Page 41 of Tracking Snow

Okay...with his hand on my waist, I'm feeling a lot better.

"I should have been there. I would have been quicker. I could have gotten you out of the way before you got hit."

"It's not your fault," I say softly, then press a hand to his face. His eyes widen and then lower as he leans into my touch.

"Did I hear you and the others arguing with each other? Out loud?"

"It can happen. When we're stressed," he says quietly.

His thumb moves once where his hand still rests at my waist. "You can't keep doing this. Following me around. Throwing yourself into bad situations." My pulse stutters in my throat.

"I'll stop when you stop loving it." It comes out lighter than I feel.

His mouth opens, then closes. His retort doesn't come. "You're so unexpected," he says instead, and the words come out rough and low.

My chest pulls tight at the way he says it. For some reason I want to fill the silence, make a joke, take the weight off whatever this is becoming.

"Six said that too." I keep my voice easy. "He didn't say if that was good or bad."

"It's both." He holds my eyes.

The lightness I was clinging to slips.

That's kind of my thing, I guess. Good, but not good enough. And that stings more than he could know. It stings every day.

"I've never met anyone as contradictory as myself before," he goes on, quieter. "You possess so many pieces. The laughter, the light, the violence and darkness that you think you can hide with the former. But you can't. Not even close. The night-stalking, and the ridiculous need to help everyone you pass. The way you grin at a high-level mage like they’re an old friend and not a thing that could end you."

I'm not sure if he means The Fairy Godmother, or if he is referring to himself.

One's hand comes up and hovers near my cheek for a moment. When he touches me, the warmth of it stalls everything. "But I look at you, and I can see how all of it fits. How every part works with the others. It's beautiful. You're beautiful."

I open my mouth. Nothing comes. For once I have nothing light to set down on top of it, no joke to make this smaller, and I just sit there staring at him with my heart slamming against my ribs.

I have spent most of my life envying what others could do and be. Like a magpie, I would try to pick up little pieces that I liked and fold them into myself, but frankly, I always felt like a mess. It never added up to a whole. It always feels like there's a piece missing, or like there’s a fire underneath, straining to be fed, and no matter what I throw on it, it stays hungry.

And he just looked at all those scattered pieces and called them beautiful. Like they belong together. Like they make me whole.

He leans forward, and a wave of dizziness hits me for a completely different reason as I read the intention on his tense face. One's hand slides along my jaw, angling my face before his lips touch mine.

Unlike Four, who was unbridled passion and heat, One is a massive ball of power and restraint.

His firm lips kiss me softly, almost reverently, but I can feel him vibrating from restraining himself. Like he's afraid of breaking me, or of what he’ll do if he lets himself off the leash he keeps wrapped around his neck so tightly.

He pulls back an inch, swallowing hard, and I can sense his fear is almost as great as his want.

I search his pale, white eyes and my heart does somersaults in my chest until I fear it will explode.

Setting a hand on his other cheek, I kiss him this time. His mouth parts only slightly, but I sneak my tongue past and taste him.

A shudder rips through my entire being at the contact. He tastes like ozone before a lightning storm. It plays with the fire dancing in my gut until it's burned out everything else and I'm running on nothing but him.

"Snow," he groans into the kiss. Like I’m killing him.

The couch hits the backs of my knees. One follows me down, mouth still on mine, body coming over me with so much heat I forget how to breathe.

I might die if he stops.

His hand slides over my ribs and cups my breast, his thumb brushing over the peak until my back bows off the cushion. I open for him, dragging him closer until the hard length of him fits right where I need pressure most.