The Arcana Chronicles 3: Dead of Winter

He laid his palms over my shoulders, ever so lightly grazing his thumbs over my throat. His hands shook, as if he was handling the most priceless treasure in the entire world. “By all the gods, I desire you, but you must know that you have my love. It’s given, sieva. Wholly entrusted to you. Have a care with it.”

I struggled to resist him. To remember why I should.

“Our bond goes back over lifetimes; you must feel it.”

I shook my head hard, an unspoken lie. I felt endless years between us, a tie that never died or faded. Something that endured epochs. Something mysterious and . . . good?

I thought, I feared, that he was my . . .

Soul mate.

“These days without you have been more miserable for me than all the centuries before.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, making my heart race. “Tell me you’ll be mine. Tell me I’ll never have to know this desolation again.”

At that moment, I wanted to tell him anything he needed to hear—

Without warning, he lifted me against the wall, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck.

“What are you doing?” I inhaled sharply as desire flooded me. His addictive scent swept me up.

“I need to be closer to you. Why can I never get close enough to you?” He glanced down. His chest had dampened my tank top, which was now see-through. His eyes flared bright, his voice roughening as he said, “You tempt me beyond measure.” He pressed harder between my legs.

When my head fell back, he nuzzled my neck, giving me only hints of kisses. Warm breaths feathered over my throat, making me shiver with need.

Why had I told him we couldn’t kiss?

This closeness was as arousing as the real thing. More so. Knowing he longed to press his lips against me—but was restraining himself—drove me crazy.

He continued his ghost of a kiss until I was panting, my arms tightening around his neck. I could feel his muscles shudder against my body as he held himself in check.

He dragged his head up to face me. Our breaths mingled as I stared into his starry eyes, lost in them. Still he didn’t take my mouth. Just made me yearn for more.

Which I couldn’t have. Not tonight.

The ribbon I carried in my pocket seemed to burn me. Just doan give me anything else to hurt on.

“Aric, you have to let me go.”

“Is that what you truly want?” Confusion shone in that glittering gaze.

“Please.”

He lowered me to my feet. “I release you. For now. But you will be mine, sieva.”

As I pressed him away, the sight of my pale hands against him hit me again. How many times had I clung to his bare chest, desperate to get closer?

When he stepped back, I turned toward my room in a daze. I shut the door, then leaned against it, trembling.

After that, everything seemed to be in slow motion: walking to my sleeping bag, checking the battery light on the transceiver, bedding down.

I stared at the ceiling again, trying to ignore my overheated body. What felt like hours passed before my eyes closed.

Just before I drifted off, I sensed Aric in the room with me.

Was he gazing down at me? He thought I was asleep!

In a soft rasp, he said, “There’s so much about the game I could teach you. So much about life you could teach me. Let’s begin this, little wife.”

I dreamed of Death, reliving a memory of his from when he’d been close to my age. Was this one of the visions Matthew had wanted to give me before it was too late?

The scene was night, the wind whipping off the Baltic in a frenzied summer storm. Aric was returning from an errand of some kind.

As I ride past familiar rune stones, my stallion’s hooves pound the ground, rivaling the gods’ thunder.

The gods that have cursed our settlement with sickness.

Were they angered by the lavish festivities my family held two days ago? Is the House of Dominija guilty of hubris?

Though I want to follow this line of reasoning, to deduce a cause, my thoughts are too chaotic. Some malady has befallen me as well. Yet instead of suffering like the others in the village, I feel strong.

Stronger than I ever have.

Earlier, I crushed a rock in my palm, crushed it to dust. Each day my power and speed escalate. I am nearing some dark precipice, but I know not what.

When I arrive home, I have to conceal my unnatural swiftness, lest a vassal see. I stride along a stone lane to my father’s hall. Just beyond the front doorway, I find him pacing, awaiting my arrival. “Did you employ the physic?” he asks.

Aric’s father is a towering blond man with broad shoulders. Though his eyes are ice-blue to Aric’s amber, there is a distinct resemblance to his son. I understand their language as if it were my own; Matthew must’ve bridged this vision for me.

“He is already tending the sick.” How can my father look a decade older than he did just yesterday? “I took him directly there.”

“Good, good,” Father says, his mind distracted. “I’ll return anon.”

“But you’re exhausted. You need to stay strong for Mother. Is she resting?”

He nods. “I insisted upon it.”

“This can’t be easy on her.” Many of those who visited our hall were stricken, their daughters especially. “I shall return in your stead.”

His forehead creases. “But if something happened to you . . . if you were beset . . . I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’ve never been sick a day in my life. I’ve made my decision not to start now.”

With that hint of a grin, Father looks more himself. It’s been strange not to hear his laughter in our hall, a welcome accompaniment to Mother’s.

I put my hand on his shoulder, holding his gaze. “Mark my words, we will get through this.”

His blue eyes glint. “Have I told you how proud I am to be your father?”

I cast him a feigned look of grievance. “Daily. Since memory. It’s ingrained in me, as if carved into a rune stone.”

“But not yet today.” Father clasps his hand over mine. “Son, I’m so proud . . .” He trails off with a frown.

“Father?”

His gaze widens, his skin paling. When his expression grows agonized, panic grips my chest. “What’s happening?” I lay my palm on his cheek; angry black lines begin to branch out over his face.

Like those of the afflicted villagers.

“S-son?” Suddenly his fists clench, his muscles seizing.

“What is this, Father?” I enfold his convulsing form in my arms, easing him to the ground. “What is happening?” As I gaze down at him, a beatific light spills upon his anguished countenance. It shutters . . . when I blink? “Tell me how to help you!” I beg him, “Please, please tell me!”