I am still yawning as I make my way to the side of the bed and turn back the corner of the quilt. Oddly, I hesitate and my wings pop open reflexively when she mumbles and suddenly turns her sleep, presenting her face at a kissable angle—if I was the sort of demon to kiss. The lips and mouths of frost demons are dangerous. It is foolish of me to even be tempted. Her face is flushed with sleep and warmth, and I suddenly want more than anything to draw her into my arms and savor it. I am not an idiot, however, so I refrain. A panicked, screaming human clasped snugly in the arms and wings of a demon is a quick trip to absolute disaster. My elder brother had starved one winter because the female he had managed to lure in—the only prey he had been able to attract—had been woken by his amorous embrace despite all our mother’s warnings. There had been no warmth and festive merriment for him to consume. Not even her flesh in his later moments of desperation because she had fled from him and froze to death before he could find her. And so, without sustenance, he too had withered and died.
“Do not be a fool, Jakfros,” I mutter to myself as I sit on the bed and slowly swing my legs, one by one, up onto the bed and tuck them beneath the quilt. “Do not make any sudden movements and keep to your side of the bed. Simple. I have done this well over a hundred times.”
Never mind that my usual prey was often a large, burly male who quickly began to smell sour as the night wore on. That is the exact opposite of Shawna, who somehow smells even sweeter and more delicious than before. I tremble but slowly recline back so that I am lying beside her, my wings pinned tightly to my back with anxiety as I watch the peaceful contours of her face relax further as she enters a deeper state of sleep. I am entranced by her round jaw and cheeks that appear so plush compared to the more chiseled features of my own race, but I am careful to maintain a distance between us. Temptation or not, it is the kindest thing to do to give her this small courtesy. I have no intention of violating a soft and delicately sweet human.
Expelling a long breath, I roll onto my back and stack my hands beneath my head. My eyes drift closed, her scent filling my lungs with every inhale. This is the best way to maintain the rigid distance between us. And yet, as I become increasingly more tired, I am surprised to find that I have rolled toward her, my tail curling longingly in the middle of the bed between us. But I am not touching her. My body is obeying my instructions... for now at least.
I stare out the window for a long moment, watching the play of snowflakes whirling on an errant breeze as they fall in a steady snowfall. This night is truly beautiful, and I am pleased to be sharing it with her, even though she is asleep and entirely unaware of it. If she were awake, she probably would not even understand what she is looking at or fully appreciate the magic that dances upon the points of the snowflakes. Like so many humans, Shawna has not even noticed that she stepped from her world into another one. What would she think if she knew that she is no longer in her human world, but in a demonic realm where the height of winter is celebrated in myriad forms—many of them quite deadly, even as they are also joyous?
Would her joyousness survive then? Or would it wither away like a summer flower beneath the kiss of frost? Would her human warmth become nothing more than ice if she succumbed to the futility of fighting against the magic of this place?
Could I protect her from it if I want to?
The question pops unbidden in my mind but drifts away as I yawn again—this time wider—and my eyes slowly drift closed. Heat radiates from the human sharing the bed with me, and it rolls over me in a seductive and comforting wave. This too is unique. I have never felt human heat this acutely outside of the feast, especially not with the greater expanse of the bed between us. A smart demon would get up and leave the room, but I never claimed to be particularly intelligent. Or that I possess a great deal of willpower. I am a creative—an artist by nature—and a yearning to experience all the simple joys and pleasures captivates me and makes it impossible to leave the bed or Shawna’s side.
My wings expand slightly with every breath I draw, mimicking my respiration as I slowly begin to settle deeper into sleep. Shawna’s warmth and scent teases me, drawing me deeper into a seductive cocoon, determined to initiate my metamorphosis into something that I would have no hope of recognizing.
“Shawna.” Her name falls from my lips in a tiny sigh seconds before sleep closes around me.
Chapter 5
Shawna
Iwake up cozily warm with the smell of cinnamon, apples and something buttery teasing my nose. I sniff again and catch the sweet scent of cinnamon rolls, brewed coffee, and the tantalizing scent of bacon frying. It smells like a winter holiday morning and my stomach gurgles enthusiastically. Mom has overdone herself this morning. Grinning in anticipation of the meal waiting for me, I draw my arms over my head and stretch as I slowly open my eyes... only to jerk upright in bed.
“What the hell?” I mumble as I stare in disbelief at the wooden walls surrounding me instead of the familiar lavender color of my childhood bedroom.
I shake my head and my hand shakes a little as I throw back a green and red quilt and stumble out of bed to head directly to the window. A thick red curtain covers it, which is equally unfamiliar to me. I yank it back and stare at the billowing of snowflakes blowing past the window. If I look hard enough, I can see the silent sentinels of a forest that lies just beyond the very small clearing in front of me.
The car dying, the cabin hidden deep in the woods, the little holiday spirit and the incredible feast... it wasn’t a dream. I am not entirely sure whether to be horrified or not. I had been so certain that it was nothing but a dream.
A cheerful tune carries down the hall to the bedroom, and I turn toward the bedroom door anxiously, my fingers clutching the curtain. I jump at the knock at the door, and my heart-rate kicks up as my pulse pounds in my veins.
“Shawna, come out and make merry with me. It is time to break your fast.”
My grip turns into a stranglehold on the curtain as the breathy voice effortlessly penetrates the bedroom. Jakfros... the holiday spirit. Impossible! I must have been very ill when I arrived. Doubtlessly, half of what I remember was some sort of fever dream. I may have been ill for days for all that I know. There is no doubt in my mind that there is a very real person on the other side of the door... whose whispers carry extraordinarily well. Unfortunately, the worrying goblin in the back of my brain reminds me that there is still something weird about all of this. Who says “break your fast” in this day and age?
My host goes silent on the other side of the door, and all the small hairs on my arms and the back of my neck prickle and begin to stand on end. I can’t even hear them breathe. I feel as if I am in a void as empty silence surrounds me. It is as if all the sound in the cabin has been muted. It is eerie as fuck.
“Are you frightened, Shawna?” they whisper, and their voice seems to have a hollow echo to it that makes me shiver.
I cringe, feeling both foolish and absolutely terrified.
The silence draws on for several moments since I cannot seem to make myself answer. Finally, they sigh and, as the silence is broken, I hear the Christmas melody return in the background.
