Page 14 of Midnight Star

“I’ll do my best,” I promise him.

“Good.” He looks me over, as if making sure I mean it, and we return to building the igloo.

When we’re done, he leans back on his heels, inspecting our work. He had me do a decent amount of it, and while it’s hardly an architectural marvel, it looks sturdy enough.

“It’ll do,” he decides, and then he strides over to it,touches it, and smooths it over, creating a beautiful bubble of peace in the wilderness.

Effortless. Like all things with him. Like magic itself bends to his will, reshaping, refining, turning something functional into something breathtaking.

“Show off,” I mutter, but he’s already moved to the pack he dropped earlier, rummaging inside of it and pulling out a small bundle of waxed cloth.

“We need to eat,” he says, opening the cloth and examining what we have left of our rations.

“What gourmet delight do we have tonight?” I settle down across from him, grateful that the tension between us has subsided enough that he can talk to me without snapping at me.

“Dried meat. A few berries. Some nuts.” He glances up at me. “Not exactly feast-worthy, but it’ll keep us alive. I’ll forage tomorrow to replenish. As for you…”

He looks me over, that far off, guarded look returning to his eyes.

So much for the tension subsiding.

“There’s no point in you having the rations when berries aren’t what you actually need to survive,” he finally says.

I flinch back at the way he’s talking about me—like I’m somethingother.

Like I’m a mystery he’s still trying to solve.

Which, to his credit, I am.

“I might be half vampire, but I’m also half fae,” I remind him. “Even before I knew what I was, I ate normal food along with rare meat. I think I need a little bit of everything. And from my short bit of experience, I won’t need to hunt for at least two more days.”

As he thinks about it, I can practically see him filing away this information about my feeding patterns for a later date. And I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on trial—that every word I’m saying is being measured, analyzed, and calculated.

Finally, he reaches back into his pack and drops a handful of dried berries into my palm, his fingers grazing mine. The touch is barely there—accidental—but it lingers between us like something heavy and unsaid.

As we eat, he glances at me every so often, like he’s searching for something. The fae part of me that exists alongside the vampire? I don’t know. All I know is that the tension between us is coiling tighter, no longer sharp and cold but slow and smoldering.

Eventually, our eyes meet, and the wall of ice between us starts to melt.

“You’ve been adapting faster than I expected,” he finally says, low but steady, like he’s trying to keep something buried beneath the surface.

“Is that a compliment?” I tilt my head, studying him as much as he’s studying me.

His eyes darken, just a fraction. “It’s an observation,”he replies, and I swear there’s something smug in the way he watches my breath catch.

He doesn’t elaborate.

“Any more observations you want to share?” I eventually ask, forcing my voice to sound light and teasing, when all I want is for him to close the space between us.

“You frustrate me,” he says, quieter now, like he’s admitting something he wants to hide. “You push back at every moment you can. No one’s ever treated me like that. They wouldn’t dare upset the Winter Prince. But you…”

“I don’t like being pushed around,” I finish. “Winter Prince or not.”

“I know,” he says, and something shifts. No—itcracks.“Which only makes me want you more.”

“You still want me?” I ask. “Even after…”

Even after knowing what I am? After seeing me lose control? After watching me become something monstrous?

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