Frostbitten: The Complete Series (62 page)

“People speak sometimes about the ‘bestial’ cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.”

—FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN
MORTAL DEVICES

“Michael… I’m a vampire. I—I know it sounds crazy, and it is crazy. I’m the reason that Kane is here. All the stuff you saw in his trunk…”

Michael sat frozen, his eyes wide and his body tense.

“There are more like me—I’m not the only one,” Brittany continued. “I’m not the one they’re looking for. I’m not Snowbrooke’s killer—I’m not.”

“You—You’re a what?”

Brittany looked down at her lap, defeated. “A vampire.”

A chill lingered in Michael’s spine. If Brittany was being honest—if she was a vampire, and Kane was a hunter, then where did that leave his father, Wade.

Michael forgot to breathe or blink as he looked into Brittany’s eyes.

Then, to Brittany’s disbelief, Michael smiled sincerely. “Okay,” he said.

“What did you say?” Brittany asked.

“Okay. So you’re a vampire,” Michael said. “I’m a hockey player, my dad was a teacher and my mother is a homemaker.”

Brittany stared at Michael confused. “You don’t believe me… You think I’m insane.”

“No—I believe you. It’s hard to believe, sure. But I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s something else…” Brittany said, looking nervously away. Her heart began to pound vigorously against her chest. “I—I need to tell you something else—”

“Don’t,” Michael said.

“What?”

“Don’t.”

Brittany was rendered silent and confused. “It’s important. I need to get it off my chest or it will eat away at me for the rest of my life.”

“Whatever it is—it’s fine.”

“Michael—”

“It’s fine. Whatever’s happened in your life, happened. It’s in the past. Move on—quit dwelling on it.” Perhaps Michael knew—the notion certainly crossed his mind.

Brittany’s guards were down. Michael smiled. He finally understood his father’s advice—he final understood the advice he’d given to the strange old man at the warehouse.

Brittany let her chin sink down to her chest and she stared down at the rug. Michael slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her face back up, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

Michael leaned in and kissed Brittany softly. Moments later, the act was back underway. Their warm bodies slowly intertwined once again as they lowered back down onto the soft rug. This time, their bond was tighter, their passion was stronger, and their lust was more insatiable. Intensifying their mutual desire was something else—an electrical force that lingered deep within their spines:
love.

That same love reprogrammed Michael’s body to function automatically. His hands suddenly had a mind of their own, caressing up and down Brittany’s body, pushing her shirt up, over her head, pushing her leggings down, past her knees. Every passionate stroke created an electrical force: a kinetic surge of invisible power, magnetising their bodies closer and closer together.

Brittany’s lips opened sharply as Michael pushed himself in deep. In that moment, the bodies of the two lovers were one—one enigmatic entity—one brilliant silhouette against the roaring fireplace flames.

Every swift thrust was stronger than the last, every grab of the skin was tighter than its predecessor. The lovers were swirling down the rabbit hole. Every anxiety, every stress, every little bit of guilt, and every mere inhibition ceased to exist; In that moment, those problems did not exist.

The experience mutually intensified. As Michael drew closer, Brittany drew closer. Each of Michael’s intensifying thrusts forced Brittany to closer to surrender. The final moment became near. Brittany could feel the throbbing of Michael’s thick veins, she could feel the bulging of his damp muscles against her soft skin.

And then, to that magical metronome of the roaring flames, the crackling of the blazing fireplace, the two lovers climaxed. The muscular hockey star slammed his body down with a distinctive might, eliciting the final impassioned howl from his beautiful dark-skinned lover.

And for once, the fix wasn’t temporary. The guilt, the anxiety, the inhibition, and the stress remained away. All that mattered was their
love
—all that mattered was each other.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN
AN ANCIENT ULTIMATUM

Connor wasn’t used to being treated with so much attention and abundance. The moment Michael left for the hospital, Laura, assumed the role of Mother Goose with renewed pride. Special for Connor, she made a beautiful homemade soup, and delicious homemade pudding for desert. After desert, she came by the guest room with more deserts she’d baked fresh—as well as tea, extra linens and blankets, and a stack of DVDs to help pass the time.

The only DVDs the Fenners owned were historic hockey games and historic hockey highlights. By midnight, Connor had watched nearly every Stanley Cup victory from the 70s and 80s—nearly every goal Wayne Gretzky ever scored. Even as a hockey player, there comes a point where anything else becomes welcomed—but Connor was just happy to be accommodated.

At midnight, Laura came by the room one final time before heading off to bed. “You should try to get some sleep. You need your rest!” Laura insisted.

Connor smiled. “I slept for the past three days straight,” he laughed.

“Still,” Laura said. “Can I get you something? A sleep aid? Are you allowed that?”

“I’m okay—Thank you, Mrs. Fenner.”

“It’s my pleasure, Connor. Try to get some rest. Call for me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay—I will. Thanks again.”

Laura smiled, and then turned to go to bed, leaving Connor alone with his seemingly endless pile of hockey DVDs.

Another sleepless hour passed—another Stanley Cup victory. Before Connor could start the next game, a strong gust of cold wind swirled through the Fenner home.

An electrical cough preceded the end of the faint hum of the basement generator. Seconds later, the house’s power went dead. The television turned black, the lamp fizzled away, and the heaters’ drone, which you would not otherwise know existed, ended, leaving the house in a dark and solemn silence.

The cold whistle of the arctic wind against the bedroom window was louder than ever before, saving Connor from the deafening silence.

Connor looked towards the room’s doorway. He tried to sit his body up, but the sharp pain of his wound prevented him from doing so. He waited a moment.

“Hey, Laura?” he called out.

Connor’s call was answered only with silence.

“Laura!” he called out again.

A dark silhouette emerged in the doorway of Connor’s temporary bedroom.

“Hey,” Connor said. “I think the generator is out of gas.”

The dark figure didn’t reply.

“Mrs. Fenner?” Connor muttered.

It was becoming increasingly evident that Laura was not the dark figure standing in the doorway.

“Michael?”

Again, no response.

“Who’s there?” Connor asked as his body became tense with dread.

“I fail to see what my daughter sees in you,” the black figure muttered in its guttural voice.

Connor became frozen with fear. The voice was completely foreign—totally unfamiliar.

“I fail to see why you inspire her to waste her life—to waste the greatest gift that she’s ever been given. I look at you and see nothing but a pathetic, mortal piece of meat: an unfortunate waste of life.”

“W—Who are you?” Connor asked.

“Even your blood smells wretched—not worth the effort,” the grungy voice continued as the dark figure floated into the room. As it drew closer to the foot of Connor’s bed, it became taller—towering over Connor’s incapacitated body, revealing the gleam of its dark, brooding eyes. The creature laughed a throaty laugh. “You are
nothing
,” it said.

Connor desperately tried to pull himself up, but the pain was too sharp. He was stuck, helpless.

“How pathetically tragic you are,” the creature laughed.

“Leave me alone—Go away,” Connor said.

“I promise it will be quick. Painless—for the most part—at least on my daughter’s behalf. I can’t imagine it would take more than a few days to get over the loss of a sad creature like you.” The rancid entity towered over the bed, down towards Connor. It’s long pointed fingers uncurled out—pointing towards Connor’s throat.

Connor tried once more to pull himself up, but even in life or death, he could not. The sharp tip of the creature’s nail pressed against the skin on Connor’s throat.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN
THE HELPLESS & THE HELPED

Bundled tightly in her thickest coat, scarf and mitts, Hanna braved the brutal arctic blizzard on foot—trudging desperately through the deepening snow as she inched towards Snowbrooke’s hospital.

Cars had been left abandoned in the streets—some trapped in the deep snow, some overwhelmed by the incredible cold. The streetlights were powerless, every house window was black, and the endless sheets of thick snow made vision a hopeless concept.

Stopping her powerful father seemed like a hopeless objective, but even with such little hope, Hanna was desperate to try. It was a long, frigid and painful trek through the infernal blizzard—but after an hour of trudging and fighting through the cold snow, Hanna made it; drained of energy, she stumbled through the hospital’s doors.

The hospital was busier than ever before. The line—or crowd—to see the hospital administration was packed to against the door. People fought and shoved one another to get slightly ahead in line. The nurses were overwhelmed—trying desperately to tend to the victims who needed help the most, while simultaneously trying to control the frantic mass.

Hanna pushed through the crowd towards the hospital’s main hallway. Also overflowing with people, the hallway was lined with cots for those who couldn’t sit, and chairs for those who couldn’t stand. No space was left unfilled, except for a thin trail for the nurses and doctors, who squeezed through narrow the human passageway in order to get from room to room. Even the most patient and composed of the medical staff were in a flustered panic.

Narrowly avoiding the relentless flurry of medical personnel, Hanna found herself at Connor’s hospital room. To her dismay, the small room was jammed with a half a dozen patients, none of whom were Connor.

Hanna turned back to the bustling hospital.

“Excuse me,” she said to a passing nurse.

The nurse was far too preoccupied with another matter to stop. Hanna wandered down the hallway—her head spinning and her heart pounding. “Excuse me,” she said again, to another nurse.

“Yes?” the nurse said, stopping.

“Do you know where Connor is—Connor Knight? He was a patient in that room there, just yesterday.”

“I—I’m sorry,” the nurse replied as she began to hurry away. She didn’t have time to stop. “I’m not sure.”

“Wait,” Hanna said, trying to stop the busy nurse. “You must be able to look up his file or something—it’s important!”

The nurse was already halfway down the hall. “You’ll have to check with administration!” the nurse called back before disappearing into one of the packed hospital rooms.

Hanna was left confused, scared in the middle of the busy hallway.

“Out of the way!” a doctor demanded, pushing past Hanna.

“Excuse me,” a gentle voice called out from behind the flustered girl.

Hanna spun around. A nurse, Ava, had overheard Hanna’s brief conversation with the other nurse.

“Yes?”

“You asked for Connor Knight?” Ava asked.

“That’s right.”

“Connor was released this afternoon. A friend took him home.”

“Really?” Hanna asked. “Do you know which friend?”

“I—I’m not too sure. He was a tall guy, with big arms, short hair,” Ava said.

“And he took him to Connor’s house?” Hanna asked.

“I’m sorry—I just know that we released him. Administration hopefully knows more, but you’ll have to wait a good hour in the line to see them—if you’re lucky.”

“Thank you,” Hanna said, turning around and running back down the hall. She didn’t have time to wait for administration to
hopefully
know more information. She had to act on the little she knew. She had to get to Connor’s house, which meant another long trek through the violent blizzard.

Running back through the hospital doors, back out into the insufferable snowstorm, Hanna wiped the tears from her eyes. She was losing hope. But until there was absolutely no hope left, she was determined to remain persistent.

With the point of Francis’ sharp claw against his throat, Connor closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away.

A fierce explosion of white light filled the dark guest room of the Fenner house.

The mysterious shadow creature retracted its sharp claws and winced away from the enchanted force of the brightness. It let out a loud shriek of pain as it tried to cower away from the ethereal glow.

The persistent light was even too much for Connor to bare. He threw his forearm in front of his face and closed his eyes tight as the dark creature stumbled through the room—falling to the floor and crawling desperately towards the room’s corner.

“Why!?” the creature screamed out.

“Leave the boy be,” a different voice echoed through the once-dark home. The voice was clear, beautiful, and feminine.

“He will be the death of her!” the creature cried back as it began to wheeze, as if out of air.

The light grew brighter, more powerful, and for the creature: more painful. The presence moved deeper into the room. The overwhelming power of the invisible presence was undeniable. The pained creature squealed louder.

“Stop!” it cried out.

“That is not your decision to make,” the ethereal voice said.

“I will not let my daughter squander her life!”

The light seemed to centralize around the crippled monster, lifting him effortlessly off of the ground. “You were always a stubborn man, Francis.”

The creature winced a throaty gargle as the light began to burn its black skin.

“You love her—Then set her free,” the feminine voice said.

The incredible light released the dark beast onto the floor. The moment he was freed, Francis scurried towards the guest room’s exit like a dirty cockroach.

Connor lowered his arm and looked towards the glowing light. Inside of it, was the floating figure of a human—an incredibly beautiful woman. Her light began to dim, slowly making her overwhelming glow bearable.

“Connor…” she said.