Chapter Five
“I Don’t Trust You”
The blizzard only seemed to grow stronger as the days passed, and August was starting to worry. A storm this fierce would not stop soon. As much as he considered himself prepared for regular blizzards, there was nothing regular about this one. It had been over two weeks since the storm began, nearly two weeks of being snowed in.
And just over a week since Daphne had drunk the potion and slipped back into unconsciousness.
The witch still hadn’t come to. He might as well be alone in the cabin, not that he minded it. He’d spent many years of his life in solitude, especially since the tragedy. This wasn’t much different.
It didn’t matter that there happened to be a woman in his bed who occupied his mind even while she was unconscious. Or that the sight of her had drawn the breath from his lungs and fueled him with desire.
He’d slipped her clothes back on a few days ago after concluding that her semi-nude body was an unnecessary distraction. But days had passed, and he could hardly stop thinking about the way she’d looked, stretched out underneath him with those sensuous lips parted and her breasts heaving in that inviting rhythm. Or the momentary feel of her silky lips as they brushed against his.
He supposed he was frustrated by spending all this time alone because of the blizzard. Solitude was a choice. Right now, he was practically a prisoner in his own home. He couldn’t leave the cabin even if he wanted to, not with the walls of snow surrounding the building.
And it was all the witch’s fault.
No wonder you can’t get her out of your head, he told himself. All this snow is a reminder of her presence, of what she’s capable of.
Maybe if he killed her, it would reverse the spell she’d cast.
Maybe, he thought, stirring the food in a small pot suspended over the flames in the fireplace. Maybe not.
Well, maybe, said that familiar snide voice in his mind, if you stopped cooking and feeding the witch, she’d die on her own, and you wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. Problem solved.
He couldn’t deny the logic in that thought. Even if he wasn’t actually going to kill her, he wasn’t obliged to help her stay alive, especially after the awkward position she’d put him in. So why was he helping her?
Because you’re crazy, you’re going crazy. She must have done something to you.
“A man cooking?” said a voice behind him. “Now, there’s something you don’t see every day.”
He whirled about, clutching the metal ladle like a weapon. Leaning against his bedroom doorframe, her arms crossed, was Daphne. She had a slight smirk on her face. Thankfully, that wasn’t the only thing she was wearing, he thought, feeling a wave of carnal desire slam into him.
“I live alone,” he replied evenly, returning the ladle to the pot. Then he muttered, “At least, I used to.”
Alaina’s wide eyes stared at him as a bright light seemed to engulf her. It was just the reminder he needed to cool his desire, he thought wryly.
With a slight grunt, she stepped into the living room, sinking heavily onto one of the wooden chairs close to the fireplace.
“I just got arrested,” she said with a sigh, “by the feds.”
He frowned at her, resisting the urge to ask what a fed was. “What are you talking about?”
“Back on Earth,” she said as if that made any more sense. When he didn’t respond, she said, “I’ve been traveling back and forth between Earth and Frost Mountain. At least, that’s what I think is happening.”
August nearly scoffed. Was she crazy? All that sleep must have taken a toll on her mind, or perhaps she was in shock from the plane crash. No, she was definitely crazy. He found that thought more satisfying.
“No one can leave Frost Mountain,” he told her, with the air of someone speaking to a child. “It’s impossible. There are only ways in. No way out. It—”
“I know how Frost Mountain works,” she said, to his surprise, cutting him off. “Trust me, I’ve known about this place since I was a child. I came to this world thinking I could fix the problem, create a way home, set everyone free.”
This time, he did scoff.
Set everyone free?
Was she trying to mess with him? Witches didn’t help people. The more powerful they were, the more likely they were to use their power to crush everyone else around them.
“I thought I’d cast the spell to open a portal and get here, but it was the wrong spell,” she went on. “I didn’t even realize it until seconds ago. Or, well, days ago, I guess. Time works differently in both worlds, it seems.”
She frowned, and for a moment, all he could think about was how tired she looked. She seemed to have aged a few years. For someone who looked like she was barely in her thirties, which didn’t sound old, August knew she must be under a lot of stress for it to be so obvious. His gut clenched. All that rest had done her little good, it seemed. Whatever was going on with this woman was draining her.
“I still don’t understand what you mean,” he admitted.
“The spell I cast split me into two halves,” she told him. He swallowed as she tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “It happened right before we hit the portal, so there’s still a part of me back home. And then there’s part of me right here. I’ve been going back and forth between bodies. It’s why I keep passing out.”
It sounded completely absurd. No one who’d found themselves on Frost Mountain ever got to return to Earth. He’d learned that much from a young age. Daphne was suggesting the impossible.
But as insane as it sounded, he believed her. It had to be dark magic. With dark magic, practically anything was possible. The dead could rise again. An entire dimension of snow and rock could be manifested. Dark magic had few limitations.
“Things are getting pretty tense back on Earth,” she said. “People are worried. And I think my neighbor called the cops on me or the feds. Whatever. The thing is, I’m under arrest. It looks like I’m a prisoner here on Frost Mountain and Earth.”
She smiled, and August felt a sharp tug in his stomach. She sank her head into her hands, raking her delicate fingers through her blonde hair.
“All I wanted was to fix this problem once and for all,” she said. “And now I’ve created another one for myself.”
Looking at her, August couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy.
She’s a witch, he reminded himself.
Just then, she lifted her head and glared at him. “I might’ve actually been able to undo everything if you hadn’t bound me. I’ve been arrested, and God only knows where they’re taking me.”
“That’s not my fault,” August heard himself say.
She blinked at him. “ What ?” The momentary confusion was quickly replaced with anger. She lifted her hand, showing him the Kane insignia on her wrist. “You—did this to me!”
“And I would do it again,” he replied evenly, feeling his annoyance growing. “You’re lucky you’re still alive. Nothing good ever comes out of letting your kind roam free. You witches kill. You take. You destroy.”
“You’re the one who tried to kill me. You took away my ability to use magic. Maybe if you destroyed yourself, I’d have one less problem to worry about.”
Irritation filled his chest. He briefly considered dragging her by the hair to the fireplace to give her a little scare, but the thought of his fingers running through those blonde locks elicited a different reaction in his body.
“I’m not unbinding your magic,” he told her. “Not now, not ever. I don’t trust you. You’re the reason we’re snowed in right now. I don’t trust you to try to fix that.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, thanks,” he said with a smirk.
He saw her eyes widen as she realized what he meant. Her face reddened. August felt his amusement grow, but so did his desire. He felt a familiar stirring in his trousers. He found himself wondering how she would have looked like sitting there if he hadn’t put her clothes back on. An image filled his mind then, causing him to lick his lips, but he forced it down, feeling ashamed of himself.
Another thought occurred to him just then, and the smirk disappeared from his face. He frowned at her.
“How come you’re so sure you could fix the problem of Frost Mountain?” he wondered aloud.
She regarded him for what felt like a full minute before responding. “Because I’m a descendant of Eleanor Emerson, one of the witches who created Frost Mountain.”