Why does everyone make this school sound terrifying?

Unfortunately, according to my handy little map, the visitor’s wing is on the other side of the building. It takes me five tries to find the right place. The visitor’s hall is ancient, cobwebs hanging from dusty corners and a faded gold rug lining the dim corridor.

When I get to the last room on the left, I balk at the tiny apartment. There’s a cot, a nightstand, and a circular window barely the size of my head.

I need air. Space. Sunshine. A place to comfortably freak out.

As luck would have it, there’s a stairwell at the end of the hall that leads to the roof. The moment I breathe in fresh air, I feel some of the tension bleed from my body. My boots crunch across the flat gravel roof that looks out over the campus as I make my way to the wrought iron railing.

I run my hand over the sharp finials and cast my gaze over the white world beyond, squinting in the hazy half-dark.

The campus is everything I thought it would be: ethereal, magical, and horrifying.

A wintry forest spreads to my left, curving to fill the entire eastern half. Directly below, a courtyard sits, nearly unoccupied. I’d guess it’s around four in the morning, and the campus seems to be finally winding down.

I’ve read the Fae are nocturnal, but eventually, even they have to sleep.

In the far distance, starlight shimmers over the surface of a large frozen lake. And the cold. Oh, God, the cold is like nothing I’ve ever felt.

All of that alone is enough to take my breath away. But it’s the ancient, primordial feel of this place that stipples my skin and settles in my gut. The promise of monsters and magic and a beautiful, lethal world beyond my comprehension.

I’m not sure what makes me turn around. A sound, perhaps. A feeling. When I do, my breath catches in my chest and I retreat a step, back pressed into the hard railing.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?” a Fae male says.

He stands a few feet from me. He’s tall, imposing, power coming off him in waves. And sweet Baby Jesus he’s gorgeous. The kind of beautiful you feel in your belly. Maybe it’s the way the silvery light falls over his features. Or the confidence exuding from his every pore. Or just the fact that his mouth is bowed at the top and full at the bottom.

But I suddenly can’t breathe.

“No, of course not,” I gasp, trying to mask the effect he has on me.

By the glimmer in his eyes, I’m pretty sure that he’s aware. Since he seems to already read me like an open book, and since I’m terrible at hiding my feelings, I don’t even bother masking my curiosity as I study him.

Despite the cold, he wears black jogger pants and a soft white T-shirt, both impeccably made and undoubtedly expensive. My gaze falls to his arms.

I never thought I would find this part of someone beautiful, but his arms seem carved from marble. Sinewy muscle curves and twists, trapping shadows. His flesh is smooth and pale and seemingly impervious to the bone-aching chill.

Winter Court Fae. Has to be. That also explains his icy demeanor.

I move my assessment to his face, taking in his features carefully. The way you savor a bite of rich cheesecake or swirl wine around your mouth first before swallowing it. Piercing silver-blue eyes glow softly, rimmed by dark blue lashes. Jagged cheekbones form deep hollows that end at a jaw you could slice apples on. His nose is straight, almost severe, but it somehow makes his inhumanly large eyes and soft, swollen lips work.

“How many Fae have you seen up close before?”

I startle at his voice. A deep, elegant voice tinged with an accent I can’t place and a whole lot of amusement.

“You’re my third—no, fourth.”

“You can stare. All humans do.” His lips curl up into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your bodies naturally react to our strangeness. You’ll get used to it.”

Heat flares across my frozen cheeks, but I accept his invitation . . . even if I feel like a total creeper.

I move my focus to his hair. It’s cropped shorter on the sides and a little longer on top, showcasing wavy, tousled locks. They’re a shade darker than his eyelashes, a startling midnight blue. I once saw a show about ice caves in Iceland and his hair is the exact color of the darkest part of the ice.

I shiver before remembering that I’ve just been standing here ogling him like a statue. But he’s not a statue, because statues don’t usually have lips that twitch at the corners or eyes that pierce your soul.

Is he about to smile or about to frown? I feel like that’s important to my survival.

He crosses to the railing and peers at something in the distance. I watch him, stunned by how smooth and graceful his movements are. Every muscle, every tendon working in concert to make something as simple as walking seem like a dance.

Maybe it is. Maybe this is how the Fae mesmerize you into their power, like some magical, sexy voodoo. Maybe I should leave and go back to my pathetic little room.

But I don’t want to.

“What are you doing out here?” he drawls, turning to face me. His gaze goes to the army of goosebumps amassed over my skin. His voice is syrupy and slow, but there’s a demand there.

I tug my sleeves down to cover my mark. “I needed air.”

“It’s below freezing,” he points out.

“I’m aware. But fresh air is better than the broom closet they put me in, even if it’s cold as balls.”

His expression shifts, moving in the same fluid way his body does, but I can’t quite read it.

Amusement? Puzzlement? Annoyance? A lovely mix of all three?

“What are you doing on the roof?” I ask like the nosy girl I am.

He half turns to regard me. “It’s quiet here.” He seems to think about his answer for a moment before adding, “No one knows about this place.”

Except me, I almost, but don’t, say. “Are you hiding from someone?”

He blinks, his features hard and cold. This guy really knows how to play it cool. “Perhaps I just like the stars.”

The gravel crunches softly beneath my feet as I shift from boot to boot. “There are no stars, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Pity,” he says without glancing up.

Why am I so close to him? I’ve been inching across the roof toward the very thing I despise, caught in some weird magical Fae orbit.

What is wrong with me? I despise the cold almost as much as I despise the Fae. Yet here I am, in the cold, creeping closer to a Fae like some lunatic.

Am I smiling? Yeah—I’m totally grinning. This Fae must have some powerful magic, something that makes me feel comfortable with him. Is that even a thing? It must be.

I clamp my cold fingers into fists, wincing at the pain. I really should go inside. Instead I say, “Are you a student here?”

He nods, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’m a shadow,” I add.

“I’m aware.”

My heart flutters at his voice, and it takes a second to understand he’s turning my words back on me. It also takes a moment to notice that he’s staring at me differently now. And there’s a stillness to him that makes me uneasy. An intensity to his focus that wasn’t there before.

I feel something snap between us. A sharp prickle of electricity. He must feel it too because his eyes widen. Only slightly, but enough to know.

I swallow, the air frosting in front of my lips as I struggle to breathe.

He takes a step closer.

A memory surfaces. Before everything really turned to crap, there was this exotic animal park an hour’s drive from my house. Aunt Zinnia took me when I was thirteen because she knew how much I loved anything with fur. Looking back now I realize how sad it was, but back then, I remember the thrill when the man working there sat me next to this full grown lion.

The lion basically ignored me as I posed for pictures. But there was a moment near the end where the lion looked at me and something passed between us. An understanding. That with minimal effort, he could kill me.

That’s exactly what I’m feeling now as I stare into this Fae’s eyes. Not that he wants to kill me, exactly—but the shared knowledge that he could.

And there’s something else. A familiarity I can’t place.

A spark of remembrance flickers inside my heart. The shock like seeing a loved one you think is dead. I clutch my chest as an invisible tether snaps taut between us. The reaction to his presence visceral and raw. What is happening?

I know you. I know you. I know—

My skin goes clammy. “I . . . I should go.”

His gaze chills my back as I hurry across the rooftop, and it doesn’t stop burning until the door to my room slams shut.

12

Morning comes too soon. Clad in everything I own, I wheeze and lunge my way down a dark, endless stairwell to another door of marble that leads to an outdoor courtyard. Someone knocked this morning to inform me that I was needed for . . . something. I’m still not sure what.

I must have been tired because I slept way past noon. I think. There are no clocks in my room, and the sun is imprisoned behind a layer of dirty winter clouds so deep I’m not even sure it’s there.

As soon as the door opens to the courtyard, cold air slaps me in the face, knocking every bit of sleep from my body along with my soul.

Lord, I hate the cold.

I inhale sharply. The space is big enough to fit two football fields. English primroses and winter jasmine decorate the grounds, crystal waters from countless fountains sparkle, frozen mid-spurt, and hedge mazes crisscross the paver stones, dusted white. Snow drizzles the many statues and forms mounds in the corners.

I barely have time to take in the place before a noise catches my attention.

“Hurry up!” a female orders in a tinkling tone.

I whip left to right, pulse pounding as I search for the voice. A ginormous magenta butterfly swoops at my head.

On instinct, I swipe at the papery, iridescent wings.

“Hey!” the voice screeches. And that’s when I realize the butterfly is not a butterfly, but a miniscule person with abnormally large lungs. She screeches at me again, the sound earsplitting, buzzing around my head so fast I can’t make out her features.