When Faryn opened her eyes, it was to a darkened suite. Not one light was on. It could have only been thirty minutes since she closed her eyes or four hours. Breathing in, she could tell by the faint traces of Peter's and Clíodhna's scents that they were not in the room, but she caught onto Cassian's, and the strong hints of pine and burnt sugar. His breathing was deep from wherever she was and the steady rhythm of it hinted at him being asleep.
She breathed in his scent again. "Cassian?" She hated to wake him, but she needed to speak to him while the others weren't present.
It was a few seconds later before she heard, "Faryn?" His voice was like gravel.
She couldn't explain why she pushed herself out of the bed and crossed the room to the larger bed where his scent was the strongest. She moved slowly; even with her heightened eyesight, the room was pitch black. When her legs pressed into the mattress, she felt the bed shift and knew Cassian had sat up.
If she couldn't see him, he probably couldn't see her either, though she felt his eyes burning into her as if he knew the exact spot she stood. He probably did. His senses were better than hers after all.
"Why are you awake?" he asked. Some of the gravel in his voice had loosened.
"I . . ." She wasn't sure she was ready to acknowledge her powers aloud now that the danger had passed. "I need to talk. To you. Here"—there was a lamp somewhere—"let me turn the light—"
"Don't."
"I don't really like talking into darkness."
"If you turn that light on, I will get a headache, and I'll blame you." The bed creaked as he laid back down.
"Could you at least come out from under the covers?"
"If you can't see me, how do you know I'm under them?"
"An educated guess."
He growled, but not in a way that made her feel that he was going to attack her. "It's too cold."
"Then how do I know you won't fall asleep on me?"
"Then get in the bed."
"What?"
"Get in." He said it as if he were asking her to take a seat at his table. It wasn't as if she hadn't been in the same bed as him before, and he certainly didn't utter those words like he had any interest in pouncing on her the moment she laid down.
She felt for the start of the covers and pulled them back, but once she sat down, she didn't bother getting underneath them, choosing to cross her legs instead.
Somehow the sheets and pillows already held his scent as if it were his own bed.
As the Fata rolled over, the bed shifted, inching Faryn down farther into the mattress. She felt his breath on her bare knee.
"Did you know you're like a heater?"
She rolled her eyes. "Are you really that cold?"
"Are you not?"
"No." She tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. "Please don't tell Peter or anyone about the ice."
"Why?"
She rested her head against the headboard and closed her eyes. "I don't understand what happened, and I don't know if I'll be able to control it again. I just can't have anyone counting on me to be able to use those kinds of powers again."
The back of his hand brushed her leg where her shorts did not reach. She didn't pull away.
"How did you use them?" His words hung in the dark.
"I don't know," she breathed. "I knew I needed to get across the ice and that I didn't have a choice but to." Maybe Cassian was right about her, and her truest self really was vindictive and only responded to ultimatums.
"Our powers are different, but maybe I could . . . help you?"
Faryn bit her lip, sinking lower into the bed, making sure she faced away from the Fata.
"You don't have to be scared of it."
"If Jack finds out, he'll only want to kill me more."
Cassian's hand pressed into the top of her arm, right under her shoulder. The tips of his fingers brushed the skin at her collar. They were cold, but it wasn't unpleasant. Though Faryn should move, she didn't.
"Peter and I aren't going to let that happen. You aren't going to let that happen."
"Don't underestimate the power of hatred."
His hand slid down her arm. He probably meant for it to comfort her. "You're so warm." There was a tad too much wonder in his voice.
"You live in a mountain covered in snow. How can you really be that cold?"
"It's not that. You just feel good."
He had to still be half asleep.
"Cassian—"
"Shh." His hand halted over her wrist.
She closed her eyes. "You know, I imagine that's what you'd say before you'd kill me."
Instead of pulling away, his arm encircled her waist. "Why do you think I have any interest in killing you?"
"I'm an Elf. You're Fae. It's what we do."
It was as if she felt his eyes peering at her. Maybe he really could see her.
"Isn't it the Fae's mission to pay the Elves back for what happened?"
"And isn't the Elves mission to pay back the Fae?" he retorted.
"Exactly." Her throat swelled. The Fae and Elves who were alive but had avoided the massacre vowed to remove the other from the Earth. The massacre—the Great Slaughter, they called it: when the wedding between a Fae princess and an Elven prince ended in blood and the only survivor was an Elf. No one else. And that Elf couldn't even say who had started it. It was so long ago—before Elves even worked in the North Pole—that it was impossible to believe any of the Fae or Elves who hadn't been at the wedding were still alive. But still there were those who believed they must fulfill the vows made by their ancestors. Too many Elves and Fae believed that. "For all I know you're waiting for the perfect moment to strangle me."
Suddenly, he tugged Faryn against him, his arm moving from her waist to her neck. Her stomach clenched.
"You think I want to strangle you?" His fingertips barely touched her skin, and yet she was hyperaware of each one. "If I wanted to, now would be the perfect time."
She couldn't find the ability to speak.
"Well?" They were close enough that when he spoke his lips moved against her hair. Peter could walk in at any moment. So could Clíodhna. And is that what she wanted? For them to save her?
"If you're trying to scare me, it's not going to work."
"Then why is your heart beating so fast?"
She didn't have an answer to that. "You wouldn't kill me until you've cleared your name."
He pressed his hand against her throat lightly, but it was the only thing she could feel even as his palm skimmed her chest. "True," he murmured into her hair. "But I can think of far more interesting things to do to you than killing you."
She clamped her mouth shut so she wouldn't ask what.
His hand moved to her back. "Do you really think I could put a dagger here?" His voice was both solemn and maybe even a bit hurt.
She was silent, words—an answer—anything failing her.
"Tell me what you think of me, Faryn."
Did she have an answer? Every time he saved her, it surprised her. And he frustrated her almost every time they spoke. Every single inch of him that she had seen was beautiful, but she would not, could not tell him that. And she did not want to admit that his scent drew her to him, and she couldn't explain why or when it had stopped repelling her.
"I think you're honorable," she said at last, knowing she needed to give him something.
"Honorable?"
"Yes."
"And yet you'd think I'd kill you?"
She really didn't know. Not anymore. It's what kept her mind whirling, trying to balance her perception of Cassian with what other Fae had shown they do to Elves. But it wasn't only Fae who were guilty. Maybe he'd been scared of her. Maybe he still was. Perhaps he was waiting for her to drive a knife into his chest. Her heart clenched as if it were her own chest that had been stabbed. That was one of the last things she wanted to do to him.
She must frustrate him just as much as he did her. And what she would give to know if he also found her just as beautiful as she thought him.
She wanted to shrink away from that last thought, but his hand was at her back and all she could think of was him. He was all that she could smell, all that she could feel. She wanted to see him. She wanted to turn around and taste him.
She stiffened at the thought. He was doing things to her mind. His scent, the coolness of his skin.
Peter and Clíodhna needed to return now.
"Faryn?"
She still hadn't answered him. "I can't remember a point in my life when I didn't fear others, knowing that they hated me, knowing their perception of my mother would be perfect once again if I just went away. I hadn't expected though that my family would ever try to kill me. That Aurelius would turn his back on me. I'm convinced that if I let myself fully trust Peter, that he'll only end up betraying us, and if I . . . trust you, I'd be dooming myself."
He was still. He didn't try to say that she could trust him. Perhaps this was all further proof that she couldn't.
"Do you still think my mother might have taken Nick?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"And you still think then that I helped her?"
Faryn didn't answer.
"If I was guilty, why would I stop your cousin from killing you? Why not just let you die and be done with it or let you rot in the Frozen City? The world would be willing to remain convinced of your guilt if they knew you had been punished."
"Cassian, you still aren't sure if I'm guilty."
His chest pressed against her back, and his hand was still at her throat.
"Do you think I killed Claus?" she asked.
His breath brushed the back of her neck as he sighed. "I don't know."
She closed her eyes. "Then it's settled. Neither of us can trust each other, so the sooner we learn who's responsible, the better."
"And if it's one of us?"
"Then I suppose one of us might be in danger."
The door opened, light spilling in from the hall, and Peter walked inside only to come to an abrupt halt.
She was too stunned to try to move. Peter had caught her in a much more comprising position than when Cassian had found him in her bed.
The Fata didn't move his hand.
Peter cleared his throat. "I don't know whether to blush or if one of you needs help."
Faryn closed her eyes and said the only thing that came to her mind. "He was cold."
So if you haven't figured it out yet, I really love slow-burn romances.