This gets a reaction from the crowd, but I tune them out. Because the snowflakes? They’re everywhere!
Big. Small. Everything in between. His chest is littered with snowflakes. Each design is a little different, but I count hundreds. Everywhere.
Then he spins around, showing me his back. And there are more. So many more. Like he’s a winter canvas covered in snow.
“This is how much I missed you,” he shouts, waving his hand in front of his chest and then tapping a spot that’s right above his heart. “I got this the day we broke up. Because my heart hurt so much I didn’t think I’d survive.”
I reach up, tentatively, then pause with my gloved fingers in mid-air. But Ghost captures my hand, takes off my glove, and runs my fingers along the tattoo.
His skin is warm beneath my touch, yet somehow still makes me shiver. And I have to fight the sudden urge to touch him. Everywhere. Okay, fine, not everywhere. We are out in public. But definitely as much as I can get away with.
“This one was last week,” Ghost runs my fingers slowly down his chest and over his hard six pack. My pulse spikes and I swallow hard, but he stops at a spot right above the waistband of his jeans. “When I quit the agency, my entire life stretched before me, and all I could think about is that I didn’t have you. So I got this.”
This being another snowflake, made of thin lines and intricate details that must have taken hours.
“Every snowflake was a time I thought of you. Days I wished I could call you. Hug you. Kiss you. Not a day went by when I didn’t think of you, Wyn.”
Tears spring to my eyes and slowly slide down my cheeks.
“There are more. So many more.” He unbuckles his belt, and I realize that he’s about to drop his pants. In front of half of Silver Springs.
“Take it off!” Calluna, who owns the town’s pet shop, Beastie Besties, shouts. This earns her a loud groan from her mates. “What? This is more interesting than this game of ice sticks.”
“It’s hockey,” her best friend Lars, who I’ve often seen at her store, corrects. “But, yeah, take it off!”
Ghost starts to lower his jeans, and when I realize he doesn’t have boxers on underneath, I grab his hands and yank them back up.
“Since when do you go commando?” I ask. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“I won’t, if you take me back,” Ghost pleads. Then he grimaces and shakes his head. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, Wyn. I’ll keep them on. I just… I need you to know how much you mean to me. How much you’ve always meant to me. Without you…” he covers his face with his hands, and his voice breaks. “Look, if you still want me to go, I’ll go. I just want you to be happy, Wyn. I… I just want you to be happy.”
He stands there, his heart on his non-existent sleeve. And he looks so unsure of himself for the first time in a long time.
Gone is the guy who proclaimed his love for me by shouting it at the stands. Gone is the Ghost who pinned me against the door and grinned in triumph when he made me come. Gone is the cold, unfeeling Ghost who dumped me all those years ago.
This Ghost is raw. The way he used to be.
This is the guy who snuck into my dorm room and left hand-written love letters underneath my pillow. He’s the guy who’d levitate us up to the rooftop so we could watch the sun set over the forest. And he’s the guy who wrapped me in his arms and refused to let me go if we spent even half a day apart.
I watch him pick up his sweater and coat, but he doesn’t bother to put them on. He just turns around, shoulders hunched, and starts to walk away.
“Terence, wait!”
The look on his face. The hope. It breaks me. And I launch myself into his arms.
The crowd goes wild. They cheer while Ghost holds me tight, and just keep on cheering. I realize intermission must be over, because there’s no way they’re cheering us. But when I stand on tiptoe and glance over Ghost’s shoulder, every single player is standing at the edge of the ice, watching us. Including my mate.
My eyes meet Leith’s and I know that he heard—and saw—everything. But he doesn’t look angry or upset. He’s happy for me. All the players are, even though we put their game on hold.
I glance quickly at Xavi, and he smiles. He looks happy for me, just like Leith.
“Ghost…” I pull back and bite my lower lip. “I think there’s something you should know.”
I glance at Xavi again, then Leith, as I think of the best way to explain.
“If it’s about your two other mates, I already know.”
“You do?”
“Amber told me.”
“Amber? How does she know?” I frown, my mind jumping to Julian. Did he somehow orchestrate all this? Or…
“Her sister told her.”
“Her sister?” I frown again, and then it hits me. Amber’s sister’s mate is Liam. The cop. Who was there at Bitchen’ Baubles when I met Xavi. And told him about Leith.
“Are you… upset?” I swallow hard.
“No, Wyn. I’m not.” Ghost cups my face—with his hands, not his magic. “You could have a thousand mates, and I wouldn’t care. So long as I still had you.”
The crowd erupts in another round of applause, and my cheeks flush.
“Can we start the game now?” one of the referees calls out.
I blush, Ghost grins, and the crowd laughs.
A fae frees up his seat so Ghost can sit with Xavi and me. And the moment the puck drops, it becomes clear that Leith is on top of his game, scoring goal after goal.
I watch him transform into a vamp and pick up speed as he skates across the ice. Then seamlessly shifts into a bee to slip around the Yellow Jacket who comes in to intercept. Then into a Yeti for some extra strength, and the puck hits the top bar and ricochets down into the net.
The crowd goes wild. The Yeti in the stands jumps to his feet, and with his helmet off I realize it’s the Yeti. The one Leith shifted into in the shed. My cheeks heat, but I know deep down that no matter who my chameleon looks like, it’s the guy beneath that I see. My sexy hockey-playing god. My mate.
Xavi, Ghost, and I go down to talk to him during the second intermission. We have a full thirty minutes, and the guys use the time to get to know each other… and flirt with me.
Leith casually plays with a strand of my hair. Xavi threads his fingers through mine. And Ghost touches my arm with his hand—and occasionally with his magic—as if making sure I’m real.
When the game resumes, the Blades take possession of the puck. And Leith shifts like a complete pro. Two seconds into a vampire here, one second as an ice block there. He scores. Over and over and over again. And though I’ve always watched hockey for the magic, this time I find myself watching it for the man on the ice.
He shifts into a bee. Gets shrunk by a witch. Gets hit with an invisibility spell. Shifts into a vampire and captures the puck so fast I barely keep him in sight. And with each new trick I see on the ice, the more I think about the thief. Who could be using any trick I’m seeing on the ice, or several at once.
But by the time the game ends—and we’re done cheering for the Blades, who win because Leith absolutely kills it—I realize three things. One, that Leith is absolutely amazing. Two, that the thief liked food. And three, I know exactly how to find out who it is.