There will be no second chances for me. I belong to the Winter King now, and he says he’ll never let me go. My heart breaks, cracking into pieces, causing my chest to tighten and ache.
The king suddenly drops his hands from my face and steps back. He touches his own chest and winces, a troubled look entering his eyes. The firelight dances off his dark hair, a cascade of shadows and orange glimmers. His features appear especially chiseled from stone, or perhaps ice, as he stands in front of the hearth, staring at me as though I just caused him pain.
Why is he still clutching his chest?
Why does he appear so disturbed?
He starts to reach for me… and then all at once I’m falling,down, down, down, into an abyss that’s swirling with snow andice. It pelts my face. Eventually, I blink and find myself in a bedchamber I’ve never seen before, yet it feels familiar. Like I’ve been here before, maybe a long, long time ago.
I’m sprawled atop the bed wearing a white, lacy nightdress that’s practically translucent. King Theron stands before me, a gleaming, bejeweled crown atop his head that sits slightly askew between his horns. There’s a flash of light, and his wings appear, dark and feathered, filling up the space in the room as he flares them wide. A wicked grin breaks across his face, and his eyes burn with unrestrained lust.
One second, he’s wearing clothing, and then there’s another flash, and suddenly it’s gone. He stands at the end of the bed, gazing at me with an intent look, his cock swollen rock-hard and massive. It’s bigger than I ever imagined.
Heat quakes in my core, and I find myself spreading my legs. I’m nervous yet aching to be filled up. Aching to be claimed by the powerful male who stands before me.
“Mate,” he says. “Spread your legs wider. Show me that slick, pink pussy I’m about to plunder.”
Without conscious thought, my legs inch apart on the bed, slowly, seductively, and I feel a teasing smile touch my lips. But I’m not the one moving. It’s as though I can’t control what’s happening. I’m a spectator, and yet I’m not.
Where am I? How did I get here?
Though I can’t turn my head, my eyes dart to the side until I glimpse a window. My breath freezes in my chest. Holy gods. It’s a glittering city covered in ice. The Winter Court?
King Theron’s voice thrums through me, deep and resonating, but I’m no longer able to understand him. His voice starts to fade, and so does the room and the glittering winter city in the window.
Then I find myself falling again, into the cold snow and ice, a dark swirling tunnel that just might swallow me whole.
“Helena. Helena.” It’s the king speaking to me again, but I can’t see him. I can’t see much of anything, only darkness with brief instances of heavy, whirling snow.
Firm hands grab me, and I cry out from the pain. My upper arms hurt. I think they’re bruised. Why are they bruised? I can’t quite remember. Confusion fills me, and I hear myself cry out again, an echo in the vastness of whatever place I’m lost inside.
My eyes abruptly fly open, and I gasp for air.
King Theron is kneeling in front of me, his face only inches from mine, his expression darkened with concern. He gives me another shake, his fingers wrapped tightly around my upper arms.
“Helena.” The concern in his blue eyes deepens.
I stare at him, shocked to my core, as I try to figure out what just happened. Did I have some kind of vision? A glimpse of the future? But no. It felt like the past.
I don’t want to tell King Theron about my strange experience. I don’t want him to know I just imagined I was wearing a lacy nightdress in his bed in the heart of the glittering Winter Court while he stood above me, stark naked and ready to claim me.
Am I going mad? Perhaps the stress of the last year is catching up with me. First, Mama’s tragic death, then Harry’s murder, followed by the fae attack on Braemar. I’ve always considered myself a resilient person, despite my secret longing for companionship, but maybe I’ve finally reached my breaking point.
I wince again. I can’t help it. King Theron’s fingers are digging into the exact place on my arms that Peter grabbed when he manhandled me on the street.
The king draws back slightly and drops his hands from my arms, only to reach out and yank my robe down a moment later. Before I can protest or even try to push him away, he’s alreadydrawn the billowing sleeves of my nightdress up to inspect my upper arms.
A murderous look crosses his face.
“What happened?” His voice is dark and dangerous, but I don’t think his anger is directed at me. “Who did this to you?”
“I… I…”
“Was it Prince Alaric?” His jaw clenches, his hands fall from my arms, and he jumps to his feet. “I’ll kill him.”
He heads for the door, and it crashes open under a gust of winter wind that’s as violent as his anger. Snow flurries drift in the air, and a layer of frost climbs up the walls.
“No, it wasn’t your brother,” I say, finally finding my voice.
