Page 34 of The Midwinter Mirror
If we survive the night. Because it occurs to me that this “man” we’re after, this Khazim, is a killer. My brother. Zayne’s mother. And indirectly, his father. Others who have died over the centuries in the snow at Silvergate.
And suddenly, I need Zayne to know how I feel. What he means to me. Before it’s too late. I raise my hand and slide my fingers around his neck, pulling him closer. For a second, something flashes in his eyes; then he smiles.
“Princess?”
“Please. Kiss me, Zayne. Now before we go face the snow.”
He lowers his head, and his lips meet mine. There’s nothing tentative about the kiss, but it’s also totally different from the last time. This is hard and sweet, filled with everything he feels for me. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him back, needing him to know I feel the same.
His hands reach around me, and he scoops me up.
“You’re soooo strong,” I murmur.
I can feel the rumble of his chest as he carries me to the bed and lowers me onto the mattress. I stare up at him. He stares back as he shrugs out of his jacket. I come up on my elbows to get a better view as he kicks off his boots, then tugs his sweater over his head and tosses it on the floor.
Fuck. Where did all those muscles come from? His shoulders are wide, his arms corded with muscle, his abs…to die for.
I fan myself and then glance at his face, finding him smirking. I swallow. “You’ve filled out a little since I last saw you,” I mumble.
“So have you.”
Not so much, but I don’t argue. I’m waiting for the next installment. “Don’t stop there,” I urge when he continues to look at me.
He grins, then his hand goes to his belt, and my mouth goes dry. He unbuckles it, then flicks open the button on his pants. I can already see the hard line of his erection pressing against the leather, but I’m still super impressed when he shoves his pants down his legs and kicks them off to stand before me, naked and aroused.
And holy crap.
My body clenches, and my insides melt.
And then I’m scrambling out of my dressing gown, kicking off my slippers. The rest of my clothes disappear super fast, and I’m as naked as he is.
“That was…impressive,” he says. But then his eyes wander over me, darkening to pewter as his cheeks flush. His cock twitches, and I hold out my hand to him. He takes it, and I pull him down. I want to take this slow—really slow, unendingly slow—but at the back of my mind, the clock is ticking. I know he feels the same sense of urgency. He comes down on his elbows over me, lowers his mouth to mine, and kisses me, his tongue thrusting inside as he slides a hand between us to stroke between my thighs. I’m hot and wet and more than ready.
I feel him position himself, and then he thrusts into me with one fluid move, filling me. He gazes into my eyes. “Feel the magic, Holly.”
I stop thinking and let the feelings take over. I close my eyes and just concentrate on his big, hard body on me. In me. Joining us as one. And deep inside me, I sense the magic awakening—part of who I am. Always there, always hidden, glad to be free at last. Filling me with starlight and infinite possibilities.
I’m magical.
It’s who I am—the missing piece of me.
I open my eyes, and the air around us sparkles and glows. Zayne smiles down at me. “Your eyes look like stars,” he murmurs.
And then he’s thrusting, hard and fast, each stroke lifting me higher as though I can touch the stars themselves. Everything tingles, the pleasure swelling, spreading out from where we meet until my whole body is a raging fire of need. I wrap my legs around him, holding him closer as he slows his movements, almost languid, as he holds my gaze and sends me flying. I shatter into a thousand pieces and then come together again.
Remade. Reborn. Whole.
The guilt has eased. It will always be part of me, but at least I understand why I did what I did. And I know Zayne doesn’t blame me.
His weight settles over me, his breath ragged against my neck, and for once there’s no voice in my mind screaming denial. Just me. Just him. Just this fierce, burning truth I can’t hide from anymore.
He presses his forehead to mine, then raises his head. His silver eyes are raw, unguarded, like he’s offering me everything he is and daring me to break it.
I want to stay there, to curl into the warmth and pretend the world can wait. But that clock is a drum in my chest. The idea of waiting an hour—a minute—feels obscene.
“Now,” I whisper, and the single word is both a promise and an order.
His face hardens into the Zayne I know when he’s focused. “Now,” he answers.
