Page 163 of Tracking Snow

My hips.

The realization makes me laugh again, and suddenly we’re moving.

I take off around the apartment with Snow locked around me, spinning her as I race fast enough to turn the room into a blur. Instead of dodging the couch, I phase straight through it, then through the armchair on the next pass, Snow shrieking with laughter against my neck as an illusion of fireworks erupts across the ceiling above us.

Gold, purple, blue and white bursts explode soundlessly overhead while I keep running, weaving through furniture instead of around it, faster and faster until Snow is laughing so hard she can barely hang on.

“Holy faefucks!”

“I know!”

The words tear out of me on a laugh as another shower of false sparks rains down around us.

I’m doing all of it at once.

No switching. No fighting for the front. No one else waiting somewhere behind my eyes for their turn.

Just me.

It really fucking worked.

My thoughts still collide, and my emotions still contradict one another, so apparently becoming one has done absolutely nothing to make me less of a mess. But there’s no jockeying for the front anymore and no one gets shoved backward. I’m here for every second of it, especially for the soft, delicious hellion currently kissing me like she’s trying to climb inside my body and verify the results herself.

Snow pulls back enough to look at me. “So what do I call you now?” Her grin turns wicked. “Other than Hottie McBoyfriend of Mine?”

“That is my official title to be used in all formal situation,” I say solemnly, “but the rest of the time you can call me Logan.”

The name comes out strangely, familiar and new at the same time, and my lips curve so wide it hurts.

Snow studies me for another beat before her smile slowly matches mine. “That’s going to take some time to get used to.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” I start toward the bedroom with her legs still locked tightly around me. “I plan to make you scream it about fifty times before morning. For, you know...practice.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Snow sing-songs as I kick the bedroom door shut behind the two of us.

Download the bonus epilogue: for those who want another sneak peek at Rap & Ryder.

Epilogue

ERIK

Maps cover my desk. Most are older than the ship I command now.

Some were stolen from royal archives, cut from the walls of temples, or drawn by sailors who died swearing they reached waters that exist on no chart.

I may die before I find it, but I’ll know one thing for sure. I’ll die trying.

A knock sounds against my cabin door.

“Enter.”

My quartermaster steps inside and removes his hat. “We think we found one.”

Every muscle in my body pulls tight. He crosses the cabin and places a folder in the one clear space on my desk.

I run the pads of my fingers over the folder, my heart pounding against my throat with that undying hope I can never put to rest. Then I open it.

The first photograph shows a woman leaving a bar.