I throw a snowball at him. Right. In. The. Face. Time freezes. The world goes silent. Ash doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Just slowly wipes snow from his eyes. An entire row of firefighters collectively gasps.
Talon whispers, “She’s dead.”
Ash lowers his hand. His jaw flexes once. Twice. Three deliberate times.
“Lucy Snow,” he says very quietly, “I hope you made peace with God.”
I laugh—too loud, too nervous—and start backing away.
He stalks toward me. “Oh no no no—Ash—stop—stop—don’t?—”
“Run,” he growls.
I do. I sprint across the field, squealing, slipping, nearly face-planting into a snowman. Kids cheer. Adults cheer harder. Ash gains on me instantly—he’s twice my size and built like a wolf raised on cardio.
“Ash!” I shriek when he grabs the back of my coat. “No! Let go!”
“Not a chance.”
“No! Stop it!”
“You hit me in the face.”
“It was an accident!”
“You aimed.”
“Not well!”
He hauls me backward with one tug and I skid across the snow, laughing and yelling and absolutely losing my mind. Snow flies. I twist free for half a second— And then my foot hits a buried patch of ice. I slip. He lunges. And we crash—into a snowbank.
I land flat on my back, breath knocked out, the cold soaking through my coat.
Ash lands above me. Braced on his forearms. Chest heaving. Face inches from mine. And suddenly everything is silent again. My heart thrashes. His breath warms my cheek. His thigh pins mine into the snow.
“Ash,” I whisper.
Mist curls from his lips in shallow bursts. “Lucy.”
“You tackled me.”
“You deserved it.”
“That was excessive force.”
“Snowball to the face,” he reminds me, voice low. “That’s assault.”
“How do you know it was me? Could’ve been Holly.”
He stares down at me—dark eyes blazing, pupils wide.
“Lucy,” he murmurs, “I’d know your aim anywhere.”
Heat blasts down my spine, sharp and shocking. He shifts an inch—barely—but it drags his thigh against mine, and I bite down a gasp.
His eyes flick to my mouth. Slow. Deliberate. Hungry.
Everything stops.
