Page 77 of Cold Mercy

His eyes darken as he leans in further, so close that I can feel his breath ghosting over my lips.

“Oh,” he breathes, his mouth brushing against mine in a feather-light, maddening caress that isn't quite a kiss but burns just the same. “You have no idea, princess. You have absolutely no idea.”

He pulls back just an inch, a slow, dangerous smile curving his lips, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

“Hey! You two lovebirds! Stop hiding in the dark!” Elizabeth’s voice booms from the hallway. “The countdown is starting in five minutes, and James is about to pop the good champagne! Get out here!”

Thomas turns his head toward Elizabeth's voice, letting out a short, frustrated breath. When he looks back at me, the intensity hasn't faded, but there's a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. He runs his tongue over his upper teeth, a slow, deliberate motion that draws my gaze straight to his mouth.

“Come on, princess,” he murmurs, extending his hand.

I take his hand, letting him pull me up from the couch. He doesn't let go immediately but gestures for me to walk ahead. As I step past him, I feel his hand settle on the small of my back. The contact sends a shiver racing down my spine, and I can't help but glance back at him with a questioning smile.

He catches my look and raises both hands in a mock surrender, his expression innocent but his eyes still dark with everything he just said. I bite my lip to hide a grin and turn back around, walking us both back into the noise.

James is already pouring another round, slightly flushed and grinning. “Alright, everyone! Outside! The best view of the fireworks is from the terrace.”

I step out in just my dress, and almost instantly, a shiver runs through me. Thomas notices the shiver immediately. Without asking, he shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. The worn material still holds his warmth as he wraps it around me.

“Told you you'd be cold,” he murmurs near my ear.

I wrap the jacket tighter around myself, instantly enveloped in his scent, something uniquely him.

“Thank you,” I say, offering him a small smile.

He just shakes his head, amused, and takes a sip of his champagne. As the countdown begins, he shifts closer, his arm settling heavy and warm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side until I'm pressed against him. Standing there, wrapped in his jacket and his arm, I feel safe. Like I'm undoubtedly where I'm supposed to be.

“Five! Four! Three!” the crowd chants.

When the clock hits zero and the sky explodes in color, couples around us turn to kiss. Thomas turns to me, his face illuminated by the bursts of light behind him.

“Happy New Year, princess,” he says softly.

I stare up at him, my pulse spiking with anticipation. “For you too,” I manage, my voice a little breathless. I regain my composure and give him a playful look. “Maybe try being less...possessive this year?”

He turns back to watch the fireworks, a smirk playing on his lips. “Nah, thanks. I think I'll pass on that.”

As he turns his head, the light catches something on his neck, just above his collar. A cut jagged line with dried, dark red blood.

“Fuck, Thomas, you're bleeding,” I say, reaching out instinctively.

His brows furrow, and his hand flies to his neck as if he already knew it was there. “It's nothing,” he dismisses quickly. “Probably just cut myself shaving.”

“Oh no,” I say, already turning toward the house. “Come inside, we need to clean that.”

“Sophia, leave it,” he calls after me.

I keep walking, clutching his jacket around me. “That wasn't a question, Reed,” I call back in a sweet, sing-song voice.

A moment later, I hear his footsteps falling into rhythm behind me. We enter the house, and I head straight for the guest bathroom. I'm already rummaging through the cabinets for a first aid kit when I hear the door close behind me, followed by the definitive click of the lock.

I pause, glancing back at him with a raised brow. “Hey, hey. Keep it in your pants, Reed. This is a medical emergency, not a date.”

He leans against the door, and a surprised laugh catches in his throat, turning into a cough. He shakes his head, a genuine smile breaking through as he looks at me, clearly not expecting that from me. “I just don't want anyone walking in and seeing me getting patched up for a scratch because a certain beautiful, stubborn woman ordered me to.”

I giggle despite myself, shaking my head as I finally locate a small first aid kit. “Sit,” I command, pointing to the edge of the bathtub.

“I told you, it's nothing,” he grumbles, but he sits anyway.