Page 9 of Frost
He hesitates before answering, “Aeolus. But I do not accept the name, as it was given to me by my father. So I chose my own.”
“Aeolus,” I repeat. “Is that Greek?”
“Yes.” Jack sighs and flops to his back, kicking one leg up on the back of the couch and letting the other hang down to touch the floor. “My father is Boreas, god of the north wind.”
“So the article I read was partly right, at least. I didn’t see an Aeolus listed under his known children.”
“The key word there isknown,” Jack answers, sounding bored. “My father is hot-tempered and believes the world and all its inhabitants should bow down to him. He abducts women if they strike his fancy, marries them, then forces them to bear his children. He did so with my mother. Until he bored of her anyway.” His voice changes then, becoming gentler. “She was an ice nymph, you see. The most beautiful in all the lands with hair the color of moonlight and eyes like sapphires. Boreas might be my father, but he cast me aside as soon as I was born, giving me only a name and leaving my mother to raise me by herself. She died when I was a boy of sixteen. I then took off and have been on my own ever since. That’s all there is to know, really.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” he asks. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“It’s a way to say that I sympathize you,” I try to explain. “What happened to you sucks, and I’m sorry you had to go through it.”
“Humans are so strange.” Jack sits up on the couch and is across the room before I can even blink. “Apologizing for things they hold no blame for.”
He stands in front of the window, hands on his hips. The thought of him being a winter Peter Pan pops into my head again, and I smile at his back.
“Tell me, Luka,” he says, keeping his eyes on the dark night outside the window. “Why are you here?” He looks at me over his shoulder, silver hair slanting over his left brow. “Why did you come back to the cabin after all these years?”
To see you, I almost say. While I convinced myself he wasn’t real, I could never fully shake the feeling that there was some truth to the dream. That, perhaps, it wasn’t a dream at all. Before coming on this trip, I caught myself wondering many times if I’d see him again. Hoping, actually.
“I’m a writer,” I say instead, my breath hitching in my throat when he moves closer to me. “But I’ve been struggling lately. I hoped to find inspiration here.”
“A writer?” He drops down to the floor in front of the fireplace. “What do you write? Fables? Poems?”
“Novels.”
“Show me.” In an instant, he’s right beside me.
I jolt at his proximity but don’t shy away this time. God, he smells like a crisp winter morning. It takes all my willpower not to lean even closer to him.
“You won’t be interested in my books,” I say, hoping I sound convincing. “They’re not your style.”
“And you know my style how?” He grins. “Come on. Show me your novels. I wish to read one.”
I brought a copy of my last book so I could flip through it and refresh on a few key points as I wrote the next book. It’s filled with tabs marking certain chapters and details I don’t want to mess up. I pull it from the desk drawer and hand it to him, fighting the humiliation.
“Jack Frost and the Fire Beast,” he reads, and then he flashes a toothy smile. “You write books about me? How cute.”
“They’re not technically aboutyou.” I snatch it away from him as my face heats even more. “You just inspired them, that’s all. My Jack is a teenager.”
“Your Jack?” He arches a brow. “Am I not yours too, little light?”
Fuck. Why did that make my stomach flutter?
Jack damn well knows the effect he has on me by the widening of his smile. Something tells me he’s no stranger to seducing people. Just like the legends say, he’s a mischievous little sprite. A wickedly handsome one at that. And one massive tease.
I clear my throat and stand from the chair. Facing away from him, I release a shaky breath and head toward the coffee machine in the kitchen. I brewed a pot earlier in the evening, so it’s still hot when I fill a mug and add a dash of cream and sugar.
“How’s the noggin?” Jack asks.
“Better.” I turn to see him propped up on the kitchen counter, one knee up and the other leg hanging down. “How are you so quiet?”
“Magic.” He smirks and rests his head against the cabinet behind him.
“Is that your answer for everything?” I walk past him and back into the living room, surprised by my ability to sound so calm. Because I’m not one bit. Jack makes my blood turn to fire in my veins and causes my heart to pound like a war drum. And don’t even get me started on my cock. It’s embarrassing how much I want him.
