Frostbite

by J. Emery

  It was a long time before they spoke again. Ezra was too busy smothering him with kisses, each one flavored with the salt from his tears and the almost painful scrape of fangs.

  "Is that a yes?" Morgan asked breathlessly. Between the crying and the kissing, he felt dazed.

  "I thought you were going to say you wanted me to go." His wet face pressed to Morgan's chest.

  "What? Why?"

  "I don't know. But you looked so serious this morning and I thought—" He hiccupped out another sob and shook his head. "I thought you had finally gotten tired of me," he said in a tiny voice. "It seems silly now." He wouldn't look at Morgan as he sat up.

  Morgan pulled him back down even though the cold and the snow was seeping into his back. This was more important. He framed Ezra's face with both hands, one thumb brushing at a smudge of eyeliner on his cheek. "No, baby. I'm not tired of you." I could never get tired of you. That seemed like a truth too far after only a week, even if he felt it down to his bones. He still wanted to drink in Ezra's presence. He couldn't imagine that changing.

  Cheer like sunshine poured out of Ezra. He sniffled and dabbed at the tears clinging to his lashes. "Good. Because you're mine now. I want you." His teeth caught at his lip. "I mean—if you—"

  Morgan barked out a laugh. "I do. We'll work it out." He leaned up for another kiss and Ezra vibrated with pleasure. "But now you need to get up because my ass is freezing. Literally. I think some snow went down the back of my pants."

  "Oh really? Should I check?" Ezra's smile was cat-like. He didn't make any effort to stand up either.

  "I'm not fucking you in the snow. I'll get frostbite. We don't all have vampire constitution."

  "You're no fun."

  "I'll be plenty of fun later when I've thawed out. Now get up."

  Ezra sighed but finally did as he was told.

  Morgan was slower to get up. His ass was in danger of going numb. He shook the snow off the best he could, shivering at the wet slide down his back. Yeah. Some of it had definitely found its way into his jeans. Going back inside and warming up with a blanket and Ezra wrapped around him was sounding better and better.

  Ezra scuffed one toe through the snow they had trampled, shooting a coy look at Morgan. "So if not sex, what else are we supposed to do out here?"

  "You've really never played in the snow before? Not even once?"

  Ezra shrugged. "Maybe a very long time ago. If ever. Stuart was old before I was born and the rest of my siblings are even older. Who would I have played with?" He said it all in a matter-of-fact tone, but it still hurt Morgan's heart. That sounded pretty fucking lonely. Current differences aside, at least he'd always had Theresa. She'd taken him sledding when their parents were gone or too busy to bother and made sure he wore his mittens when the weather turned frosty. Maybe vampires had different ideas of family, but that was still his own measure.

  "Ouch. Then I guess we have a lot to make up for." He rubbed his gloved hands together. "I'm going to teach you how to make a snowman."

  It ended up being less of a lesson in snowman building and more of Ezra sitting on the porch steps to "supervise" while Morgan shoved snow around the yard in the hopes of creating a big enough ball to use as a base. Twice he had to start over when the bottom collapsed and the whole thing toppled over like a dropped cake.

  Ezra laughed cattily. "Are you sure you know how to make one of these things?"

  "It's the snow," Morgan pointed out, yet again, huffing and puffing a little from the exertion. "It's too wet now."

  "How unfortunate for you."

  Morgan shot him a look. "You could help."

  "But I like watching you do it better." He crossed one leg over the other, hands resting primly on his knees, and smiled. "Now back to work."

  Morgan grumbled, but there was no heat in it. He didn't altogether mind the work when Ezra was there, filling the silence with his presence, beaming every time he caught Morgan's eye. It made him even more confident that he had made at least one right decision.

  "And what is that noise?" Ezra asked as Morgan started rolling a fresh snowball.

  Morgan laughed. He'd already gotten it up to a foot and a half in diameter and it was starting to stick in the heavy wet snow, so he'd rolled it into the shade to pick up the driest snow he could find. Now each shove was met with a squeak as the snow compressed around it. "That's just what snow does. It squeaks." He rolled it over a few more times, coating the sides, and headed back towards Ezra to set it in place.

  "It's strange."

  "Squeaky snow is only the beginning." He maneuvered the ball into place and started on the next one, Ezra watching him with suspicion the whole time. "Don't worry. I'm not throwing this one at you. I spent too long on it." When it was nearly big enough to count as a snow body segment he hefted it onto the first ball and packed a few handfuls of snow around it to join them. So far so good.

  The end result was a little lumpy, but Ezra seemed pleased anyway. Baffled too. But pleased. He poked at the crooked tower of snowballs and Morgan tensed in case it fell over again. "It is kind of cute," Ezra said after bending down to look into its blank white face.

  "It's not finished yet. It's sad and faceless. You have to decorate it," Morgan pointed out. "And I need to finish shoveling our way to freedom if I'm supposed to deliver you on schedule tomorrow." The twinge of nervousness he expected at the reminder didn't come. In its place was the warm memory of Ezra, red faced and earnest because he wanted Morgan too. The new year was looking up already.

  The thought carried him all the way down the driveway, snow flying from his shovel with renewed energy as he cleared the larger drifts of snow that he wouldn't be able to drive through. He'd cleared a large portion of it in the last few days but there was always more snow. It had blown down from the trees in clumps and swirled in from the yard like glittering dust. The exertion felt good. His muscles ached, his blood was pumping, and Ezra wanted to be with him too. The sun had climbed high overhead by the time his shovel scraped over the pavement of the main road and Morgan realized he was done. He headed back towards the cabin.

  Ezra was still fussing over the snowman. While Morgan watched, he jabbed pine sprigs into it, arranging them into something like hair. He'd taken off the scarf and wound it around the snowman's quickly melting neck. Morgan couldn't even be mad. Ezra looked up at his approach, a smile curving his lips for a moment before the expression turned brittle.

  "What?"

  He gave no sign that he'd heard the question. His head turned with mechanical slowness, eyes unfocused. The color drained from his face. "Someone's here."

  Shit.

  "Your family?" It wasn't time yet

  Ezra shook his head. "I don't think so."

  Morgan dropped the shovel. His heart beat so loud in his ears it sounded like thunder. "Get back inside."

  "I absolutely will not." There was a tremor in Ezra's voice that belied his assurance. His eyes tracked some invisible progress through the trees, his body shifting to follow it. Morgan barely felt the touch as Ezra pulled the knife from the sheath at his hip. He pressed it into Morgan's hand and closed his fingers around it.

  Morgan swore again under his breath. "Can you drive? You can drive, right?"

  Ezra nodded.

  "I left my keys in the kitchen. Car's in the shed. Our party's gonna have to wait until we're out of here." He turned Ezra in the right direction and gave him a pat on the ass to get him going before he started off around the side of the cabin.

  Adrenaline pumped in Morgan's veins, an echo of his crunching footsteps in the snow. There was no way to be stealthy out here so he didn't even try. His only thought was getting to where he needed to be and taking care of what needed to be taken care of. He was sorely outmatched. His gun was stashed in his bag with the rest of his weapons and he hadn't thought to put any protections around the cabin when they were leaving in a matter of hours. And what would he have put anyway? If they worked on vampires they would have worked on Ezra
too, either trapping him inside or forcing him out, neither of which was an option.

  The snow around the side of the cabin was just as pristine as if newly fallen. No footprints marred the surface. Not a surprise since Ezra had said most vampires could travel by misting. They wouldn't be strolling around leaving footprints everywhere.

  Which meant...

  The trees leaned close on this side of the cabin, partially shielding it from the elements. Morgan looked up. He barely registered the dark shape in the branches before it dropped on him.

  EZRA'S SNOW-SLICKED heels skidded over the floor as he barreled into the cabin. He needed a weapon. And keys. And to scream. He needed to scream until his lungs ached with it. His whole body was shaking and he couldn't make it stop, couldn't even slow it down. Seraphine had said things were taken care of and he hadn't liked it exactly, to think of those dead bodies crisping away on a pyre, but they had started it by attacking him. He hadn't wanted anything but a few hours of fun.

  But now they had come for him.

  Again.

  This time if they found him, it wasn't only himself in danger, it was Morgan too. With the speed that the other vampire had been approaching, if they weren't here already, they would be soon. Ezra needed to take Morgan and be anywhere else.

  The keys were where Morgan had left them, sitting in a little dish on the table like an achingly domestic centerpiece. Ezra's eyes swept the room. Books left on tables. Discarded clothing thrown over chairs. His souvenirs in the bedroom. Should he pack? He should pack. But there wasn't time for any of it. Ezra snatched the keys and spun back for the door, almost falling a second time as his body stopped and his head kept spinning. He clutched the table to steady himself. He couldn't breathe. Panic, sharp and acidic, crawled up his throat. He had to go, but he couldn't see to move. The room pulsed, black at the edges slowly creeping inward.

  Move. Just move.

  The car keys cut into his palm where he gripped them. That tiny dot of pain grounded him, if only for a moment. Morgan had said get the car. He could do that. Get the car. That much was easy.

  Outside there was a bitten-off cry. Morgan.

  Ezra nearly jumped out of his skin. Then his eyes fell on the duffel bag beside the door. Morgan had kept it hidden in the bedroom, but he must have brought it back out in preparation for their departure. When Ezra had peeked into it before, he'd found it bristling with weapons. Silver knives, a gun, a few other things whose uses were less clear.

  Screw the fucking car.

  Ezra grabbed the bag and sprinted towards the source of the scream outside.

  MORGAN DODGED OUT OF the way just in time to miss the vampire's first strike but he wasn't quick enough for the second. A clawed hand raked his chest. Pain bloomed bright and fast. His attacker might have looked like a banker, in his suit and tie, if not for the fact that the left side of his face was a freshly blistered red burn and each of his nails was a hooked, blackish claw. Oh, and the fangs. The fangs were a dead giveaway.

  Morgan swung his knife, parrying the next clawed swipe before it found his neck. It would only take one from those talons. A quick rip of flesh and a spurt of hot blood. Done. Fight over. Morgan knew this dance since he'd spent years at it already, but the vampire's smile was still unnerving. It said he already knew who would be the winner here. Smug asshole.

  Morgan's chest burned as he sidestepped and deflected blow after blow, letting the vampire back him around the side of the cabin, while he looked for an opening. The silver knife was hurting the vampire. Wherever it connected there was a hiss of searing flesh. It was doing something. Even Ezra refused to touch the blade. Morgan just needed to get in closer, where he could let it work its magic.

  "Who are you?" He couldn't resist asking even if it made him feel like a cliché. Everyone always asked who. Or why. As though they were all working off the same fight script. "Why are you after him?"

  "If you don't already know, you're in the wrong fight, human. You should have run when you had the chance."

  Morgan shrugged. "I'm not much of a runner. Bad knees, you know?"

  The vampire stilled, a puzzled frown pulling at the tight new skin on the side of his face. Whoever he was, he must have escaped from the bonfire Seraphine had mentioned. No wonder he was pissed.

  Morgan lunged. His knife grazed the vampire's cheek, a tiny bead of blood welling up on the smooth skin, before poof. He was gone. Morgan skidded and almost fell to his knees in the snow as he pulled up short. Spun back. The vampire stood behind him in a blur of mist. For half a second he was transparent, the trees behind him painting his body with stripes. Then he solidified. Clawed hands reached for Morgan.

  Morgan dropped.

  He hadn't meant to, or at least not quite like that, but one moment he was crouched and ready to defend and the next he was on his ass with snow seeping into his jeans. Again. Ezra stood over him, one arm extended, palm flat, and the vampire was staggering backward with a bloody nose.

  "I got the car keys," Ezra said, flashing a fangy grin. He waved the keyring like a prize. Morgan's bag of weapons sat on the ground beside him.

  "THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO be an easy job," the vampire grumbled. The healing burn had taken most of his left eyebrow and without it, his scowl looked lopsided. His face wasn't familiar to Ezra, but it was hard to tell with the burn and the new scratches from the fight with Morgan. Blood from his nose dripped into the snow. He could have been anyone with a grudge. All Ezra knew was that he was in their way right now. "This is why you can't trust humans. Couldn't even handle one brat on their own for a couple hours." He rubbed a fist beneath his nose, smearing blood over his upper lip. "Fucking ridiculous."

  The other vampire shook his head and spit. The blood-flecked saliva left pink dots where it landed. The insult couldn't have been clearer. No one wasted blood, not even their own.

  Ezra growled. It only got a laugh from the other vampire. He held up a beckoning hand and grinned. "Come on then."

  They hit each other hard and then they hit the snow, tumbling end over end as they grappled. Snow crunched and flew in Ezra's eyes. The vampire had his hands at Ezra's throat, squeezing off his air little by little, the tips of his claws dangerously close to perforating his skin. Morgan shouted. Ezra drove a knee into the other vampire's stomach. The only reaction was a faint wince and nothing else. His grip didn't loosen even a little. Somewhere Seraphine was probably saying "I told you so."

  All the siblings were taught how to fight, it was part of the culture right alongside memorizing family histories and alliances. Ezra hated it. He'd always hated it. Most times fighting felt like an unwinnable game. But there was one trick that always worked.

  Ezra went for the jugular.

  Blood splashed his cheeks as he bit down. It ran over his chin and sprayed the snow in a fan, happening so fast that the other vampire hadn't even reacted yet. By the time he realized what Ezra had done, it was too late. His struggling only tore the wound open more. Vampire blood had a bitter tang, an aftertaste that marked it as clearly inhuman, but it wouldn't hurt him so Ezra swallowed each mouthful greedily, sucking hard at the wound, almost choking himself on the too fast flow. The other vampire punched him and Ezra gagged, but he didn't let go. He wrapped his arms tight around the vampire's ribcage, crushing them together, a parody of how Ezra had held Morgan only a few days ago. That had been sweet and sensual, but this was the vicious need to win. Not just for himself, but for Morgan too. This vampire, whoever he was, had threatened them both.

  The vampire groaned, breath wheezing out of straining lungs. His hands had fallen away from Ezra's neck once the blood had started flowing. His left hung limp. The right thumped weakly against Ezra's side as he tried to land a real blow. Ezra held on. He wasn't even drinking anymore. He couldn't take any more of the bitter blood.

  Morgan had gotten back to his feet and was trotting over. Limping slightly. The cut on his cheek was already scabbing. The ones on his chest had plastered the sweater to his skin. His knife w
as in his hand again. Ezra met his eyes and nodded. He released the other vampire so he fell to the snowy ground, skin already an ashy pale from all the blood he'd lost, white shirt stained crimson. The vampire's eyes burned with disbelief and anger. Then Morgan stabbed him in the heart.

  MORGAN STOOD. HIS HANDS left pink prints where he pushed off the ground. His chest burned and froze at the same time, from the gashes the vampire had made. His sweater was ruined. The other vampire's claws had shredded the front and the parts that weren't ripped were busy soaking up his blood.

  Ezra stared back at him, eyes wide and blank, their usual sparkle dimmed with exhaustion. The lower half of his face was washed red with blood. While Morgan watched, he spit into the snow and rubbed the back of one hand over his mouth. There was so much blood that it didn't do any good. He only smeared it up onto his cheeks and into the creases of his knuckles. A smile wobbled on his red lips. Morgan barely caught him before Ezra fell face first into the snow. He was prepared for more tears and sobs. What came out instead was a manic bubble of laughter.

  "I did it," Ezra said, almost gleefully. "I did it."

  "You did."

  "I did something right."

  Morgan smoothed the hair back from Ezra's forehead and placed a kiss there. They leaned together, his legs slowly freezing from kneeling in the snow. A wave of tired rocked him. And a moment later the first spicy whiff of smoke hit his nose. He lifted his eyes to the wisp of grey smoke billowing up from the roof. "The cabin is on fire. Fucking perfect. That explains what he was doing around the back, I guess."

  Ezra nodded. He scrubbed at his face again, this time using the sleeve of his sweater. It didn't work any better than his hand had.

  Morgan picked up a handful of clean snow. "Hold on. This'll be cold." Ezra gasped as the snow touched his face. "I warned you. Now hold still."

  Morgan wiped the clump of snow along the most stubborn traces of blood, collecting a new handful when the first melted into pink slush, and going back to work. Then he dried Ezra's chin with the ragged edge of his own sweater. "There. All gone."