The walk to the college campus felt like stepping into a painting left too long in the freezer.
Snow fell in lazy, deliberate spirals, each flake catching the weak afternoon light and turning it silver before it settled on the ground.
Verkhoyansk Technical Institute loomed at the edge of the old quarter, its low wooden buildings and frost-rimed windows looking more like a forgotten outpost than a place of learning. Irina pulled her scarf tighter, the wool still carrying the faint scent of Adrian's aftershave from the night before—warm, human, grounding.
Yet every step reminded her of the dream: Erwin's icy palm cupping her breast, the slow circle of his thumb, the way pleasure had bloomed like frost flowers across her skin while the world froze around her.
Adrian walked beside her, coat collar up, dark hair dusted white, his hand brushing hers every few strides as if checking she was still real. "Lab's open today," he said quietly, voice steady as always. "Dr. Kuznetsov wants to run fresh readings. Olga's already there. If the anomalies are accelerating like the lights last night, the instruments might catch something the naked eye can't."
Irina nodded, but her mind lingered on Professor Morozova's lecture—the words about the Hearth King that had matched Erwin's claim too perfectly.
She could still feel the phantom tingle on her collarbone, the silver glow fading from her skin like a lover's mark. Guilt twisted low in her stomach, clashing with the memory of Adrian's warmth inside her only hours ago.
*No one else gets to make you this warm.* His teasing words from the night before echoed, a shield against the cold that kept creeping back.
The meteorology lab sat in the basement of the main science building, a cramped but humming space filled with blinking monitors, whirring sensors, and shelves of carefully labeled data logs.
Dr. Ivan Kuznetsov looked up from a cluster of screens as they entered, his graying beard framing a skeptical frown that seemed permanently etched into his face. He was Adrian's mentor, a man who trusted numbers over stories and had spent thirty years chasing Siberian weather patterns without once believing in the old Yakut tales.
"Volkov. And Miss Ardentova." Dr. Kuznetsov gave a curt nod, adjusting his glasses. "Heard you had quite the night. Bells ringing wrong, lights freezing—campus group chat's exploding with it.
Natalia Petrova's already calling it 'Irina's dramatic episode' again." He waved a hand at the monitors. "We'll see if the data agrees. Olga, pull the latest atmospheric logs."
Olga Menshova, the lab assistant, glanced up from her station with observant eyes that missed nothing. She was in her late twenties, sharp-featured and quiet, her dark ponytail swinging as she typed. "Readings are off again," she said, voice low. "Temperature drop in the last hour—two point seven degrees exactly where the river meets the square. Same symmetrical snow patterns we saw yesterday. It's like the air itself is… listening."
Her gaze flicked to Irina for a beat too long, noting the faint flush still on her cheeks, the way she stood just a little closer to Adrian than usual. Olga didn't comment. She simply logged it.
Adrian led Irina deeper into the lab, past the humming machines, until they reached the empty hallway that connected to the storage annex. The lights here were dimmer, the air cooler, frost already creeping along the edges of the frosted window at the far end. He stopped, turning to face her, his angular face carved with quiet intensity. High cheekbones, clean jaw, dark eyes that held depths he rarely showed anyone else.
"Irina," he murmured, stepping close enough that his coat brushed hers. "You've been quiet since the lecture. The dream—you don't have to carry it alone. Whatever he showed you, whatever he made you feel… it's not real. Not like this." His gloved hand rose, brushing a stray auburn curl from her temple, then slid lower to cup her cheek. Warmth seeped through the leather, chasing away the lingering chill of the dream.
She leaned into the touch, torn between the safety of his steadiness and the possessive echo of Erwin's voice still curling at the edges of her mind. "It felt real, Adrian. The whole town frozen. You… gone. And he—he touched me like he already owned every part of me."
Adrian's jaw tightened, a flicker of jealousy flashing in his dark eyes before he banked it. "No one else gets to make you this warm," he said, voice dropping to that rough, teasing edge that always undid her. He closed the distance, backing her gently against the wall of the empty hallway, and kissed her.
It was intimate, deliberate, laced with quiet possession. His mouth moved over hers slowly at first, tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened for him. Then it deepened—hungry, grounding, a reminder of the night before. One hand slid under her sweater, palm flat and warm against her stomach before rising to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. His thumb circled the peak exactly as he had in bed, teasing it to a tight point while his other hand cradled the back of her neck. "Feel that?" he whispered against her mouth, breath hot. "This is real heat. Mine. No frost. No ancient king stealing what belongs here."
Irina gasped softly into the kiss, arching into his palm, the contrast flooding her—his steady warmth against the memory of icy fingers. Pleasure sparked low and familiar, her fingers clutching his coat as the world narrowed to the press of his body and the steady rhythm of his thumb. Snow outside the frosted window swirled faster, as if jealous of the heat building between them.
Then the instruments in the main lab screamed.
A shrill alarm cut through the hallway. Monitors flickered wildly. Olga's voice carried sharp and urgent: "Dr. Kuznetsov—readings are spiking! Temperature just dropped four degrees in thirty seconds—symmetrical patterns again, centered right here!"
Adrian broke the kiss with a low curse, forehead resting against hers for a heartbeat. His hand stayed under her sweater a moment longer, warm and protective, thumb giving one last slow circle before he withdrew. "Stay here," he murmured, eyes dark with both desire and calculation. "I'll check—"
But Irina's gaze had already drifted past his shoulder to the frosted window at the end of the hallway.
A shadow stood outside.
Tall. Slender. White hair drifting in the unnatural wind like living frost. Erwin's silhouette was unmistakable even through the ice-rimed glass—luminous pale skin, flowing robes, those piercing eyes locked on her. He did not move. He simply watched, a faint smile curving his lips as frost raced across the windowpane from the outside, cracking the glass in perfect symmetrical patterns that spelled her name in delicate script.
The lab alarms wailed louder. Sensors flatlined. Dr. Kuznetsov's skeptical voice barked orders, but the machines refused to obey. Olga's fingers flew over the keyboard, face pale. "It's like something's interfering—deliberately. The data's rewriting itself."
Irina felt pulled in two directions, the warmth of Adrian's hand still tingling on her breast warring with the cold pull of Erwin's gaze. The shadow lingered one heartbeat longer, then dissolved into swirling snow, leaving only the cracked window and the faint echo of bells ringing wrong in the distance.
Adrian turned back to her, jaw set. "He's here. Watching. I felt it the second the readings spiked." His voice was calm, but the jealousy burned hotter now, controlled yet fierce. He kissed her once more—quick, possessive, a seal against the cold—his hand sliding briefly under her sweater again to cup her breast in a silent promise. "No one else," he repeated against her lips, thumb brushing the sensitive peak. "Not even in your dreams."
From the main lab, Olga's voice called out again, but it was too late to hide.
Outside in the snow, hidden behind a cluster of frost-heavy pines, envious college girl Katya Ivanova lowered her phone. She had come to the campus for her own "independent study" excuse, hoping to catch gossip for the group chat. Instead she had seen everything: Adrian's hand disappearing under Irina's sweater, the heated kiss in the hallway, the way Irina had arched into it. Katya's lips curled in a jealous smirk, fingers already typing furiously.
*Guess Irina's not so innocent after all. Caught her and Volkov getting handsy in the lab hallway while the whole campus is freezing over. Shirtless river ghost one day, secret lab make-out the next? Wonder what Professor Morozova would say about that in her next lecture. Pics incoming…*
The message pinged into the group chat before Irina and Adrian even stepped back into the main lab.
Dr. Kuznetsov looked up from the dead monitors, beard twitching with irritation. "Whatever this is, it's not weather anymore. And if it's targeting you two—"
Olga said nothing, but her observant eyes flicked to Irina's flushed cheeks and the faint silver tingle still visible on her collarbone beneath the collar of her sweater.
Outside, the snow fell upward again for three heartbeats, then righted itself.
King Mordren's whisper brushed the edges of Irina's mind, soft and impatient: *He cannot warm what is already mine.*
Adrian's hand found hers, warm and steady, but the pull remained—two directions, two men, two kinds of heat.
To be continued....