His voice was as arctic as the water but his eyes...

They held an ocean of secretive things. Wanting things. Hungry things.

All it took was a single stare full of chaos and confusion—one hint that he was affected—to fling me explosively to my feet.

His eyebrows rose as he looked up.

His hair clung to his forehead, droplets racing down his neck, and rivuleting over the silver disc in his chest. The red light had stopped blinking, a green light replacing it, flickering dimly with his pulse.

I hated that thing with a passion.

I wanted to tear it out of him.

Help him.

Save him.

He glanced down at the disc, his hands balling beneath the water. When he looked back up again, his face was unreadable. “Go change.”

My mind raced to know. My tongue burned with questions. “Is there any way to remove it?”

His lips thinned. “If there was, don’t you think I would’ve by now?”

My temper grew hotter, combatting the chills from the cold plunge. For the millionth time, I wished I hadn’t failed at life. That I wasn’t so broken by emotions and had somehow applied myself. I could’ve become a doctor so I could unlock his heart from whatever shackles they’d bound him in.

What sort of life was it that his every heartbeat betrayed him? That they harnessed the very thing keeping him alive—turning it into a weapon?

Another bloom of blood appeared in the water, spreading behind him. “T-Turn around.” My shivers still made my teeth chatter even as my insides warmed with rebellion. “Let me see how badly they hurt you.”

He didn’t obey, his eyes tight and cutting. “I’ve already dealt with it.”

“L-Let me see.”

His teeth ground together. “Why would I obey you?”

“Because I c-care, that’s w-why.” Bracing myself, I leaped back into the horrible, bone-breakingly cold water and darted around him before he could stop me.

My hands landed on his naked back, my gaze following the thin trail of blood spilling from a small wound on his left shoulder.

He shuddered as I pressed closer, peering at his injury. Sucking in a breath, I ran my thumb over it, tracing the angry broken skin—

He jerked as though I’d branded him.

He spun around, droplets flinging from his body. In a blur of ice and fire, he shoved me backward and pinned me against the side of the pool. The impact made me gasp, trapped between the frigid wall and the blistering heat of him.

My dressing gown floated like creamy seaweed as his hands clamped onto my hips, gripping me tight.

“I told you,” he snarled. “I’ve dealt with it.”

“But you’re s-still b-bleeding. Let me—”

“It was a throwing dart.”

“A what—?”

“I’ve ripped it out and the wound is small.” His chest rose and fell too fast, his gaze tearing through mine. “The weapons they manage to smuggle in are usually small and more troublesome than dangerous.”

“I don’t r-really care if it’s d-dangerous or not. I-It still m-made you bleed.”

“Stop chattering. It’s incredibly annoying.”

“I-I’m not doing it o-on p-purpose.” I tried to see his back again. “Let me—”

“Leave it alone. That’s the last warning I’ll give you before I get angry.” He didn’t shiver like me but radiated a false fever that felt utterly inhuman.

My heart hammered. “But—”

“I said leave it.” He was close enough that the temperature difference felt as if we were completely different species: him made of volcanic fire and me cocooned in a snowdrift.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, lingering with all those dark, conflicted thoughts. The raw tension between us was almost unbearable—his proximity, his half-nakedness, his pain and hate and fury.

For one suspended moment, I swore he might kiss me in a fit of rage.

But then his hands spasmed around my hips. His touch scalded through my sodden clothes and with effortless ease, he hoisted me up to sit on the edge again.

I shivered harder, the sound of water dripping off me the only noise as thick awareness roped us together. He didn’t step away—staying between my spread thighs, his hands still gripping me. His arms flexed as he steadied me, veins standing out like dark lines beneath his skin.

The longer he stared at me, the more I crumbled. I didn’t trust what I’d do the longer we shared this intimate intensity.

“Why...” I swallowed hard, my breath catching. “W-Why are you t-torturing yourself in this f-freezing pool?”

His eyes shuttered—everything about him shut down as if he’d reached his limit.

I slouched, accepting he wouldn’t answer me—

“It’s the only thing...apart from you...that helps,” he said, rough and low. “The cold dulls whatever they use to subdue me. It keeps me from burning alive.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His jaw clenched, his eyes once again diving into mine with a hint of surprise. “You’re not the one who did it.”

“They keep you in pain constantly.” The ache in my chest swelled until it hurt to breathe. My eyes fell to his mouth. The sharp perfection of it and the streak of blood ending at his chin.

I reached to wipe the redness away, but he caught my wrist, his fingers snapping painfully tight.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

Good question.

What was I doing?

Why was I drawn to him again and again?

Why did my annoying crush get stronger and stronger the more I was around him?

Why did the urge to help him chase away my shivers and fill me with injustice for his pain, his suffering, his misery—overwhelming me with the need to help?

Twisting my wrist in his grip, I tried to get free.

He didn’t let me go. “What exactly are you up to?”

I didn’t know if it was rioting emotions inside me, my lack of ability withstanding them, or the way he held me, but truth escaped against my control.

“I-I want to do s-something for you.”

His eyes flared. “Do something for me?”

“Something that w-will make you h-happy.”

“Happy?” His entire hand jerked around my arm. “Why?”

I winced at my audacity but stayed as honest as I could. What was the worst that could happen? He wouldn’t kill me. I didn’t know why I was so certain of that but...he won’t.

“Because you’re not happy,” I whispered. “And I d-don’t think you have b-been for a v-very long time.”

He froze. The flicker of wary shock on his terribly handsome face made my stupid heart skip a thousand beats. He stared at me, jaw tight, eyes unreadable, the fire beneath his skin and the cold air merging into one impossible connection.

Neither of us spoke.

Neither of us were experienced enough to know what the hell was going on or how to stop it.

At least panic did it for me.

Wrenching my arm out of his hold, I scrambled to my feet. Water splashed off my dressing gown as I wrapped my arms around my middle and squeezed, my bones jangling with cold. “I’ll...I’ll g-get changed and we’ll d-do something together? Okay?”

I didn’t wait for him to reply.

Bolting to the changing rooms, I prayed I wouldn’t slip and pretended I didn’t hear him mutter to Whisper: “That girl is ten times worse than the drugs in my veins. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?”

The panther didn’t reply.

Chapter Forty-Two

“WHY THE HELL DID YOU DRAG me here?” Lucien muttered as we came to a stop outside a door in a part of the palace I doubted he’d explored in years—judging by the amount of dust I’d found when I’d cleaned.

I had a sneaky suspicion that I knew his home better than he did now—thanks to the past five weeks of snooping, hoovering, dusting, and mopping. He didn’t venture out of his sprawling quarters—quarantining himself as if forsaking the world, just like it had forsaken him.

“You’ll see.” Pushing open the door, I stepped aside for him to enter. Whisper streaked from nowhere, slipping inside without an invitation.