls the gallery—not really a room, but too wide to be a hallway, the last area I need to get through before I reach the duke’s office.

There are no windows here to allow the moonlight to give me away—the gallery is almost pitch black, the only light coming in from either end of the room.

Peering into the space, I see no one. I cross the gallery, forgetting to remain vigilant as I move. I’m too excited, too sure of myself, too certain that my goal is in reach. From the moment I enter the dark room, my gaze remains fixed on the pale, thin light trickling in through the arch of the far doorway.

So I’m halfway across the gallery when someone reaches out and grabs my upper arm.

I stumble to a halt, letting out a little squeak and blinking as a Caixlight pops into being, blinding me for a moment. But I don’t need to see to know who has hold of me. It may have been a year, but I still remember the sensation of Ivrael’s grip, both gentle and unyielding, sending heat-chills shivering through my skin.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses.

Ivrael’s words echo through the gallery. I freeze in place, and the duke tilts his head to one side. My stomach twists, and I clench my back teeth against the sudden urge to vomit—which also effectively keeps me from saying anything at all.

The Caixlight casts a warm glow across Ivrael’s features, giving his pale skin a richer hue than usual and glinting off the golden highlights in his hair.

I’m fascinated by those shining strands, as if they prove that he couldn’t be entirely made of ice. And for the firsttime since I arrived, it strikes me that the color is odd, that practically all the other Icecaix have hair so blonde it’s almost white. But not Ivrael.

I find myself taking in every aspect of his appearance.

He’s taller than me—probably by a solid foot—but he’s also thin and aristocratic, his hands and fingers long and elegant. Everything about him is elegant. Hell, they’re all elegant, every single member of the Ice Court. It’s like I’m living inside an iced-over Jane Austen novel.

When I don’t respond, he stalks toward me, his footsteps making no sound. I glance down to see that he’s barefoot, and somehow, that simple fact makes him seem a little more vulnerable than before. It’s surprising enough that I don’t immediately back away when he steps up close to me. “What are you doing up here, Lara?”

His voice seems to caress my name as he says it, and I fight against the shiver that runs through me. This is not the cold, aloof duke I’ve seen since we arrived at the manor. The Ivrael who put a boy to death. The man I’ve grown to despise.

This is the man who gave me a cloak when he saw I was cold.

The man who rescued me in the cemetery.

He reaches out one of those long-fingered hands and smooths my hair away from my face. I tremble at his touch. In my time in the kitchen, working and plotting and planning, I forgot that about him—his intensity, the way his silver eyes stare into me, through me as if he can peer into my soul and pull out my darkest secrets.

I can’t afford to have my secrets revealed—not as I’m planning my final escape—so I rip my gaze away from his face and point it at the floor.

I catch another glimpse of his bare feet poking out from under the blue velvet robe he wears loosely belted at his waist, and my gaze moves upward. He’s muscular under that soft robe, with broad shoulders tapering down to his waist. The satin edging creates a perfect V-shaped wedge, exposing Ivrael’s washboard abs and leading down to…

I jerk my eyes up to find him watching me, his stare intent. And I swear for an instant I see something burning in those pale, ice-blue eyes.

In another life, I would have called him hot. I have to shove down the urge to giggle at the thought of the Duke of Frost being hot.

He presses the back of his hand to my cheek, and it’s warmer than I expect, zinging through me as if a single touch could heat my entire body.

And then it turns cold.

My breath clouds in the crystalline air as Ivrael draws closer, each step slow, deliberate. As my eyes adjust, the moonlight trickling into the gallery casts everything in shades of silver and blue, making his eyes glow.

I shouldn’t have tried to sneak into his study.

I could grow addicted to the way his presence makes my skin prickle with awareness. I find myself stepping closer despite my resolve. The air around him is crisp, carrying his scent. His hand, when it cups my cheek, is cool but not unbearably cold. His thumb traces my lower lip, leaving a whisper of frost that melts instantly against my skin. The contrast of temperatures makes me shiver.

The first touch of his lips is like starlight—sharp, bright, crystalline. I gasp at the sensation, and he takes advantage of my parted lips to deepen the kiss. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The fine silk of his robe is cool against my palms as I press my hands to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

The contrast between the chill of his mouth and the heat blooming in my chest makes me dizzy. Frost patterns swirl across my skin where he touches me, beautiful and ephemeral, melting away as quickly as they form. Each new pattern sends shivers of pleasure down my spine, the gentlest scratches of ice against warm skin.

I wind my arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. The strands are cool and smooth, catching the light. His kiss grows more urgent, passionate, and I feel the careful control of his magic waver. Ice crystals form in the air around us, catching the ethereal light like suspended diamonds.

---