Page 21 of The Midwinter Mirror
And the wings—God. Twenty feet at least, a storm cloud made of bone and glass, scattering snow like diamonds. And for one reckless heartbeat, I thought he was beautiful. Then I wanted to slap myself because monsters aren’t beautiful. Monsters aren’t real.
The tail whipped once, barbed and lethal, and I was gone. Running. Because nothing that terrifying, that magnificent, could exist outside of nightmares.
And yet, even in that heartbeat before I ran, there was something I recognized. The tilt of his head, the coiled strength in the way he stood—it was him. Zayne. My Zayne.
I could feel the air move as he rose into the sky. And I just ran harder.
Maybe I should have stayed. But all I could think was: not real, can’t be real, as my body took over and sent me running.
Monsters aren’t real. Except he’d looked freaking real. Those teeth had definitely seemed real.
I breathe deeply, trying to slow my racing heart.
Magic isn’t real. Magic isn’t real. Magic…
It can’t be real because if it is, then my life is an even bigger lie. That belief has been a constant for as long as I can remember.
But then I just learned that everything else is a lie. Why not this?
No. There’s a rational explanation.
I’m hallucinating. Maybe this whole trip home has been one big hallucination. Yes, that’s it. I pinch my arm hard, but unfortunately, I don’t wake up.
A thump sounds outside the stables, like something really big landing in the snow.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
If that thing comes in here, I’m going to have to protect the horses. Even if it’s not real—I can’t let it eat Belbel. The trouble is, I can’t move. I’m literally frozen in place.
I force my limbs to straighten, then go instantly still as the stable door is pushed open from the outside. I hear footsteps—human footsteps—and almost sag with relief. I turn slowly and peer around the edge of the door. It’s Zayne—the real Zayne, not the monster. I almost collapse as relief weakens my legs.
He steps inside, and the door closes behind him. He looks around for a moment, his gaze settling on Belbel, who’s watching from the stall door. He stops and strokes her nose.
“Hello, sweet girl,” he murmurs. “Glad to see you’re still here.”
Then he turns around, and I duck back. “I know you’re there, Holly. You might as well come out.”
He’s right. Except I don’t want to come out. I do risk a peek around the door. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded, staring straight at my hiding place.
When he spots me, he smirks, then pushes himself away from the wall and stalks slowly toward me. I straighten as he stops a foot away. I just stare, taking in everything. There’s no monster, just Zayne.
He steps closer. I breathe him in—heat and spice and cold air. I lean a little closer. He’s staring at my mouth. Then he reaches out and strokes a finger down my cheek. A shiver runs through me, prickles racing across my skin.
Then he lowers his head and kisses me.
At first, his kiss is tentative, as though he’s giving me time to back out. But I don’t want to back out. I want to forget everything except for his kisses and his hard body and the way he looks at me sometimes like he’s already inside me.
I raise my hand, slide it around his neck, and pull him closer, and the kiss deepens. His body presses into me, pushing me backward until I’m flush against the wall. He raises his hands to cup my face, tilting it up so he can deepen the kiss. My lips part beneath his, and his tongue slides inside, brushing against mine, igniting a heat that settles low in my belly. I can feel the hardness of his erection pressing into me, and I love that he wants me. My hands are in his hair now, holding him to me as I kiss him back, kissing him until we have to come up for air and we stare at each other. He’s so beautiful—his silver eyes rimmed with black, hard cheekbones, full lips.
“Just like old times,” he murmurs. “Kissing in the stables. You know, I still find the smell of hay and horses incredibly erotic. That’s thanks to you, princess.”
We’d never done much more than kissing. We’d been waiting until I was sixteen. We’d both been virgins back then. I’m guessing that’s not the case anymore. He’s certainly had some practice since the last time we were here. Bastard.
“We need to talk,” he says.
“Shut up and kiss me.” I step into him, slide my hand around his waist, feeling him hard against me. He chuckles low in his throat, but then he takes a deep breath and steps back. “Talk first.”
I don’t fucking want to talk. I don’t want to think. I want to forget. Not forever—well, maybe forever—but definitely for now. “Please,” I say.
