Chapter 4
Jakfros
Istand at the foot of the bed and cup my jaw as I regard the female curled up beneath my quilts.
Although she had consumed the offered food and drink enthusiastically, she had not become as happily drunk and merry as my previous prey in the past. Did I do something wrong?
More importantly, why had I not encouraged her to drink more deeply and joyously?
Was that not what I had been taught at my mother’s side—that a human sweetened by wine and spirits was far more easily encouraged to enjoy the excessive merriment offered?
Yet, I had felt oddly reluctant. Why is that?
I tap a claw on my bottom lip as I study her. What is it about her that makes me feel and behave so strangely? Even now I can feel a spark of something deep within me as if I am already feasting with tasting a drop of her sweetness. That is new.
Is it because she is a woman, perhaps? It is rare for a female to come through my woods.
Usually, it is males who get lost in the snowstorms I conjure and who are subsequently lured here.
But of the few females who wind up here, I cannot recall even one affecting me this way, no matter how sweet they smelled.
It certainly was not because I am averse to eating a female or twenty.
Truthfully, the females roused my predatory instincts even quicker and were often unsatisfying meals that I was unable to truly enjoy since I often failed to properly raise the festive fire within them before succumbing to the hunger.
It is why I prefer to avoid them if another option presents itself.
But there is something more about this female that teases my senses in a deliciously maddening way that I am eager to experience more of.
“Such an intriguing puzzle,” I murmur to myself as my tail curls against the side of my leg.
She mumbles something indistinct in that moment and flails in her sleep, knocking the quilt low around her waist. I immediately react, drawing the blanket up around her shoulder before I even realize what I have done.
I freeze in shock but then slowly draw away, almost reluctantly perhaps, except I know that is nonsense.
What would I have to feel reluctant over?
I merely drew the quilt back into place to prevent her from catching a chill.
Is it too cold in the cabin?
I cock my head as I flex my wings, drawing the cool air against their sensitive membranes. It takes a moment to gather a sufficient quantity of air within my wings but then the moment is over and I am breathing easily. It is sufficiently warm enough for the female. Good.
My wings snap back and fold flat against my back once more as I resume studying her.
As far as humans go, Shawna is not what I would consider remarkable at first glance, despite this visceral pull I feel toward her.
In terms of human beauty standards, as far as I am aware of them, her mouth is a bit too wide and her nose a little prominent and slightly hooked, and the mass of red hair spilling over the pillow is more orangey-copper hue that seemed to suit the abundance of little brown spots decorating her face as if painted on by one of my snowstorms I summon up.
Despite this, just looking at her gives me an odd warm and cozy feeling in the depths of my cold, frost demon heart.
Unusual and tempting, but not a remarkable human by human standards to any stretch of the imagination.
I will simply have to try harder tomorrow.
As for this moment, I am exhausted. Hunting Shawna down and then luring her about and setting about conjuring the feast for her had drained me to where I now feel dead on my feet.
I stretch my wings once more, and my mouth opens wide in a silent yawn.
A good night’s sleep and a fresh day rising with the morning will be more than enough to rejuvenate me.
I am still yawning as I make my way to the side of the bed and turn back the corner of the quilt.
Oddly, I hesitate and my wings pop open reflexively when she mumbles and suddenly turns her sleep, presenting her face at a kissable angle—if I was the sort of demon to kiss.
The lips and mouths of frost demons are dangerous.
It is foolish of me to even be tempted. Her face is flushed with sleep and warmth, and I suddenly want more than anything to draw her into my arms and savor it.
I am not an idiot, however, so I refrain.
A panicked, screaming human clasped snugly in the arms and wings of a demon is a quick trip to absolute disaster.
My elder brother had starved one winter because the female he had managed to lure in—the only prey he had been able to attract—had been woken by his amorous embrace despite all our mother’s warnings.
There had been no warmth and festive merriment for him to consume.
Not even her flesh in his later moments of desperation because she had fled from him and froze to death before he could find her.
And so, without sustenance, he too had withered and died.
“Do not be a fool, Jakfros,” I mutter to myself as I sit on the bed and slowly swing my legs, one by one, up onto the bed and tuck them beneath the quilt. “Do not make any sudden movements and keep to your side of the bed. Simple. I have done this well over a hundred times.”
Never mind that my usual prey was often a large, burly male who quickly began to smell sour as the night wore on.
That is the exact opposite of Shawna, who somehow smells even sweeter and more delicious than before.
I tremble but slowly recline back so that I am lying beside her, my wings pinned tightly to my back with anxiety as I watch the peaceful contours of her face relax further as she enters a deeper state of sleep.
I am entranced by her round jaw and cheeks that appear so plush compared to the more chiseled features of my own race, but I am careful to maintain a distance between us.
Temptation or not, it is the kindest thing to do to give her this small courtesy.
I have no intention of violating a soft and delicately sweet human.
Expelling a long breath, I roll onto my back and stack my hands beneath my head.
My eyes drift closed, her scent filling my lungs with every inhale.
This is the best way to maintain the rigid distance between us.
And yet, as I become increasingly more tired, I am surprised to find that I have rolled toward her, my tail curling longingly in the middle of the bed between us.
But I am not touching her. My body is obeying my instructions. .. for now at least.
I stare out the window for a long moment, watching the play of snowflakes whirling on an errant breeze as they fall in a steady snowfall.
This night is truly beautiful, and I am pleased to be sharing it with her, even though she is asleep and entirely unaware of it.
If she were awake, she probably would not even understand what she is looking at or fully appreciate the magic that dances upon the points of the snowflakes.
Like so many humans, Shawna has not even noticed that she stepped from her world into another one.
What would she think if she knew that she is no longer in her human world, but in a demonic realm where the height of winter is celebrated in myriad forms—many of them quite deadly, even as they are also joyous?
Would her joyousness survive then? Or would it wither away like a summer flower beneath the kiss of frost? Would her human warmth become nothing more than ice if she succumbed to the futility of fighting against the magic of this place?
Could I protect her from it if I want to?
The question pops unbidden in my mind but drifts away as I yawn again—this time wider—and my eyes slowly drift closed.
Heat radiates from the human sharing the bed with me, and it rolls over me in a seductive and comforting wave.
This too is unique. I have never felt human heat this acutely outside of the feast, especially not with the greater expanse of the bed between us.
A smart demon would get up and leave the room, but I never claimed to be particularly intelligent.
Or that I possess a great deal of willpower.
I am a creative—an artist by nature—and a yearning to experience all the simple joys and pleasures captivates me and makes it impossible to leave the bed or Shawna’s side.
My wings expand slightly with every breath I draw, mimicking my respiration as I slowly begin to settle deeper into sleep. Shawna’s warmth and scent teases me, drawing me deeper into a seductive cocoon, determined to initiate my metamorphosis into something that I would have no hope of recognizing.
“Shawna.” Her name falls from my lips in a tiny sigh seconds before sleep closes around me.