Page 53 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

His hands roam my back, leaving trails of tingling sensation in their wake. For all that I thought I’d grown to hate the cold here, I press closer, craving more of that delicious chill.My fingers trace the line of his jaw, marveling at how his skin feels like polished marble warmed just enough to not burn with cold.

When I scrape my nails lightly against his scalp, he makes a sound like cracking ice, deep and resonant. The temperature around us drops further, and I feel the magic roll off him in waves. Frost creeps up the walls in elaborate patterns, catching the light like tiny prisms.

He pulls back just enough to trail kisses along my jaw. My breath comes in pants, visible in the cold air between us. His teeth, sharp and cool, graze my neck, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me.

His mouth claims mine again, harder this time, almost desperate. One hand tangles in my hair while the other presses against my lower back, keeping me arched against him. I can feel the rigid planes of his body through our clothes, cool and unyielding as glacier ice. The kiss tastes of winter berries and frost, sharp and sweet and addicting.

He pulls away, moves back to my neck. “You test my control,” he murmurs against my throat, his voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “Every warm breath, every beat of your heart—do you know what it does to me?”

“Ivrael,” I finally manage to gasp.

With a shudder that seems to wrack his entire body, he stands up straight, steadying me by my shoulders—or possibly steadying himself.

His nostrils flare and I follow the movement of his throat as he swallows. “Don’t you mean Your Lordship?”

Shit. Right. Adefina has stayed on me since my arrival, telling me that if I didn’t start referring to the duke by his title when I talked about him, I would eventually slip when I spoke to him, and she made it clear that’s nothing I ever want to do.

But he doesn’t say anything else about what I call him. Instead, he reaches around me, his face hovering so close to mine for a moment I think our lips might touch again—and I ache for it. Then he pulls my tatty cloak from behind me and wraps it around my shoulders. “It’s too cold for humans here.”

“I’m fine.” My mouth feels dry, and my words come out in a harsh rasp. I clear my throat and swallow hard.

When Ivrael reaches out and brushes my hair back again, I force myself not to move. Even after all this time, no matter how much I know I hate him, my body wants to betray me. I have to fight to keep from leaning into his touch even as another part of me screams an alarm, telling me to run. More golden sparks flash through his blue-white irises and around those slitted pupils. The unexpected heat deep in his eyes draws me to him as if he were the only source of warmth in this frosty hell.

Fucking Stockholm Syndrome.

With another shiver, he turns away from me to look up at the paintings hanging along the gallery wall—a series of portraits of Icecaix men and women, most of them pale and white-haired. I blink and follow his gaze, trying to regain my composure.

“This one was my father,” he says, his voice smoothing out again into its melted-chocolate tones as he gestures at the painting just above us. The man in it has Ivrael’s features and golden hair, but his skin is warm and almost bronze rather than icy white. “He married into the title,” the current duke continues. “Only a duke by marriage—my mother was duchess by birth.”

That isn’t how I expected it to work—but among the Caix, women are apparently as likely to inherit as men.

Of course, from what I’ve figured out, the men and women here are just as likely to kill each other off to ensure there are no siblings competing for titles.

Not that different from humans I guess.

A wistful expression passes over his face, and he shakes his head.

“What happened to him?” I ask, feeling a pang of sympathy I know I shouldn’t indulge.

“My father?” Ivrael shakes off whatever he was feeling. “I killed him.”

The words send a shard of terror through me. My breath stutters in my chest, leaving it so tight I can’t inhale or exhale past the fear, and a tiny squeak escapes me.

This is the duke I’ve grown to know and loathe.

Ivrael glances down at me, his expressioninscrutable. “He wasn’t trustworthy.” He holds my gaze, pinning me in place with those silver eyes, now swirling with golden sparkles. “I never harm those I trust.”

It’s as direct a warning as I’ve ever heard.

With a jerk, I finally force myself to step back from him. “I’d better get back to the kitchen,” I sputter out.

The smile curving across his face suggests he knows I’m lying to him, knows my plan, knows every one of the things I try to keep hidden from him. “Yes, I suppose you had.”

His hand drops by his side, and as if the motion releases me from his hold, I turn and flee back down toward the kitchen.

Toward the closest thing to safety I have here.

Safety. What a joke.

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