His Touch of Ice Page 8

  “Just keep going,” Guy said, pressing another bottle of water into my hand. “We’ll see someone soon.”

  I doubted that.

  The water was warm, the road was barren, the sun had no other wish than to slowly bake us to death—I mean, if I thought about it, the only thing that could have made this worse was the cops rolling up to offer us a ride to prison.

  “Or the sun falling down,” I mumbled.

  What could be worse than that?

  The slight rumble at our feet should’ve given me indication that I was wrong—that I’d merely hastened the inevitable and instead summoned upon us worse luck. When I turned to find a truck barreling down the road, however, I sighed and cast my head back, nearly blinding myself when the sunlight stabbed into my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I said. “God—whoever. Thank you!”

  Guy merely chuckled and patted my back before lifting a hand to wave.

  The truck slowed as it approached and came to a full halt beside the road. Its occupant—a lone black man with a pair of thick shades braced upon his nose—leaned across the length of the cab and knocked the door open before simply saying, “Get in.”

  Guy and I were quick to oblige.

  “What brings you fellas all the way out here?” the man asked as I closed the door and he pulled the truck into drive, cranking up and directing the air conditioning at the two of us. “Kinda hot to be going on a walk, ain’t it?”

  “Kinda?” I laughed, leaning back in my seat. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “We’re heading to the Winters’ farmland,” Guy said. “We were on my way to see my father.”

  “No shit? You the reverend’s kid?”

  Reverend? I frowned. I hadn’t heard this part.

  “Yes sir,” Guy said, clapping an arm across his back. “You know my father?”

  “Well, no. Never met the man myself, but I’m… not one to judge.”

  The act was terrifying in its subtlety. A clap across the back, a touch of the hand, the grace of a thumb upon one’s cheek—even casual contact could be used to the utmost advantage, which was why I’d initially been thrown off by the overly-friendly gesture. Now, however, I could see what he was going.

  Guy didn’t want this guy to know where we were going.

  How he was going to impose such an impression when we’d yet to reach our destination was beyond me.

  The touch was so brief it was hardly even noticed. The man just smiled and reached out to take Guy’s hand. “Alan,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Guy replied, nudging my ribs with his elbow.

  I didn’t bother to reply.

  The rolling hillscapes that came into view further north were breathtaking as much as they were terrifying. With the knowledge that we could’ve easily been climbing them in this hundred-and-five-degree heat, it was hard not to consider Alan an angel of mercy. His kind demeanor and vibrant smile spoke wonders of his personality. I was used to Texans helping their fellow man out, but Alan was something else. He even offered us cold water from his refrigerator unit in the back and declined our offer for trade.

  “I got more than enough back there,” he said as Guy returned to the front seat. “As your friend here has seen.”

  Guy smirked. Alan’s bellowing, raucous laugh filled the cab and completely drowned out the sound of the radio.

  It was a good time, for sure. The only thing that dampened my mood was that it made me realize how relieved I was to finally feel safe.

  Guy appeared to take notice of my mood, but said nothing—likely to prevent suspicion and also to distract Alan when prompted. I couldn’t blame him. He was, after all, only concerned for our safety, but I wondered if he’d even taken into consideration how much of a shellshocker all this was for me.

  I hated feeling like a spineless creature incapable of moving even an inch of its body.

  Raising my head, I looked out at the open road.

  What I saw was stupendous.

  It summoned memories of a time and place far removed from our past. Immaculately-crafted, stretched out along a finely-settled dirt road, broached on one side by sugar maples and flushed accordingly across the road where from the pristine heights of a white, two-storied home one could look out at a field divided into multiple acres—the amount of people was staggering. They worked everything from the fields, to animal pens, to what looked like aviaries in the distance.

  In a word, it was impressive.

  “Woah,” I said.

  “Woah is right,” Alan said. “You want me to pull up here, or—”

  “Here’s fine,” Guy said.

  The abrupt stop, coupled with what I’m sure was heat exhaustion and stupid awe, sent me rolling into the dash, smacking but not painfully clunking my head across its curved surface.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Guy said, leaning over to push me toward the door while reaching back to shake the driver’s hand. “It’s much appreciated.”

  “No need to thank me,” the man replied. “All in a day’s work.”

  “And that’s all it was,” Guy continued when I popped the truck door open and hopped out. “Just a day’s work—nothing odd, nothing unusual.”

  “Sure thing,” the man said.

  No sooner had Guy slammed the door did the truck barrel up the road, leaving dust and bits of rock in its wake.

  “You ok?” Guy asked as he took note of me rubbing my head.

  “Fine,” I replied. “So what was all that about?”

  “A bit of ‘Glamoring.’”

  “Are we still calling it that?”

  The taller man shrugged and slung the pack over his shoulder. “Well,” he said. “Shall we?”

  We walked the short distance from where the truck driver had left us to a nondescript security fence that resembled something like the metal cattle enclosures we’d spent much of the last night jumping over. At the gate, Guy fingered the lock and ran his thumb over the latch that held it in place, but didn’t immediately open it, his eyes lost in thought.

  “Guy?” I asked. “Are you sure everything’s—”

  “I ran away from here, Jason.”

  “What?”

  Guy sighed, the shrug in his upper body enough to where it appeared his torso had been momentarily engaged in a tug-of-war. “It’s not like what you’re probably thinking,” he continued, turning his head to look at me. “I just… neglected my duties, I guess you could say.”

  “Duties?”

  “We’ll talk about it later. We’re still out on the road. Someone sees us here, they’ll be able to point the cops in a definite direction.”

  He clipped the lock out of place and swung the gate open, not bothering for possible formalities, and simply walked in.

  I was quick to follow, more than pleased to be at the back of it all.

  Little attention was given to us from the workers beyond the precursory glance. Eyes set firmly on their work, they shucked corn and stooped to gather rooting vegetables from their beds just beneath the ground. It was like something out of the Twilight Zone—us walking along the road, they ignoring us as if we were phantoms spectral in the night. We probably would’ve made it all the way to the house without so much as a second glance until a woman tending horses at a stall nearby turned and stared.

  Even though we were nowhere near her, her eyes were unnerving.

  I felt her presence from the two-hundred feet between us.

  She was what Guy was.

  Kaldr.

  Though her eyes didn’t remain for long after she homed in on Guy, her attention did fall to a companion that approached shortly thereafter.

  While I didn’t care to focus on their interaction, the knowledge of Guy’s presence spread like wildfire.

  Soon, every person we passed on the property was watching us—some discretely, others blatantly.

  “You care to explain why they’re looking at us like that?” I asked.

  “In a minute,” Guy said
, turning up the path that led to the house. “Not while we have so much attention on—”

  The creak of footsteps on the wooden porch brought Guy to a solid stop.

  A man—the near-spitting image of Guy, right down to his build and facial structure—approached the railing. “Well now,” he said, looking down at the two of us. “Look who decided to show up.”

  “Father,” Guy said, swallowing.

  The man’s eyes strayed from his son and settled on me. “And this is?” he asked.

  “Father—sir. This is Jason. My… uh… my—”

  “Nevermind. You never could answer a straight question anyway.” The man stepped back and gestured us forward with a wave of his hand. “Come now. You both look like you could use some rest.”

  The low growl from Guy that followed his father’s response did little to remedy my worries.

  Stepping forward, I climbed the steps of what had to be a hundred-year-old home until I stood beneath the awning.

  “Please, pardon me for my lackluster introduction,” Guy’s father said, closing our distance as Guy stalked past us into the house. “My son and I have a bit of a… tumultuous relationship.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I merely remained silent.

  “My name is Elliot Winters,” he said, taking hold of and gently squeezing my hand. “And welcome to my home.”

  PART 3:

  “I expect you’re exhausted after being out in the elements so long?” a beautiful Latino man with a pair of harshly-accented brows and a gorgeous set of eyes and lips said, stirring a cold glass of lemonade with a spoon before passing it over the counter to me.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, sipping the drink. “Thank you.”

  The kind-eyed man nodded and settled his gaze on me, watching me drink with near-alien fascination, before he turned and began to scour the interior of a fridge.

  Until a moment ago, I’d thought he was human. Then I saw the rims around his brown eyes—nearly translucent but still obviously there—and realized he was just the same as everyone else.

  Did Elliot’s property house a clan of the Kaldr?

  Guy had yet to return. From the depths of the house I could hear heated arguing—sometimes harsh, accented with barking exchanges, though mostly cordial despite the friction that appeared to exist between the two. I’d guessed something was up when Guy hadn’t cared to elaborate last night or earlier this morning. I just hadn’t been aware of how serious the situation was.

  “Don’t mind them,” the Latino man said. “Their relationship is… complicated.”

  “You never did tell me your name,” I said, eager to stray in another direction rather than get caught in familial drama.

  “Amadeo,” he said. “Amadeo Castallano.”

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you, friend. And you are?”

  “Jason,” I said.

  “The younger Winters’ lover?”

  I blinked. “Was it really that obvious?”

  Amadeo smiled. “Really,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “I merely suspected. Nothing more.”

  I swished the lemonade around in my glass and took another sip. Amadeo, as if sensing my unease, let the situation be and returned to his various activities about the kitchen.

  Nearby, a door opened, then shut. Guy strode into view and set his eyes on the pair of us. “Papa,” he said, nodding to Amadeo.

  “Son.” The Spanish man nodded before disappearing out a side door.

  Now alone, Guy settled into the stool beside me and ran a hand across his skull.

  “Everything cool?” I asked.

  “My father’s merely taken it upon himself to lecture me for my stupidity. That’s all.”

  “Did you tell him about what I—”

  “Oh, he knows, Jason. He doesn’t blame you. He blames me for not handling the situation properly.” Guy sighed and shook his head. “Can I have a drink?” I passed him the glass and watched him nearly down half of it before returning it to me. “He wants to meet with you later—if you’d be comfortable. He’d like to get to know you.”

  “I don’t mind speaking with him,” I said.

  Besides—truthfully, it was he who held the outcome of my fate, not Guy or anything he wished to impart. I was ready to know whether I had a place here or if I was to be cast to the wind and let the fates decide my course.

  We sat there in silence for a long time. Occasionally, he’d glance at me from the corner of his eye, but for the most part kept to himself.

  This rift—

  Whatever had happened, it surely wasn’t good.

  I set a hand on his shoulder, the sudden urge to comfort him completely overwhelming.

  He sighed. Muscles tensing, he stood and rolled his neck about his shoulders before he said, “Come on,” and reached to take my hand. “No point in sitting around here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll take you to my room. We can get cleaned up. Then…” Guy faltered. “Then I can explain what the hell’s going on here.”

  Guy’s quarters were located on the far northwestern side of the house. Fine in their simplicity but immaculate in their novelties, they were sequestered away from the rest of the home by means of double doors that opened into a separate wing, which began with a living room offering a panoramic view of the Texas Hill Country and eventually expanded into an apartment-like flat.

  This is it, Guy had said upon our arrival. Home.

  I didn’t bother to question the obvious. The divide was real, made present as Guy turned and secured us behind lock and key. For father and son to have been so adamantly at war in their own home was something akin to the tragedies—Shakespeare, even the mythology of the Greek Gods. Was Zeus not as forgiving as Elliot, and was Guy not the son who wished only to be within his favor?

  Guy didn’t bother with formalities. He led me through the living room and down a short hallway until we stepped into a room—undeniably long-abandoned, but upkept to the point where dust shined only on particular objects.

  “Guy,” I said, turning to face him, “can’t we just—”

  “Relax,” he said, taking hold of my arms. “You’ve been through a lot. I don’t want to make it any worse.”

  I swallowed, afraid to say it even though it was burning on the tip of my tongue.

  His hands on my body, his eyes on my face; the closeness, the anticipation; the heat that didn’t physically exist but did in a way that only those impassioned could realize—he watched me consider him briefly before he turned and began to dig through his drawers, coming up with clothes that were still a few sizes too big but not to the point where I would drown in them. “Shower,” he said, leaning past me and sliding open a wooden panel. “Take your time.”

  In the shower, I let cold water run down my skin, forever cursing my mortal body.

  It felt far too convenient for safety to only be a few short hours from Austin.

  From my place behind the clear glass pane, I watched Guy seat himself atop his bed. Perched on a corner like some thoughtful bird, he stared at the floor with his hands intertwined, his knuckles only occasionally parting to offer relief from an unsure or hard grip. Before, I’d considered such looks contemplative and nothing more. Now, I could see the tension there—thick in his neck, strangled about his shoulders, harsh within his eyes.

  I looked away and bowed my head.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  The press of a hand against my hip pulled me from thought.

  “Can I come in?” Guy asked.

  Naked in all his glory, he leaned half-in, half-out of the rain of water, watching me with undecided yet completely hurt eyes.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You can.”

  He slid the shower door shut and waited for me to move, his actions indicative of indecision even though he was trying his best to be coy. When at first my stone-
cold resolve would not register, I leaned back and took hold of his hand, drawing him forward.

  It’s ok, I wanted my hand to say.

  I knew it worked when he pressed his body against mine and draped an arm over one hip.

  We stood there like that for a long time—he with his arm around my abdomen, I with my head bowed. Not a word transpired between us as the cold water splashed along our heads, warring across our shoulder blades and fleeing in haste down our backs. His touch was still something remarkable—not arousing, in a way that turned me on, but sensual in that I felt completely confident in him as a person.

  “I’m sorry,” Guy said out of nowhere.

  I lifted my head and frowned. “For what?” I asked.

  “Bringing you into this, making you a felon… messaging you that night.”

  “Guy,” I said, turning. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything.”

  “Yes I do, Jason. I was sloppy. I fucked up.”

  “Everyone does.”

  “Not me. Not us. Not the Kaldr.”

  “But doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”

  He blinked free drops of water, his outer irises no longer alien to me. “I—”

  I reached up and cupped my hand along the back of his neck.

  “Jason,” he whispered as I guided him down.

  “Shh,” I whispered.

  I pressed my lips against his.

  I took it slow, adjusting my hold along his neck, guiding my hand along his skull. His beauty was in his patience—in the way he didn’t touch me, or try to push further than we already were. His hands only fell on my ribcage when I teased his lower lip between my teeth and parted my mouth to allow his tongue inside.

  “Jason,” he sighed, tilting his head to guide his lips along my neck, hands sliding down my ribcage to rest upon my hips. “Jason…”

  I pulled away, using only his torso as leverage to bring myself to my knees.

  His length was hardened—thick and engorged with blood.