Maybe the wolf, with her icy fur… Maybe she can give me enough body heat to keep me alive?—
The Frost King’s arms tighten around me before I can make a move toward the animal, but now I’m desperate and panicked. With every passing heartbeat, more of my legs and arms becomes numb. The agonizing pain I felt when the Frost King was singing has been replaced with a terrifying nothingness.
My upper hand was already planted on his chest, and with frantic strength, hardly any at all, I attempt to shove at him. I know I won’t make it even a few steps before the cold claims me, but my thoughts are no longer rational.
Panic consumes me.
He wrenches me closer still, his cold chest pressed to mine.
Frantic for warmth, I claw at his chest and side, tearing so fiercely that my fingernails break through his cloak and his tunic and my palms find bare skin.
Cruel air is trapped in my throat, another scream rising, dragged from the depths of my heart. “Make me warm.”
The Frost King draws a sharp breath, his pupils dilating.
His head swoops to mine, stopping an inch away, his gaze tearing me apart so intently that my cry becomes a soft moan.
Frozen breaths of air waft between us.
My heart pounds when a slow, unearthly smile breaks across his lips.
“I will make you warm.”
Chapter Eleven
Stellen
Mindless need forces my actions.
Thyra’s body is pressed hard against mine. She’s desperate for warmth, just as she logically should be, but it was her command that has jolted me into action.
A command that struck at my Lethian power as surely as if she plucked at my soul.
Already, I’ve given her parts of myself I’ve suppressed for years—parts I’m certain she doesn’t recognize for what they are or how deeply they’re connected to the fabric of my being.
My Lethian Voice.
Using it has dredged up memories I buried long ago, awakening melodies I thought I’d forgotten.
Her legs are wrapped around my hips, her hands jammed against my chest and side, her pelvis pressed hard to my cock and it takes all my force of will to remind myself she’s only pressed up against me like this because she must have thought my body heat would help her.
But I don’t fight my growing physical need because her mouth demands that I give her warmth, and I will.
Oh, I will.
I will use my desire to sing to her in a way I never thought I would ever sing to a woman.
Not the cruel song that forced her soul back into her dying body. That song pinned her mind to her body more cruelly than driving a nail into her heart and watching her bleed out.
No. The melody that now rises to my lips will make her long for life. It will give her a seductive heat that will keep her alive. Even if…
This song comes with consequences. As all songs do.
Softly, I drop my lips to the corner of her mouth and inhale her quick gasp before I move to her cold cheek, brushing a path to her ear and away from her mouth.
I need to hear her breathing, not smother it, because the pull and flow of air from her chest will signal her emotions and reactions and tell me how hard or soft my approach needs to be.
Within my mind, I catch hold of the torrent of sensations she’s triggering in my body, the intoxicating perfection of how easily she slid her legs around me, and how hard she presses her pelvis to mine.
