Authors: E. Latimer
The rattle came again, and it was frighteningly close.
My eyes flew to the dark windowpane, expecting to see something. A hand, a face. My heart was pounding a hundred miles an hour, practically beating out of my chest. There was no noise for a second, and then a faint scraping sound came from underneath the frame.
I whimpered, sliding under my sheets.
What
was
that?
A ladder
, my brain told me unkindly.
Someone is sliding a ladder under your window.
I stretched down, groping for the heavy flashlight I kept on the floor beside me, the edge of the bed pressing into my stomach. Not only would it light up the bedroom, but it would be awfully handy if I needed to knock someone over the head.
Finally, my fingers closed over the cool surface of the flashlight. I tightened my grip, my hands shaking. Sweat beaded on my upper lip. Slowly, on unsteady legs, I climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the window, pointing the flashlight at the pane.
The light flooded outwards, bouncing off the windowpane and blinding me. I cursed out loud, and as the white spots faded, I peered through the glass. The snow-filled yard was empty in the beam of my flashlight. It wasn't good enough. I had to be sure or I'd never get back to sleep.
I stuck my phone in the pocket of my nightgown, just in case, before heading down the staircase one step at a time. The front door was still locked, and I let out a shaky breath.
The house was huge and full of creepy shadows, and I cast the light around, the beam jumping and bouncing wildly with my shaky hands.
Deep breaths.
I stretched a hand out and touched the knob, daring myself to open it. The lock clicked, and the door creaked as it swung outwards, making me wince. The night air wasn't as frigid as it should have been, considering the wide beam of the flashlight revealed snowflakes falling from a gray sky.
Ignoring my bare feet, I moved onto the icy walkway. The shock of cold I’d expected didn’t come, and I glanced down, surprised.
Something in the bushes beside me moved, making me jerk, and my foot slipped. I yelped as I lost my balance and pitched backward. The beam of light swept the yard wildly as I fell, and then I was on my back in the snow. My peripheral vision showed a rabbit running across the lawn, tiny feet crunching as it raced over the white mounds.
I'd just freaked out over Thumper the fluffy bunny.
I lay there for a moment, perfectly still, my bare legs and arms touching the snow. The texture was there, wet and crumbly. The feeling of ice. What it
should
have been was cold. I didn't get up. Just lay with my flashlight beside me, staring at the gray sky. "How is this possible?”
No one answered. Moisture seeped into my thin nightgown, but still no cold. There was definitely something wrong with me.
A few feet away, something crunched, and I sat up with a gasp.
There, in the halo of my flashlight, stood a man. He had to be well over six feet, with brilliantly blond hair, and he was dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and blue jeans, in spite of the sub-zero weather.
I clutched the flashlight until my hands hurt, my heart thundering in my ears. “Who—”
The man's eyes went wide, and he threw one hand up. "No!"
Someone gripped me around the shoulders from behind, and something damp and smothering pressed over my nose and mouth. Panicked, I clawed at my face. Trying to scream, trying to breathe. My head spun, and black spots jumped in front of my eyes.
Then a wall of darkness slammed down around me.
~ * ~
The motion is as natural as breathing, the fluid, violent dance of war. My sword feels warm in my grip as I face my enemies—dark shadows against our moonlit snow, a crowd of disorganized rabble, little better than barbarians in their ugly, brown furs and tromping boots.
I watch them cradle their flames to keep warm. We will not return home until their blood falls scarlet on the snow. I blink against the glare of the sun, and my vision blurs for a moment. I squint, and sharp pain lances through my temples.
The sound of the battlefield fades, replaced by angry voices.
As I surfaced from the fog, the smell was the first thing that struck me—the musky, cloying odor of smoke hanging in the air.
The second was how sore I was. Every muscle was screaming, and I was lying on something hard. A wood floor? Cement? No, it was moving.
From somewhere in front of me came a low, angry voice. "I told you I could handle her."
"The queen gave orders."
"She would have been receptive to me..."
I tried to lift my head and a wash of dizziness followed. Had he just said
queen
?
"Oh, come now. You think you can just
charm
the girl? She wouldn't come with you because you're
dreamy
."
"Do not
mock
me, Caleb. And put that out. It's disgusting"
It wasn’t just dark. There was something over my eyes. I could feel it. Horrified, I tried to rip the blindfold off and discovered I couldn’t move. The floor beneath me was still vibrating. Okay, I was in a car. Or a van, more likely.
When I stopped to take stock, I could barely feel my arms—they were so numb. My hands were tied behind my back. I was lying on them. Tentatively, I tried to move my legs and found them tied as well. Jolts of panic ran through me, making me nauseated and weak. Visions of the terrible things I'd heard on the news ran through my head like a macabre slideshow.
"Well, you didn't need to truss her up like that," the first voice said sharply. "She's a slip of a girl. Are you afraid she'll be too much to handle?”
Even in my current predicament, my mind repeated the phrase
slip of a girl
. At six feet, that wasn’t something I’d expected to ever apply to me. The man standing on my lawn, he'd been taller.
"I had my orders," the second voice, the one called Caleb, said. "You know how much is riding on this. I'm not going to go and make
her
mad, am I?"
"You let me deal with her when we get to the palace. I won't have you manhandling her like that again," the first voice grumbled.
“You’ll damn well do as you’re told, soldier.”
Soldier? The
palace
? What the hell. Was this some kind of joke?
Something was digging into my back, and I squirmed around on the hard surface. Obviously, we were going to be driving for some time. Last I’d checked, there were no palaces in Grande Prairie.
After a while, I gave up and lay still, jostled by the bumps and ruts in the road, trying hard not to hyperventilate. It was impossible to tell how long we’d been driving. Especially because I could have been unconscious for hours, for all I knew. My back was stiff, and my cheeks were tight where tears had dried. Plus, the smell of smoke was giving me a headache.
One of the men—Caleb, I thought—spoke up suddenly. "What's that?"
The van began to slow.
Neither man spoke for several seconds, and then the other voice said, "Roadblock?"
"Oh, that's just great. ‘We’ve got a girl tied up in the back, officer. Hope that's not a problem.'"
"I’ll deal with it." Caleb’s voice again, this time low and threatening.
“Of course you will. Freeze first, ask questions later, right? That seems to be your method.”
I processed this while the van slowed to a halt. Freeze? As in what I’d done to my first kiss?
An electric whir signaled the van window being rolled down, and then someone said, "Hello, boys..."
A shout came from outside, and I stiffened against the ropes. There was a dull thud and a muffled groan, and someone yelled, "Caleb!" and then the voices cut off abruptly.
More shouting, shuffling, clunking and then something slammed into the side of the van, and I gasped. Silence. Then a scraping sound behind me. I concentrated on breathing evenly, every muscle in my body so rigid that I was almost vibrating. My eyes shifted rapidly behind the blindfold, panic bursting my chest.
Something creaked, metal against metal—the van door—and fresh air blew in across my left side. There was a distant grunt, and I pictured someone levering themselves into the back of the van.
I couldn't stand it any longer. "Who's there?"
The shuffling moved closer, and something brushed my cheek. I flinched, and whatever it was drew back.
"Hold still," a deep voice murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Fingers grasped the blindfold, tugging it upward. The sudden flood of light made me blink furiously, my eyes watering. Gradually, his face came into focus. A mop of dark curls framed a friendly face with warm, brown eyes. He had a black earring in both lobes, the wooden kind, and a short layer of scruff on his jaw. He was smiling at me. He was adorable.
He also wasn’t moving.
"Could you untie me, please?"
"Oh!" He blinked. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. Here. I'll help you sit up." He looped one arm under my shoulders, guiding me into a sitting position.
I flinched when he reached for my wrists to tug at the knots. My emotions were all over the place. It wouldn’t surprise me if I accidentally froze him. “Just be careful…”
When he looked up, I flushed, not sure how to explain. His mouth curled at the corner in a half smile, and he bent his head, returning to the knots. “I’m not worried. I’m Loki, by the way. You must be Megan."
"How do you know my name?"
"I was sent to make sure they didn't get you."
"Sent by who? And who are
they
?" The ropes went slack, and I sighed with relief, rubbing at the sore spots on my wrists. “Thanks. We should go to the police right away. Wait, are you the police?”