He stared at me, uncharacteristically surprised. “I don’t care about you?”
“No.” I was being petty-very, very petty. And I knew the truth-that he did care and was more than just a mentor. I couldn’t help myself, though. It just kept coming and coming. I jabbed his chest with my finger. “I’m another student to you. You just go on and on with your stupid life lessons so that-“
The hand I’d hoped would touch my hair suddenly reached out and grabbed my pointing hand. He pinned it to the wall, and I was surprised to see a flare of emotion in his eyes. It wasn’t exactly anger…but it was frustration of another kind.
“Don’t tell me what I’m feeling,” he growled.
I saw then that half of what I’d said was true. He was almost always calm, always in control-even when fighting. But he’d also told me how he’d once snapped and beaten up his Moroi father. He’d actually been like me once-always on the verge of acting without thinking, doing things he knew he shouldn’t.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I asked.
“What?”
“You’re always fighting for control. You’re the same as me.”
“No,” he said, still obviously worked up. “I’ve learned my control.”
Something about this new realization emboldened me. “No,” I informed him. “You haven’t. You put on a good face, and most of the time you do stay in control. But sometimes you can’t. And sometimes …” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Sometimes you don’t want to.”
“Rose…”
I could see his labored breathing and knew his heart was beating as quickly as mine. And he wasn’t pulling away. I knew this was wrong-knew all the logical reasons for us staying apart. But right then, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to control myself. I didn’t want to be good.
Before he realized what was happening, I kissed him. Our lips met, and when I felt him kiss me back, I knew I was right. He pressed himself closer, trapping me between him and the wall. He kept holding my hand, but his other one snaked behind my head, sliding into my hair. The kiss was filled with so much intensity; it held anger, passion, release….
He was the one who broke it. He jerked away from me and took several steps back, looking shaken.
“Do not do that again,” he said stiffly.
“Don’t kiss me back then,” I retorted.
—Frostbite, Chapter 10