Page 72 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

Everything was ready.

Almost.

I lit the last candle, turned back toward the kitchen, and froze.

Footsteps.Not animals.Not the wind.

Boots on the path.

My heart flew to my throat as I dashed to the door and flung it open.

Petyr stood there, a little breathless, hair windblown, cheeks pink from the cold.His bag dangled from one hand.His other hand was already reaching for me.

That smile.That damn smile that always felt like it was just for me.

“You made it,” I whispered, stepping out onto the porch.

He didn’t say anything—just dropped his bag on the floorboards and surged forward, cupping my face in both hands.His mouth crashed into mine, warm and hungry, and I kissed him back with everything I had.The chill from outside melted between us.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“I love you,” he said, softly.

I closed my eyes, steadying myself.“Say it again.”

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time.“And if I don’t dance with you right now, I’m going to explode.”

I laughed and tugged him inside, the music spinning from the record player—an old waltz, slow and sweeping, half-sad and half-hopeful.He took my hand, spun me gently, and we danced in a wide circle around the tiny living room.

The candlelight played on his face, casting him in gold.His hand was warm on my waist.I couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t believe he was here with me.No shadows, no secrets, just us.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” I murmured as he pulled me close again, his nose brushing mine.

His lips curled into a wicked grin.“I’m not hungry for food.”

I felt the heat rise in my chest, spreading down through my stomach.His hand slid up my back, slow and deliberate, and the world outside disappeared completely.

I laughed and kissed Petyr one last time before sprinting into the kitchen.The pot on the stove was sputtering angrily, sending little splashes over the edge.I twisted the dial off and slid the pot to the side, the heat still radiating up from the ancient burner.

Behind me, Petyr appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that crooked, smug smile that undid me every damn time.He reached out a hand.“Come on.”

I didn’t hesitate.

He led me down the narrow hallway toward the bedroom, the soft shuffle of our footsteps against the worn wood floors swallowed by the music drifting from the living room.The bedroom was small, barely wide enough for the bed, a chipped wardrobe, and a table with a cracked enamel basin on it.

The curtains were all open.

Even with the sun dipping behind the trees, the last light of day spilled in through the windows, and beyond that, the woods stood still and watchful.I crossed the room quickly and yanked the curtains shut, one after the other.The air shifted immediately, turning the room private, intimate, sealed off from the world.

When I turned back, Petyr was already pulling me toward him, our mouths colliding with a hunger we’d been holding back for days.I stumbled into him and we tumbled together onto the bed.We rolled across the quilt, laughing, gasping, kissing like we were both starving.

Petyr pressed me down onto the bed, his hips between my thighs, hands bracketing my face as he kissed me again and again.Deep, messy kisses, our clothes tugged and bunched but not yet removed, the friction maddening.His fingers were in my hair, and his mouth trailed to my jaw, my throat, making me arch up with a gasp.

I hooked my leg around his waist and ground up into him.He groaned.

“God, I missed you,” I whispered, breathless.

“You’re here now,” he murmured.“And you’re all mine.”

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