I’m not about to die…
… Probably
6
SNOWDROPS
Chapter 6: Snowdrops
Andrik-
She looks so comfortable right now. My hands are shaking with the restraint it takes not to reach out and touch her again.
“Nai’thar veskae,” I whisper to myself.
I have never wanted something so badly. And I have been alive for a very,verylong time. Over the centuries, I have met more humans than I care to remember, but none of them have ever been anything like the little snowdrop lying on my couch.
I don't know which god sent her to me—but I will not be giving her back.
Ever.
“Kaer’shal etra venaí ves kaemorin,” I murmur softly. (I would burn the gods if they touched what’s mine.)
The fire crackles softly beside us. I can hear every beat of her heart. Her breath hitches now and then—like she's dreaming of something she shouldn’t be.
I inhale slowly—as deep as my lungs will allow—trying to memorize the scent that has split my world into before and after.She smells like home.
My fingers twitch against the armrest. I want to leave my scent all over her—enough to keep her wrapped in me even while she sleeps.Kael’varin ves’kai, Saelûn.(Let my scent hold you, Soulbond.)
I ache to press my palm against her warm chest and count every beat.Veyr’thalûn ves thrae.(I need to feel the rhythm of you.)
The more I listen, the easier it is to forget why I should stay away. I find myself wanting to believe I’m more than what the stories say I am. “Velorin ves theln.” (You are written in my ache.)
I know what I look like to her kind. I know the names they whisper in their cities.
Monster. Demon. Beast. Deathbringer.
And they’re not wrong. I’ve ended more lives than winters I’ve survived. I’ve shattered bones between my bare hands, and let the forest bury men in snow so deep not even the vultures could find them.
I was made for war, not softness.
But I would never hurt her. Even if the gods themselves demanded it—even if it meant tearing out what little sacredness remains inside me—I would rather die than harm her.
I know she could never love me, but I wish she could. And, thalûn help me, if she opened her eyes and asked me to touch her,there wouldn't be a heaven or hell that could stop me.
I force myself to step back from the couch before I do something I can’t take back.
I need air. I need?—
I step outside into the cold, my breath misting in the frozen air. The snow has stopped falling. Thethalorûnwatches silently,like it’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. (The sacred forest.)
I kneel beside the snowdrops growing near my door—delicate white blooms that refuse to die even in the deepest winter. They only open for those the forest deems worthy.
They opened for her.
I gather a handful, their petals impossibly soft against the lethal curve of my claws. I can feel their fragility, the way they seem to pulse with the same stubborn life that keeps her heart beating.
This is foolish. A monster picking flowers. She doesn’t even know what this means to my kind. But as I turn back toward the cabin, I know I’ll give them to her anyway.
