Page 181 of A Throne of Blood and Ice

There’s something about the darkness that lends its hand to pretending.

He kicks the door closed behind him with his foot before drawing me into him again. His kiss is fire and ice and centuries’ worth of pent-up passion, and because everything in this world I’ve ever cared for has been taken away from me, I let myself drown in it.

If I cannot have happiness, I will grasp at its shadow.

I tell myself this is what Nox would want for me, that somewhere out there in the oblivion, he understands.

That Nox wants nothing more than for me to be happy.

When he sets me down, his arms still wrapped around my torso, I let myself burn.

Rose, Theo, Evander, Father.

I’ve lost all of them.

I won’t lose him too.

It’s too easy, feels too right, when I drag him backward until my back is pressed against the cold stone wall.

Something crunches beneath my feet. A piece of furniture jabs me in the side.

I want you to kill me.

I’m a coward. Selfish. The dirty little liar Clarissa has always accused me of being.

Except for the first time in my life, there’s no one to tell me as much.

There’s only fire and ice and pale blue eyes drunk with passion and strong familiar hands climbing up my back.

For a moment, it’s just me and Nox.

For a moment, it feels real.

And when Farin lets out a sigh, I know it feels real for him, too.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice that this is Gunter’s bedroom.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice the object jabbing into our sides as he presses me to the wall.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice when my hand trails away from his back and reaches toward the object.

Something snaps, and he’s so drunk on me, he hardly startles.

It’s not until the spindle pierces his neck that he winces and draws back.

For a moment, his pale-white eyes go wide with confusion, then they lock onto the bone-white spindle in my hand.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“What have you done?” Farin asks, reaching for his neck, rubbing it with his hands.

“I was talking to Nox,” I say, as he slumps to the ground, bound to an indefinite slumber.

There area multitude of binding agents in this realm, but blood is the strongest of all.

The bead of Nox’s blood glistens on the tip of the bone-white spindle as I hold it upright.

I wonder how many drops of blood Gunter took from Zora over the years.

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