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Waking was a slow and painful business. My head felt as if it were stuck in the middle of two bass drums, and the reverberations were making my eyes water. The rest of me fared no better—it felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Again.
Add to that the fact that my flesh was so cold my fingers and toes were aching from it, and you had one big bundle of misery.
It was that factor, more than anything else, that had awareness surging. Why was I so damn cold? It was a hot day and I was draman. There was no way I should have been this cold.
I forced my eyelids open. Darkness greeted me. Darkness and air so cold every breath hurt.
Memories surged, reminding me of another time when the darkness had been all-encompassing and the air so cold it could freeze the insides.
I was in another freezer.
Oh, fuck.
I closed my eyes against the surge of panic. I wasn’t alone. Rainey might not be here to rescue me this time, but Damon was. He’d come. He wouldn’t let me freeze.
I just had to wait. I just had to remain calm. I gulped down several freezing breaths, then forced myself upright. My fingers stuck to the shelf and, as I tore them away, left flesh behind.
I swore and reached for my flames.
To find nothing but ashes.
It was a realization that hit like a punch to the gut. For several seconds, I couldn’t even breathe. Panic rolled through me, and it was all I could do not to start screaming. I’d only survived last time thanks to my flames; without them, I was dead.
No. I won’t die. I won’t let him win. He didn’t last time and he wouldn’t now. My flames had been stolen, not destroyed. The dragon still lay deep inside; she was slumbering, not gone forever.
She would recover, albeit slowly.
Damn it, I had to get out of this freezer.
I rubbed my arms to get some blood flowing back into my limbs, glad that my captors had at least left me fully clothed. I might not have woken otherwise.
My fingertips began tingling—stinging—which at least chased away the numbness. I thrust upright, but my feet felt like lead and I almost fell over again. I stamped them hard and wriggled my toes to get some blood flowing. After a few minutes, they came back to aching life. I raised my arms, sweeping ahead of me as I walked carefully forward. Three steps, and I hit a wall. I followed it along, feeling with my fingertips and wishing I could see something, anything. But the damn fridge was darker than night, and if there was a door then it was well and truly sealed.
I found a shelf, the metal as cold as the rest of this place, and felt along it. Plastic-wrapped packages and various-size boxes were stacked in what felt like an orderly arrangement. I continued along and found the junction of the walls. Following the second one soon had me touching rubber, then a door release. Relief slithered through me, and it wasn’t cold that had my fingers trembling as I hit the emergency release mechanism.
Only nothing happened. The door remained firmly closed.
God, no.
I hit it again, with the same result. The fear and panic rose again and I hit the door as hard as I could, needing to get out of this icy hellhole. And then I hit it again, and again, and again, until the door was dented, my knuckles were bleeding, and the pain was so bad that common sense crawled over the panic and I regained control.
Hitting the door wasn’t going to get me out of here, and the sooner I accepted that and concentrated on surviving, the better off I’d be.
Seth might want me dead, but Hannish wouldn’t. Not yet. Not until they knew what I knew and who I’d talked to. I had to believe that. Angus had said as much, and I had no doubt it was as true now as it was then.
So, this chill was merely their way of insuring I was kept scared and helpless. My past aside, dragons, darkness, and chill was not a good combination. Under normal circumstances, it would render any one of us helpless.
But my flames had been my only major defense for more years than I could even remember, and while my brother had taught me to fight, that skill had come later in life, after I’d learned control over my fire. And while even I couldn’t totally refuel myself in this kind of hell, I could keep myself alive longer than most.
I just had to stave off panic and think.
I felt my way back to the little metal bench and sat down. The chill wrapped around me but I ignored it, closing my eyes and reaching deep within to the embers of the dragon. She was my heart, my soul, and she could warm me, even in this state. All I had to do was channel energy back into her, feeding the flames and directing the heat of them outward to my extremities, keeping the dangerous cold at bay.
It took a while, but gradually the embers began to burn brighter, and the heat—though nowhere near even quarter strength—slithered through my body, chasing the cold from my fingers, making my toes ache with renewed life.
Enough to keep me awake.
Enough to keep me alive.
