Winter

“No,” the prince says, coming up behind me. I freeze as his hands glide around my waist, repositioning me. Then his fingers brush the underside of my arm as he lifts my reach an inch higher. “There. Better form.”

He jerks away quickly, and Eclipsa notices. Her sharp gaze shifts from the prince’s fingers to my face.

Crap. My stomach flip-flops. She totally knows.

The door to the gym crashes open, and a worried student rushes to Eclipsa. “Professor Spreewell said I need to find you. There’s an incident with one of the soulmancy spells.”

Eclipsa glances over at us, her brow furrowed. “Can you work with Summer the last thirty minutes without me?”

The prince stiffens.

Taking his silence as an answer, she follows the student out the door.

The moment she’s gone, I feel our aloneness acutely. The air becomes heavier, swollen with expectation.

He glances after Eclipsa. “We can cut practice short . . .” His words trail away as he see me rounding on him. “What are you doing?”

I slip on a pair of fingerless striking gloves and grin. “I’m practicing.”

I toss a pair of gloves at him. He catches them without breaking eye contact. “This is a bad idea, Princess.”

“Why?” I counter, circling to his left. “Because Eclipsa isn’t here to save you?”

His eyes narrow. “You know why.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

Then I lunge for him. Surprise widens his eyes, but he manages to recover in time to leap back before my roundhouse connects with his head. Prowling closer, I follow that up with a jab uppercut combo.

A sweep of my leg would have tripped him—if not for his freakishly fast Fae speed. He falls into a defensive stance, easily maneuvering out of my grasp. He refuses to fight back, instead using his quickness to avoid me.

“Coward,” I snarl. “Fight back.”

He may be taking it easy, but I try to take his head off with every strike.

Who’s drowning now?

I even manage to land a few. Each time my flesh connects with his, his eyes gleam brighter.

He might have protested, but he’s definitely enjoying this. Then again, so am I. If he’s going to be in pain when I’m around, might as well make it physical.

I surprise him with a flurry of rib punches before catching him on the chin. “Summer,” he growls in warning. His eyes are practically on fire.

“You said you feel like you’re drowning when I’m around,” I snap, ignoring the plea in his voice. Another round of jab cross combos push him back on his heels. “Drowning, prince. Do you know how that feels?”

Wow. Up until right this moment, I had no idea all the pent-up anger raging inside me.

His chest heaves. “Princess, you have no idea what you’re doing—”

I strike again, forcing him to duck.

“Stop talking and fight back,” I order.

“Once I do, once I let go . . . I won’t be able to stop.”

“What? Hurting me?”

A smile twitches his lips. “No, Princess. Not hurting you.”

Oh. Beneath my thick sheen of sweat, my skin flushes bright red.

Something inside him reacts to that. His stance widens, his jaw sets. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, he hoists it over his head.

I don’t even bother hiding my interest as I stare at his body. The shadows trapping in the muscles of his abdomen. The way the Unseelie tattoos seem to writhe against his flesh with every single movement.

Instinctively, I tug off my over shirt, leaving a thin ribbed black tank. His eyes go to my own tattoo. The one cresting my forearm and winding up my elbow.

The one that says I’m his.

His nostrils flare, and he lets his gaze slide to my body, every single curve evident beneath my shiny black leggings and tank. The newly fleshed out hips. My athletic thighs, hard and lean from my time spent here.

He inhales sharply as he trails his focus slowly upward to meet my stare.

His eyes are wild, predatory. I don’t flinch from their intention. He begins to circle me, and I work to keep space between us as my heart jackhammers into my ribs. A little smile finds his face.

He can hear it.

We fall into a dance of attacks and defensive maneuvers. But this time the rules have changed. I know it and he knows it. He stalks me across the mat and it’s all I can do to evade him. When he gets too close, I catch him on the cheek. A light, playfully blow.

His eyes go wide with excitement.

After that, I know I can’t get away. The moment he draws near, my foot shoots out, landing against his thigh. He doesn’t even flinch. With lightning speed, he hooks a hand under my knee, trapping my leg under his armpit.

For a breath, he holds me there. Hopping on one leg. Captive to whatever he desires. No amount of yanking or cursing can break me free.

He wants me to know I can’t stop whatever comes next. My breaths come in rapid spurts; my head spins with excitement and anticipation.

Then he sweeps my other leg and gently lowers me to the mat.

“Princess,” he says, his gaze practically a weapon as it scrapes up and down my captive body. He braces his hands on either side of my head. “Say the word and I’ll leave right now. We can both walk away from this.”

He says this almost pleadingly, like we’re poised over a dangerously high precipice, about to jump to our deaths. If that’s true, I’m already in freefall.

I shake my head. “No.”

My legs wrap around his waist. At this point, my body has a mind of its own, and it wants to feel him. Every part of him.

I try to use my thighs to pull him closer, but he hesitates. Lowering to his elbows, he stares down at me. Sweat darkens his hair at the temples and brings out the waviness. His pupils are huge, his irises slivers of bluish-silver. His lips part suggestively.

My body is freaking out. His presence so close. His sweat everywhere.

He leans closer until I can feel the cool energy coming off his bare flesh, the sweat slicking his chest wetting my clothes.

My body rejoices, a sensation of everything righting itself descending. But I also remember Mack’s words about not ever falling for a Fae. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. Not just falling for a Fae, but tumbling headfirst for the most powerful Fae in the academy.

I reach up and touch one of his ears, stroking the inside. I have no idea how I knew to do that, but he moans, hardening between my legs.

Holy crap. Evelyn once made a joke about Fae males being larger than human males—not that I know the difference—but damn.

One more flick of my finger and his full weight presses into me. His lips are just as soft as I remember as they graze mine. Gently, slowly, his tongue slides against my lips and into my mouth. His kiss becomes more desperate.

I moan, three months’ worth of pent-up need coming to a head.

I lose myself in him. His scent. His power. The exotic coldness of his flesh, the way the sweat around us freezes into frost with his excitement. Snow forms from the rafters above and dusts the mats. Our breath curls around us in ivory wisps.

Loud voices stir the night. They come from somewhere outside, but it’s enough to break the spell. The prince stiffens and then rolls off me, and I’m thrust back into this startling new reality. I kissed the Winter Prince. The Fae responsible for all my misery.

And I liked it.

And I’m fairly certain he liked it too.

He brushes a finger over my lips. Then he helps me to my feet. As I stand, his eyes drag over my body once more.

I think he might say he made a mistake, and my heart is prepared to be hurt. But he just stares at me for longer than any man ever would.

Then he says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Anything. I would say anything at this point.

“Are you going to the dance?”

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but not that. “No.”

“No? I thought all mortal girls liked music and dancing?”

“I . . . I don’t have a dress.” Or a date.

Not true, exactly. Mack promised we could go together. She offered to lend me one of her old bubble gum pink mermaid prom gowns from high school. I still haven’t committed one way or the other.

He frowns. “Go to any Faerie shop in Everwilde or the mortal world, give them my name, and they’ll put it on my account.”

I pause, suspicious of his offer. “No, I can’t.”

“No?” His eyes widen like someone who isn’t told no very often.

“I can’t pay you back,” I remind him. “And I’d rather not owe you or anyone else at this school. Lord knows I already have to find some way to take care of my bill for food and books.”

“Get the dress, Princess.”

I swallow, all kinds of thoughts running through my head. Mainly that I can’t dance, and he’s going to be there to witness that. But also that this is the second time he’s done something nice for me and I’m not sure how that feels.

My throat clenches. “I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“Seeing you in a dress will be payment enough.”

We clean the mats and lock up the gym. On the way out, I happen to glance to my left. The sun has gone down, but there’s enough moonlight to make out the snow-packed ground. The white crust is pristine, untouched.

All except by the window, where two large footprints sink deep into the snow.

47

“You have a footman?” I ask, my gaze ricocheting from the marble walls veined with gold to the huge fountain in the center of the lobby. We’re in Manhattan, inside the first floor of the Woolworth Tower where Mack’s parents live. The plan is to stop by to say hello and then go dress shopping. Evelyn, who already has her dress, is here to help us make the right decisions, whatever that means.

“Wait,” Mack says, “we just traveled through a portal to Manhattan from Everwilde, and your mind is blown over a footman?”

It’s true. If anything should have blown my mind, it’s the charm on her bracelet that, when pressed where portals are allowed, forms a portal to her house in the Untouched Zone. It’s a recent gift from her parents for passing midterms.