by Ruby Dixon
It’s awfully quiet separated from the group, though. I glance over at Harrec. “Do you take this shortcut often?”
He shrugs. “When I come this way in the bitter season. In the brutal season, there is too much snow covering the great ice, and it hides the cracks.”
“Cracks?” I don’t like the sound of that. My steps slow, and I begin to eye the thick sheet of ice underneath us with trepidation. “There are cracks?”
“Of course. More are up ahead.” He gestures higher on the glacier, deeper between the cliffs. “We will just skirt them carefully. There is no need to worry.”
Yeah, but I can’t help but worry. We’re on a glacier, and we’ve split off from the pack. That’s horror movie rule number one—you never split away from the group. “Maybe we should go back.”
“Bah. Come. Do not be so scared.” He jogs a few steps ahead and then turns back to me. “Or shall I tell the others you were too tired to continue and I had to come retrieve you?”
Such a dick. Seriously. I have no idea why I followed this guy down here. But then he gives me another one of those goofy grins when I growl and start walking after him, and I remember why.
It’s because I’m an idiot when it comes to this man. I hate him and I want him desperately to like me all at the same time. I hate it when he pretends to flirt with me, but then I melt when he calls me “pretty Kate.” I guess if he was sincere, I’d have a hard time resisting him. But he’s so blatant and over the top with his “flirting” that it’s clear it’s all designed to make me feel silly. And that’s the most disappointing thing.
There’s a loud crack of the ice, and I yelp, flinging myself at him.
He laughs, his arms going around me. “It is ice, Kate. It will make noises. Do not be afraid.”
I realize I’m clinging to him a moment later, my arms around his neck, my breasts pushing against his chest. For a brief moment, I feel tiny and girly against him, and it’s an amazingly intoxicating feeling. I’ve grown up being as tall—or taller—than most men I’ve ever met. But to Harrec? I barely come up to his chin.
That should not be nearly as sexy as it is. Or the smile he gives me. That shouldn’t be sexy, either.
I can feel my face turning red as I push away from him. “Sorry.”
“It is ice. It will make noises and sounds as we walk, but you are safe. I will scout ahead for cracks and we will skirt around them.” He grins down at me. “Unless you would rather I carry you?”
There’s the Harrec I know and (don’t) love. “Hard pass, buddy.”
He just laughs.
We continue walking, and as we do, Harrec points out things to me that tell me that he’s definitely been in this area before. He points to a stripe in the rocky cliffs carved away by the glacier. He remembers a stream of running water down one side, and we fill our waterskins with icy-cold runoff. He points out a spot on the glacier where he carved a mark in the ice once upon a time and how it’s moved forward in the last few seasons. I relax when it’s clear that he knows what he’s talking about.
Also, I might be appreciating the fact that he’s wearing not much more than the male version of shorty-shorts. I can’t help but watch his ass flex as he walks, his tail swinging back and forth. His loincloth is pretty much longer in the back than it is in the front, and if I stare hard (and let’s face it, I am) I can see a bit of butt cheek. Bright blue, glorious butt cheek.
I never thought I’d be the type to creep on an alien, but here I am. It’s just that…he’s so damn built. I watch his glutes move as he walks, the elegant lines of his hard-muscled thighs. His back is broad and strong, and I’m pretty sure he’s got zero extra body fat. I never thought I’d be a girl who’d faint all over a well-muscled guy, but you learn something new about yourself every day. Me, I’m learning that I’m a sucker for a man with dimples at the base of his spine, and Harrec has ’em.
Maybe it’s because I’m watching those dimples so closely that I miss the fact that he’s stopping in front of me. I immediately run into his back.
Before I can blurt out an apology, there’s an awful crack, and he skids forward a few feet, the ice shifting underneath us. I scream, slipping onto my ass as we both skid forward.
Time seems to slow. I watch my legs slide forward as the ice in front of us shatters, revealing the thin lip over an even larger crevasse in the bluish-white ice. I manage to fling my legs up and wedge my body between the ice, my boots stopping my momentum. I skid down a few feet, and then my back lodges against the other side, and I’m stuck. It’s a good stuck, though. Here, the ice isn’t more than two feet across, and I’ve managed to lever my body to stop my fall. If I’d gone down feet first, I’d have slid all the way down to the bottom. With a little sob, I manage to claw my way up out of the gorge and, panting, I fling myself back over the side.
Oh my god. I nearly fell into a crevasse in the ice. I’d never be seen again. There’d be no way to rescue me.
The moment the thought slides through my head, I look around. “Harrec?”
I’m the only one on the surface of the glacier, though. Heart pounding, full of panic, I look down into the deep, yawning crack I just pulled myself out of.
The top of Harrec’s head and shoulders are all I can see, the rest of his body wedged into the ice. His pack is lodged behind him, and his head lolls to one side. He’s about six feet below me.
Oh fuck. “Harrec!” I scream. “Answer me!” I stretch a hand down to him, but I can’t reach. He’s too far below. I look around for the bow I was using as a walking stick, but it’s nowhere to be seen. I must have lost it when I slid. I peer down at Harrec again. He’s still, and that’s making me freak out. “Harrec?”
No answer. Shit. Shit shit. I don’t know what to do. I want to wring my hands like a damsel in distress, but that won’t solve anything. I’m the only person around for possibly miles. I stare at my glacial surroundings with frustration. I could go back the way I came, but it’s a long journey, and I’d be hours behind the others. If it starts to snow, I’ll lose their trail immediately. I could move forward on the “shortcut,” but I don’t know if I’ll remember the way back.
And I don’t want to leave Harrec. Not alone, trapped in the ice. I don’t know what to do.
“Harrec,” I bellow again, frustrated with him. “Answer me!”
He’s silent, though, and I worry he’s unconscious or badly hurt. This is my fault. He stopped, and because I wasn’t paying attention, I pushed him forward onto weak ice.
And I wasn’t paying attention because I was too busy staring at his ass dimples. Ass. Dimples. I moan in a mixture of horror and frustration. “Harrec, you have to wake up,” I tell him. “Please.” When there’s still no response, I grab a handful of icy, slushy snow and fling it down at him. “Wake up, you son of a bitch!”
The snow splats right onto his thick, glossy hair.
But…he stirs.
I choke back a sob of relief. “Harrec!”
A low groan echoes up from the ice, and his head moves, and then his arms slowly rise up, pushing at the ice crushed against his chest. “Kate?”
“I’m here.” I shift, and more ice and snow rains down from the ledge up above.
He squints and gazes up at me. There’s a bruise on his head that’s growing below one of his horns, and he looks dizzy. “Why…why are you throwing snow on me?”
I bite back a crazy laugh of relief. “Because you needed to wake up.”
“I am awake,” he says slowly, and his hands press at the ice on both sides of him and then stop. “I seem to be stuck, as well.”
“You fell into a crack in the ice,” I tell him.
“I did not fall,” he says, bracing his hands at the ice against his chest again. “Someone pushed me in.”
I grind my teeth. “I did not—”
“You did. I stopped well away from the edge.”
He’s right, but I’m not about to let him know that. “Look, it doesn’t matter, okay? We just ne
ed to get you out of there. Can you…” I study him, thinking desperately. “Can you use your feet to brace yourself and climb up?”
He winces, and as I watch, his face goes pale, the sickliest color of blue I’ve ever seen. “There is something wrong with my leg. I cannot use it.” He shifts again and makes a pained huff. “It cannot support me.”
Oh no. “Just wait then. We’ll figure something out. Someone has to be coming by soon to look for us, right?”
Harrec’s head lolls back, and he squints up at me again. I can see the perspiration beaded on his brow, and he’s still far too pale. “You should run ahead and get help, Kate.”
What? “No, I’m not leaving you.” I glance around the glacier for landmarks, and there’s nothing but undulating ice stretching out before me. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to find you again if I leave.”
“Then stay and keep me company until I die,” he pants, pushing at the ice again. “Cannot…catch my breath with this pressed…against me.”
“Don’t push against it,” I warn, trying to keep the franticness out of my expression. “You don’t want to dislodge yourself and slide farther down.” It’s so dark at the bottom I can’t see how far it is. It might be a hundred feet, or it might be five more feet. It doesn’t matter because I can’t reach him either way. “Tell me what I should do to help.”
“You should leave,” he says between gasping breaths. He tilts his head back and gazes up at me again. “I do not want you risking yourself, Kate.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I tell him. “I’m not leaving you.”
“It will be dark soon—”
“Then it’ll be dark,” I snap. “It doesn’t mean I’m leaving you, dammit. This is my fault.”
A ghost of his normally cocky grin slides over his face. “I never said it was not.”
“I wish I had more snow to fling at your head,” I mutter at him. “I’m especially not leaving you if it’s getting dark soon,” I tell him. I can’t imagine how freaked out he must be right now. Heck, I’m freaked out and it’s not me pinned down there with a possibly broken leg, seconds away from sliding into oblivion.
“I do not want you in danger, pretty Kate,” he says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the ice. His horns smack against the ice and rain more chips down on his head, but he doesn’t seem to notice them.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, even though I’m not fine. I’m dangerously close to crying. “We’re going to get you out of there. I promise. The others will notice we’re gone and will come soon enough.”
He says nothing, and for a long time, Harrec is so quiet that I worry he’s passed out.
“Harrec? Are you okay?”
“I am here.”
“Just keep talking to me, okay? It’s going to be all right.” I picture him bleeding out from his leg, where I can’t see, and that just makes my anxiety ratchet up a notch. “You need to stay awake.” That’s what they have everyone do in the movies, right? Stay awake no matter what. “Keep talking to me until the others get here.”
“No one is coming,” he mumbles.
“Don’t talk like that,” I tell him encouragingly. “They’ll notice we’re gone and come after us soon enough.”
“You must leave, Kate,” he tells me again. “Go and cross the glacier and meet them back on the other side.”
“They’ll come after us—”
He shakes his head, and more ice pours down, scaring the snot out of me. “No one is coming,” he says emphatically again. “I told them not to. It will be hands of days before they notice we are missing.”
Hands of days? Weeks? What on earth? “What?” I yelp out. “Why?”
“Told them not to.”
“Why would you do that?” I cry out, and wince as my voice rings out over the ice. “Why?”
“Wanted…to spend time alone with you.”
“Well, fucking congratulations. We’re officially alone right now.” I’m so shocked and upset that I can’t even remember to be nice to him, considering he’s trapped. “I can’t believe you did that. No one’s coming? No one at all?”
“Apologies,” he breathes, and his voice sounds faint. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the ice once more.
“Wait,” I say, slamming down to my stomach on the ice and reaching for him, even though he’s too far away. I’m yelling at a man who’s trapped and might be dying. “Harrec, I’m sorry, okay? We can argue after we get you out of there.”
He makes a noise that might be agreement, might be a groan. His eyes don’t open.
“I’m staying right here, okay? Whatever happens, we’re going to be in this together.”
Harrec looks up at me. “I do not wish you to be in danger, pretty Kate. You should leave me.”
“Quit saying that—”
“It grows dark soon—”
“And are there predators on the ice?”
He shifts—or tries to—and winces. “No. Not at night. Too many dangerous cracks in the ice.”
“You mean, the animals are too smart to cross, but we did it? Are you fucking serious?”
“It was safe until you pushed me.”
I bite back my hysterical response, because okay, I did push him. It’s not solving anything to bicker right now. I’ll murder him when we’re both nice and safe. “Okay, so let’s think of how we can manage to get you out of there. I need to pull you up somehow.” I look around for a tree, or my bow, or anything, but there’s nothing around but ice and more ice. “I lost my weapon when I fell—”
“When you pushed me—”
“Dammit, shut up,” I snap at him.
He chuckles, and the sound is both somehow heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time, because he sounds weak. Tired. In pain. “I like you when you are angry.”
“That must be why you piss me off all the time,” I mutter. “Where’s your rope? Or your spear?”
“Rope is in my pack,” he says, wincing. “Lost my spear.”
“You lost your pack, too,” I point out, because his back is wedged against the ice. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.” I sit up and open my pack, pulling stuff out. Something in here has to work for a rescue, surely.
“Kate,” he calls out, a note of panic in his voice. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” I reply, and peer over the edge again. “I’m not leaving.”
“I couldn’t see you,” he murmurs, and tries to stretch a hand up to me. I could cry at how far below it is. There’s no way I can reach that, even extending my fingers. But I lean over and try anyhow, because I need to do something. Anything.
“I was looking in my pack,” I tell him. “There’s got to be something we can use for rope.”
He nods. “Talk to me, at least.”
“I will.” I’ll talk until my jaw falls off if I have to.
5
KATE
I talk as it grows dark. I talk as the moons come out and rise high in the starry skies overhead, filling the world with moonlight enough to see by. I talk and talk even though my throat is hoarse and I’m exhausted. I talk even when Harrec gets quiet, rattling on about growing up and what it was like to be kidnapped in my sleep by space aliens.
All the while, I rip my clothing to shreds and re-braid the leather into rope.
Since I don’t have rope, I’ll have to make one. I have no idea what I’m going to attach it to, but I’ll figure something out. I originally thought about tying my leggings to my tunic and making a rope that way, but I worry the thin leather would tear and then we’d have nothing. So I’ve cut fat strips out of the leather until I have nothing left of my extra clothing but ribbons, and now I’m braiding them into a thick rope that will be strong enough—and long enough—to pull Harrec up.
But I need a lot of rope, which means braiding all through the night and praying that he doesn’t slip and fall farther below.
“So that’s my stepfather,” I finish, telling him another stor
y about my extremely stern, thoroughly unlikeable stepfather. I don’t like to talk about him much, because he’s never been my biggest fan. I’m too big to be “attractive” in his eyes, and too ungainly to be an athlete like him. He loves the heck out of my mother, though, which is his only saving grace. “I’m not going to miss him, but I’m going to miss my mom a lot. I’m glad she has him, I guess. I think for a while it’s been pretty obvious to me that she loves him more than she loves her kid. That’s not me as a bitter child saying that, either. He’s slapped me across the face and hit me harder than any parent should hit their kid, and all she would say was that I did something to deserve it. I was really happy to move out when I did.” My teenage years hadn’t been fun ones.
“I am glad this man is not here or I would wish death on him,” Harrec calls up.
I chuckle, braiding leather as quickly as possible. “I don’t think he’d do well here. He doesn’t like the snow.”
“Then I love it even more because he hates it,” Harrec says. “But at least you had your mother at your side growing up. I lost both of my parents at a very young age.”
“You did?” That makes me sad for him. I lost my father when I was too young to remember him, but I always had my mother. “How old were you?”
“Six turns of the seasons,” he says, voice full of sadness. “Old enough to remember them.”
“Did they die of the khui sickness?” I ask, remembering that someone had talked about that before. Many members of the tribe had died at that time, and it had happened about fifteen years before Georgie and the others arrived. To hear them talk about it, the sa-khui had almost been wiped out.
“Earlier,” Harrec says. “My mother and father were fierce hunters, and they loved the great salt lake. They would go there for many hunts. They were hunting a ta-li, and the hunt went badly. Both of my parents were killed, along with three other hunters. My mother carried a kit in her belly, and it died as well. It was a bad time for our tribe.”