by Elise Kova
“Hello, Snow.”
For a long moment, Snow only stared at her, something indescribable marring his features. Then, a wavering half-smile began to form, looking out of place and difficult to master.
“I was beginning to think you wanted nothing to do with me,” Snow said by way of greeting. As he spoke, his eyes fell into a saddened shine, as if he was waiting for her to disappear like smoke. Something Jo didn’t know she still possessed fractured deep beneath her breastbone at the sight.
“You know why I didn’t, right?”
“I should think the space I gave you was evidence enough.” Snow gave a small nod, one Jo returned. Good, they had an understanding. It was one small relief in the ball of tension that was wound so tight in her chest that her hands were almost shaking.
“It was,” Jo said, putting the final word on the matter. After Nico, and then the wish, it was no surprise really that Snow and romance had been the last thing on Jo’s mind. But seeing him before her now, truly alone and incredibly secluded. . . those thoughts bubbled up unbidden and Jo fought to keep herself focused.
And yet, the moment Jo’s eyes settled on the man, her once-burning questions became embers that could barely illuminate her thoughts. At more than a glance, Snow’s eyes were hollow, listless . . . They were a far cry from the almost monstrous appearance he assumed after he changed reality, but they were just as haunting. It was as if she could see every moment a man should never have to witness reflected back in his gaze.
“How are you handling it all?” Jo hoped the fact that the question was whispered didn’t somehow diminish its sincerity.
“Making every attempt to survive.” Snow quickly added, “Wishing I could do more to ensure my team survives, too.” He looked askance, a silver wave of hair obscuring his eyes. Jo was wracked with the sudden need to reach out to him, to push the hair out of his face and see him. She wanted to touch him and comfort him, somehow, even as raw as she felt herself. So she didn’t hold back.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Jo quickly crossed to him, scooping up his hands. Warm, as they always were—steady and unparalleled comfort. The smell of cloves and the warmth of a body now obviously inches from her had all prior thoughts fleeing. “You know that, right?” When he didn’t answer, Jo was left tilting her head, trying to catch his gaze, reaching towards where his hair had fallen like a veil between them. “Snow—”
“Of course I know that!” When Jo startled at the outburst, he shook his head, pressing his eyes shut. “It was never supposed to be like this.”
“What wasn’t?”
Snow shook his head again.
A little inkling wormed its way up from an ugly corner of her brain. It wasn’t entirely foreign, yet it also wasn’t familiar. Jo became keenly aware of how much he was hurting—how weak that hurt made him.
Like she’d attempted with Eslar, she could nudge the conversation.
No, she could do better. He trusted her, so she could attack under his armor. It wouldn’t take much, of that she was certain. Just a few pushes in the right places and she could crack him like an egg—letting his truths ooze out one by one.
“No more secrets, Snow.” Jo attempted to straddle the line between demanding and gentle. “I need you to be honest with me.”
“I’ve always been honest with you.”
Honest, maybe, but upfront, no. Jo kept the bitter thought to herself. “The wishes, Snow.”
“What about them?” There. It was barely audible, but there was a waver to Snow’s voice that hadn’t been there with anything else he’d said. She tightened her grip on his hands; she was on the right trail.
“Eslar mentioned once that you don’t get to choose them.”
Whether he knew he was doing it or not, Snow’s grip tightened beneath hers as well. It felt almost like he was clinging. “If I did, do you think I would have ever let Nico die? Do you think I would have given us another task like this, so soon?”
“No . . . But . . . How are the wishes chosen, then?” Snow stiffened beneath her hands and Jo felt him beginning to pull away; she tightened her fingers, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Snow, please.”
For a long time, Snow just stared down at her, expressions flitting behind his eyes like the flicker of a candle flame, constantly shifting before they had the chance to take form. When it settled, Jo tried not to feel guilty at the defeat that remained.
“What does it matter?”
“Help me understand,” Jo whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone. If you tell me about the workings of the Society, the way all of this exists . . . I may be able to help you.”
“Help me how?”
“I may be able to destroy it.”
Snow blinked, as if she had gone out of focus and was suddenly coming back into clarity. “Jo . . . what did you just say?”
“I want to end this, Snow. I want to free us all from the Society. No more wishes, no more nooses around our necks. You, me, everyone.”
Here, Snow finally chose to cover the rest of the short distance between them. He reached forward, cupping one of her cheeks. Jo leaned into the touch easily, like she’d done it a million times. Her eyes fluttered closed, but only for a moment, a desperate part of her refusing to lose sight of him, lest he vanish, a figment of her paranoid imagination all along. Another bit of her fracturing reality to question.
But he didn’t disappear; his piercing eyes still scanned her face, silver hair still fell in a motionless cascade despite the breeze Jo knew was blowing. Jo wondered if her hair was motionless as well. It must be, because he said nothing.
“That’s not possible.”
“You’re lying to me.” She’d never known anything with more certainty in her life, and Snow’s immediate reaction told her everything—the way his gaze seemed unable to stay pinned to her face was proof enough. But even if it wasn’t, there was that same feeling she was becoming more and more familiar with. The feeling of seeing weakness in something, someone, and recognizing just where to push. “Why are you lying to me?”
“Because, I . . .” Snow took a breath, let it out. He shook his head, then fell silent.
Jo took a deep breath of her own through her nose, then let it out through her mouth in an attempt to keep her temper under control. For the briefest of moments, she considered pushing him away. Instead, she pulled him closer. She pressed their bodies together so tightly that it was nearly impossible to tell where one of them began and the other ended.
Jo sighed softly, feeling momentarily high on the rich scent of cloves that seemed to have permanently soaked into the man’s flesh. There were deeper notes, like the spongy moss of a forest, combined with lighter ones, like the fresh crest of seafoam on a wave. Merely smelling him, touching him, evoked so many thoughts and feelings that it was overwhelming.
“Are you afraid to tell me?” she asked delicately.
“I am.” Sturdy, assured, his voice didn’t falter this time; there were no cracks to push on—he was telling the truth.
“Why?”
“What you are saying is dangerous and would place you directly in harm’s way.”
“I’m not afraid of danger,” Jo insisted. “What I am afraid of—” She choked on her own words, having to force them out. “What I am afraid of is doing nothing. Of losing control. Of my magic. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or die, especially not because of me. But it feels like I’m one step away from shattering into a million pieces and taking everybody down with me.”
The words turned into a hasty ramble. It was as if she had built up a dam to hold back her worry and now, in the presence of the one person she trusted more than anyone else, she could let them all out freely. Things she didn’t even realize had been heavy on her heart were lifted.
“I will do everything in my power to ensure that no other member of the Society suffers the same fate as Nico.” Jo hugged him a bit tighter at their lost friend’s name. “But I promise you this. No matter what happens, here and no
w or years in the future, no matter what judgments befall the rest of humanity, I will protect you. I will make sure you do not suffer the fate of losing who you are.”
Jo almost startled at the unbridled genuineness in Snow’s tone. It was a tone that settled warm and comforting into her bones, like honey poured into hot tea. But it was also fierce, determined, and it made a different warmth bloom, urgent and low.
“But what if I don’t need protecting?” Jo was surprised her voice was so steady, considering the way her heartbeat had begun to quicken, her body starting to ache with the beginnings of need. She clung tighter to Snow’s muscled frame and triumphed at the sigh of contentment that escaped him as she did so. His arms mimicked her motion.
“Even then, I would still protect you.”
“Do I need protecting now?” It came out teasing, more so than Jo expected considering the roller coaster her heart was currently trapped on, but thankfully, Snow only chuckled. It was a deep sound, vibrating between their chests like a shared and tremulous heartbeat.
“Perhaps only from me.” Snow’s words would have been concerning in any other circumstances. But the dark growl of sound was filled with welcome implication, playful and bordering on explicit, and all too welcome.
Jo felt another shiver run down her spine and reveled in the fact that Snow had most likely felt it too.
The need for Snow to know how much of an effect he had on her was overwhelming. She wanted him to understand just how easily he could rile her up and then gently pull her back down. She wanted him to realize how completely he filled her thoughts and lungs and heart. She wanted him to know what she was starting to deeply understand on an intimate and unspoken level.
Which was why she could have kicked herself for the next words that tumbled past her lips, the connection from brain to mouth too hazy with desire to control.
“What if you can’t?” Snow pulled away just far enough to scan Jo’s face in concern, and Jo continued to mentally berate herself for potentially ruining the mood. “Protect me, I mean . . .” She finished lamely, because in for a penny. It was something she wanted to know, needed to know, ever since the first time she’d sensed the change in her magic. And after today, after what she’d done, she also needed to know that he would be all right. If something happened to her, if her magic became too much to handle and those dark manifestations in the back of her mind took over, she needed to be sure that Snow would be all right.
Unfortunately, Snow didn’t seem willing to follow her train of thought, his eyes pained as he raised both hands to her face, elegant fingers resting gently against her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. Without a word, he leaned in to place a chaste but lingering kiss against her lips. It was intimate and filled with unspoken desire, but also delicate, bordering on fragile, as if he was afraid that he would break her. As if such a thing could ever be possible.
Before Jo could kiss him more fully, show him how much she yearned, he was pulling back again. Not enough to really even call it breaking the kiss, but just enough for him to speak against her lips, each word a vibration of hot sound passed between their mouths.
“I will always protect you,” he repeated, kissing her again, another chaste but heartfelt press, before pulling back. Jo almost whined, clinging that much harder to the fabric of his shirt as she pressed against him. “Always, Josephina. In this and every millennia, that is the one thing I will always do.”
This time, when he kissed her again, it was hungry, teeth scraping against her bottom lip for a moment before he was pulling away, the both of them left panting. She felt like each kiss wound her up tighter, drowned her in the scent of winter and cloves until she would go mad with it. But still Snow spoke, promised, his lips brushing hers with every word. When his eyes fluttered closed on a sigh, the final heated whispers that drifted between them sounded as involuntary as a breath itself.
“I can’t lose you again. Not again. Not after so long.”
Jo wasn’t even sure he was aware of saying those last words out loud, but before she could ask him what he meant, Snow was pulling her back into another kiss.
Chapter 18
Will It Break
If the last few kisses had been a steady increase in heat, this one was searing, white hot and boiling all the way down to her core, reminding Jo of every hour she had endured without his touch. Jo’s nerves came alight with the rush of it, a gripping need taking hold. Every inch of her body not pressed against Snow in some way ached with the need to touch, as if her entity as a whole wished to melt into him, be absorbed by him. She wanted to be as close to him as it was possible to be, surrounded and filled to the brim, and suddenly, kissing wasn’t enough.
This time, Jo was the one to pull away, silently pleased at the dazed look of confusion that flashed across Snow’s face. His hands refused to move from where they’d settled around her waist, trying not so subtly to pull her back in. Despite the heaviness of the moment and the thick tension in the air, Jo couldn’t help but smirk.
She didn’t tease, wasting no time in removing her hoodie and shirt, something Snow seemed pleased that she could do without him having to let go. Though when she tugged a bit loosely on his collar, he reluctantly gave in, letting his arms fall away so he might remove his own.
For a long moment, Jo stood before him, taking him in. She let her eyes roam over the near translucent skin of his chest, the strong, corded muscles of his arms, reveling in the sight of him. It seemed so impossible, yet somehow inevitable, to have him at less than arm’s length, to be able to reach out and touch him if she so chose. Which she did, desperately.
Jo placed both hands against his chest, letting her fingers spread until they brushed against the already hardened peaks of his nipples. Snow inhaled sharply at the sensation and the sound went straight to Jo’s groin. When she chanced a look up at his face, her breath caught in her throat at the look he was already giving her: pupils blown wide and dark, a soft flush along his face and neck, lips parted just enough to be tantalizing.
Jo couldn’t help but lick her own lips at the sight, watching almost in slow motion as Snow’s gaze dipped down to watch. And with that simple drop of his eyes, the quick recapturing of her attention, the tension stretched thin and snapped.
There was no telling who moved in first; blissfully, they were kissing again. Though, calling it a kiss was probably a bit of an understatement. Jo had never felt such hunger beneath a kiss, like neither of them could seem to get close enough. It was harsh and devouring and filled with something Jo couldn’t describe, despite how achingly familiar it seemed. It was messy, teeth knocking more than once in their neediness, lips already undoubtedly bruised. It was not enough, it was too much.
It was perfect.
Jo almost felt guilty for wanting more.
She was in luck, it would seem, because as if listening to her thoughts, Snow’s hands began to wander. His fingers dug into the slope of her waist, dipping between skin and the fabric of her jeans to pull her closer by the hips. She felt his thumbs brushing along the sensitive line of the small of her back and she rolled her hips forward in response, moaning low in her throat at the feel of him against her, already hard and straining in his own trousers.
Jo reached a hand down between Snow’s legs, cupping the bulge there. Instantly, Snow’s hand found purchase in the hair at the base of Jo’s skull, tugging lightly as he arched into her touch. A groan escaped between their mouths as the kiss deepened, Jo swallowing up his needy sound both physically and mentally. She would save up every sound Snow made, if she was given the chance, lock them all up in intricate boxes inside her head and heart, cherished memories that no harm could ever come to. Never again.
Again?
Before Jo’s mind could wander into the thicket of her already tangled thoughts, Snow was breaking their kiss and pulling back, though only enough to rest his forehead against hers.
“Josephina.” The sound of her name in his voice, strained and rough and impossibly low, had that
heat between her legs growing more insistent. She could practically taste his voice on her tongue, passed from his mouth to hers in panting breaths. “Let me take you to bed,” he said.
Jo wanted nothing more, was pretty she’d never wanted anything as much. But—
“Here?” Jo motioned around, at the decrepit shack, at the floor near to crumbling, the ceiling all but collapsed. Snow just smirked.
“Now.”
She looked over Snow’s shoulder at the bed, once well cared for despite now being as time-worn as the rest of the place. Outside of reality, there would be no dust, no grime, no danger, like a layer of time and space between them and everything they touched besides each other.
And yet. . .
“What if I break it?” Jo asked in a whisper, voice small. Snow followed her gaze to the bed, the cracking floorboards beneath it, and saw what she saw: any actual, physical weight on it would probably send it crashing down to the first floor. There was no reason to believe that they would weigh anything at all, but Jo couldn’t seem to stop herself from thinking about the middle ground she now seemed to occupy—real but not.
All of a sudden, a touch was gently ushering her attention away from the bed and back to silver eyes and a fond smile. Jo added that smile to one of her cherished memory boxes, just in case.
“Nothing will break,” he said. “Trust me.”
A long moment passed, and then Jo nodded, sealing her decision by recapturing his lips. She would put her trust in him—hand her magic over to him so it couldn’t get away from her if that’s what it took.
Hand her magic over to him. . . the thought resonated oddly in her mind. But Jo chased it away with need.
It took less than a second for their previous hunger to return. It felt almost wanton in its potency, animalistic, like her body had taken control of her mind and led them both on autopilot towards the bed. She barely recognized their clothes being removed, barely felt the bed beneath her back as she laid herself down, reaching out for Snow to follow and whimpering into his mouth when he did.