His Touch of Ice

by Kody Boye

  “I,” I gasped, “nearly… came.”

  “That happens sometimes,” Guy smiled.

  I looked around at the interior of the vehicle. Unlike before—when it had been sheathed in the tight, oppressing grip of heat—it was colder than hell. Ice particles lit the frame of Guy’s brow and the windows were completely fogged and frozen over.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “Guy,” I said, turning my eyes back on him to find that his irises had since lost their vibrant, aqua glow. “What just happened?”

  “I’ve got some explaining to do,” he said. He put the car into drive and flicked the defrosters on. “There’s a rest stop up ahead. We’ll talk there.”

  “Long before I was born,” Guy said as we paced along the edge of an informational marker, gesturing for me to sit on one of the stone platforms that looked out into the distant hill country, “my father was supposed to lead a series of his disciples from the various parts of Scandinavian Europe and bring them to the Americas in an attempt to preserve our culture. At the time, we were still a blossoming people intent on carving out a purpose in our small part of Norway. Our country was great, then—at the beginnings of its power, when we couldn’t go nowhere but up. We’d established nearly thirty kingdoms by the turn of the eighth century. Then… the Vikings showed up.”

  Guy sighed. He settled down beside me and idly reached into his pocket, as if hoping to pull out a pack of cigarettes, but quickly retrieved his hand when he was unable to find what he was looking for.

  “Most had left the coast due to the lack of land that was available. Greenland, Iceland, Ireland, the Faroe Islands—it’d make sense, if you think about it, because what use was there in staying in a land where there was nothing available?

  “Anyway, the long story short was that my people were barely nonexistent to begin with. We lived on a small series of islands to the east of Bergen and basically lived off the land—keeping to ourselves, not making ourselves well known, that sort of thing.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” I continued, reaching up to finger the sore spot along my skull. “You said this happened in the eighth century.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you started by talking about your father.”

  Guy’s eyes settled on me in the moments following my question. “Do you remember me telling you to trust me?” he said. “And when I said I wasn’t like most normal guys?”

  The rings around his eyes, though hidden, were clear and stark in my head—both glowing, both alien in their own and unusual way.

  Guy didn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he reached down, set his hand over mine, and said, “I’m what my father calls the Svell Kaldr—the ice-cold, or the true people of Norway. He usually just refers to us as the Kaldr.”

  “So… you’re vampires then?” I asked, hesitant to allow my hand to stay beneath his after such a declaration.

  “God no,” Guy laughed. “We’re anything but.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t suck blood, for one. And for two, I can go out in the daylight. Crosses don’t bother me either.” He reached beneath his shirt and withdrew the fixture I’d seen but a few times around his neck and fingered the bridge in the center.

  “You’re not damned then?”

  “You mean under Him?” Guy asked, rolling his eyes up to the sky. “I don’t know. I’ve never really given much thought to it. I wear it as a sign of my mortality, despite my inability to age. Let me tell you—I’d be dead if he’d’ve shot me in the head.”

  “Do you… uh… believe?”

  “I have hope. One should when they see such horrible things in life.”

  “I guess I’m just having a hard time believing in all this… stuff.”

  “What’s hard to believe?”

  “You say you’re not a vampire—”

  “I’m not.”

  “And you’re saying they don’t exist—”

  “I never said any such thing.”

  “So… I guess what I’m asking is—”

  “Yes, Jason,” Guy said. “There are more of my kind out there, just like there are more of the Sanguine or Howlers. The world’s a scary place. There’s monsters around every corner.”

  “Why me, though? Why bring me into all of this?”

  “If I had a choice, we’d still be in Austin, sleeping in my apartment or talking on the sofa. I never meant for this to happen to you. I merely wanted to help.”

  I didn’t say anything. Guy spun around and pushed himself off the brickwork fence before starting back toward the Lexus.

  “I brought you with me because I knew there’d be questions,” he continued. “And because you’d be seen as an accomplice to multiple murders.”

  “You mean someone else like you was in Austin? The Ladybird Lake Killer?”

  “There’s a rat in our system, and it was looking to set me up. I just wish I knew who.” The crunch of Guy’s shoes across the dirt continued until he stopped in place. “Come on. We need to keep moving. I don’t want anyone to follow us.”

  That was as good a reason as ever.

  Standing, I brushed the dirt off my pants and slid into the car.

  Just before Guy flipped the ignition, he gave me a look I knew showed trust.

  We slept at a rest stop on the outskirts of Horseshoe Bay in the back seat of Guy’s Lexus. Draped beneath a single blanket to stave off the cold, huddled close to conserve warmth, we woke when the sun was just peeking over the horizon and stabbing light into the vehicle.

  “We’ll stop at a gas station to get something to eat and use the restrooms while we’re there,” Guy said, shrugging out of his torn, bloody dress shirt, revealing the tanktop beneath it.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked.

  “Fredericksburg. It’s far enough away from the city to not draw immediate suspicion and enough of a tourist attraction to where if they do manage to catch wind of where we are, it’ll be difficult for them to find us.”

  “What about the car? It’s not like you’ve mentioned anything about fake plates.”

  “We’ll be gone by the time anyone ever finds it.”

  I remained silent as I watched him start the ignition and fumble with a few dials on the dash. I noted his immediate reaction was to keep the inside temperature somewhere between hot and cold—likely, now that I realized, due to his condition and just who he was—but watched as he gave pause when he caught sight of me in the backseat. His fingers instantaneously flipped the dial to the far right side—offering comfortable, cool air that would combat the worst of the Texas heats.

  I fumbled over the console and landed in the passenger seat with a resounding grunt.

  “You ok?” Guy asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, clipping my seatbelt into place.

  Over the course of the next several hours, during which time the hill country became progressively grassier and the flowers were seen only in spurts along the scenic routes, I looked out the window and dwelled on the intricacies that ultimately led to my sure position within all this.

  Guy had been right when he said I’d be seen as an accomplice. Between the murder committed in self-defense and my presence within the apartment, it was only natural that they’d tie us together, especially after they looked up my records and my landlord confessed to me having unexpectedly moved out.

  I was fucked. No matter what way I looked at it, I was utterly, truly fucked.

  It wasn’t all bad though. A quick glance at Guy was enough to show he cared about me, at least in part. I mean, he’d taken me in, and was now leading me on a desperate run to safety. He could’ve left me in that apartment to take the blame for everything, including the murders of the people along the Lake Lady Bird trail. The fact that he’d brought me along was merit enough of his worth as a man. Or whatever he was.

  I rolled my head along my shoulders to look at him.

  “Guy,” I said. “You never mentioned what would happen after we
hit Fredericksburg.”

  The man’s brow furrowed and his lips narrowed into a frown.

  “Guy?” I asked.

  “My father has a ranch outside town,” he said, drumming his fingers along the wheel in tune to the sound of something on the radio.

  “You don’t think anyone will recognize you while we’re there, do you?”

  “I doubt it. I may be European, but that isn’t going to be a red flag in a state like this. Besides—it’s you I’m more worried about, what with that scar and all.”

  I shrugged my oversized T-shirt to the side. “There’s a reason I wear baggy clothes.”

  “There shouldn’t have to be one. That’s what I’m saying, J. You’re gorgeous as hell, and the scar only adds to that.”

  I lowered my head to hide my blush. “Thanks,” I said.

  He reached over and pushed my glasses up my nose. “Gonna lose these if you’re not careful,” he smiled, patting my cheek. “I ever tell you I have a thing for guys with glasses?”

  “No.” I paused. He looked out the corner of his eye at me. “We haven’t told much of anything about ourselves to each other.”

  “Guess we’ll just have to remedy that then, huh?”

  I smiled.

  We pulled into Fredericksburg early in the afternoon and immediately began to peruse the various shops for clothes and other basic necessities. Given our situation, we kept our heads down—always speaking low, not bothering to give a cashier or even a drive-thru clerk much of a direct gaze. We barely even addressed each other by name, such was the need for discretion. The whole thing made for a very, very dark situation.

  By the time we pulled up to the bed and breakfast, the worst of my fears had begun to manifest.

  “Guy,” I said, grimacing as he popped the driver’s-side door open. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “What?”

  “Getting a room, staying here for the night.”

  “We have to sleep somewhere,” he said. “Besides—I have a way with people.”

  The slight wag of his eyebrows, followed by that devilishly-sexy yet dangerous grin, gave way for nothing but sarcasm.

  With a sigh, I crawled out of the car, gathered the few bags filled with our necessities, and followed Guy up to the inn.

  Immediately upon entering, the hairs on my neck rose on end.

  I wasn’t one for paranoia—at least, not normally. Maybe it was because I was usually so laid-back about anything and really didn’t have anything to be nervous about, but standing here, in the bed and breakfast lobby, I felt like I had a target trained on the back of my head.

  Pop goes the weasel, I thought rather grimly.

  The young man behind the counter—who couldn’t have been much younger than I was—raised his head as Guy and I approached and smiled. “Ah, gentlemen,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re looking to get a room for the night,” Guy responded, inclining his head toward me and giving me a reassuring look.

  “Just one bed, or…”

  “One is fine.”

  The clerk turned to a computer system and began to click keys at a breakneck speed. “All right, mister…”

  “Gordon,” Guy said. “Gordon Johnson.”

  “Johnson. I’ll just need a form of identification and a credit card and then I’ll be able to…”

  Guy jerked his elbow and upended a plastic cup of pens at the side as he reached into his pocket to pull his wallet out.

  The young man leaned forward.

  “Here, let me get that,” Guy said, pressing his hand atop the clerk’s. The man’s eyes softened and appeared to take on a brief, translucent hue before returning to normal. “Sorry about the mess. I’d just remembered that I don’t have my credit card on me right now.”

  “Oh,” the man said.

  Guy’s hand didn’t stray.

  “Is there any way you could accept cash?” Guy asked. “Just for me. Just this once?”

  “I… my manager…”

  Guy slid his thumb along the underside of the man’s wrist.

  “I guess I could do it, just this once,” he said, pulling his hand back. “A one-bedroom for a Mr. Johnson? For how many nights?”

  “Three days and four nights,” Guy said.

  “That’ll be three-hundred even.”

  A number of bills were passed between Guy and the man behind the counter before a room pass was exchanged. “Third door on your right,” he said. “Overlooking the courtyard.”

  Guy smiled and offered the man his thanks before taking some of our belongings in hand and leading me up the stairs.

  “So… a way with people,” I said as I settled atop the bed, a fresh undershirt stretched comfortably across my chest.

  “Yeah,” Guy smiled, spreading out widthwise beside me.

  “What’d you do down there?”

  “Let’s just say I worked a little magic.”

  “A little?” I asked. “Dude couldn’t run to the bathroom fast enough to get his dick out of his pants.”

  “So you noticed that too?”

  “Seriously,” I said, rolling over onto my stomach. His gaze, set toward the beams cris-crossing the heights of the comfortably-decorated room, strayed toward me upon my questioning.

  “You ever heard of something called ‘Glamoring?’”

  “Yeah. It’s what vampires do when they’re trying to sway their influence on you.”

  “The Kaldr can do the same,” Guy explained. “But unlike vampires, our influence tends to lie in seduction. Not that they don’t use it—because really, they do—but we don’t have the sheer willpower to force someone to do something for us by thought.”

  “Have you ever used it on me?”

  Guy frowned. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because if all it takes is a simple touch…”

  “Jason,” Guy said, rolling onto his side. He made a move to touch my arm, but stopped and instead allowed his hand to fall slack between us. “I’ve never had a reason to push my influence on you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to do it the right way—unlike others of my kind.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I could admit that, up until this point, I’d played the role of the Mary Sue just because I felt it necessary. Here I was—Jason DePella, nearly twenty-six years old and living in a ramshackle shithole of an apartment after being kicked out of school for something I didn’t do—getting hit up by some gorgeous hunk of man whom my nerdy ass would’ve never landed in a million years. Yet here we were, lying side by side—him looking at me, me at him—and there was absolutely nothing awkward about it.

  Was I being complicated just for the sake of being complicated?

  I’d been trying to figure that out—had been since I first set foot in Guy’s apartment and then in the short amount of time spanning our flight from Austin—yet the answer escaped me. Who knew when I’d figure that out.

  All I knew was: I liked this guy. We may have met under unusual circumstances—and yeah, we may have had sex on the first date and then moved in together a few days later—but that didn’t diminish everything he’d done for me up until this point.

  As I’d so horribly thought before, he could’ve left me behind.

  He could’ve let me take the blame.

  He could’ve let me rot in prison.

  And perhaps worst of all, he could’ve let me rot on the streets, if somehow I managed to escape the cruel fates previously imagined.

  “Jason?” Guy asked. “You ok?”

  “Yeah,” I said, blinking, smiling as I took in his odd eyes and the ruggedly-handsome features of his face. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. I was worried you might think less of me.”

  “I don’t.”

  I stretched my hand out over his and laced the three of our largest fingers together.

  “I’m not asking you to do anything,” Guy whispered, laying down and settling his head atop his arm.

>   “I know,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

  I laid down beside him.

  His fingers flexed beneath mine.

  I found mine within his.

  There was a long conversation about who would sleep in the bed. Guy proposed that he sleep on the couch in favor of my recent injuries. I said that I was fine—that my back was feeling better and that it didn’t matter if we were both on the bed. Several tense moments of silence passed thereafter, until we finally agreed to sleep in the same bed.

  Now almost ready for bed—he in his briefs, I in my boxers—we spread out along the bed and prepared to tuck ourselves in. He was just about to pull the covers over us before I rolled over and he took notice of my back.

  “Jason,” he said, pressing a hand to where I’d brutally been rammed against the kitchen counter.

  “I told you,” I said, adjusting my place beneath his touch. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. You’re all swollen up.”

  I’d never paused to consider my injury. I’d been popping pain pills so much that I’d automatically assumed that my back was feeling better and thought nothing more of it. But now, feeling the slight pressure of Guy’s hand atop my swollen back, the dull pain slithered into my brain like a reminder wishing to be noticed.

  “I can do something for this,” Guy said. “That is, if you’d be willing. And you’d let me.”

  “What’s that?”

  Guy shifted the blankets across his waist and pushed himself up with one elbow. “You know how I drew the heat out of your body when we were in the car,” he asked, gently running his hand along the upper portion of my back.

  “Yeah.”

  “I can do the same for your back.”

  “But my back’s not burned. I don’t see how that would help.”

  “The muscle is enflamed though. And what do they tell you to do to take swelling down?”

  “Put a cold compress on it,” I said, without much in the way of thought. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to clear my head. “Is this going to hurt?”

  “No. If anything, it’ll make you feel better.”

  “If you say so,” I said, spreading my arms out over my head.