Page 37 of Snowed In With Jack Frost
“Everything,” he says simply. “Worlds where the cities float in gas giant atmospheres. Species that communicate through color changes. Ancient civilizations that built stations around dying stars. Marketsthat exist in folded space where you can buy memories and bottled starlight.”
“And you’ve seen all of this?” Wonder makes my voice small.
“Some of it. There’s always more to discover, more routes to chart, more impossible things to find.” He reaches for my hand. “I’d like to show you.”
The navigation system chimes softly, requesting minor calibration. I move to the console, but this time Ja’war comes with me, standing close enough that his warmth radiates through my clothes. My fingers dance over the hybrid interface while he monitors the quantum readings, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world—working together, understanding each other’s expertise.
“There,” I say, watching the readings stabilize. “She’s happy now.”
“She?”
“The ship. Frost Walker. She’s definitely female.” I pat the console affectionately, and the bio-panels brighten in response. “She likes me.”
“Of course she does.” Something in Ja’war’s voice makes me turn. He’s watching me with an intensity that sends heat racing down my spine. “She recognizes what I’ve known for three years.”
“Which is?”
“That you’re amazing.”
The claiming bite on my neck throbs in response to his words, alien biochemistry flooding my system with hypersensitive awareness. Every nerve ending feels like it’s connected directly to him, responding to the rumble in his voice and the way his eyes dilate when he looks at me.
“Ja’war.” My voice comes out husky, affected by whatever the bite has done to my physiology.
He moves closer, backing me against the console. “The navigation systemis stable?”
“Very.” I can barely breathe with him this close, his alien scent wrapping around me like incense.
“Good.” His fingers trace the claiming bite, and I gasp as sensation explodes through me. “Because I promised you something about what it truly means to be claimed by a Xarian.”
“The bonding ceremony.” The words come out as barely more than a whisper.
“The claiming bite was only the beginning,” he confirms, his voice dropping to that sub-harmonic register that makes my bones hum. “It prepared you, made you compatible with my biology. But the true bond—that requires consent, trust, and—”
“Ja’war.” I grab his shirt, pulling him closer. “I’ve been thinking about this since you put that mark on my neck. Stop talking and show me.”
His control snaps. One moment he’s standing carefully apart, the next he has me pressed against the console, his mouth crashing against mine with desperate hunger. The bio-panels around us flare brilliant blue, responding to our elevated heart rates and the pheromones flooding the air.
The kiss is nothing like the gentle claiming bite. This is raw need, three years of wanting and watching and waiting finally given permission to burn. His fangs graze my lower lip, and I moan at the sensation, my body arching against his automatically.
“Fiona,” he growls against my mouth. “Are you certain? Once we complete the bond, there’s no reversing it. You’ll be mine, and I’ll be yours, until one of us stops breathing.”
I look into his pale blue eyes, seeing the alien otherness that has terrified me just days ago and finding it absolutely perfect. “I choseyou, remember? In the garage, in the forest, when I got on this ship. I keep choosing you.”
Something shifts in his expression, possessiveness and tenderness and desperate love combining into something that makes my heart stutter. “Then let me show you what forever feels like.”
He sweeps me up, carrying me through corridors that dim automatically as we pass, the ship’s consciousness giving us privacy. His quarters are spartanly functional except for the bed—oversized and covered in fabrics that look like they’ve been woven from starlight.
He sets me down beside it, and suddenly the weight of what we’re about to do hits me. Not just sex—bonding. Claiming. Forever.
“Nervous?” he asks, reading my expression exactly.
“Terrified,” I admit. “But not of you. Of how much I want this.”
His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking over my cheekbones. “I’ve wanted this for three years. Dreamed of it, planned for it, convinced myself I wasn’t worthy of it. And now you’re here, real and perfect and choosing me despite every reason not to.”
“You’re an idiot if you think I had a choice,” I say softly. “You’ve been mine since the moment you bled on my garage floor and trusted me to help you.”
This time when he kisses me, it’s reverent, worship disguised as desire. His hands find the hem of my shirt, fingers brushing against skin that feels hypersensitive to his touch. The claiming bite has changed something fundamental in my nervous system—every caress sends sparks racing through me like I’m touching live wire.
