6. Sapphire
Sapphire
“That night fae was going to kill me,” I say, shame crushing my lungs as I tell Riven the details of what happened, up until he found me and Zoey in the cave.
As I speak, he paces in front of the half-completed igloo like a caged animal. His body is taut with restrained energy, and his eyes flick between the rising sun and me, his hands flexing and clenching as though they can’t decide if they want to grab his sword, or if they want to grab me.
Ghost watches him, ears twitching, but he doesn’t move from my side.
After I’ve told Riven everything, the weight of the world lifts from my chest.
“Do you have any idea how reckless that was?” he asks, turning to face me. His voice is sharp, but there’s something beneath it—something rough, like he’s been holding onto this anger for too long.“Keeping it from me, I mean. Do you know what could have happened?”
“Yes,” I say, even though the lump in my throat makes it hard to get the word out.
He steps closer, the space between us shrinking until the cold radiating off him seeps into my skin.
“You don’t,” he says, the intensity of his gaze rooting me to the ground. “If you knew, you wouldn’t have hidden it. And because you hid it, you put all of us—me, Zoey, and Ghost—in danger. Do you understand that?”
His words are an accusation. A reminder of my failure. But it’s the way he says it—the way his eyes search mine, the way his breath comes just a little too fast—that makes my heart race.
“Yes,” I repeat again, my magic swirling inside me, begging to escape. “I hear you, and I agree. I should have told you the moment I knew I could trust you. I was scared, but I shouldn’t have let fear get in the way of honesty. And for that, I’m sorry.”
The air thickens between us, and he glances at my lips—so fast I might have imagined it.
Then, finally, he nods.
“We could have been working together this entire time,” he says, and he takes another step closer, only stopping when there are a few inches between us. “Instead, you chose to struggle alone and put everyone at risk. Including yourself. ”
“I know,” I say again, lifting my chin so I can hold his gaze.
How many times will I have to say it for him to believe it?
The wind picks up around us, responding to my frustration. Or maybe to his. I can’t tell anymore.
“There’s still one other thing I can’t figure out,” he says, and when he steps back, putting what feels like a chasm between us, I brace myself for another round of questioning.
“And what’s that?” I ask, even though it’s taking every last bit of self-control to not close the space between us and apologize in a way that definitely isn’t verbal.
“Your entire existence should be impossible,” he says, detached again, as if we’re working on a school project.
And, given that it’s a rather important project, I take a deep, cooling breath, gathering myself together so I can listen.
“Vampires aren’t born—they’re created,” he continues. “But that night fae didn’t turn you at the ravine.”
“How do you know?” I ask, since being turned at the ravine has been one of my working theories.
“Because being turned into a vampire is a process. It wouldn’t have happened that quickly. Secondly, you had cravings for raw meat before he bit you, which still has blood in it. And you used air magic before then, too, like when you warmed the ice to shape it into icicles to attach to your boots. My guess is that your vampire side was always there, buried inside you. It just needed something to awaken it.”
“And his biting me awakened it,” I say slowly, since it decently adds up.
“Possibly,” he muses. “But that’s all I’ve got right now. Unless there’s something else you omitted from your story that you’d like to share?”
“No,” I say, his accusation another blow to my heart. “I told you everything I can think of right now.”
“Okay,” he says, and while I’m not sure if that means he forgives me or not, at least it’s a start. “If you think of anything else, I’d appreciate if you told me. Now, let’s finish our shelter. Tomorrow, I’ll start teaching you properly, keeping in mind that you have both water magic and air magic. Because you have an incredible amount of power. Once you learn how to harness it, you’ll be near unstoppable.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promise him.
“Good.” He looks me over, as if making sure I mean it, and we return to building the igloo.
When we’re done, he leans back on his heels, inspecting our work. He had me do a decent amount of it, and while it’s hardly an architectural marvel, it looks sturdy enough.
“It’ll do,” he decides, and then he strides over to it, touches it, and smooths it over, creating a beautiful bubble of peace in the wilderness.
Effortless. Like all things with him. Like magic itself bends to his will, reshaping, refining, turning something functional into something breathtaking.
“Show off,” I mutter, but he’s already moved to the pack he dropped earlier, rummaging inside of it and pulling out a small bundle of waxed cloth.
“We need to eat,” he says, opening the cloth and examining what we have left of our rations.
“What gourmet delight do we have tonight?” I settle down across from him, grateful that the tension between us has subsided enough that he can talk to me without snapping at me.
“Dried meat. A few berries. Some nuts.” He glances up at me. “Not exactly feast-worthy, but it’ll keep us alive. I’ll forage tomorrow to replenish. As for you…”
He looks me over, that far off, guarded look returning to his eyes.
So much for the tension subsiding.
“There’s no point in you having the rations when berries aren’t what you actually need to survive,” he finally says.
I flinch back at the way he’s talking about me—like I’m something other.
Like I’m a mystery he’s still trying to solve.
Which, to his credit, I am .
“I might be half vampire, but I’m also half fae,” I remind him. “Even before I knew what I was, I ate normal food along with rare meat. I think I need a little bit of everything. And from my short bit of experience, I won’t need to hunt for at least two more days.”
As he thinks about it, I can practically see him filing away this information about my feeding patterns for a later date. And I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on trial—that every word I’m saying is being measured, analyzed, and calculated.
Finally, he reaches back into his pack and drops a handful of dried berries into my palm, his fingers grazing mine. The touch is barely there—accidental—but it lingers between us like something heavy and unsaid.
As we eat, he glances at me every so often, like he’s searching for something. The fae part of me that exists alongside the vampire? I don’t know. All I know is that the tension between us is coiling tighter, no longer sharp and cold but slow and smoldering.
Eventually, our eyes meet, and the wall of ice between us starts to melt.
“You’ve been adapting faster than I expected,” he finally says, low but steady, like he’s trying to keep something buried beneath the surface.
“Is that a compliment?” I tilt my head, studying him as much as he’s studying me.
His eyes darken, just a fraction. “It’s an observation,” he replies, and I swear there’s something smug in the way he watches my breath catch.
He doesn’t elaborate.
“Any more observations you want to share?” I eventually ask, forcing my voice to sound light and teasing, when all I want is for him to close the space between us.
“You frustrate me,” he says, quieter now, like he’s admitting something he wants to hide. “You push back at every moment you can. No one’s ever treated me like that. They wouldn’t dare upset the Winter Prince. But you…”
“I don’t like being pushed around,” I finish. “Winter Prince or not.”
“I know,” he says, and something shifts. No—it cracks. “Which only makes me want you more.”
“You still want me?” I ask. “Even after…”
Even after knowing what I am? After seeing me lose control? After watching me become something monstrous?
“I don’t care what you are,” he says, as if he can read my mind. “What matters is who you are. And you, Sapphire...” His fingers brush against my cheek, light as snowfall, but the touch burns hotter than any flame. “I don’t care if you’re fae, or vampire, or anything else. Because I love you. Every single part of you.”
When our lips meet, it’s a collision, a desperate crash of fear and hunger and something far more dangerous than either of us is ready to name. The night air swirls around us, responding to our combined magic—ice, water, and air dancing together in perfect harmony. And as his hands find my waist, pulling me closer, I sink into him, drowning in this single moment.
I wish it could last forever.
Because it’s not just a kiss—it’s everything.
A promise. An apology. A declaration.
“I love you, too,” I breathe when we finally part. “So much.”
His forehead presses against mine, and then he’s picking me up as if I weigh nothing and carrying me to the igloo. It glows softly in the early morning light, the power of this moment transforming it from a simple refuge into something magical.
But the most magical thing about it is that it was built by us, from the ground up.
Which makes it something that will always be ours.