Page 93 of Of Rime and Ruin
Finally, his mouth shifts, curling into a smile. “I’m a killer.” There’s a rough edge to his tone. “Is that a problem for you, Sunfish?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to have the skill.” I bite my lip.
“You made it easy for me. Your Voice is magnificent, Nahla.” He reaches for my face and cups my cheek. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, releasing it from my teeth. “Though I never pegged you as a killer. You’re… soft.”
“I’m not soft. I just don’t kill.” I thrust my chin in defiance. Let me pierce his mind, then he can tell me who’ssoft. “My song makes them happy for their final moments, so it’s a win-win. The meat tastes better when the animal dies without fear.”
His gaze drops to my lips. He rests his forehead on mine, his breath spilling over my face, and we breathe together for a moment as my heart recklessly flutters. “So you’d sooner kiss a Beast than kill one. Is that right, Sunfish?”
My heart lurches to a stop. Without another thought, I grasp his shirt collar and pull his face into reach. Softly, with my lips, I trace the outline of his smirk, wiping the expression from his mouth. “That’s right,” I whisper.
He walks me around the side of our mount, pressing me against her flank where the hunters can’t see. Then he kisses me hard. Fast. Hungry. His fingers slide from my face to grip my chin, tilting me to deepen the kiss. His mouth crushes mine with the force of his desire until I’m breathless and dazed. Dizzy from the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth.
As quickly as we began, he breaks away and releases his hold on me. “Stay,” he says.
I blink at him as I catch my breath, already missing the press of his body against mine. My fingers brush my bottom lip.
He shrugs out of his cloak and drapes it over my shoulders. “No freezing to death without me,” he adds, before stalking toward his kill. His long white ponytail whips in the wind.
He pulls a bone knife from a sheath on his hip and with quick, efficient flicks of his blade, he field-dresses the animal. The leather of his travel pants stretches around his muscular rear as he leans into each cut, dragging the knife through the carcass.The hunters watch him work with widening eyes, and I check the direction of their gaze.
That ass is mine.
I blink, shocked by the strength of my thought. They’re not looking at his ass. The hunters watch his hands, his knife. When he clears the innards, they scoop them up and store them with the rest of the dressings. Then they tie the animal’s hooves and drag it to the storage sleigh.
There’s more to the king than meets the eye. He may not offer treats on his supplication days, but he kneels on the ground, hands covered in blood, to make sure his subjects eat. An inspiring leader. I pull his cloak to my nose and inhale his crisp scent.
Aethan cleans his knife on the snow, then sheathes it.
He saunters toward me, his gaze fixed on my mouth. A slow smile spreads across his face. My heart swells, and I fight the flurry of eels that tickle the lining of my stomach.
Am I developing feelings for this male?
Am I fucking crazy?
The Frost King. Who captured me, imprisoned me, froze me nearly to death, ensnared me with his magic. Refused to meet my requests. Growled at me.
Brought me fish and novels. Befriended me. Cared for me. Freed me from the cage of his own design.
Built a fire in my bedroom.
Posted Perrin to guard me, so I wouldn’t be alone.
Warmed me heart-to-heart.
He’s a walking contradiction. Enemy and lover, king and Beast. My mind aches with the weight of holding both sides of him together.
Chapter thirty-nine
Aethan
Bythetimewemake camp that evening, we’ve collected enough woollygoats, frostcats, and blubberseals to fill the supply sleighs. Spirits are high as we dismount and work to build the camp. With my magic, I raise several ice-shelters while the hunters build a fire ring. Within half an hour, there’s a roaring blaze and a spitted carcass rotating above it. The seasoned scent wafts and mixes with the sharp bite of the wind.
As I approach the circle, Cyrene raises her flask of rum. “To the king!” she shouts. The hunters cheer, toasting in my direction. One of them teeters off his perch on an ice block, already too far into his drink.
“Speech!” someone chants. My ears burn, and I dip my head, scanning the group. The male who turns the spit looks at me, a broad smile on his sharp face. He pounds a fist against his chest. “Speech!”
The other hunters join in the chant, echoing his call. Their heads swivel, eyes fixing on me.
