Chapter 52 Heat Beneath the Frost
Damien
The door clicks shut behind her, and the steam still hasn’t cleared. It hangs in the air like a ghost of what just happened — her ice, my fire, twisting together until neither knew where one ended, and the other began. I should move. Leave. Do something other than stand here like a fool staring at the empty doorway. But I don’t. I can still feel her in the room. Her scent clings to the air — frost and wildflowers, sharp and sweet. My dragon hums low in my chest, restless, content, and hungry all at once.
You felt it, he murmurs.
"Yes,” I breathe. “I felt it.”
Not fear this time.
“No.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Not fear.”
The dragon’s tone slides through me, darkly amused. She liked that.
I pause, pulse tightening. “That’s not—”
She did. A low rumble of satisfaction fills the back of my mind. She wanted to feel you. To test what we are.
I shut my eyes, jaw tense. “You’re reading too much into it.”
You’re pretending too much out of it, he counters.
It had been something else entirely. Her magic didn’t lash out to protect; it reached for me. The frost spread like a breath drawn in wonder, not panic. The moment she started to lose control, I should have stepped back, created distance, and steadied her. Instead, I knelt. I close my eyes. I can still feel the sting of her chill melting against my palms, the soft tremor in her fingers as the ice gave way beneath my heat. The dragon shifts restlessly, scales brushing against the inside of my mind like the scrape of metal.
“I shouldn’t have touched her,” I mutter.
But you did.
“I was grounding her.”
You were giving her exactly what she needed.
I drag a hand down my face, forcing a steady breath. “You’re insufferable when you’re right.”
Always right, he says smugly.
I ignore him and move to the table, where the book still lies open. The page glistens faintly with frost, edges curling from the damp. I trace a single fingertip along the words she’d been reading, the ones that made her voice falter, and the corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. Of all the stories to choose, she picked that one.
A low rumble of amusement rolls through the dragon. She read it for herself.
“Obviously.”
And yet, you listened.
I hesitate. “Yes.”
Listened. Watched. Wanted.
My jaw tightens. “Enough.”
He chuckles, dark and knowing. You deny it, but she’s already under your skin.
“I’m her king...and her captor.”
You are her mate, he corrects. And she is our equal. You saw it tonight. Even her power reached for ours. It knows what you refuse to admit.
I turn away, pacing to the window. The moonlight bleeds through the frosted glass, painting silver lines over the floor. “She deserves peace, not possession.”
Peace doesn’t melt ice, he says softly.
That silences me. For a long while, I just stand there, watching the steam fade from the air. The warmth we created has already begun to vanish, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of frost on the table and the echo of her heartbeat that still lingers in the bond. It’s faint, but I can feel it. The way her pulse stumbles when she thinks of me. The way her magic hums when I’m near. The ache when I’m not. It’s mutual, dangerous.... Addictive. She has no idea how close she came to breaking my control tonight. When she lifted her hands, trembling and blue with cold, all I could think about was warming every inch of her — to stop the frost from ever touching her again. But she doesn’t need my fire to survive. She’s made of her own.
I finally leave the library, the torches flickering as I pass. The corridors are quiet, too quiet, and yet the bond between us thrums faintly, guiding me through the halls like a heartbeat. I shouldn’t follow it, but I do. I stop at her door again. The same spot I’d sworn I wouldn’t return to. My dragon doesn’t even bother hiding his satisfaction.
You see? he murmurs. We belong here.
“I’m not doing this again,” I whisper, but my voice has no weight.
She’s on the other side of that door. I can sense her — the faintest pulse of her magic, soft and cold, curling through the bond. It feels steadier now, soothed. When she’d left, I’d half expected the ache to return, that invisible tearing in my chest. But it hasn’t, not completely...it's just a dull thrum at the moment.
Because she’s calm. Because she trusts you.
The words land heavier than they should. Trust isn’t something I’ve ever been given freely. Not from my people. Not from anyone.
“She shouldn’t.”
And yet, she does.
The silence stretches. Eventually, I exhale, low and tired. “I won’t let her be hurt again.”
Good, my dragon says simply. Then stop standing here and go to sleep. You smell pathetic when you brood.
That earns him a quiet laugh — short and surprised. “I hate you.”
No, you don’t.
I glance at her door one last time before turning away. The ache dulls with every step, but it never vanishes completely. She’s part of me now, whether I want her to be or not. The bond doesn’t care for reason or restraint. It only knows to pull one towards the other. When I finally reach my chambers, the fire is still burning. I stand before it for a moment, letting the heat sink into my bones. My dragon settles, half-asleep but content, his last words curling through my mind like smoke.
Next time, don’t kneel. She’ll come to you.
I strip off my coat, lowering myself into the chair by the hearth. The flames dance higher, but they don’t chase away the image of her — frost glittering in her hair, her voice trembling over words meant to tempt, her magic reacting to emotion she doesn’t yet understand. I close my eyes. The room feels emptier without her. And gods help me, I already want tomorrow to begin so that I may see her face again.