by Kristie Cook
“That swim took a lot out of me,” I said, falling into a balcony chair. “More than I realized. More than it should have.”
“You need to eat something,” Tristan said. “You didn’t touch your dinner.”
“No, Owen did for me.” I yawned. “That’s not it, anyway. I still don’t think I could eat right now. I just feel really tired again.”
I probably could have fallen asleep right in the chair, except my body wouldn’t stop shivering. I went inside to change out of the wet bathing suit and thought a hot shower was exactly what I needed. I let the heat of the water and the rising steam envelop me. But when the water started running cold, even with the knob turned all the way to the H, I still shivered. Giving up, I dried off and dressed in sweatpants, an old, long-sleeve T-shirt, and socks. I dragged the torn comforter and the only intact pillow out to the living room and curled up on the couch. My body felt heavy with exhaustion. I just wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t stop shaking.
“You okay?” Tristan asked when he and Owen came inside.
“I don’t know. I’m freezing.” My teeth rattled noisily against each other.
“Is it still from Sheree?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I felt a lot better when we were swimming. Now I feel like I’m getting sick.”
Tristan held his palm to my face and then wrapped it around my hand. It felt like a heating pad. “You’re like ice. Colder than you were with her.”
He and Owen exchanged meaningful looks.
“I’ll call Sophia and Rina,” Owen said.
He stepped outside, and Tristan disappeared into our bedroom. He came out a few minutes later with wet hair and wearing cargo shorts, instead of swim trunks. He must have taken a quick shower. I felt bad—it had to have been freezing because I used all the hot water.
Owen returned at the same time. “I couldn’t get either one of them but finally got a hold of Julia. She’s with them at the safe house. They’re still working on Sheree, but they want to know if anything happens with you and the Ang’dora, so Julia said she’d tell them.”
“Is this normal?” I asked. “For the Ang’dora, I mean?”
Owen shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person. But there’s not exactly anything normal about you, Alexis.”
He was teasing, but absolutely right.
I pulled the comforter tighter around me, closed my eyes, and tried to focus on making the shivers go away. The attempt proved pointless. Tristan lifted my head and shoulders and sat down, laying me down in his lap and rubbing my arms and shoulders. If his shower had been cold, I couldn’t feel it on him now. He felt nice and toasty. He asked Owen to get more blankets from the back bedrooms, and a minute later I felt the added weight, but they didn’t do much to warm me.
“Sh-sh-sheesh, I-I-I’m s-so c-c-cold,” I chattered. Tristan was right. This version of cold felt much worse than it had with Sheree. My whole body felt like it had been plunged into a tub of ice water, the ache going right to the bone, everywhere except around my heart. Warmth cocooned it. At least it won’t freeze. Has to be a good sign, right?
I closed my eyes again and tried to imagine pulling the warmth from my heart into the rest of my body. Then I tried not to focus on how cold I felt at all, but on something different. I pictured Dorian’s face. My heart warmed more, but nothing else. So I imagined being held in Tristan’s warm arms, close to his warm body. The thoughts seemed to be working until a violent shudder racked my body. Tristan moved to get up.
“No, p-p-please d-d-don’t leave.”
“I’ll be right back.”
When he returned, he placed a hot, wet washcloth around my neck. Then he removed the back cushions from the couch and lay down behind me, wrapping his arms around me, the whole length of my body pressed against his. The shivering slowed and then finally stopped. I closed my eyes, and deep sleep overcame me.
I didn’t remember dreaming, but I did remember a disembodied face staring at me. I thought it belonged to the man who’d taken Sheree, but I couldn’t be positive. I’d only seen her kidnapper’s face for a brief time and through the haze of her memories. The face watching me floated in front of me, his hair and a goatee white as snow, his eyes like blue ice. Though the hair gave the impression of old age, no wrinkles lined his face. His lips pulled into a devious grin, exposing icicles for teeth. The face observed me, and I thought he might be patiently waiting for me to do something. What, I didn’t know.
When I awoke much later, chills racked my body. Through the sliding glass doors, I saw the moon hanging low in the sky, as if strung on a necklace between the trees over our beach. I had no idea of the exact time, but I felt sure midnight had slipped by while I slept. Tristan had left my side. He came back when he saw me shaking and lay next to me again.
“S-s-sorry,” I said. “I-I-I kn-now it’s n-not comfortable.”
He had to scrunch his legs up just to fit on the couch.
“Do you want to go to the bed?” he asked.
“N-n-no. N-not now. I c-can’t move.”
My body felt like a slab of marble—too heavy to lift and cold to the touch—and I wondered if death felt like this. Tristan eventually warmed me enough again that I stopped shivering. I just wanted to lay there like a rock. Not a log—I felt too heavy to be a log. I was definitely a cold, heavy rock.
“Did Owen leave?” I asked.
“He’s just making more calls. Trying to find out when Sophia and Rina will be back, but they’re still working with Sheree. Do you need me to get you anything?”
“No. Just stay here, please. You’re really warm.”
He kissed my cheek and neck. His lips felt like hot matches striking against my icy skin. Pulling on every ounce of energy I could muster to move what felt like twice my body weight, I turned over to face him. I pressed my face against his chest and inhaled his warmth, his mouthwatering scent coating the back of my throat. He rubbed my back through the layers of blankets. Sleep overcame me again.
The next time I awoke, the sky was pitch-black, and it felt like that time just before morning, when the whole world seemed to be dead. The coldest and darkest hour of the day. I couldn’t even see the moon from my position on my back. It had probably set by now. There were no lights on inside, and I should have been blind in the complete darkness, but I could see perfectly. Owen slept sideways in the chair, his legs dangling over the arm. Tristan slept next to me, his arm and leg thrown over me, pinning me down. My clothes stuck to my skin, making me realize they were drenched in sweat. I had the sudden need to escape from all the heavy blankets, feeling as though they were made of iron and weighing me down. I kicked and thrashed, not able to get Tristan and the blankets off of me fast enough.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked, quickly awake. Owen stirred in the chair and peered at me through slit eyes.
“I’m so hot now,” I panted, finally unwrapping myself.
I stood up and pinpricks of light danced in front of my eyes. My legs trembled, feeling like cooked noodles under my weight. Tristan held his hand to the small of my back before I toppled back on him. Once I steadied myself, I headed for the bedroom, peeling the sweat-soaked clothes off of me. I wanted to lay naked, spread-eagle on the cool bed, but stuffing still bulged out of its shredded top. I took another shower instead, this time letting the cool water run over me. I had to change the pressure on the showerhead to a gentle spray—anything else felt like thousands of needles piercing me. I felt every single drop patter against my skin, like the fat drops at the beginning of a rainstorm hitting me one-by-one, but these were small and thousands at a time. It was a strange feeling.
Clean clothes at a minimum, I put on a tank top and pajama shorts, my only other choice being one of the fancy sundresses. The clothes rubbed harshly against my skin, feeling more like paper than cotton. The fabric even sounded like paper scraping and crinkling against itself. Tristan and Owen both eyed me when I came out of the bedroom.
“How do you feel?” Tr
istan asked. I flinched and covered my ears with my hands. He sounded like he nearly yelled.
“Except that everything feels, looks, and sounds so intense, a lot better,” I whispered. “A little shaky, though. I’m really thirsty . . . and hungry.”
They both sighed with relief, and the rush of air sounded like two train whistles. Being thirsty and hungry must have been a good sign. I drank a big glass of ice water, and it cooled my insides, but not enough to radiate outwards to my feverish skin. I fixed another glass, retrieved the last of the crackers, and sat next to Tristan on the couch. My muscles twitched, like they did when I wanted to run.
“That was weird,” I said, still whispering. “I was so cold and tired. Now I feel really warm but energetic. I feel like I could go for a ten-mile run.”
Tristan chuckled quietly and, thankfully, kept his voice low. “I don’t think so. You take it easy.”
Electricity pulsed through my body, though. I wasn’t sure I could sit still. A cell phone rang shrilly. I jumped and covered my ears again. Owen muttered, “finally,” as he stepped outside, lifting the phone to his ear.
I turned sideways on the couch and lay my legs over Tristan’s lap. He brushed my cheek with his fingertips, and his touch felt so soft, but pleasurably shocking. Goose bumps spread down my neck and arms. He smiled, and he looked absolutely sublime, his features even more perfectly sculpted than I’d ever noticed—if at all possible—even with the scars. My heart swelled with the immense love I had for him, and a smile spread across my face.
“Thanks for keeping me warm,” I whispered.
“My pleasure.” He leaned over and brushed his lips across mine, sending another delightful shock.
“I love you.”
He smiled again, and my heart flipped. “I’ll never understand why you love me, but I will take every bit you give.”
“You have it all.”
“And you have all of me.” His fingers brushed my cheek again, and I shuddered. He leaned in for a long, loving kiss, and it felt like he’d never kissed me before. His lips felt soft and full against mine and silky smooth, and I could taste real mangos, papayas, and lime on my tongue. A sudden desire rose, and I had to fight the impulse to rip his clothes off and jump him right here on the couch. I settled for wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him hard against me as he continued to kiss me.
Owen interrupted us.
“Sophia and Rina are on their way back,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to meet them outside to make sure they get in with no problems.”
He eyed us. Tristan disentangled himself from my hold.
“Don’t get crazy. I won’t be long,” Owen added with a shake of his head.
“I wish we had more time,” I said after he left. “I’m quite enjoying these new sensations.”
“We’ll have plenty of time soon, my love.”
“I just don’t know how long these heightened senses will last.”
I stroked his face and found myself surprisingly amazed at the texture—I’d never noticed just how velvety his skin felt. Except for the scars. They weren’t soft and spongy like normal scars. These were hard, rigid. I suddenly didn’t like touching them. An icy sensation flowed into my fingertips when I did, like hundreds of tiny icicles pricking my skin. I hadn’t noticed that before, either. The feeling made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
So I ran my fingers over his lips instead, which felt much better because they reminded me of Dorian’s cheeks when he was a baby—smooth and supple, inviting me for a kiss. Tristan cupped his hand around my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb. My skin warmed even more and tingled, the feeling spreading throughout my face, up into my scalp, and down through my neck. Goose bumps rose again, and I shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked, his brows furrowing with concern.
“No, not at all. Just . . . tingly.” I shivered again.
He smiled with understanding. “Hmm . . . I wish we had more time, too.”
He winked, and I fell back against the arm of the couch, my insides softening so I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. He leaned over and kissed me again, his hand trailing lightly down my neck and shoulder and arm, electricity spreading in a web across my skin.
I instantly felt overheated. My blood simmered. I had to push him back.
“Okay, maybe not. That’s too much,” I breathed.
I fanned myself with my hand. He blew lightly on my face, his cool, tangy-sweet breath filling my nostrils and into my mouth, overwhelming me. My heart started racing, and I thought my temperature shot up three degrees. My blood no longer simmered—it boiled. My skin crawled from my scalp to the tips of my fingers and toes. I jumped off the couch, panting.
“It’s too much. I can’t take it!”
I grabbed the glass of ice water and drained it. The liquid felt like hot tea by the time it hit my stomach. I went into the kitchen, filled the glass again, and chugged it. I splashed cool water on my face and neck and then leaned over the sink, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. None of it helped. My heart continued to race, and my skin prickled and burned.
“Son of a witch, I feel like I could jump out of my skin,” I panted. Tristan came into the kitchen, and my skin tingled and crawled with just the anticipation of his touch. I held my hand up when he came within three feet. “I think you’ll send me into cardiac arrest if you come any closer.”
“Alexis . . . are you okay? You’re so pale.” He still whispered but it sounded so loud.
I turned to look at him. Not a light shone in the house but I had to squint because the room looked so bright. All of my senses seemed to be crashing with overload.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
Then several things happened simultaneously. The front door flew open with what sounded like an explosion. Owen, Mom, and Rina appeared in the kitchen doorway, and the air swooshed over me like a raging wind. I dropped the glass I held, and it shattered on the floor, the shrill sound piercing my eardrums. My heart contracted painfully and burned white-hot. No, not my heart burning. Above it. The skin of the Amadis mark scorched, like it had been pressed with the mean end of a branding iron. Pain ripped through my chest. I screamed in agony, and my fingernails clawed into my breasts.
Tristan’s eyes burst into flames. He growled—a terrifying, heart-stopping resonance—and crouched as if preparing to lunge.
And Owen flew across the kitchen.
“Tristan, NO!” he roared.
Chapter 19
My vision grayed out as I collapsed to the floor.
The next thing I knew, Mom and Rina carried me into the back bedroom, to the only surviving bed. Their hands felt like iced braces as they held me tightly because I writhed uncontrollably. They lay me on the bed, and my back arched against the hard, scraping sensation of the sheets and my clothes.
“Mom, what’s happening?” I screamed, the sound deafening to my own ears.
“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay,” she soothed.
Rina placed her hands on me, one on the burning Amadis mark and one on my forehead, and closed her eyes. I felt her energy flow into me, and it calmed my nerves enough so I could lie still on the bed. The Amadis mark still felt white-hot, blistering and sending throbbing heat throughout my body. Mom took my hand, and I gripped hers tightly.
“It’s happening so fast,” Mom said to Rina, unusual concern filling her voice.
“She can tolerate it.” Rina remained calm as she kept her hands on me. “We just need to keep her temperature moderated. We need some ice.”
Mom pulled away from me.
“Don’t leave me!”
“I’ll be right back, honey.”
She returned in a second with towels, ice, and water. She slipped an ice cube into my mouth and rubbed water on my face with her hand. The cold on my skin and in my mouth contrasted sharply with the heat in the rest of my body, making me shudder. She placed a cool, wet towel over my forehead and eyes, its comfort calmin
g me.
I slipped in and out of consciousness. Every time I blacked out, the ice-man’s face watched me again, and every time I came to, Mom and Rina sat right by my side, their hands directly on my skin. I felt new energy flowing through every cell of my body, twisting and turning and swirling through my veins and nerves.
“Something’s terribly wrong,” Mom said to Rina one time when I came to. She sounded anxious, but relatively calm considering the statement. She looked at me, saw my eyes open, and didn’t say anything more. I blacked out again.
“Where’s Tristan?” I asked another time.
“He’s with Owen, honey,” Mom said.
“Why isn’t he here? I need him.” I blacked out again before hearing her answer.
“Mom?”
“I’m here, honey,” she answered.
“Tristan?”
“He can’t be here,” she said. “I’m sorry, honey.”
I struggled against something holding me to the bed. I couldn’t feel any straps or bindings, but I couldn’t move either. I thought maybe the dead weight of my own body held me down.
“Did he leave again?” I asked.
She didn’t answer me for a long moment. “No, honey, not exactly.”
What does that mean? I didn’t have a chance to ask, though. I slipped out of consciousness again.
“I think I’ve got him contained for now, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold,” Owen said from the doorway.
“Who? What’s going on?” I asked. Panic rose in my mind. I heard the bedroom door close.