The Darkest Frost: Vol 2 of a 2-part serial (TDF, #2)

by Tanya Holmes

  Caryn emerges from the wall and stands over me, her body bathed in white light. The charred skin is gone, as are the flames and white eyes.

  “What happened to you?” I asked. “You look…beautiful.”

  ‘It’s happiness, Deni. I’m about to get everything I ever wanted.’ She floats closer. ‘Next time you see me, it’ll be in a dream, like this. I promise I’ll explain it all then. For now, just trust him, okay?’

  “Trust who—”

  She vanishes before I can finish.

  Running water drums in the background. It gets louder by the second. I try to will myself closer to the sound, anything to quench the searing heat. But a hand—male, powerful and consoling—reaches past the darkness to stroke my cheek, my hair. With one touch, the stranger tells me all I need to know. He’s come to my rescue.

  I blinked my eyes open to focus on the hazy outline of a man crouched over me. Moonlight framed his broad shoulders. “Braeden,” I whispered, my tongue feeling as thick and dry as a washcloth.

  “No, it’s me. Xavier.”

  Panic gripped me as I looked around the dark, unfamiliar room. “Where am I?”

  “My place.”

  “Where’s Braeden? And Luke?”

  “Ah, they’re…together.” He knelt beside me and brushed the damp hair from my brow. Shadows hung in his eyes. “It’s almost two in the morning. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours.”

  Small wonder. My blood was on fire, the sheets were soaked with sweat, and every inch of my skin still tingled— Wait a sec. The dream. What was it about again? Try as I might to hold on, it was no use. The details slipped away.

  Another memory slammed into me like a freight train. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Please, where’s Braeden?”

  “You just asked me that,” he said.

  “But you never answered.”

  “He’s taking care of a few things.”

  “And Luke?”

  “Like I said, he’s with Braeden.”

  We were going around in circles. “Just tell me why? What are they—”

  “Look, save the questions for later, D. We’ve got to deal with this fever for now.”

  I sat halfway up, but pain and fatigue knocked me back down. Everything hurt. The roots of my hair. My teeth. My skin and bones. “I think I’m dying.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Are you lying?” I tried to read his expression but his poker face was indecipherable. “God, I can’t even tell anymore.”

  “Join the club,” he deadpanned.

  The chill in his voice was hard to miss. And then I remembered. He hates me because he knows. The shade he was giving me made sense now.

  “Listen up,” he said. “Your emotions are all running rampant because of the Fever. You may see a bunch of strange shit before it breaks.”

  “I already have.”

  Xavier pressed a cloth to my wet brow. “Well, if we don’t cool your body down, it’ll get worse.” His eyes looked cold and flat. Lifeless. No doubt about it. He despised me.

  I took in the unfamiliar surroundings, but couldn’t make out much. Shadows covered everything. But from the acoustics, I guessed the room was quite large. Whooshing sounds of a water spigot on full blast echoed in the distance.

  “Are we still in Maryland?” I asked, my thoughts drifting.

  “Yeah. Severna Park.”

  He was all business when he threw my damp covers back. Chill air burned my skin. My teeth chattered. Only then did I notice the soaked nightgown I wore, the bandage at the crook of my right arm, and the empty IV bag behind him.

  “W-what are you doing?”

  “Getting you out of this bed,” he answered, his voice toneless.

  “No, please. I’m hot. Cold. Freezing. Just…just stop. Give me the covers.”

  “Sorry. I can’t. We’ve got to do this now.”

  “Do what?”

  Xavier didn’t answer as he gathered me to him. He smelled of fresh linen and male heat. I held on to him as if he were my only lifeline.

  “I’m so hot,” I whispered.

  He lifted me with ease. “We’re going to do something about that now.”

  “Xavier?”

  He wouldn’t meet my gaze, just stared into the shadows. “What?”

  “Are you sure I’m not dying?”

  “Yeah.”

  Everything was spinning. It was getting harder to concentrate again. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “But I can’t,” I said listlessly.

  He didn’t respond at first, then, “Well, that makes two of us. I don’t trust you as far as I can spit.”

  “You’re the devil,” I murmured.

  He nodded a few times. “Uh-huh. And you’re my hell.”

  His words meshed with the nonsense floating in my brain. He held me tight, sheltering me within his embrace as he strode across the room. The doubts, the fears, the unanswered questions—none of them mattered. I was afraid, but in his arms, I felt secure and protected. Now how weird was that? To know someone who despised you, someone you didn’t trust, would do anything to protect you. How I knew this I wasn’t sure, but it was a certainty.

  I sank against him and tried to lose myself in his clean scent. Yet each passing second brought a new agony. My bones ached, my skin burned, and I would’ve sworn a tiny man with a pickaxe had gone Medieval at the base of my skull.

  The hollow echo of running water reverberated with each step. When a bright light stabbed my eyes, I pressed my face into his shoulder, then cracked a lid open. We were in a sterile-looking bathroom. Everything was white, including the floor-to-ceiling tiles. Steam clouded the mirrors and condensation dotted the fixtures. He went straight for a huge soaking tub, shut the spigot off, and eased down on its wide edge with me still cuddled tight against him. That’s when I realized what he planned to do.

  I blinked as the Jacuzzi-sized tub morphed into a bottomless dark well. The water churned, going from clear to a black rolling boil. It was a caldron! Steam rose forming into long, bony hands with razor-sharp nails. They took a swipe at me.

  I kicked at it. “Get off!”

  “Hey.” He cupped my face with one hand. “Remember, whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.”

  “Take me back to bed. Please.” I threw my arms around his neck. “I can’t go in there.”

  “Don’t be scared.” He spoke against my hair and rocked me. “I’ve got you.”

  Our jagged breathing filled the strained silence—with me in hysterics, and him trying to comfort me. Once I’d quieted, he exhaled hard and unbuttoned my nightgown, which hung from my frame like a wet dishtowel.

  Panic burned through me. “What are you doing?”

  “If I don’t bring your fever down, the hallucinations will get worse.”

  “I don’t care! Just put me back in bed.” I pushed at him, flailing in his arms, but I was too weak. I couldn’t escape. “No. Stop it…”

  “Look, D.” He slipped the hem of my nightgown over my hips. “I had to use a combination of drugs since your body’s changing. You had intravenous ibuprofen an hour ago. Sweet Spirits of Nitre four hours before that, and acetaminophen just before we left Annapolis, yet your fever still hovers at 104˚.” His arm tightened around me when I pulled away. “So, in you go.”

  With that, he ripped the gown off me.

  I was naked—from the waist up. The cold look in his eyes warmed as he took me in. His gaze dipped, stayed, and his chest rose and fell. Then he glanced off, and when his eyes finally returned to me, they were dead again.

  His jaw worked. “Come on. It’s time.”

  “Don’t make me,” I pleaded, covering my breasts with an arm.

  Despite my protests, Xavier held me over the bathtub. What little strength I had left, I used to my advantage, clinging to him like a child to its mother. Hot water stung my butt as he lowered me. I tightened my grip arou
nd him and screamed bloody murder.

  He hauled me back up and sat at the tub’s edge, holding me in his lap. “Remember when I said your body’s changing?” He spoke patiently, as if he were talking to a toddler. “Your temperature’s off because your hypothalamus gland is screwed up. If you’d gone to a hospital, they would’ve given you drugs that wouldn’t work, and you’d probably end up in a tepid bath, which is the last thing you need.” When my eyes grew heavy, he gave my shoulder a gentle jiggle. “Your brain thinks it’s twenty below zero in here. So it overcompensated with the Fever. Your body just needs to recalibrate, which is why I have to expose you to excessive heat.”

  I tried wrapping my mind around his words. “But won’t it go back up?”

  “No, it doesn’t work like that. It’ll go down to 101…maybe 102, and will stay that way for the next couple days.”

  None of it made sense. “Please—please—please, don’t do this.”

  Xavier examined my fright-filled eyes, seeming to hold an internal debate with himself. After a time, he appeared to come to a decision. Next thing I knew, he stood, anchored his foot on the lid of the commode, and propped me against his thigh so he could slip his shirt over his head. It fell soundlessly to the floor.

  I prickled with gooseflesh when our bodies touched. The light dusting of chest hair brushed against my breasts and each point of contact spread like wildfire across my body. Setting his foot down on the tiled floor, he cradled me as he kicked his shoes off. His jeans hit the floor next.

  That left him in his underwear—white boxer briefs.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Xavier set one bare foot into the water, then the other. “Getting in with you.” He cuddled me closer. “I’ll sit in here as long as you have to. All right?”

  That he would endure this for me, made my heart swell. Maybe he wasn’t such a devil after all. I gave a reluctant nod, knowing I really didn’t have a choice. I knew I was sick, and unless I wanted to see my parents earlier than I’d expected, I had to submit. If he could bear this for my sake, I could do the same.

  Slowly, he lowered himself with me cradled against him. He winced, but he kept going and the moment the water touched my sensitive skin, a million red-hot needles stabbed into me. It was like acid against my flesh. Hard tremors shook my body as my muscles spasmed, bringing a fresh round of hysteria with it.

  Curses flew from my mouth. Things I’d never dared voice alone, much less with an audience. I screamed. I raged. I cried buckets, as Xavier fought to hold me still. Water sloshed for several minutes as I wrestled to break free, with him dragging me to a corner.

  “Let go!” In between swear words, I tried to climb out. “It hurts! Oh, God! You son of a—”

  I stopped mid-scream when he tugged me back against him. The word, Relax, drifted into my thoughts, and at the touch of his hand, the whirlwind slowed. My skin reacted to his touch. Gooseflesh covered every place we made contact. The fever boiling my blood and the hot water that burned like dry ice faded into the background. Only his healing hands registered.

  My lids fluttered shut as he dragged the fingertips of his left hand down my neck, along the curve of my shoulder, then back again. As sensitive as my skin was, his fingers calmed everyplace they touched.

  “His hands kill. My hands soothe…and give pleasure, if I will it,” he said. “And I do.”

  He pressed the palm of his other hand to mine. Twice as large, his was both masculine and beautiful. My falling tears blended with the water beading along his skin. He separated our braided hands to grab a sponge off a low rack, dipped it in the water until it was fat and dripping, then squeezed it over my head. The sensation was like an ax had cracked my skull open. The pain was unbearable. He must have sensed it, because he immediately whispered words of comfort.

  Every so often he’d hum a few bars of a song or two, which calmed me. Then he’d say something soft and low, something that sounded so familiar, but my brain couldn’t place it.

  “‘O love’s the crooked thing,’” he whispered, “‘there’s nobody wise enough to find out all that’s in it, for he would be thinking of love till the stars had run away and the shadows eaten the moon…’”

  I surfaced from the fog. “What is that?”

  “Shhh.” He stroked my head and a wave of serenity warmed me. “‘Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, one cannot begin it too soon.’”

  I nestled up against him, and as he hummed again, his voice lulled me into a light sleep. His erection didn’t bother me. I was just grateful he was here, in my darkest hour. So I concentrated instead on his sheltering arms, his soothing voice, and the thundering of his heart beneath my ear. Every few minutes, I got the shakes again, but he held me through the worst of them, never letting me go. In between these, he emptied and refilled the tub with warm water, while either humming or speaking softly to calm me.

  It could have been hours later when he stepped from the tub and carried me flush against him, cupping my head like a newborn.

  He was a blurry outline to my heavy eyes as he grabbed a towel and wrapped me in it. I passed out somewhere between the bathroom and my bed because when I woke again, I was dressed in a dry nightgown, and he was lowering me onto an even dryer mattress. Somehow, he’d changed the sheets.

  Xavier dragged a blanket from the foot and tugged it to my shoulders. “How’s that?”

  “Better.” When he turned to leave, I grabbed his arm. “Please. Don’t go.”

  He hovered over the bed for a good fifteen seconds before he sighed and settled in next to me, pulling my body so I could rest my head against his chest. The blanket lifted again and fell until it covered us both.

  * * *

  XAVIER’S SAFEHOUSE

  SEVERNA PARK, MARYLAND

  Denieve

  ____________________________

  A muscled cocoon of maleness surrounded me when I awakened. Though I was still groggy and weak with fever, I felt better.

  “Braeden,” I breathed with a contented sigh, and snuggled closer.

  “Uh. No, doll. Try again.”

  My back went rigid and my eyes flew open. The voice was Xavier’s. We were chest to chest, with my head resting against his shoulder. My left leg was thrown over his thigh and not only was his hand cupping my butt, he was squeezing it. But that wasn’t the worst part. Something long, thick, and hard pressed against my stomach.

  “Oh, for the love of…” Weak as I was, I managed to scoot away. “What are you doing in my bed?”

  His brows arched. “Technically, this is my bed.”

  And so it was. I took in my surroundings. The Venetian-style antique bed had an exquisitely carved rosewood frame. I snared a pillow from behind and hugged it to my breasts. His cologne, a dark scent ripe with sandalwood, musk, and mint filled my nose.

  The space was large with modest furnishings. To my left was a cozy window seat littered with earth-toned throw pillows. A built-in stone-encased hearth centered the main wall. Next to it, a sturdy looking spiral staircase sprang from the wide-planked floor and fed into a loft. From my vantage point, it looked like it housed another bed. The pale opal walls boasted dozens of mahogany shelves bursting with antiquarian books.

  The place was immaculate. So he wasn’t a slob after all. This could only mean one thing. The bastard had purposely wrecked Braeden’s house during his visit just to piss me off.

  “Where am I?” I demanded. “And how did I get here?”

  “Severna Park. My car. Now calm down before you work yourself into another meltdown. Your emotions are heightened. Remember?”

  Ignoring him, I scoped the room. “Where is everybody?”

  “Everybody like who?”

  It was happening again. I couldn’t remember who I was talking about. I gaped back at Xavier in a panic. Every possible question darted through my head, and with each, several potential answers followed, only to be replaced by more questions. I still had a fever, though not as high as before, but my brai
n was working at fifty percent capacity at best.

  I had to talk it out. Maybe then something would begin to make sense. “Where…where is—” The name escaped me. Oh! B… Bra— “Braeden! Where’s Braeden? And…and Luke?”

  “Um, yeah. About that—”

  “What?” My heart seized. “What? What happened? Hurry up and tell me before I forget what I just asked you.”

  Xavier sat up, crossed his feet at the ankles. “Okay, here’s the thing…”

  Any sentence starting with that phrase usually led to something horrible. “Where are they?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, deliberated, then opened his mouth again. “Um, there’s no easy way to—ah, fuck it.” He tossed a hand. “Gone, okay? Both of them. Braeden’s been arrested and Luke…well, he’s kinda dead.”

  CHAPTER 16

  XAVIER’S SAFEHOUSE

  SEVERNA PARK, MARYLAND

  Denieve

  ____________________________

  “Kinda dead?” Panic sent my pulse racing. I couldn’t have heard him right. “W-what did you say?”

  He hung his head and mumbled, “You’re not ready to hear this.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. Talk.”

  Silence.

  “Answer me, damn it!”

  Xavier speared a look at me. “Luke’s dead. Okay? He’s dead!”

  Air. I couldn’t get enough air. “But-but I just saw him at his house. He made me a tray. Gave me flowers…and…and…chicken soup. He was alive. Alive! And…and he can’t be…no, he can’t—” The rest of Xavier’s message flashed in my head, choking my words. It was like a hand had closed around my throat. “Braeden’s been arrested? Braeden—” I inhaled, exhaled, but my lungs wouldn’t work. They were full and tight.

  Xavier leaned closer. “You’re hyperventilating.”

  “Stay away.” I scooted back, still struggling to breathe.