Chapter 15 #2
I jolt upright, snatching my hand back entirely. “What?” I blurt. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
They furrow their tiny brows and exchange distinctly dubious looks before zipping across the room and dropping an armful of books beside my chair. Several spill to the floor.
I sit, crack my knuckles, and get to work.
I read faster than I ever thought possible, skimming, wrestling with words I’ve never encountered before. Anything that might explain what’s happening to him. Anything that might tell me how to help.
But there is nothing.
Nothing about frozen hearts. Nothing about Winter Lords pushed beyond their limits.
Still… one suggestion keeps appearing.
Hypothermia.
I dismiss it at first. Luceran’s condition is magical. Fae. Not something rooted in mortal science. But the more I read, the harder it is to ignore.
Hypothermia is described as the body losing heat faster than it can produce it. The temperature drops. Systems slow. The heart struggles.
I swallow and keep reading.
Keep the patient warm with blankets… or body heat.
My throat tightens.
I glance over the top of the book to where Luceran lies.
No, don’t be ridiculous.
You cannot possibly be considering climbing into bed with him.
But nothing else is working. Not the fire. Not the extra blankets. Not the tonic. He’s still getting colder.
He’s fading.
And if this could help, if my body heat could warm him, even a little, even just enough to buy time until Atilia returns, then maybe… maybe it would be enough to save him.
Just as he saved me.
Slowly, I close the book and set it aside on the table.
I rise to my feet, and immediately my knees threaten to give way, nerves sending prickling surges through my body. My fingertips tingle. My stomach rolls with an awkward, weightless wobble. Fear, anticipation, resolve, all tangled together.
With each step toward Luceran, I shed a layer. My scarf slips free. My coat follows. I kick off one boot, then the other. Peel my woollen stockings from my legs.
By the time I reach the edge of the bed, my hands are shaking as I reach behind me and unfasten the buttons of my dress, one by one.
When only a single button remains, the sprites cackle behind me.
I shoot them a glare over my shoulder. “Out. Now.”
They obey instantly, whirling around the room in a flurry of wings before crashing into the wardrobe with a solid thud. The door swings shut.
I swallow hard and draw in a breath before turning back to Luceran. For one last moment, I consider whether this is truly the right thing to do.
Then I remember that I never look before I leap.
I undo the final button.
The dress slides from my shoulders and pools at my feet, leaving me bare in the firelight.
My chest feels tight, each breath leaving me in faint shivers that mist the air. My trembling hand reaches for the covers, pulling them aside just enough to reveal Luceran lying on his back, still, perfect, carved from pale stone.
I don’t look for long. I don’t let my gaze linger anywhere it shouldn’t, even though every instinct screams to do just that.
This isn’t indulgence. This isn’t desire. This is… science.
I repeat that far too many times, as though repeating it might make it truer.
Before I can think myself out of it, I climb into the bed beside him.
He doesn’t stir. He doesn’t flinch as I tuck my hair away and lower my head to his chest. I reach across him, curl an arm around his waist, and press myself flush against his body.
The cold steals my breath. The chill surges into me. My teeth chatter instinctively.
But I don’t move.
I know it will take time.
For this to work, I must endure the cold.
The fire crackles softly. Orange light flickers across the walls as night settles over Brunemar. Minutes stretch. Then more. Slowly, so slowly it’s almost imperceptible, I feel something change.
Warmth.
At first it’s so subtle I think it must be my imagination. Hope playing tricks on me. But it’s there, just beneath where my cheek rests against his chest, perhaps where his heart lies beneath flesh and bone, and it spreads.
Luceran shifts slightly, a low groan escaping him as he turns toward me. His body molds to mine, the sheer weight and solidity of him making my throat go dry, and with that closeness comes another sensation entirely, unfamiliar and unwelcome, coiling tight and sharp low in my gut.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bury it deep.
Science. Science. Science.
When I have found some semblance of calm, I open my eyes again.
I study the runes etched into his skin, tracing their lines with my gaze and wondering what stories they tell.
My attention drifts to the column of his throat, transfixed by the subtle movement when he swallows.
I do not know how long I watch the hard line of his jaw, or when my cheek comes to rest more firmly against his chest, when that closeness becomes a choice rather than a necessity.
Time blurs.
All I know is that when sleep finally claims me, with Luceran held close in my arms, it feels nothing like a mistake.
It feels like the safest place in the world.