Page 86 of Frost and Death
Jerrick steps toward me, throwing my fears into rapid repeat, and I instinctively move back and turn to the window.
I touch the glass, the bitter cold from outside chilling the glass and my body. I dip my head and try to let the cooling sensation numb me, but I can’t relax.
Thought after thought, memory after memory, emotion after emotion. My mind is reeling, replaying anything and everything, all while I fight for air to return to my lungs. If I could manifest my magic at will, I might be able to conjure up a reasonable excuse to get out of this night.
I laugh at my stupidity, knowing nothing seems to work out when I need it to.
Cologne and leather cling to me, and I fight not to break away from the cold window to gaze at the man who is the source of all my troubles.
He fucking kidnapped me.
No matter how handsome he is, the fact he is a king, or how hewasa little nice when we first met.
I hate how the last thought tempts me into believing I might enjoy tonight. But I shun those thoughts, feeling as if I am letting myself and Niko down.
Jerrick reaches across and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It’s cold to the touch, and I want to lean into it right now to simmer down the looming feeling of failure.
I close my eyes as emotions surface, trying not to react.
“Are you in any pain?” he whispers, sending a rush of goose bumps down the side of my neck.
I exhale a long, shuddering breath, and my eyes meet his. “Do you really want to know?”
He peers out the window, and the muscles in the side of his jaw tic. Jerrick glances at his bed, then he takes my hand in his and guides us to it.
Everything tells me to fight against his hold, but I follow willingly.
The bed is large, almost bigger than my old one at home, and when we both sit on the foot, the bed dips and cushions me tightly.
Jerrick releases my hand, and I rest it on the sheets.
The black velvet rubs between my fingers, wiping away more of my sweat.
I hate that I want to sink into the comfort I know this bed is going to bring me.
“How about a drink?” He gestures to a small hutch, with petite glass doors and a countertop holding a few spun glasses.
Too nervous to speak, I nod and gulp down air the second he rises. I fan myself rapidly, hoping the sweat will abate.
The hutch creaks, forcing me to jolt to my original position as Jerrick turns, eyebrows lifted in question. “Whiskey?”
My face sours at the phantom burning sensation whiskey gives whenever I drink it. I wish it were wine, but I think any liquid courage will help me get through this night. I shrug before nodding.
A low chuckle from Jerrick escapes while he pours the whiskey. Jerrick’s steps are delicate when he turns and extends the drink.
I grasp the cup, hoping he doesn’t notice my trembling hands. I swig down the small amount before Jerrick even has a chance to lift his glass to his lips.
“F-Fuck!” I croak out, regretting swallowing the whiskey in one gulp as Jerrick’s lips touch his glass, hiding his amusement. “Don’t laugh,” I rasp, rubbing my chest as the burning sensation warms me.
Jerrick scrutinizes me as he downs his entire glass, never once breaking eye contact with me.
My eyes widen at his lack of reaction.
He lowers the glass and smirks. “Now that’s better.” Jerrick takes my cup and turns to his wooden furniture.
I am about to protest another glass but pause when he sets them down.
He leans against the hutch, placing one foot on the bottom drawers, observing me as I grip the velvety sheets.
