The Winter King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “So, the longer we wait, the better. Plus, if we wait until morning, maybe whoever hurt the Tree will think you’re worse off than you actually are.”

  That actually hadn’t occurred to him. He looked side-long at her as she began to re-arrange the pillows now, too. She was amazingly bright. They hadn’t had much of a chance to interact, in all fairness. He’d seen her, followed her, they’d “met,” she’d had a sip of coffee, and then the fit had hit the shan, so to speak. They’d gotten a crash course in each other, but he’d done most of the talking. She knew where he came from. She knew how he’d become the Winter King.

  But what had he learned of her? Not very damned much. She’d expertly steered all of their conversations away from herself, and he’d let her do so to put her at ease. But his lack of knowledge about his future queen was more than a little frustrating. Still, he’d seen enough to recognize a quick mind when he witnessed it. She had one.

  It was something to make note of, because he had a feeling that if he ever got into an argument with her, he would have to be at the top of his game, or she would make a complete mockery of him.

  “Morning it is,” he told her as he took the set of blankets near the couch and brought them to the bed. He had no need for them. “Here. Take these.”

  She stopped fussing with the pillows and looked up. “Won’t you need them?”

  “As Elsa says, ‘Cold never bothered me – ”

  “No, don’t say it.” She shook her head, and held up her hand, stopping him mid-speech. “Just don’t.” Then she took the blankets. “So I’m guessing the Winter King doesn’t get cold.”

  He chuckled. He didn’t fail to notice that when he did, her eyes lit up, and her gaze slid to his mouth. He saw the pulse in her neck quicken. He was observant that way.

  She liked it when he laughed. Note to self.

  “Temperatures themselves have little effect on me,” he told her. “Being the Winter King means having some control over the weather. And weather is not just winter.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “People always complain about ‘the weather’ when it starts to turn cold, but summer’s worse than winter. It kills more people, actually. It’s heat that brings tornadoes and hurricanes. And you can always pile more clothes on, but you can only take so many off, you know?”

  Kristopher swallowed hard as he imagined her taking off those clothes.

  She went on. “Weather,” she said distractedly, “is all about temperature in general.” Her tone suggested she was really thinking out loud more than anything else. She had turned her attention back to the bed, fluffing up the pillows she’d placed against the ice wall. “Temperature changes brought on by the tilt of the planet bring on everything that we relate to weather. Wind is the planet’s attempt at balancing out the difference between hot and cold. That same effect gives us barometric pressure changes and things like storms.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “Summer, winter, spring, and fall and everything in-between. It’s all due to changes in temperature.”

  “Damn, woman. I love the way you think.”

  It just came out. He hadn’t meant to voice his thoughts aloud, but there they were. He really did love the way her mind worked, and it was odd for him to realize as much. He wasn’t actually sure he’d ever felt that way about a woman before. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure that he’d ever noticed a woman’s mind before.

  By Odin, I’m an ass, he thought. His sister was right.

  Poppy went very still where she stood half-bent over the bed. Her head turned, her gaze searching out his. He smiled a helpless smile. “Sorry,” he said in a way that was not really sorry at all. “But I do. I love a lot of things about you, Poppy.”

  She straightened, turning to face him. After a few seconds, in which Kristopher would have given his right arm to know what she was thinking, she finally said, “You don’t even know me. Not really.”

  He shrugged. “You’re right. I don’t. So, why don’t you tell me?” He strode to the bed, and before she could object, he sat down on the edge of it.

  She watched him get comfortable, and her expression became a little discomfited. But she sighed, pursed her lips, and said, “Fine. My name you already know. I’m thirty-four years old, I was born in a tiny town in a very frozen Canada, and my birthday is in September. I love fall and hate summer, I adore thunder storms and Honeycrisp apples and hot cocoa and I loathe the sound of lawnmowers. I don’t think swear words are bad words; I think they’re just words and can be used for good or bad, like all words. My favorite scent is the smell of rain, followed closely by the smell of cherry bark and almonds. My favorite movie is probably The Princess Bride, and my favorite song… never mind, I can’t pick a favorite. I have two dental implants, which I got for my sixteenth birthday because for that same birthday, I got to play center in my neighborhood’s ice hockey game. I’m quite fond of the color purple, I firmly believe politics are a losing game, and my first crush ever was on Count von Count from Sesame Street. I was four years old.”

  She paused as his head spun and his heart swelled. She looked down at the rug-covered ice floor and pondered something in silence. Then she said, “I have one sister and two brothers. My father is usually the one I get along with. I love my mom, but we butt heads.” She moved to the bed, and seemingly without forethought, she sat down next to him. “We’re both extremely stubborn.”

  “What kind of man is your father?” Kris asked, knowing she would probably love to bitch about her mother, but that talking about things she enjoyed would cheer her up more.

  Poppy’s face brightened. Her features seemed to soften, and her eyes took on a shine. Still gazing into something he could neither see nor hear, she said, “He’s funny. And he’s done so many crazy things.” She laughed. “He’s the most amazing human I have ever known.”

  She stopped and twisted to face him. “Some day, I’ll publish a book about him. I’ve been writing it for a while now.” She laughed as she added, “People are seriously going to think it’s fiction.” Now she did smile, and that smile was fully turned on him, and for just a very real second, he forgot how to breathe.

  When he remembered again, he said, “I love the way you smile.”

  That also just came out. He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him; it was as if every ounce of smooth cool he’d ever possessed had been severed from him just like that root had been severed from the Great Tree. He was stripped down to pure honesty, and his mouth couldn’t keep that honesty to itself.

  Poppy stared up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted in surprise. Suddenly, he laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said through his laughter. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

  Poppy’s eyes grew just a tiny bit wider, and he saw something in their reflection. Her pupils expanded, her parted lips quivered – and just as suddenly as he’d laughed, she was kissing him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Oh my God! Her mind spun wildly out of control. She had no power over what her body was doing. One second, she’d been sitting way too close to a man who was way too beautiful, and he’d been laughing in that way that made her insides turn to absolute jelly, and in the very next heartbeat her hands were on either side of his face, and her lips were pressed against his.

  There was half a second in which she processed what she’d done and how she’d actually done it. And then, with the force of a hurricane, Kristopher Scaul crashed right back into her.

  If she’d had the ability to gasp or squeal or cry out in any manner, she might have done so, it happened so fast and so hard. But he claimed her lips in a take-charge kiss that pried them apart and opened her up without mercy or pause, and she lost all ability to do anything but feel.

  She made a small sound, captured hungrily by him as he expertly turned with her on the bed, and she found herself pinned beneath him on the mattress, her chest against his. The weight of his body kept her pressed into the furs beneath them as his hands encircled her wrists.

&n
bsp; She opened her eyes as he suddenly eased away, breaking their kiss. Her breathing was ragged, shocked into that fluttering-heart madness that promises pleasure, but threatens fainting spells. But he rose above her, and their eyes met.

  His were glowing.

  “Holy sh-shit,” she muttered, unable to stop herself. She wasn’t quite sure which sentiment she was expressing – her surprise over the kiss? Or the fact that the glowing eyes were one more reminder that he was supernatural king? Or both?

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  And despite the silhouette of him, the rock hardness of a man he was, the odd thing was he actually sounded like he meant it. “But I like the way you taste. And I love the way you moan.”

  He shrugged even, just a little, and Poppy felt mystified.

  “You really do like a lot of things about me,” she whispered.

  He gazed down at her through those eyes that looked like fire-lit glaciers, and then he laughed, and the sound moved deep in his rumbling chest, like the engine of a freight train. Oh gods, she thought helplessly as the sound and movement poured over her like its own kind of magic.

  Her heart wouldn’t slow down. His chest was like a brick wall against her nipples, and they were so hard at that moment, they actually hurt. Of course, that could also have been the temperature in the room. It was an ice hotel. In Iceland.

  But if he was going to be honest with her, then she might as well do the same. “I admit,” she said rather breathlessly. “I like a few things about you too.” Like pretty much everything.

  He grinned, flashing perfect pearly whites. “I know.”

  Poppy’s eyebrows rose. Cocky son of a bitch. “Oh?” He laughed again, and she bit her lip. She was going to rip a goddamned hole in it. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  “I have reason to be,” he told her frankly, and then he moved his body against hers, just enough to prove his point. His hands tightened around her wrists, his weight shifted where his knee pressed into the mattress between her legs, and the hardness of his ripped stomach against her hip bones all served as unwelcome reminders that the man on top of her was a walking, talking god. The sensation was bewildering. Every inch of muscle, every millimeter of strength throughout his tall, strong form, was predatory above her. He had her pinned. He was in charge.

  And her pants would be on fire and hanging from a telephone wire if she dared to claim that she didn’t like it. Because she did. A lot.

  She couldn’t stop herself when she made another sound, one of absolute and unrestrained need. But those teeth of hers pressed harder into her lip, nearly to the point of drawing blood. And the sudden pain that made her wince brought her mind back into focus and silenced any further sounds that threatened to escape her rapidly over-heating body.

  Above her, Kristopher noticed her teeth, saw what she’d done, and his glowing gaze narrowed as if in challenge.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  He leaned in so that his words whispered across her tortured lips. “I want to hear more of those sounds, Poppy,” he told her dangerously. “Why don’t you make some for me right now?”

  She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out. He was becoming her world, and she’d only met him hours ago. Who did this? Who jumped straight into bed with a man she’d only just met? What kind of person would she become? This was too much, too soon!

  She felt him move above her again, and then she felt the hotness of his breath at her ear – and a hard shiver rode through her.

  “I can be cold,” he told her, as if it were a warning. “And I can be just the opposite.”

  She remembered, suddenly, what she’d felt when she came out of the Starbucks earlier, just before she’d met him. A cold breath. That’s what it had felt like. It had whispered against her neck, just behind her ear. And now she knew it had been him.

  Except now there was no hint of cold about him. The man was a dangerous enigma, one who encompassed an entire spectrum of sensations. Now he was a furnace surrounding her, and she was pretty sure she was about to get seriously burned.

  A part of her wanted to cry. It was the part of her that hated her surrender, that helpless part of her that knew her need outweighed her misgivings and there was nothing she could do about it. So what if this didn’t make sense? So what if people didn’t usually sleep together hours after they met? Not in relationships where money wasn’t exchanged, anyway! But this was not a usual situation, and they were not usual people. Kristopher was a king.

  And in the end, she knew she would no longer be able to deny it. The writing was on the ice castle walls. It was on the walls of her heart. That kind of writing didn’t take a lifetime to translate. It took moments. Heartbeats.

  She was his queen.

  His lips parted, and his teeth gently bit down on her earlobe. She shuddered a sudden intake of breath, and that damn chuckle came again – right there where it could do the most damage.

  Now she did make that sound he wanted to hear more of. She could almost hear him smiling beside her, his grin declaring his victory. “Now say my name, Poppy.”

  She gritted her teeth, her stubborn streak kicking in, despite the fact that her muscles were turning to jelly and blood was flowing hot and fast to certain parts of her body. “No.”

  It didn’t even slow him down. In fact, if anything, he seemed to enjoy the fight in her. “What if I threaten to freeze an entire neighborhood unless you do?”

  She went still. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You’d be surprised what I would do where you’re concerned.” As if to prove his point, he released her left arm just long enough to curl his fingers over the top of her jeans, pulling the top button free. Poppy closed her eyes, squirming as her mind sped into a tailspin once more.

  This is really going to happen. More heat flooded her; she was growing wet with a burgeoning and building want. It was more cruel, hard evidence that she had no control over herself just then.

  “It’s easy,” he said, and his hand unfastened the second button, his fingers brushing against her exposed flesh underneath. Another shiver coursed through her. “K-R-I-S,” he spelled out for her, speaking each word directly into her ear. The third button went, and the tops of her white cotton panties were no doubt in view.

  She took a small breath, ready to surrender then and there, but as she prepared to give sound to his name, his fingers slipped under the denim of her jeans as his hand spanned the flat expanse of her lower stomach. The touch was electrifying, a heat so hot it was almost cold. Like lightning. She inhaled sharply and rose from the bed, unable to prevent her body from pressing further into his touch.

  He laughed again, and she cried out in a kind of desperation. But then his hand slipped beneath the band of her panties and sank lower… and lower….

  “Kristopher!” she exclaimed. But she cried out his name too late, for he’d already found her hot, slick core – and was pressing his finger into her. She felt it slowly, inexorably slide deeper, and all she could think was that she wanted more.

  “There now. Was that so hard?”

  He moved inside her, and she felt the nearly painful pressure of a second finger joining the first. “Now that I have your attention, my little blossom, I want you to know that I’m going to strip you down, lay you bare before me, and torture you.”

  You already are! she thought helplessly. She hadn’t even realized that her arms had gone around him, and her hands were in his hair, her fingers gripping tight. It was soft hair, not what you’d expect for someone with the rough and tumble appearance he exuded. But there was nothing expected about Kristopher Scaul at all.

  “I’m going to make you beg me to stop, and then I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

  She would have growled with a simple, “Do it already!” but the world tilted just then. Everything changed. The room around them grew bright with blue-white light, the bed beneath them melted away to a cool breeze, and every inch of her clothing vanished into nothing
ness. She was indeed laid bare, but not on the ice hotel bed.

  The portal of a transport spun around them, whisking them through time and space. A moment later, the light dissipated, and the room again solidified. She couldn’t see much of it over the expanse of Kristopher’s equally unclothed and very broad shoulder, but she saw enough to recognize the fancy, intricately carved and dome-type celling she’d seen in the ice castle.

  We’re back, she thought in blissful disorientation as he continued to move his fingers inside her, and her body responded with a virtual flood of heat and wetness. It appeared that the king’s powers were back after all. Full of surprises, she thought mindlessly.

  The top of the dome above them was clear, just as it had been in the antechamber of the castle. Beyond that clear and probably magical ice, a cluster of Cosmos stretched purple, pink, and black, sparkling like a velvet blanket sprinkled with diamond dust. She saw it in flashes as she thrashed her head back and forth and her body arched off the new bed when he found her g-spot and dug in.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight again, her hands finding the bricks of his arms, and her nails digging deep as he moved downward, trailing kisses. He pulled out of her grip, leaving furrows of desperation carved into his arms, and Poppy squirmed wantonly beneath him as his lips blazed a heated trail across her right breast. He stopped to circle her nipple with his tongue, taunting it into a painfully hard nub before he gripped it pitilessly between his teeth.

  She cried out as he flicked his tongue across it, then sucked on it hard, pulling blood and pleasure into one of her most sensitive areas. More heat and wetness flooded her between her legs, coating his fingers and allowing him to go deeper. The air of the room grew thick, and she found it hard to breathe as that pressure built inside her, climbing that mountain to the point of no return.