For one strange second, relief cuts through the panic.
He’s massive, well over six feet of solid muscle wrapped in denim and leather that’s seen better days, dark ink crawling up both arms in patterns I can’t make out in the shadows. His face is all hard angles and sharper edges, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a jaw set so tight it looks carved from stone. He has a beard, making him gruff, and somehow it’s so attractive that I swallow hard. His hair is long and ash blond, almost arctic looking, but it hangs to one side while the other side of his scalp is shaved. A long scar running from the bald patch to his eyebrow. But it’s his eyes that freeze me in place, literally freeze me, because they’re glowing with pale blue light that has nothing human in it whatsoever.
Shock hits a beat later than it probably should, as ice spreads from his hands like living crystal, part of me expected fire, as frost races across his knuckles and up his forearms in delicate patterns that should be beautiful except they scream predator, danger, andrun.The temperature in the room plummets so fast my breath comes out in visible plumes, moisture in the air crystallizing into tiny snowflakes that drift down around us like we’ve stepped into some twisted winter wonderland.
He takes a step forward and ice explodes outward from his boot, spiderwebbing across the floor in sharp white veins that crack the stone beneath. My gaze tracks the movement automatically, like I’ve been preparing for this moment without realizing it. Another step and the frost climbs the nearest support beam, racing toward the ceiling with the kind of speed that shouldn’t be possible, coating wood and metal in layers thick enough to hear crackling and groaning under the sudden weight.
“I asked you a question.” His voice drops to a register that makes my bones ache, sub-zero and sharp enough to draw blood. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”
The words aren’t really a question despite the phrasing. They’re a threat wrapped in glacial fury, demanding answers before deciding which creative method to use for my disposal. My brain finally catches up with my survival instinct, screaming at me to say something, anything, and not to just stand here staring like a deer in headlights while this man, this thing, thiswhatever-the-hell-he-isdecides whether I’m worth killing quickly or slowly.
“What the fuck is your problem?” The words tear out of me before conscious thought approves them, anger and terror mixing into something sharp enough to override common sense. “There’s a dead man on the road back there. His neck is broken. He died in my car after he grabbed my wheel and sent us crashing into the trees. And you’re standing here threatening me because I touched your weird fire globe?”
The rage in me tastes like copper and adrenaline. Months of my mother’s lectures about responsibility and safety. About how I’m throwing my life away chasing photographs through dangerous places, chasing stories I’ve been fed my entire life. Trying to fit into something that was never meant for me.
It all surges up and spills over in the face of this ice-breathing bastard—more worried about his magical nightlight than actual human death.
Even though I am pretty sure I have a concussion, I am seeing things that aren’t really happening. Either that, or I have died and gone to some really fucked-up purgatory. My hands shake as I gesture toward the dome, toward him, toward the whole impossible situation.
“He was terrified,” I continue, the words gaining momentum now that I’ve started, unable to stop even though thetemperature keeps dropping, ice keeps spreading, and every rational instinct screamsshut up, shut up, shut up!“Raving about monsters and dragons and things that shouldn’t exist. I thought he was in shock, that the blood loss was making him hallucinate, but looking at you right now, maybe he wasn’t as crazy as I thought.”
Something shifts in those glowing eyes, surprise maybe, or recognition, the fury banking slightly though not disappearing entirely. The ice stops spreading but doesn’t recede, frost patterns holding their ground as he towers over me with enough presence to fill the entire massive space. His head tilts as his eyes wander me up and down, as if he is assessing me.
“You need to leave.” The words carry absolute finality, brooking no argument. “Now. Before you see anything else that’ll get you killed.”
“Ican’tleave.” My laugh comes out bitter and broken, exhaustion and pain finally catching up with the adrenaline crash. “My car is totaled. My phone is shattered. I’m bleeding, probably concussed, and there’s a corpse that needs to be reported to someone with actual authority instead of glowing eyes and anger management issues.”
His jaw tightens. I hear his teeth grinding, ice spreading farther up his arms until it coats his shoulders and neck in sparkling armor that catches the dome’s light and throws it back in cold, beautiful patterns. He’s magnificent and terrifying in equal measure, something pulled straight from mythology and dumped into reality with all the grace of a meteor impact.
I’m definitely concussed!
“You shouldn’t be here.” The words sound almost pained now, frustration bleeding through the rage. “You’ve seen too much. There are rules, laws older than this mountain, and you’ve broken every single one by walking through that door.”
“I didn’t know there were rules, dude!” The exhaustion pulls at me harder now, making my legs shake and my vision blur at the edges. “I was looking for help. That’s it. Just help. And instead, I found whatever nightmare this godforsaken place is.”
The flame in the dome flares brighter suddenly, gold overtaking the other colors entirely, burning with intensity that makes the glass warm enough to feel from several feet away. Both of us turn toward it instinctively, watching as the fire dances and spins like it’s celebrating something, rejoicing in whatever just happened.
“You shouldn’t be able to do that.” His voice has lost some of its edge, confusion replacing fury as he stares at the flame like it’s betrayed him. “No human should be able to affect it. The magic is too old, too specific. Unless…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but his eyes snap back to me with new intensity, studying me like I’m a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together properly. The scrutiny makes my skin crawl, every instinct screaming that being interesting to this creature is significantly more dangerous than being dismissed.
“She’s bleeding, Prez.” The new voice slides into the room like silk over ice, smooth, ancient, and carrying undertones that make my survival instincts shriek predator. I turn to find another man emerging from the shadows near the far wall, except he wasn’t there a second ago, and I would swear on everything I own that there’s no way he could have moved that fast, that silently, without some kind of supernatural assistance.
He’s tall and muscular, built like a dancer or an assassin, all deadly grace wrapped in designer clothes that look completely out of place in this mountain fortress. His skin is marble-pale, almost luminous in the low light, and when he moves closer, I catch the gleam of red in his eyes, bright enough to see from across the room. A scar cuts down the left side of his face fromtemple to jaw, the old wound standing out in sharp relief against pale skin.
“And she smells…” he pauses, tilting his head as he inhales deeply, nostrils flaring with obvious intrigue,“… interesting.”
The way he says ‘interesting’ makes every hair on my body stand at attention, my survival instinct recognizing a threat assessment when I hear it. The ice-breathing man, Prez, apparently, turns his glowing gaze toward the creepy guy with enough warning in the movement to stop a charging bear.
“Don’t even think about it, Scar.”
Scar.
Of course, his name is Scar.
Why wouldn’t the vampiric-looking creature with literal red eyes and predatory grace have a name that screams danger? The hunter’s ravings echo in my head, words about monsters that I dismissed as trauma-induced hallucinations taking on new, terrifying weight.
Scar’s smile is all teeth and promise, fangs descending slightly as he watches me with the kind of focus that suggests he’s calculating exactly how quickly he could cross the space between us and how much I’d struggle before the end.
“I’m not thinking anything inappropriate, Prez. Just noting that we have an unexpected guest. Ahumanguest.In our territory. Touching your flame. Which, unless I’m very much mistaken, breaks approximately every fucking rule in the witch’s book.”