“Or it’s a mortal tradition that could use some scrutiny.” He held out the faux carrot that came in his kit.
“But, look, he’s healthy. A carrot.”
“Is he going to eat his own nose?”
“I can’t do this with you now.”
He went still. Was she… mad?
Her shoulders started shaking, and he leaned forward to see her trying to restrain a laugh.
Then, she leaned down, grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at him. The unpacked snow fluttered around him, spraying a cold mist across his face.
He could do much better than that. Crouching, he quickly rounded a ball of snow that he had to repack when he caught a face full of unpacked snow again as Hannah lobbed another handful. His snowball caught her left shoulder near her neck. Then, since she’d lost her lucky scarf again, she gasped as it dribbled down her jacket.
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Oh, it is on!”
They both quickly retreated to pack snowballs and throw them at each other. After a half-dozen snowballs each, Zeit got pelted from behind by one of the kids—a gap-toothed child who stood there smiling as if waiting to see if he’d play. A snowball from Hannah sailed past his shoulder and hit the kid in the knee.
“C’mon, grown-ups against us!” the boy shouted and the seven other kids began scrambling to make snowballs as Zeit retreated to where Hannah was packing snowballs.
“Now look what you’ve done,” he said, crouching down. Should he go for speed or accuracy? Speed probably.
“Oh, like you’d have left his challenge unanswered. Besides, we’re bigger… we can take them.”
“I don’t think we can.” It wasn’t like him to be so defeatist, but that blond child he’d stood near for the caroling could pack snowballs faster than he’d ever seen. “Pack faster.”
“You pack faster!” She lobbed two snowballs. Both missed.
“Maybe I should do the throwing.” Zeit’s snowballs hit the targeted child just as he’d intended.
“Don’t make me join their team.”
If he could stop time, he could win this game. It’d be cheating, but he could win it. He snapped his fingers. Damn.
Thirty minutes later, they conceded defeat, and Hannah grabbed his hand as they ran toward the lodge, being pelted by snowballs from behind. When they’d reached the roof’s overhang at the entrance near their rooms, they both stomped to get the snow off their boots while shaking their arms.
“It’s all over your hair.” Zeit leaned forward and brushed ineffectively at it before yanking off his gloves and her hat. He slid his fingers into her hair as she tipped her face up. Her skin was rosy from the cold, and snow clung to her eyelashes, making them spiky. A half-smile played on her lips as if she knew he was fighting his attraction to her.
Some things weren’t worth fighting. He tightened his fingers and pulled her mouth to his. Their lips were both cold, but her mouth was warm. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing into him while standing on her tiptoes.
One last snowball pelted both their faces from the side, and they pulled back, blinking.
The moment should have been ruined—it had been chilled at the very least, but Hannah laughed and grabbed his hand again. “Come on. Let’s go have some hot chocolate.”
“I think I’m finally warm,” she said as he sat down in front of the fire. He intended to stare morosely at it—she could tell. She was beginning to understand his moods. It was sweet that he was so worried about her. She was glad he was. He might be the only thing between her and another near death experience—only this time it wouldn’t be “near”—it would just be a death experience. She still wasn’t going to let him sulk. Sliding down onto his lap, she curled her arms around his neck.
His answering smile was brief, but it was there.
“I was thinking maybe we could watch what you want to tonight.” Anything to get him to relax.
He raised his eyebrows. “Football?”
“If that’s what you want to watch.”
They moved the armchair over in front of the TV, and he held her on his lap and played with her hair. It felt like they were a couple—a normal couple, not an immortal hanging out with a mortal until she got wiped out in a freak accident.
“Who are we rooting for?” she asked.
“Well, let’s see who is losing.”
“You only root for the winner?” Huh, she was… disappointed.
“No, I only root for the losing team.” He shrugged. “I like to see mortals overcome a challenge. Besides, I like the competition, not seeing a team beaten, and I have no loyalties because I travel all over most years—it makes sense to hope for a close game.”
“If Boise had a team playing, you’d cheer for them, though, right?”
“Hannah, it’s Boise.”
“I like Boise.”
He was focused on the TV, though, and didn’t answer.
“So, you’ve stayed in Boise just for me?”
He nodded while squinting at the game then, shook his head. “I can’t believe that call. Is he blind?”
She settled down against him. “Which team are we cheering for, white or blue?”
“Uhh… blue, but we don’t like the call. What the hell? Seriously? I just… seriously?”
Pressing her cheek against his chest, she listened to the beat of his heart and the rumble of him yelling at the TV as he stroked a hand down her hair absently.
This could be a good life—if she was alive to experience it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Four days later, his abilities were still gone. He’d summoned enough clothes for the remaining time he was here just in case he lost that ability too. Hannah had described the process of doing laundry, and if he could, he’d avoid that—at all costs.
A sudden pain spiked through his shin. “Ow!” he said, rubbing his leg, underneath the table, as he stared up at Hannah dumbfounded. Why in the Fates’ name had she just kicked him? Apparently breakfast had left her feeling violent. Responding to it made him feel guilty, but pain was still unfamiliar even after a few days of it that he couldn’t help it.
“We’re done hiding out in the lodge. Every morning, you’ve been waking up acting like there was a grim reaper in the room, and it takes me hours to drag you out of that mood.”
Waking up implied that he’d been sleeping. He hadn’t slept the entire time he’d been here. “There is basically a grim reaper in your room, and you’re waking up beside it.”
She scowled at him.
“I’m being reasonable.”
“No. You’re not. If something happens to me, it happens, but not living life in the meantime is a waste of time.”
Her words sent a shaft of pain through his heart. Emotional pain. Physical pain. They both felt remarkably similar, and he didn’t much care for either. “So, you feel like we’ve been wasting time this week?”
Her eyes widened. “No! Zeit, this has been an amazing week—the best week. But nothing has happened since Christmas Day, and I want to do other things with you.”
“We’ve been outside.” It’d been the best time he’d ever had outside in the snow in all these millennia.
“Yes, but I want to go skiing. They’re giving free lessons today.”
“I can teach you how to ski after New Year’s Day. For free. Skiing is dangerous enough without the Fates working against you.” Four days had gone by—and nothing. Why? They were being careful. Their days had been spent close to the lodge, and then they’d watched movies in their room or, last night, with the others in the lodge. He’d shared a bag of popcorn with the blond child named Baker—who did not actually bake anything. Mortal names were illogical. He’d never noticed until this week in the lodge.
Reaching across the table, Hannah grabbed his hands. “Hey, you’ll be with me. You’ll be there to keep me alive. I have a few things on my bucket list that I’d like to do just in case things go badly tomorrow night.”
A frisson of fear skipped acr
oss him. Tomorrow night. If he still had the ability to hold back time, he’d have done it dozens of times already. Time was moving too fast. Somehow, someway, it had sped up. He now understood the ridiculous mortal phrase “time flies.”
Her hands looked so small in his. And fragile. “What’s a bucket list?”
“A list of things you do before you kick the bucket.” When he stared at her, she added, “Kick the bucket means to die.”
“I know what it means. I just don’t like that you’re talking about it.” All he could think about was how his future would be miserable if she wasn’t in it, and she was making lists and using silly mortal euphemisms for death.
She leaned across the table, and her locket clinked against the glass top. “Well, we could spend the day doing other activities together.”
“Other activities?” Some of the tenseness in his muscles relaxed.
“Things we wouldn’t even need clothes for.”
And the tenseness in his muscles returned.
Damn. Her accompanying smile made that sound like an amazing way to spend the day—to his body. His brain and his conscience were opposed to the idea—primarily because that’s exactly how he’d planned on spending the week before he’d gotten to know her—burying himself in her to get her out of his system. Now, he didn’t want her to think for even a mortal second he was with her for the wrong reasons. And he couldn’t afford the distraction. Right now, the near painful arousal was keeping him sharp.
On the other hand, he hadn’t told her that he could no longer stop time. He should. It’s possible their cautious actions of the last few days had prevented her from being in danger. There was a chance he wouldn’t be able to save her like last time—and that would kill him—only it wouldn’t. He’d have to live, knowing he’d let her die. That’d be hell.
He should tell her he was basically as powerless as a mortal—other than if he needed another pair of socks or to replace the chocolate oranges he kept devouring. He should tell her.
He couldn’t.
It was the one thing he had over all the other males around here. She might not even trust him to keep her safe if he told her.
But he had to keep her safe.
Incredible sex or skiing?
There was no plane of existence that should have him picking what he was. “Okay. Skiing. But you stay right next to me.”
She tilted her head. “I can’t believe you picked skiing.”
“I’m a little ashamed.”
Five hours later, he still couldn’t believe he’d chosen freezing his ass off over the alternative. Though watching Hannah in the ski class and seeing her dressed as a snow bunny was fun. She was determined to be at Olympic competition levels by the end of the day. Her focus on the instructor was admirable and so endearing his cheeks were beginning to feel the ache of smiling for too long.
Pain sucked. Even pain from smiling struck him as being unreasonable. This was why mortals drank and took pills. They skirted death and got a taste of it in the form of pain every damn day.
It wasn’t fair.
Then, Hannah fell backward in the snow, and he couldn’t help smiling again. He should go over and help her, but watching her try to get up was one of the best parts of this experience—and it almost made up for the cold grip of fear encasing his heart.
“I think I’m getting this,” she said, tromping over to him. She was getting better. She was at least better than most of the children who were taking the class with her. Though that little Baker wasn’t bad for a six-year-old mortal. “Stopping is hard, though.”
“You can always fall over to stop.” She’d gotten some practice at that already. Lots of practice.
“I might have to do that.”
“I’m sure that’s what they do in the Olympics too.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “So, we’re going to try a run?”
“Yes, but you’re staying right beside me.”
Lifting her ski mask, she asked, “Are you really worried I’ll get ahead of you?”
Okay, so that was a ridiculous concern. “No. So, I guess I’ll stay right beside you.”
They rode up the lift together with her talking animatedly and him with a sick feeling in his chest. He should have told her he couldn’t stop time. He should tell her. It was only his pride keeping him from telling her.
But he would stay right beside her.
The first portion of the run, he discovered how difficult it was to go slow—unbearably slow. It was like she’d found a mortal way to turn back time. This was all the fun of skiing, without any of the fun of skiing. He switched to skiing behind her so he’d be able to set her back on her feet when she fell, and because the view was better.
Then, Baker toppled over right in front of him. Zeit stopped to help the six-year-old up and out of the way of oncoming skiers and there it was—the flash of sight in his head. The image of death—of fate delivered, and she’d managed to get ahead of him—and, for once, she sped up.
Hell.
He took off after her in time to see her go off course as directed by a cleverly-frosted sign. What should have been a warning triangle with an exclamation point in the center was obscured so that it looked like an arrow sign. As she passed the sign, the light snow dropped revealing the bottom portion that indicated a cliff—a sheer drop-off.
Damn.
He was fast, but fate was faster and, even as he cleared the trees, yelling, “Hannah! Stop! Hannah!” he knew that she was too close to stop.
She looked over her shoulder and tried to stop—she even tried falling over to stop, but she had too much momentum. Her skis broke away as she rolled. Sliding, Hannah neared the edge of the cliff as he dove for her. They spun together, and a rock slammed into his side, knocking the breath from him. Then, even more terrifying—there was nothing—nothing above, nothing below—an infinite, horrible nothing as they dropped off the cliff. Clawing frantically, he grasped something with his right hand as his left arm wrapped around her waist.
Hannah screamed in his ear as they jerked to a sudden stop, hanging from a tree root. Their bodies swung, slamming against the cliff side, but he didn’t let go with either hand—even though Hannah’s head crashed against his chin, and she was still shrieking at a deafening volume.
Her scream stopped abruptly as her arms wrapped around his neck. “Zeit! Zeit! Don’t let go!”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Zeit shook his head slightly to rid it of the ringing. Wow. Hannah was loud when she wanted to be. He glanced down. A hundred foot drop. His skis had fallen in an X pattern. Land here. “I guess I’m not getting the deposit back on those skis.”
She laughed—a shaky, nervous laugh. “I don’t think I want to do another run today anyway.”
“No?”
“No.” She swallowed. “Uhh, I know I was all gung-ho and rah rah earlier, but I’d rather not die.” She was shivering, and it most likely wasn’t from the cold.
“That sounds like a good idea.” If he talked calmly, maybe she’d assume he wasn’t as scared as she was. Maybe. “How about you climb up me and get back on solid ground then?”
“You think that’s what I should do?” She looked up and down. There was no way going down was a good option. “I think you’re right.”
“I think so. I also think maybe you should hurry just in case this root and I part ways.” He had a good grip on it, but he wouldn’t bet her life on it.
“Oh, okay.”
It was the longest minute of his life—his entire immortal life—as he helped her climb up along his body back onto the cliff edge.
When she’d scrambled over the top, he twisted toward the rock face, wincing as muscles ached. Along with the pain in his chest, other portions of him were determined to suffer for his courtship of a mortal. Grasping the root with his other hand, he climbed the side of the cliff slowly before pushing himself up over the edge. Hannah grabbed his shoulders and pulled him toward her.
He wanted to tell h
er to stop and not to help him.
He wanted to tell her to stay away from the cliff’s edge, but as they both collapsed in the snow, breathing heavily, he felt weak and tired… and mortal.
And he hated it.
CHAPTER NINE
That was the longest shower she’d ever taken. The first half hour was to warm up. The second half hour was to stop the shaking fear coursing through her veins.
When she stepped out of the bathroom wearing a thick robe, she glanced over at Zeit’s room. He’d turned off the lights, but she could see him stretched out on his bed.
It wasn’t even six p.m., but he looked like he was going to sleep.
She padded over to their shared doorway, putting the locket around her neck as she did. “Zeit?”
He called her name softly before saying in a gravelly voice—a voice too tired to be his, “Come here.”
The dim light from her room cast him mostly in shadows. He’d forgone a shirt, but the bedspread was at his waist. She walked toward the bed, and his gaze followed her as she pulled up the covers and slid in beside him, without removing her robe.
Turning on his side to face her, he whispered, “I have something I need to tell you.”
Hannah inched closer until their faces were only a breath away. “Okay.”
His swallow was loud in the quiet room. “I can’t stop time anymore. I haven’t been able to since Christmas Eve.”
That explained why they’d had such close calls these last two times. “Okay.” Lifting her hand, she traced his jaw. He was no longer scary intense—just sexy intense, and he’d saved her life forty-one times.
“There’s something else.”
“Okay.” She kept saying that, but it fit.
The other shoe was about to drop. Maybe he was going to tell her that he was leaving—that he was tired of saving her life.
But the last few days had been so wonderful and by the end of each night, he’d been smiling—like really smiling, and all the shadows were gone from his eyes. Even if the morning brought them back, she was still sure he was beginning to care for her as deeply as she felt for him.
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