A Wolf of Ice and Iron [OLD]

Chapter 28

Morel

I think being in my bedroom is soothing. Although it isn't quite the home Darren and I share in the forest, it's nice. It's warm, and the bed is nice and the carpet is soft, and the whole place is warm when it's so cold outside. And it's beautiful. And Winter decorated it himself, many decades ago.

I whistle softly as I'm packing for the holiday leave, quite prepared to go and deal with Darren for a few months. It's not like I haven't before. He's a handful and he's annoying, but he's my brother, and I've always felt close to him.

Our parents had three kids, and now it's just the two of us. Our parents died a decade ago, and although the pain is still there, it isn't that fresh for me. It might be for Darren, but he doesn't show it. And sometimes I wish he would.

My whistles fade to hums as I pack, and then turn to look at the window beside the couch. I walk over to my bed and lean against it, following the sight of the pixies dancing again. Do they ever get tired? I wonder. It doesn't seem that they do. Sometimes I wish I could be like them, darting past everyone and putting on a show every faerie loves.

It is times like these that I don't miss the darkness of the Blood Court. I didn't spend very long there, but still I remember it. The dark smells, the dark alleys, the dark everything. The intimidating fae, the blood fountains and those strange festivals. The creatures that would snarl at me as I passed, who would steal my food or any belongings I cared for. But not anymore. I am home here. I am home in the Stars.

Which is when my door opens, and I jump, dropping the shoe I'm carrying. I spin on my toes.

Pale hair, brushed and straight and not tied back. Haphazard breathing, like he's been running. Wide amber eyes that convey so much emotion I can hardly think straight when I see them, my mind whirling in a tornado of feelings it invokes, and I have to sit down for a moment before I fall over. Winter hasn't shown that much emotion in his eyes for so, so long.

"Morel," he says. It's just my name, but the effect it has on me is great. I shudder at the word, and his voice is angelic and sweet as always. It is only his voice that has this effect. I would never want anyone else to say my name like that. And I don't think anyone can.

"I need to talk to you," Winter says, swallowing hard. I watch his throat bob with the effort, and he walks forward. He is wearing an old torn scarf, a scarf he hasn't worn for a while, and I wonder why he decided to put it on. His clothes are rumpled, and his feet are bare as usual.

He walks forward, my door clicking shut behind him. I hear a click of a lock, and I realise he's used magic to lock it behind him.

He pauses as he nears me. "Morel. I- I need to say something before you leave for your holiday. I... I've been stupid. I... I've been very stupid." He rubs his face with one hand, an effort to calm himself. He runs a hand through his silky hair, and I long to be the one who does it instead.

"Calm down," I say, and he blinks at me in surprise. "It's ok. Just breathe." I offer a shaky smile, and I find I'm not quite afraid anymore. The Winter in front of me is someone I know, someone I remember, someone I have been friends and more with for so long. And it's almost like I'm getting him back for good.

Winter bites his lip, massaging the plump skin between his teeth, working the tension out in the small movement. "Morel..." his voice cracks, his breath warm as he exhales. He doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know how to say it. "I can't even speak," he says, voice cracking as he sits beside me.

The close proximity is something I wouldn't have even thought of in my wildest dreams these days. I can smell how his scent is that of sandalwood and cherry blossom with the hint of wolf fur, the scent I remember, the scent before and how it changes after. How it smells when mixed with sweat and warmth and everything else.

Winter looks away, his jaw tensing as he tries to speak. "Morel-"

"Don't speak," I say softly. "You don't need to. Not with me. You know that."

He glances at me with wide amber eyes. They morph and cool and morph and cool all over again, moving like a river of lava, dangerous but breathtakingly beautiful. Just like him. He is breathtaking. He is beautiful. He is dangerous. And I don't care about the danger.

Winter swallows hard. "I know." His voice is soft, and he doesn't look away from my eyes for a few moments. But then he glances down, at something below my eyes, below my nose. Then back up, his face flushing a little.

Our breath is shared, and I wonder what I smell like to him. Perhaps jasmine? There's jasmine in my bedroom. Like frost? He's always said he liked how frost smelt, how it burnt his nose in a way he likes. I've never smelt frost before, and I didn't know what he meant. But if I thought of frost, I'd think of him. He's prickly and harsh and cold at every corner and crease, but when melted, he's just water, pliant and able in my hands.

"You can tell me anything, Winter," I say softly, reaching for his hand. He lets me touch it, and it is cold and prickly and so clearly shaking. I fold my hand over his in an effort to comfort and warm. They fit as perfectly as I remember.

Winter closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head. For a second I think he's going to pull away and leave as he shifts on the bed covers. But he doesn't. He stays, and for a second, he's still. And then he kisses me.