His fingers curled into mine, and I felt the tremor running through him—fine and persistent, like a wire drawn too tight. My dragon pressed forward, wanting to wrap around him, shelter him, freeze everything that had ever hurt him into a solid wall of ice that nothing could penetrate.
I reined it in. Barely.
We ended up in my bed, tangled together in the dark, his back pressed against my chest and my arm across his waist. He was warmer than me—everyone was warmer than me—but tonight his heat felt essential. Necessary. Like sunlight on permafrost.
"Taz?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"There's something different about you." A pause. "I've known it since the first time I took your temperature. I've been trying to explain it away, but I can't. And I need you to know that whatever it is, I'm not going to run."
My chest constricted. The cold flared once, sharp and sudden, before I pulled it back.
"I know," I said. "And I'm going to tell you. Everything. I promise."
"When?"
"After tomorrow's game. I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere I can show you properly." The mountains. Open sky. Space enough for what I needed to become so he could see me—all of me—without the walls of a two-bedroom apartment getting in the way.
"Show me," he repeated softly, like he was testing the weight of the words.
"Trust me?"
He turned in my arms, facing me in the darkness. I could just make out the shape of him—pale skin, sharp jaw, eyes that caught what little light leaked through the curtains.
"I trust you," he said. "I don't know why. I have every reason not to trust anyone. But I trust you."
I kissed his forehead. Held my mouth there, breathing him in. "Tomorrow," I promised. "After the game. I'll explain everything."
He settled against me, and eventually his breathing evened out—slow and deep, the rhythm of someone who'd finally stopped fighting sleep. I lay awake longer, listening to the city outside, feeling the cold pulse steadily beneath my ribs.
Tomorrow. I'd take him to the ridge Keegan had shown me—the one forty minutes up the mountain road, secluded enough that I could shift without risking exposure. I'd let him see the ice dragon I kept caged inside my bones. And then I'd let him decide.
The thought terrified me more than anything I'd faced in thirty years.
But he deserved the truth. All of it. Even the parts that could freeze a man where he stood.
The Sunday afternoon game was a grind.
Calgary came in physical, targeting our defensemen early, clogging the lanes in front of my crease with bodies and sticks and elbows that found creative ways to avoid penalties. I stopped thirty-one shots. We lost three to two even on a late goal from Cole that sent the arena into hysterics.
I barely registered any of it. Even though we were into play-off math. Or scores that would decide if we made the top of the division.
My mind was already on the mountain. On the words I'd rehearsed in my head a hundred times during stoppages in play, during TV timeouts, during the anthem when everyone else had their eyes on the flag and mine were on the back of Cinder's head three rows behind the bench.
I'm a dragon. An ice dragon. My body temperature isn't a medical mystery—it's what I am. And I think you might be the person I've been waiting for my entire life.
Too dramatic. Too much. Dial it back.
There's a reason I run cold. I need to show you something.
Better. Simpler. Let the shift speak for itself.
After the game, I showered fast, dressed faster, and found Cinder in the medical office finishing his post-game notes. Nancy was already gone. He looked up when I appearedin the doorway, and the smile he gave me—tentative, warm, still carrying shadows from last night—made my dragon surge against my ribs so hard I had to grip the doorframe.
"Good game, despite the end result," he said.
"Thanks. Are you done?"