Dead of Winter

by Kresley Cole

  Aric raised his sword, eyeing the edge. "So our 'plan' rests on how well the mortal can read his co-conspirators' trustworthiness?"

  "You got a better idea, Reaper? I'm all ears."

  "You assume the source twins and the Archer will be in Dolor?"

  "Ouais. Until I hear different. It's the only waypoint I got."

  I asked, "If anything goes wrong, will the Lovers retaliate against Selena? Or if they find out another Arcana is riding with me?"

  "Empress, they're already torturing her."

  I flinched and thought Jack had too. No doubt reliving his own torment, the ordeal he would never tell me about. "Will they kill her?"

  Aric shook his head. "Not for a while. She's the most valuable thing they possess. Consider the lengths they went to in order to acquire her. If they were going to murder her outright, it would already be done."

  Death had gone to lengths to acquire--and keep--me. He'd had a suite prepared in his apocalypse-proof castle. I could understand how Aric had accrued so much power through the ages, to prepare for and weather the end of the world.

  But how had the Milovnicis gotten the upper hand--over everyone? "How did the general amass an army?"

  "He owned a private security firm in Virginia," Jack said, "with a mini-army of mercenaries--the kind of paramilitary that rescued kidnapped CEOs and stuff. The Milovnicis and those mercs must've holed up during the Flash. Afterward, his men overran smaller militias in the Southeast, one after another. He built the Azey like a snowball."

  A bloody, murderous snowball--

  Suddenly both Jack and Aric tensed. Outside, Thanatos gave a low nicker.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  Aric rose with that lethal grace. "I'm going to stand watch."

  Jack was on his feet as well. "If there's something out there, I'm ready to fight."

  "The day I need your help . . ." Aric trailed off. "I will never need your help, mortal." To me, he said, "Get some sleep. You can rest secure, sieva."

  "What's that word mean?" Jack demanded.

  Aric delighted in telling him, "Sieva means wife."

  25

  I gazed at the door long after Aric had gone, disbelieving he'd left me alone with Jack, threat or no.

  I suspected he was testing me, testing my promise.

  "You're staring after Death," Jack said, drawing my attention. Anger warred with confusion in his expression. "You worried about him?"

  My protectiveness toward Aric hadn't waned. "Yes." Worry filled me--for him and Jack. For Selena and Matthew.

  "Because you think we need him? Or because you think you care about him?"

  "Both." I did care about Aric, maybe even more than cared.

  I'd told Jack and Aric to get their heads in the game. I was one to talk. I couldn't stop comparing the two.

  Jack's passion and drive versus Death's intensity and Arcana connection. God help me, I could see myself with either.

  Or . . . neither? They'd both hurt me. The red witch in me whispered, That's what dust is for: to leave them in it.

  I wished I could get objective advice. Damn, I missed my best friend Mel. She probably would've told me to keep both guys, collecting men like handbags.

  Jack set his bow down and began to pace in front of the hearth, his eyes so vivid in the firelight. His black hair had dried, reflecting the flames like a raven's wing. "Death hurt you in all these ways, but you still give a damn about him." Out came his flask. "I was dishonest with you over one thing, and you can't tell me if you'll stay with me?"

  "Put yourself in his shoes, Jack. I tried to murder him after convincing him that I was madly in love with him. I did this to him not once, but twice."

  "You didn't do anything to him, no! Some long-ago Empress did. You ever heard of Stockholm syndrome? That's what's goan on."

  My lips parted. "That's why you looked at me with pity earlier! That's why your entire attitude changed? You no longer hate me for getting with him, because you're putting all the blame on him."

  Jack stopped pacing to face me. "A two-thousand-year-old man stole a vulnerable girl and broke her down."

  He made me sound like Persephone, the daughter of Demeter, forced into the underworld by Hades. But Jack didn't understand: attitude-wise, I skewed more toward wrathful Demeter than I ever had toward vulnerable Persephone.

  "I'm not a girl anymore. I have lived over a hundred years; I feel those previous lives. But even if I didn't, A.F. years are like dog years. Since the Flash, I cared for my mother as if I were the adult, I've killed, I've planned and executed coups. I've had to grow up fast."

  He swigged his flask. "Why doan you tell me what it was like with Death in the beginning?"

  Hell. If I gave Jack the details, he'd stride right out those doors and shoot Aric--who wore impenetrable armor. A bullet would simply bounce off. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "He messed with your mind," Jack insisted. "That's why you think you feel something for him. No other reason could explain this turnaround."

  "You really believe I've been brainwashed?"

  "Evie"--Jack held my gaze--"it happened to you once before." At CLC. "I saw your drawing of Death in your journal, even before the Flash. You depicted a monster. Un scelerat." A villain.

  "Aric has done a lot to me. But he's also helped me. At the Hierophant's, I was about to eat . . . human flesh. It was an inch from my lips. I would've been lost forever." Like the filmy-eyed survivors who would hunt me till I died. "Aric stalled Guthrie long enough for my poison to work. And then he saved me from drowning and from Ogen."

  "You wouldn't have been in any of those situations if not for that bastard! He needs to die. By my hand."

  "You're not listening to me! Every time you say you're going to kill him, what you're really saying is 'I know better than you.' "

  "When we're together again, you'll see."

  "You're so certain we will be?"

  A stark look crossed his face. "Of course I am! I told you we could get through anything, and I meant it."

  "I do think you meant it--at the time."

  "At the time? I'm the one constant here. Me! I never gave up on us, never got with another, even when the opportunity presented itself."

  "With Selena?" Had things happened? Or did Jack keep mentioning this because he regretted not taking her up on it?

  "It doan matter who with. Death can insinuate it as much as he likes, but nothing went on between me and her."

  I wished I could believe every word that came out of his mouth; I wished my mistrust would fade.

  But I couldn't; and it didn't. "At any rate, I still think it's wrong to involve you with Arcana."

  "This is all bigger than you and other cards. The Lovers are connected to the largest fighting force in the South. Maybe even in the world."

  The Flash itself could have been a tribute to the Sun Card, gone wrong.

  "The stakes are higher than just this game." He crossed to me. "They're the highest they've ever been. We're on the brink." Our eyes met. "Bebe, you can deny me for other reasons, but not because you're Arcana."

  "What about because I can't trust you?"

  He knelt before me, putting his forehead to mine, his warm hands covering my shoulders. "I'm goan to earn your trust. You give me the time, and it will happen. Evangeline, what we got together"--his gaze was slate gray--"ca vaut la peine." It's worth the trouble.

  Jack was rugged and rough around the edges, filled with fierce passions and needs that called to my own. My hard-living Cajun. His hands began to move, rubbing my shoulders, my arms.

  He was going to kiss me. Though I craved for him to, I drew back. "This isn't a good idea."

  Jack studied my face. "You worried Death'll come back in and fight me?"

  Yes! "We can talk, or I can go to sleep. Those are your options."

  With clear reluctance, he let me go. "Talk about what?"

  "Uh, what else has been happening in your life?" Lame.

  "Something big."
He sat beside me on the hearth. "Coo-yon hinted that I need to head home, that I could do some good there. Once we get Selena back and the Lovers are dead, you're coming to Louisiana with me."

  "Louisiana," I breathed, the word raising a tumult of emotions.

  "If that army wants me to lead them, they're goan to march south at the first opportunity. I told you I'd rebuild Haven for you. Why not settle the area around your farm, establish a new Acadiana? It could be a place of refuge for survivors."

  I'd wanted a home! "You really think we could?" The urge to return clamored inside me.

  "Mais yeah, we've got this. Doan you know? Together we can do anything."

  "Even end the game?" My excitement dwindled. "Jack, I need to find my grandmother." Though I had doubts that Gran would help me in my quest (in fact might goad me to play), she was still my last living relative.

  "You got to accept that she might be dead."

  "I don't believe that." I felt that she lived--against all odds. "And I promised my mother that I'd get to her."

  "Then let's make a deal. After we ride this route, if you tell me you think we can make it for months out here with no shelter, I'll set out with you. We'll take a contingent from the army."

  In a way, agreeing to this would be like making a commitment to him. Again, I glanced toward the door. Aric was out there alone. A memory arose of him staring out into the night, murmuring, "I was called Aric. It means a ruler, forever alone."

  "Can we table that for now?" I asked Jack.

  After a hesitation, he said, "We'll figure this out, peekon. But in the meantime, I got something for you." He grabbed his pack and dug out an orange from my recent crop. "Tess gave this to me for good luck. I want you and me to share it."

  "Like we did the Sprite you gave me."

  He slid me that heart-stopping grin of his, still so sexy, though his face was bruised. "Ouais. I ain't had fresh fruit since I can remember." He started peeling.

  "You should take it all."

  "Merci, non. I missed your birthday. Consider this a belated party." He handed me half of the succulent fruit.

  His lightheartedness began working its magic on me, my tension easing. "Did I miss yours too?" I suspected so.

  He shrugged, taking a bite. "God almighty, woman, you're a great cook, you know that? Whipped up this orange from scratch."

  I quirked my brows. "You should see what I can do with a pineapple."

  We sat in front of the fire, across from each other, eating that orange. It was like we hadn't missed any time, hadn't missed a beat.

  "Tell me what's goan on in that head of yours." He tossed the peels away, rubbing his hands on his jeans. "Keep talking to me."

  "Why have you never shown me the photos in your bag?"

  "You went through my pack? Guess I deserved that, non?" When I nodded, he said, "Did you see the book you gave me? The phone with your pictures? I about wore that thing out trying to get my fix of you."

  "Answer the question."

  "I want to look at those photos, but I never do." Gazing to the right of me, he said, "Doan know if I could hold my emotions."

  "My mom once told me that sometimes you just need to be mad or sad. Sometimes you just need to let it happen."

  The wind picked up, rain pelting the windows. Where was Aric? Over the last three months, when storms had howled, he and I had sat by the fire, reading together.

  "Let's look at them, then," Jack said, probably to distract me from Death. He moved to sit with his back against the hearth.

  Reminding myself how invincible Aric was, I settled in beside Jack.

  He offered me his flask.

  Oh, screw it. I could die tomorrow. I was severely confused and doubted that my mental state could actually decline. I accepted the whiskey, taking a long swig. Burn. Gasp.

  He drew the envelope from his pack, opened it. The first picture was of his mother, sitting with other women around a card table. "Ma mere, Helene. She was at a boo-ray hall." Bourre, a gambling card game popular with Cajuns. "This was a few years ago, before things got real bad with her."

  "She was so beautiful, Jack." With those cheekbones and storm gray eyes, she could've been a model.

  "Ouais. Pauvre defunte Maman." That meant poor late mother, but Cajuns used the phrase to say dearly departed, or sainted.

  "Did she survive the Flash? You never told me."

  He tensed beside me. "That's one of those secrets that goes to the grave."

  I parted my lips to press him, but held off. Earlier today he'd confessed he might be about to snap. Now he was sharing these photos, fresh from an argument about Death, after riding for hours with a concussion--and saving me from Baggers.

  I would cut Jack some slack.

  The next picture was of him, Clotile, his best friend Lionel, and two other Basin kids who'd come to our school. They'd been at some kind of concert, smiling, eyes excited. "We got pickled that night for true."

  I remembered hanging out with lifelong friends: the camaraderie, the inside jokes, the easy laughter. My gaze darted toward the door. Had Aric ever experienced that? Surely he'd had friends before his Touch of Death had come online.

  Did he even remember friendship after so long?

  Jack's voice grew thick. "I miss 'em. Especially Clotile."

  I laid my hand on his arm. "Matthew showed me the day when you first met her."

  Jack stiffened beneath my palm. "That wasn't a very good one for you to see."

  "It only made my feelings for you stronger."

  He relaxed. "Then look all you want, peekon. I can handle it better now."

  "Why?"

  "Before the Flash, I had no control over my life, me. Now, even with all the unknowns and danger, I'm more in charge of my fate than ever before."

  "Really?"

  "My problems are my own." He pinned me with his gaze. "And it's up to me to figure out solutions."

  This close to him, I could spy even darker flecks of gray in his irises. "That's really mature, Jack." He wasn't a boy anymore.

  "I got moments, me."

  "I think a lot of people used to underestimate you. But I also think those days are over. I know I won't do it again."

  The corners of his lips curved. He could make my entire body go soft just from one of those grins--and he knew it: "Um um um, would you smell that honeysuckle?"

  Clever Jack had figured out that I gave off scents with my moods. Rose? Meant I was about to strike. Sweet olive indicated I was excited. And yes, honeysuckle was the equivalent of me purring.

  I flipped to another picture, this one of him and the rest of the group swimming at a spring, all of them tanned and laughing.

  There Jack and I sat, reminiscing, swigging whiskey. And for a time, I was able to block out all the misery of the Flash. For a time, I was happy.

  He showed me a picture of scenery from that spring. "The camera got knocked sideways, didn't get anybody in frame. I always meant to throw that one away, but now . . . just look at those trees, Evie. That crystal-clear water." He handed me the flask. "I believe we'll have it again."

  "You truly do?" I'd been bullish about ending the game, but this interminable nighttime was throwing me. Would the sun never return? Was it better in other parts of the world? Maybe the equator?

  "Ouais." He tucked the photos back into the envelope. "Your mere told me you were special. Your grand-mere told you that you would save the world. I believe you will. You got to."

  "No pressure," I said with a buzzed smile.

  "Get steppin', fille. I got an envie for things." A craving.

  I swigged. "Like what?"

  He cast me a wolfish grin. "Cerises." Cherries. We'd eaten them before we'd first kissed.

  "What else do you crave?" When his wolfish grin deepened, I said, "What other foods do you crave? Contiens-toi." Behave yourself.

  He raised his palms in surrender. "Je cesse. Pour le moment." I'll stop. For now. "I miss fried okra and corn on the cob. You?"

 
; "Hush puppies and mashed potatoes."

  "I made some mean hush puppies on my old cabin's stove. I'll cook them for you one day." His gaze went distant, his head tipping back. "You remember how warm that breeze from the south could be? Smelling of the sea, of far-off places? I hated where I was so much that I would've gone anywhere else in the world. Now I wish to God I could go back to the Basin."

  I'd once regretted that Jack and I never talked. Now, when everything was so up in the air, I realized we'd just needed the time to talk. We'd always been on the run, fighting for our lives. And it didn't hurt to get him on the right subject: the home we both missed so badly.

  I handed him the flask, our fingers grazing. "I'd do anything to see a field of sugarcane beneath a blue sky. The rasp of the leaves could make my heart swell."

  "One day, you and me'll stand together on the front porch of Haven and gaze out at green for miles and miles. We'll swim in springs and go to concerts." He capped the flask, setting it away. "When I look into those eyes of yours . . ."

  "What?"

  "Not much is still blue in this world. Not the sky, not the water. I look in your eyes and see our future. I feel it." He reached into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out my poppy-red ribbon.

  "You still have it!"

  "Carry it with me, everywhere I go. Mon porte-bonheur." My good-luck charm. "This tells me we're goan to be together again."

  The hope in his expression captivated me--almost completely.

  Almost. I've been dreaming of you, Jack, and I wish I could trust you. Someone else is tugging at my heart. . . .

  "I'm goan to let you borrow this ribbon for now." He tucked it into my front pocket. "You give it back to me when you can't see yourself with any man but me."

  Being with Jack was like touching fire. When his fingers lingered on my jeans, I recognized the spark that could turn to an inferno.

  My breaths shallowed; his eyes grew intent.

  He reached for my hips, lifting me over his lap to straddle him.

  "Jack!" I laid my palms on his shoulders.

  With his gaze on my mouth, he bit his bottom lip, as if inviting me to do the same to him. "Give my right arm to taste you right now."

  A sense of rightness bloomed inside me. To be with him like this. To be warmed by our fire. To be on the verge of kissing, of making love. My glyphs glowed, reflecting in his eyes.