Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (55 page)

He smiled, his lips thin,
because he had been thinking along similar lines before he decided
to ignore it. “Last time I was here, they had some of those heaters
that look like street lights near each of the tables. Maybe we can
find one with one of those things above it. That should keep us
warm enough.”

She shrugged, beckoning.
“Come on then. Let’s get the heck out of this riot.” She walked
away with small, lady-like steps.

Despite her heavy coat,
Gabriel enjoyed the sway of her butt for a second or two, gazing
after the first girl he had ever loved. Thoughts of admiration
warmed him.
Damn, she’s hot!
he thought before he rambled after
her.

It did not take them long
to find suitable seating, heating mechanism and all.

Gabriel had been sitting
for less than a minute when he the heat forced him to unbutton his
jacket. It was freakin’ warm under the lamp, they must have had the
thing on full blast.

“
You alright, babe?” asked
his girlfriend.

It was a rhetorical
question, more of a probing than an actual inquiry. She wanted to
talk. Gabriel’s ability to read her often made things between them
smooth. This night was no exception. “No. You?”

“
Naw, Gabe,” she replied
immediately.

Gabriel’s guess had been
spot on.

“
I mean, I know we planned
this so we could get away from things and I just thought it was a
good idea. I did… well, I do. We need time alone, time to just be
together…”

“
But…?” he
prompted.

“
But… but.” She looked
back at him, troubled.

He snaked his hand across
the table dividing them when he saw the twinkle of tears in her
eyes. This was unlike her. Emilia was tough, a constant fighter
against the darker side of herself. It was a struggle Gabriel knew
was sometimes on the scale of the Titanic. Yet, she was not one to
show much emotion over it. She did not dabble with tugs of the
heart. She was a stranger to venting or revealing she was
overwrought. She hid it so well, sometimes even he had a hard time
discerning whether something bothered her for real.

She was tough.

Don’t be mistaken, she was
not cut off from the world. She was affectionate and loving too.
Most of the time with him, but still the capacity was there. He had
seen it firsthand. She was caring and thoughtful in her own
way.

But she was not one
too…

Her hand felt smaller than
usual in his. Maybe because she was showing him the vulnerable side
she kept hidden in the depths of her own mystery. He gave it a
squeeze. “Tell me, Em.”

She sighed again, heavier
– deeper - than before as if it had come from her belly. She shook
with the prickling feeling it left behind. “I don’t know, hon.” She
glanced away, though she held on tight to his hand. She wiped at
her eyes, tucking strands of hair behind an ear, shaking her head
in a negative fashion the entire time.

“
What don’t you know?” he
inquired, gentle. He knew enough about her to know how to coax
something difficult from her. Even when she wanted to express
herself, sometimes she needed prodding.

Yeah, she’s a little
strange, but she’s my bit of something strange
.

“
I don’t know how to
feel.” Her voice was small.

“
About what?” he asked,
though he knew precisely what she was talking about. It was her
way.

“
You know.”

“
Of course, I
know.”

Her gaze fell to him once
again.

He felt his heart tighten
at the helplessness in her eyes. He wanted so much to come around
the table and take her in his arms, but she would not want that
right now.

“
I feel guilty,” she
confessed, real pain written on her face.

This surprised him enough
that his lower jaw went slack before he clapped it shut with an
audible click. “Guilty?” Why on earth would you feel
guilty?”

“
Because, Gabe, they’re
for sure enduring torture... real bad right now… or… or maybe even
worse!” It came out like an explosion – all at once.

He made to speak, but she
was already talking.

“
And
look at us. We plodding along, trying to escape
feeling
bad, going to the movies
like nothing ever happened.” She breathed harsh into the cold night
air. “Doesn’t it feel wrong to you? Anthony was our friend, Gabe
-.”

“
I know,” he mumbled,
though she had not heard.

“
-we’ve known him for a
long time.

“
And Christina! Oh my god,
babe, bad things always happened to girls when they get kidnapped.
You know that. I know that. Predators are so disgusting when it
comes to females. Ooow, it makes me sick just thinking about it!”
She shuddered, gathering herself. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We
shouldn’t be this petty.”

He had to admit what she
said made sense. Maybe that was why the news had grown tiresome,
why his music was more irritating than entertaining. Maybe that was
why the mall seemed dull, lifeless and the people choking it were
loud, fake – unreal. Maybe he had been feeling exactly the same
only he did not have the insight to put a name to it. Maybe he was
feeling just as shamefaced as Emilia.

His eyes narrowed as he
considered her words. “What do you want to do then?”

“
Ah shit, I don’t know,”
she said, exasperated. Not at him, but at the situation. “It’s all
so confusing. I mean, I want to see the movie. I just don’t want to
feel so contrite about doing something so 'normal', while god knows
what is happening to our friends. It makes me feel all icky and
shit. I hate it!”

He was nodding to the beat
of her words. “Yeah, it does.”

A tense silence befell
them.

People walked to and from
the mall, huddled in the deepest regions of their jackets and
coats. Some shivered, some with noses and cheeks chapped against
the chill in the air. Somewhere far in the parking lot, a horn
blared.

“
Maybe we should just skip
it. I can always exchange the tickets for vouchers we can use at
another time. You know, when things calm down.”

She smiled at him with
warmth, her love for him brimming over the lids of her eyes. “You
are the absolute sweetest guy I know.”

“
Me? Really?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Well, crap, that’s not
gonna work in the octagon. I don’t want to be the sweetest guy in
MMA. That would be a terrible reputation to have in those
arenas.”

Emilia
chuckled.

He could tell she was
already feeling better.

“
You can be sweet with me
and only me. Everyone and everything else I don’t give a shit
about.”

He laughed. “Ok, sounds
good.”

“
Can I sit with you?” she
asked with a cute tilt to her lips.

“
Sure.”

She edged around the table
to sit sidesaddle-like on his lap, her arms about his neck, gazing
into his eyes. “What is it about you?” She said it aloud, but it
sounded like she had said it to herself.

Gabriel remained quiet,
lips pulled into the tiniest of grins.
I
don’t deserve her,
he thought.
She’s way too pretty for me
. He played with a bright red lock of her hair, twirling it
in his forefinger.

“
I love you,
Gabe.”

He shook his head. It was
the perfect thing to counter his thoughts.
She’s so beautiful.
“I love you
too.”

They kissed until the
there was only ten minutes left before the start of the movie. They
had been intent on getting credit so they could watch something at
a later date. Instead, they found themselves in the queuing line,
awaiting entry into the theater. A little surprised, even more
unsure, they did not say anything to one another. They stayed put,
smiling, holding hands, cherishing their time.

It was not about feeling
guilty or sad over the loss of two of their closest
friends.

It was about being
together, because together they felt better than they ever would
apart.

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

~ 33 ~

Mind Meld

Day Four, Sunday,
6:49pm…

She sat in a shallow cave.
She watched the storm howl and scream. It was like a hundred other
such tempests she had watched from various vantage points over the
many, many years of her long life. Only never, not a single time,
had she ever watched one with as much malice and animosity as the
one she was watching right then. It was the truest form of winter’s
fury.

She huddled inside her
thin, gossamer, white-colored dress. It was all the more threadbare
by her lack of attention to it. Only a few days ago, this would
have been sacrilegious to her nature. But now, the effort seemed an
unnecessary inconvenience and a waste of her strength. She would
need strength in droves if she wished to see her own plans bear
fruit.

She still shook with
delight, every now and again, at the idea she could even own a
thought such as that.
Her own
plans…
She had wished it for centuries.
The thought of having this degree of mental freedom was
intoxicating.

My own plans.

She was tingling all
over!

In spite of the weather
and the precipitous drop in the temperature, she did not have a
need for thick garments or heavy outwear. The snow and the cold
suited her fine. They reminded her of home, though that was no more
than a dungeon-like chamber off the immense one occupied by her
master. Still though, it was hers. Most Nixae were seldom given
more than a cushion at the foot of the creators’ bed. Their only
mission in life was to be available to slake his deprived needs
upon a whim. She was even allowed to decorate, albeit most of the
items she displayed were the leave-takings of her victims.
Nonetheless, they were hers, for her personal visual
enjoyment.

She had both of her hands
in front of her, clasped together tight over the tortured, twisted
corpse of large field mouse. Most of its head was gone, gnawed to a
bloody stump, ripped and torn by her needlepoint teeth. The blood
long licked away by her long serpentine tongue.

At her back, she leaned
against the massive form of her companion.

Her Petling, Jätung, was
trying with every ounce of his being not to squirm away from her.
He was collecting energy as well no doubt, in preparation for his
inevitable rebellion.

There was a dark inkling
of the future looming in both of their minds. She had felt the
change in him the moment she had felt one within herself. From that
moment onward, she had known they would be forever diametrically
opposed to one another. Though, she had a modicum of control over
him now, it would begin to weaken over time. His revulsion of her
would grow. His instincts would begin to outweigh her ability to
control his mind.

Inevitable and undeniable,
there was conflict in their immediate future.

For the time being though,
this was not the case, and it was not the most pressing issue at
hand. Jätung she could deal with, even though he had been her loyal
companion for almost two centuries. When the time came, she would
confront him and finish what needed finishing. She hoped it would
be without too much of a fuss.

What she could not afford
was sit idle and do nothing at all. The immobility brought on by
the storm is what rankled under her skin, made her mad with
annoyance. She could do nothing. For the time being, there would-*/
be no searching for those cursed children Fenris dok Kór, the
Snowman’s Hand, had let slip through his fingers.

Imbecile!
she raged.

The thought of the great
Fenris worried to the point of frenzy at having failed the Lord of
the Storm made her smile wicked.

Paying little heed, she
bent her head down to the hapless corpse of the mouse and engulfed
its shoulders and upper chest within her jaws. She bit down with
wild abandon. The small bones crunched. They were delicious in her
mouth as the flesh oozed through her sharp teeth and onto her
palate. Blood - thickened and congealed by the cold - slimed,
gathering at the corners of her lips in grotesque lumps. She pulled
and bit down even harder, coming up with a large mass of the dead
mouse in her maw. She chewed with relish, wondering if Fenris’ life
was forfeit due to his ineptitude. She was unable to keep from
grinning, a wolfish leer unsuited for a face as pretty as hers. She
swallowed her meal loudly. Slushy noises issued from her throat,
pushing down large pieces, making her neck bulge.

Would the great
Metohkangmi cut him down for allowing the vile, little brats to
slip through his hands? Would the Lord Prēost, Vallüm, her own
master, think to rise and replace the unworthy Fenris? Did he truly
think he was capable of holding such a lofty position?