Page 2 of Tipped in Frost and Blood
“Shit,” I breathed. Nothing came up, but still my body heaved again and again. Finally, it settled and I shivered.
God, I was a mess, struggling to get any sleep I could. There were times when I’d lose myself in training with Damien and the others, in the distracting jokes and laughter they always tried to drum up, or in painting and reading. More often, though, I couldn’t pull myself out of the pit; there were too many nights I’d find myself trapped in the nightmares unable to escape until Damien shook me awake.
He got what he deserved.
I ignored the voice in the back of my mind, the terrible one that remained hidden for the most part. I hadn’t been able to escape it; it seemed to always be there, waiting, rising up whenever it pleased, just as it had the night I’d given into its wishes. Though I dreaded to acknowledge it, I couldn’t deny the truth of the words she whispered to me, whoever she was. If she was a darker part of me Marcus had created, or perhaps a version of me from a past life, I didn’t know. I didn’t care to know.
It wasn’t that I felt guilt for killing him. He deserved to be put down,neededto be, for the danger he posed to so many. The way I’d done it, though... I feared for the way I’d looked as I burned him alive.
Damien didn’t speak of it, and I never asked—couldn’t—for fear of just what he’d seen in my eyes that night, in my expression. Had I smiled? Had I laughed as his insides boiled and his skin blistered? I shoved the thought back as my stomach turned, the phantom sounds of the flame somehow trapped in my ears, the smell of burning flesh in my nose.
Both my parents and Kat had been blowing up my phone the last two weeks. I’d managed to placate Mom and Dad with excuses that I was bogged down with mid-terms, and the guilt constantly tore at me for lies that had spiraled out of control, the lies that led them to believe I was still attending classes. I knew they were worried, and I had a sneaking suspicion Kat knew something was wrong, but she didn’t let on when we talked. Things had finally seemed to start improving between us on my birthday, but of course every bit of resurfacing peace had been shattered in Marcus’ final act.
Even though he was gone he still somehow managed to ruin things, to manipulate and destroy every chance I had at peace.
While every bit of what had happened over the last month haunted me, another weight threatened to pull me under.
Why couldn’t I bring myself to tell him about my condition?Just tell him the truth.
I hadn’t suffered any attacks since I’d been held in that cell, since Marcus had used me as a tool to get back at Damien for the loss of his mate—a loss Damien had nothing to do with. Outside of suffering the recoil when I’d visited Damien’s memories, and a few times where I could feel my heart pounding, I feared an attack might crash into me, nothing ever came. Had Cole’s manipulation of my blood done something to me? Had gaining access to my magic and learning to wield it done something to slow the damage?
No, I wasn’t that lucky.
Delicate snowflakes drifted through the air once more, their form no longer that of my nightmares. The subtle glow of the streetlights illuminated them as they fell to the ground, collecting in a soft blanket that managed to stick for the first time. They likely wouldn’t last, though—they would melt away by the morning light, vanishing as if they’d never been there to begin with.
Would it be like I’d never been here to begin with when I eventually faded?
My gaze lifted to the street in front of the house...ourhouse. I was still adjusting to that—adjusting to, well,everything. The weight of it all sometimes left me needing to step back. I’d compartmentalized most of it to cope, but how much longer could I carry it all before I fell?
I drew in a deep breath and turned to head back inside, the cold night air permeating my sweater. The old door creaked and groaned as I closed it behind me, the click of the doorknob a harsh contrast to the deafening silence. There was no soul but my own in this space, no warm arms to hold me.
Still, I always felt as if someone or something was watching me. Always watching.
Perhaps it was paranoia left from when Marcustetheredhimself to me and forced his way into my dreams and mind. The bite of my nails dragged me back, and I realized I’d clenched my fists so tightly I’d nearly broken skin. I lifted my hand, eyeing the reddened, crescent indentions on my palm. My eyes drifted to the healing cuts and bruises on my arm, each mark a reminder of what Marcus had done to me in that cell. The scrapes were gone, and the bruising had faded from a deep purple to a softer yellow and light brown, but the cuts still remained, still stung with the phantom touch of his knife.
My eyes drifted to the clock on the wall, the tick, tick, tick reaching my ears as I passed it. It would likely be a couple more hours before Damien returned from his patrol. He hated leaving me here, but with how few warriors served The Order, and the fact that the darklings were now hunting in packs, they’d had to up the number of immortals on each patrol team. Three teams were divided up to scout the north, central, and south sectors of the city of Johnstown. They were stretched thinner than ever now, and Damien was needed out there more than he was needed here with me.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself to get through the night.
Despite that, the selfish desires held me in a chokehold, leaving me desperate for him to come back to me, to not risk his life. My skin crawled as my mind wandered, wondering if he might, in fact, be fighting for his life at that very moment. I shook my head, trying not to think about it.
He’s going to be okay; stop stressing yourself out.
I made my way up the stairs, the groan of the wood with each step leaving my skin crawling at the thought that I might be alerting something to my location so it might hunt me down.
For a time, I’d been terrified of the darklings coming to find me in the house when I was alone. I constantly found myself looking over my shoulder on sleepless nights, ones where I’d roam the house to keep from waking Damien from the rest he needed. Damien had assured me numerous times that darklings never entered homes unless led there, that they stuck to the streets of the city where humans and immortals gathered—easy prey for the picking.
What if that changed? Their behavior had been different in the last couple of months. What if that changed too, and we weren’t safe in our own home?
I shoved down the fear as I made it to the top of the stairs. Just as I turned to head toward our room, wood creaked on the first floor and I stiffened, my stomach plummeting. My voice was a near squeak as I called out, hopeful to hear Damien respond and not the shriek of a darkling. “D-Damien?”
“It’s me,mea luna,” Damien responded, his voice soft and reassuring.
I stumbled down the stairs, eager to see him, to make sure that he wasn’t harmed. He sounded okay, albeit worried on my account. I couldn’t help but smile at that, considering he’d been the one facing off against monsters that could tear him apart.
As the emerald foyer came into view, my heart swelled at the sight of him, his lips curving into a guilty smile as his eyes found me.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
