Frostbound

Chapter eight

The air in Winter Hollow had grown even colder as December deepened, the nights longer, the frost thicker. Yet despite the biting chill that gripped the town, something inside Eve stirred—a warmth she hadn't felt in years. 

Jack had a way of slipping under her skin, an intoxicating presence she couldn't shake, no matter how hard she tried to ignore him. His playful antics had started out as annoying pranks, but now, they seemed to carry an undercurrent of something else—a magnetic pull she was beginning to feel more strongly with every passing day.

One evening, as Eve trudged through the snow on her way back to her cottage, a chill wind whipped around her, biting at her exposed skin. 

She wrapped her scarf tighter, cursing the cold, but as she rounded the corner near her home, something stopped her in her tracks. 

The streetlights that usually flickered with dim warmth were covered in thick sheets of ice, their glow diffused by the crystal layers. The snow beneath her feet had been transformed into an intricate mosaic of frost, patterns swirling like the work of a master artist.

Eve blinked, realizing that she had arrived at the heart of one of Jack's pranks again. But this wasn't a simple joke—it was an elaborate masterpiece, the kind of magic that made her breath catch in her throat. 

It was beautiful, too beautiful, in ways she wasn't sure she could accept. She could feel the weight of Jack's presence behind her, his eyes on her, though she didn't have to turn to know he was there.

"You're getting good at this," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him, but Jack, of course, heard her.

With a gust of wind, he appeared beside her in a flash, his silver-blue eyes glinting with amusement as he studied her reaction. "I'm always good at this," he replied with a grin, his voice teasing. "The world just has to learn to appreciate it."

Eve rolled her eyes, trying to suppress the warmth that crept up her neck. There was always that charm, that effortless allure to him, and it irritated her more than she cared to admit.

But this time, it wasn't just his tricks that caught her attention. As he leaned in slightly, she felt the heat of his body—something she hadn't noticed before, something that confused her.

 His cold, icy nature had always been so tangible, so otherworldly, but now, there was something more. His proximity stirred a strange reaction inside her, one that had nothing to do with irritation and everything to do with desire.

"You can't just keep showing up like this," she said, forcing herself to sound more confident than she felt. She took a step back, trying to create distance, but Jack only inched closer, his gaze never leaving hers.

Jack smiled, that playful, predatory smile she had grown so used to, but tonight it felt different. There was an intensity to it, a hunger behind his eyes that she wasn't sure she wanted to confront. "Oh, I think I can," he said softly. "I think you want me to."

The words hit her like a spark. Eve's heart stuttered, and she hated herself for the way her breath caught in her throat. 

This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—the way he made her feel. 

She tried to brush it off, to keep herself composed, but she could see the way Jack's eyes flickered with amusement, sensing her internal battle. He loved this, the way he could rile her up, make her question everything she thought she knew about herself.

"I don't need this, Jack," Eve said, her voice firm though her hands shook beneath the layers of clothing. "I don't need you. I don't need your pranks or your magic or any of this—"

Before she could finish, Jack reached out, his fingers brushing against her wrist with a light touch that sent a shock of heat straight through her.

She gasped, her eyes meeting his, and for the first time, she saw something other than mischief—something deeper, darker, more dangerous.

"You don't need me," he murmured, his voice low and silken. "But you want me. Don't you, Eve?"

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Eve felt them sink into her bones. She opened her mouth to protest, to argue, but no words came. 

She didn't want to admit it, didn't want to acknowledge the undeniable truth that Jack had wormed his way into her thoughts, into her very being. She wanted to be angry, wanted to shut him out, but something inside her was unraveling—something she didn't know how to control.

His touch lingered on her wrist, sending heat coursing through her veins, but he didn't push. Instead, he stepped back slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corner of his lips. "You're so much more than you give yourself credit for, Eve," he said, his voice smooth and coaxing. "And you know you want this as much as I do."

Eve swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult to breathe. Her head told her to walk away, to run back to the safety of her cottage and lock herself away from the temptation of this beautiful, dangerous being. 

But her heart—a heart she hadn't allowed to feel for so long—was telling her something else. The pull between them was undeniable, and the way Jack made her feel alive again was a sensation she couldn't ignore.

Without a word, Jack stepped back, vanishing into the winter night as suddenly as he had appeared. 

Eve stood frozen in place, her mind spinning, her body still humming from the lingering touch of his fingers. Her heart raced, and she could feel the warmth of the desire he had ignited in her chest, but it was a warmth that terrified her. She wasn't ready for this. She couldn't be ready for this.

She turned and rushed back to her cottage, her footsteps heavy against the cold earth, but no matter how fast she walked, she couldn't escape the memories of the way his touch had burned into her skin, the way his words had cut through her defenses.

She slammed the door behind her, leaning against it, trying to steady her breath. Her chest heaved with the intensity of the emotions she couldn't fully process. 

She wanted to resist, wanted to push Jack out of her life once and for all, but the truth was, she wasn't sure she could anymore.

Jack Frost had become more than a trickster, more than a cold spirit of winter.

He had become a force in her life, one that was impossible to ignore. And despite her resistance, she knew in that moment that she was already slipping—falling under his spell, no matter how much she tried to fight it.

But the question that lingered in her mind, the question that gnawed at her, was whether falling for him was something she could survive.