Page 56 of Blood Beneath the Snow

He still wore the mask, but the expanse of pale skin that was his back glistened with sweat in the firelight. A jagged scar traveled over his right shoulder, carving into the flesh. A few moles stood out, landmarks on a map I found myself wanting to explore. Trace. Connect the dots.

I’d neverreallyappreciated a torso before now. Not like this.

As he slammed down the hammer on the dagger blade he was shaping, muscles rippled in his arms and back. He was strong, but not in a way that boasted. It was honed strength, the kind derived from a life of hard work.

I was struck with the realization that Arne was a boy. The Hellbringer, on the other hand, was a man.

What if I…

I took a half step forward. An image appeared in my head as desire formed like a hunger deep within my gut. It would be so easy to trace a finger down the length of his spine—to make him shudderbeneath my touch, to feel the bump of every vertebra and memorize it.

I blinked back to the matter at hand, shaking my head. Where had that thought emerged from? The Hellbringer was physically attractive, but he was also my captor. He represented everything I hated.

It’s your subconscious,I told myself, waiting for my racing heart to slow.You don’t know when you’ll get laid next, now that you’re not with Arne, so you’re redirecting your desire elsewhere. He just happens to be closest.

I shrugged the unwelcome thoughts away and returned to my own working space, hefting the tongs and returning the steel to the fire for another round of shaping. The blade was nearing completion, the closeness spurring me on.

We worked in silence for another hour or two. My focus stayed mostly on my own weapon, but occasionally my disobedient eyes wandered to the Hellbringer, unable to keep from tracing the lines of his chest or studying the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

I suppressed a grumble and turned back to my task. For someone who claimed his identity was his closest-kept secret, he certainly didn’t seem too concerned about revealing his body.

“You have a natural talent for this.”

I blinked back into the moment at hand to see the Hellbringer studying me. When I didn’t say anything, he nodded toward the metal clasped in my tongs, steadily cooling. “Your new weapon is coming along nicely.”

“It’s close,” I said. “I can’t get it to the exact width I want, though. I’m worried I’ll make it too thin and it will break.”

He set down his own equipment and ambled toward me. I swallowed thickly, begging my eyes to move upward to his face. The lastthing I needed was to study him like a piece of artwork, a living sculpture, without a mask to hide my own expression.

I turned my gaze back to the metal in front of me as he stepped closer, examining it. “Here,” he said, reaching for the hammer I was holding. “Try this.”

But when I tried to hand him the tool, he shook his head. “No. Let me show you.”

Before I knew what was happening, he crowded behind me, far too close for comfort, and wrapped his hand around mine over the hammer.

I understood how forearms could be muscled. But how was it possible his hands, so much larger than mine, seemed to exude strength?

I inhaled sharply, trying to focus on the logistics of what he was explaining and not the hard planes of his body pressed against my back. He pulled my hands into a new placement, changed the angle, and murmured, “There. Now try shaping it like this.” He guided my hand, and together we began hammering on the sword once more.

The scent of pine, fresh snow, and smoke filled my senses. He radiated heat. Could he hear the thud of my heartbeat in my ears? Was he as acutely aware of the flush in my cheeks as I was? Or was this—being so close to another person you found terribly attractive—a normal occurrence for him?

He doesn’t find you attractive,my thoughts whispered.He can barely stand to be here with you. He’s only following orders.

I shrugged them away. That was fine. He was my captor, nothing more. And I’d seen a naked man before. This was nothing new. Not to mention he still smelled good after working for hours in the heat. I’m sure I smelled terrible.

And if he was affected by our closeness, I’d never know. Not with the mask on.

“Good.” He surveyed my work, releasing my hand and allowingme to continue on my own. “Keep doing that and you’ll be done in an hour. Then we can break for dinner.”

I examined my blade, which looked more refined from the technique he’d shown me. A hint of pride shone through my distraction. I was crafting a weapon with my own two hands. I didn’t have to be godtouched to make something new, somethinggood.

I lost myself in the sword and my thoughts, but only for a few precious moments. Soon the memory of the Hellbringer pressing against me reared its head once more. The reasoning for his actions, for removing his shirt and encroaching on my personal space, was impossible to parse. Was he testing me? Trying to get a reaction from the prim and proper princess he’d been stuck with? Or perhaps he was making fun of me. The confidence in his voice when instructing me how to work the sword…

Gods, the number of innuendos interspersed with my lustful thoughts was absurd.

The knowledge didn’t keep me from wondering whether he’d be just as commanding—just as confident, just as capable, just as careful—in bed.

You hate him!I reminded myself. The refrain was on steady repeat in my mind for the rest of the afternoon.

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