He mounts me like the creature he truly is, one clawed hand gripping the back of my neck in a dominant hold that somehow doesn't hurt. The other arm wraps around my waist, holding me in place for his increasingly powerful thrusts. Frost spreads from his fingers across my throat and abdomen in intricate patterns that pulse with each drive of his hips.
The storm outside responds to his feral state, winds howling with renewed fury, snow and ice battering the windows as if nature itself is part of his rut. The temperature in the cabin plummets further, my breath coming in visible clouds as he drives me closer to the edge.
His teeth—no longer even attempting to appear human—graze my shoulder, the threat of a bite sending shocks of arousal through me. The low, continuous growl vibrating from his chest makes it clear I'm being taken by something wild, something other.
"Vidar," I manage, the name barely recognizable through my gasps.
His response is a deeper growl and a punishing thrust that hits something perfect inside me. The pressure builds relentlessly, my body responding to his primal claiming with equal fervor. When release finally comes, it's not the gentle wave of normal pleasure but a violent storm breaking—merciless and transformative.
I cry out, back arching, as the climax tears through me. The sound seems to drive him into a final frenzy. His movements become brutally powerful, the last traces of human restraint abandoned. The antlers above me cast moving shadows acrossthe walls as he throws his head back with a roar that rattles the cabin to its foundations.
"You burn... like fire," he gasps, the words breaking through his feral state as he reaches his peak. "So warm... burning me..."
I feel the moment he surrenders completely—his body tensing, then releasing something icy and slick inside me, cold enough to make me gasp but somehow pleasurable rather than painful. It pulses in rhythmic waves, a slippery chill that should be impossible but feels utterly right. The frost patterns covering my skin flare with blue light, conducting his winter essence through me in circuits of impossible pleasure.
For a breathless moment, the world stops—the storm outside suspended, the air around us crystallized, time itself seeming to yield to the primal magic of our joining. Then everything crashes back with stunning force—the storm abruptly calming, the frost patterns slowly fading, our bodies collapsing together onto the fur-covered bed.
His arms—still more creature than man—wrap around me possessively, his larger form curled protectively around mine. The antlers have receded slightly, though still far larger than the human disguise he wore earlier. Against my back, I feel his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, the growls softening to something almost like purring.
Slowly, the world realigns itself. I've been claimed by something not human, and somehow, impossibly, it feels exactly right.
Gradually, his breathing steadies. The antlers recede slightly, the skull mask becoming more transparent as his control returns. He starts to pull away, concern crossing his features.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, examining my skin where frost patterns still swirl and fade.
I shake my head, too overwhelmed for words at first. Then, finding my voice: "No. It was... perfect."
He looks genuinely surprised. "The cold didn't harm you."
"No." I touch my own skin where the frost patterns linger longest—a delicate whorl around my left breast, directly over my heart. "It felt amazing, actually."
I pull him back down beside me, craving his nearness despite the lingering cold he emanates. He comes willingly, arranging us so that my back is against his chest, his arm draped over me just as we woke this morning—only now the position is deliberately chosen rather than accidental.
Questions crowd my mind—about what he is, about why I can withstand his cold, about what happens next. But for now, I'm content to lie in the circle of his arm, watching frost patterns form and fade on my skin where he touches me, feeling the storm outside settling into a gentler rhythm that matches his calming heartbeat.
Whatever Vidar is, whatever I am becoming in his presence, we've crossed a boundary that can't be uncrossed. Like the frost on my skin—temporary perhaps, but leaving invisible changes in its wake.
The rational photographer part of my brain tells me I should be documenting this, preserving evidence of the impossible. The woman in me is simply grateful to be here, experiencing something beyond my wildest imagination.
6
Vidar
Her warmth still burns against my skin, a lingering fire that should be painful but instead feels like salvation. I lie perfectly still, arm draped over her sleeping form, afraid to move lest she wake and realize what she's done. What we've done.
Five centuries of isolation shattered by a single night. A single touch. A single human woman who burns like the sun against my winter.
I expected her to fear me when my control slipped this morning, when she saw what truly lurks beneath my human disguise. Most humans would scream. Run. Go mad from the sight. Instead, she touched my antlers. Called me beautiful. Invited the monster into her bed.
Impossible woman.
Frost forms and fades in rhythmic patterns where my chest meets her back, her heat forcing my cold into ever-shifting crystalline designs. I watch, fascinated, as the frost ebbs and flows with her breathing. Her skin should be blue with frostbiteby now. Instead, it flushes pink where we touch, as if her inner fire pushes back against my winter.
I breathe in her scent—warm, human, now mingled with my own cold essence. The blending creates something new, something I've never encountered in all my centuries. The mate-bond stirs again, no longer a distant memory but an insistent reality. I push the thought away. Absurd. She is human. Temporary. A moment of warmth in my eternal winter.
Yet I cannot deny what happened between us was more than mere physical joining. The storm responded to our coupling, my domain acknowledging her in ways I don't fully understand. Even now, hours later, the blizzard outside maintains a gentler rhythm, snow falling in patterns that mimic her breathing.
Her breathing changes, sleep giving way to wakefulness. I should move away, reestablish distance, rebuild the walls her touch has melted. Instead, I remain, something fragile and unfamiliar blooming in my chest like frost flowers on spring ice.
