Chapter 59 Snowfall
Bella
I shouldn’t be here. That’s the first thought that crashes through my head as I stand beside his bed, staring down at the sleeping Dragon King like some sort of unhinged intruder...again. I can’t even blame the imprint this time—it’s all me. My own stupid, restless brain that decided wandering the castle in the middle of the night was a good idea. It’s not like I meant to end up here. I’d only planned to walk. Clear my head. Maybe breathe a little before I froze something else. But every corridor I took curved toward this hall, and every step felt like the bond tugging at me, whispering closer. Now here I am.
Snow drifts lazily in the air, small, glittering flakes catching the firelight. Frost crawls up the carved posts of his bed, delicate and uninvited. The air is sharp enough to make my breath puff white. My magic is entirely out of control again, responding to the storm inside my chest.
“Fantastic,” I mutter under my breath. “Let’s just turn the Dragon King’s room into an ice cave. That won’t be awkward in the morning.”
He doesn’t move. Damien lies on his side, bare-chested, the blankets pooled low around his waist. His hair’s a little mussed, one arm draped over the pillow, the fire casting gold across the hard lines of muscle and scar. He looks—well, unfair, like a literal Greek God left to sleep peacefully while the rest of us suffer....And he’s the one who imprinted on me.
I cross my arms, glaring at him. “You started this,” I whisper.
The bond hums in answer, as if agreeing. My chest tightens with the pull. It hurts, not just emotionally but physically, a strange ache under my ribs, like my heart’s been caught by a hook.
“Okay,” I breathe out, pacing a few steps. “You said the witch comes when Frostborn start to feel things. You said the ice bends around you. So what if…”
The words trail off, but the thought stays. What if he really is the solution? He’s dangerous, obviously. Intimidating. Occasionally, broody to the point of absurdity. But he’s also… kind, in this odd, quiet way. He brings me dinner, listens, doesn’t flinch when I nearly turn his library into a snow globe. And his dragon—gods, that creature feels like raw fire wrapped in patience. Together, they make me feel something I haven’t in years...Safe. The snow thickens around me, flakes landing softly in my hair, on my shoulders. I stare at him for another long moment, trying to convince myself to leave. I should turn around, walk out, lock myself in my own room and pretend this never happened. Except the longer I stand here, the worse the bond throbs. The cold presses tighter and the ache sharpens. Maybe if I just… test the theory. I wait, watching his face for any sign that he’s awake. Nothing. Not a twitch. Not even a change in breathing. He sleeps like a man who’s been trained to fake it perfectly.
“Screw it,” I whisper.
My fingers tremble as I reach out, hesitating just above his cheek. The heat rolling off him is immediate, tangible, like standing too close to a forge and my pulse stutters. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I press my hand to his skin. The effect is instant. Warmth floods through me—real warmth, not just from his body but from somewhere deeper. It rushes along my arm, settling in my chest, pushing out the cold until I can actually breathe again. The flurries stop mid-air, suspended for a heartbeat before melting into droplets that vanish against the floor. The frost on the walls retreats, curling away like it’s afraid of him.
“Oh,” I whisper.
The word comes out in a soft puff of steam. My power still hums under my skin, but it’s not wild anymore. It’s calm and balanced. It feels good. Dangerously good. I study his face, the sharp angles softened by the firelight. His lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks. He doesn’t move, but his lips part slightly, a slow exhale brushing against my wrist. The warmth of it sends another ripple through me. It’s not just physical heat—it’s something else entirely, like a steady pulse of right.
“Screw it again,” I murmur.
Before I can think better of it, I shift the blanket and slide carefully onto the bed. The mattress dips under my weight. I pause, heart hammering, waiting for him to stir. Nothing. That's encouraging.
I shuffle backwards gently, tucking under his arm until his chest is flush against my back. The heat radiating from him seeps through my nightdress, chasing away every last trace of cold. The bond sighs in relief, that invisible thread finally stilling. My head fits against his shoulder perfectly, as if the universe designed us to fit here like this.
I close my eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull me into a false sense of security. The castle's chill fades entirely, replaced by the inferno of his body moulded against mine. It's intoxicating—his scent of smoke and spice wrapping around me like a promise. My magic settles deeper, a quiet hum rather than a roar, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don't feel like I'm one breath away from shattering. Then, his arm shifts. Subtly at first, but deliberately. It tightens around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, his hand splaying possessively over my stomach. Heat blooms low in my belly as I feel him thickening against my backside, hard and insistent through the thin fabric separating us. My breath catches, and a shiver races down my spine that's anything but cold. Before I can bolt, his lips brush the shell of my ear, voice a low, rumbling growl that vibrates through my core. "You're playing with fire, Snowflake."
My heart slams against my ribs, pulse thundering. I freeze, caught between fear and a reckless, burning want. His fingers flex, tracing lazy circles on my skin, and I know—gods, I know—this is no accident. The bond flares, hot and demanding, urging me to turn and to face the dragon I've awakened.