A Taste of Ice (The Elementals)

by Hanna Martine

  He drew a breath he was obviously trying to keep steady. “At least let me walk you back to the hotel.”

  She turned back to him, looked him right in the eye. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not going to the hotel.”

  Michael should not have been behind the wheel. It was bad enough he was legally drunk, swerving on the mountain roads. Even worse that he had his cell phone slammed against his ear. He knew this. Didn’t care. At least the snowplows had been out.

  “Where the fuck are you, Lea?” Goddamn voice mail. Didn’t matter that it was closer to sunrise than sunset. She should answer the phone when he called. Who did she think supported her? “Are you in White Clover Creek? That better be the reason you’re not answering. When I get up to the house, I sure as hell hope you’re there.”

  She wasn’t.

  Sean was asleep in the great room. Michael kicked his feet off the armrest of the couch and told him to go up to bed. Michael, on the other hand, snatched a lowball glass from the kitchen cabinet and dumped a healthy splash of whiskey into it.

  He burst through the door to the garage. Flipped on the fluorescent light and blinked into its harshness. The box swirled with black, which meant his girl had recently been awake. Or pissed off. Or both.

  Join the club.

  The fan spun furiously and a harsh line of cold air streamed under the cracked-open garage door. Michael stalked around the box, swigging away at the whiskey, not really caring if he got it all in his mouth. He burned with such anger, such frustration, that maybe only his little fire prize could possibly understand.

  We’re all wrong for each other.

  You only want me because you can’t have me.

  I’m not going back to the hotel.

  Motherfucker.

  Michael whirled, pitching the glass into the garage door like the count was three and two and he was going for the strike. The crystal exploded, but he barely heard it over the rage of blood zooming through his brain and making a racket in his ears.

  He closed his eyes and reached for the seam inside his mind. He should have done this back at the gallery. He should have split and followed Cat to that townie’s house. It wasn’t too late. If he split now, the two of him could head back into town. Yeah, the double could case some bars to ask if anyone knew where the tall local guy with the bad hair lived. Michael had already bribed the Margaret valet once. Maybe another hundred could get him the townie’s address.

  This was so much more than base lust. Cat was his creation. The anonymous girl he’d chosen and plucked from a life of nothingness. He’d brought her here for himself, just like all the others in his collection. No one was going to steal what was his.

  The seam between his halves shimmered red and tempting. He pulled at it, widened it, feeling the beginning of the separation and thinking of Cat. How he was going to steer her back to where she belonged—with him. How he was going to make her realize he was the reason she was here. How he was going to bust down the door to that guy’s house and…

  What? See another guy’s hands all over her?

  Jesus, he didn’t want to see that. He didn’t want to know that. Nothing else existed outside of the world he’d created with his collection. Nothing. This wasn’t the best outlet for his energy right now. He needed to sober up. To think.

  Resigned, he zipped up the seam in his mind and bent forward, hands on his knees. Whole again.

  Kicking aside a shard of crystal, he stalked toward the house door. He’d almost made it back inside when a dark, dark female voice rose up, curling out from inside the box.

  “You don’t know what the fuck you are, do you?”

  He spun around.

  His fire woman had smudged away a peephole in the soot. He hadn’t seen her do it. Didn’t know how much she’d seen of him when he’d almost split. Didn’t care, actually, because there was her incredible face, her mix of striking, foreign features, staring back at him. And she’d spoken.

  He rushed for the box, forgetting to hide his excitement. “What’s your name? How can you breathe fire and not burn yourself? Where are you from?”

  She hooked her black hair with a thumb and drew it all over one shoulder, like Cat had worn hers this evening. This woman stood before him without shame or fear, wearing only a sneer.

  “Are you hungry? Are you cold?” he asked.

  One eyebrow twitched up. “Are you a moron?”

  What was he saying? Of course she wasn’t cold.

  She wiped more soot away then came forward, close enough her nipples brushed the ash. She slowly shook her head. “You don’t know what you are. It’s just become painfully obvious.”

  The fascination started to ebb. Annoyance settled in. “What are you talking about?”

  She narrowed her eyes until they were little more than slits of glittering black. “It’s why you took me, isn’t it? Why you have the others with you—to massage your ego. You have no idea what you are or where you came from, so you surround yourself with other freaks. Clearly you’re compensating for something.” She gave a short, harsh laugh. “You must have the smallest dick in the world.”

  He got as close to the box as possible and chanced a touch. Warm, but not lava hot like it had been the first day she’d arrived. He pressed his palm to the fireproof material to show her he wasn’t scared. She glared at his hand.

  “Do you know what I am?” No use trying to hide what she must have seen him do over there in the corner.

  She smiled, and it was gorgeous and evil. “You’re a Secondary.”

  “Secondary?” A kick of excitement shot through his gut. Raymond had only ever used the term Splitter, and that was only that one day when he’d found out Michael had inherited the family secret. “What does that mean?”

  She rolled her eyes. “How on earth did you ever get me?” Then she blew on the inside surface of the box until his palm almost ignited. He peeled it off with a hiss.

  “Secondary human, asshole. As in, second to arrive on Earth. You’re descended from aliens. God, I love the look on your face right now.”

  And he hated how his face felt. Drained of blood, of reaction. “Bullshit,” he said.

  “Where do you think your powers come from? Or mine? Or that hot guy who used air and a thought to pick up this entire box? You think Primary humans just had that kind of power? No, our ancestors have been coming here from all over the universe since the Earth was new.”

  He couldn’t find his breath. “How do you know this?”

  “Every Secondary knows where we came from. Everyone, apparently, except you.” She tilted her head. “Are you all alone in the world, poor baby?”

  Without thinking, Michael glanced at the door to the house.

  “No shit,” she breathed. “The kid is one, too?”

  His head whipped back around. “Can you read minds?”

  “Don’t have to. You’re just giving it all away tonight. Wish you would’ve gotten wasted days ago.”

  “This is all new to me.” He ground fingers into his forehead. “You’re saying there are more of these Secondaries out there?”

  “Ever hear of the Senatus?” When he just blinked, she added, “Didn’t think so.”

  “So there are more? Just tell me. Lea will find them anyway.”

  The fire woman’s glare hardened. “Lea’s a water elemental. She can sense other Secondaries. She can sniff out magic like your mom’s apple pie.”

  “Now I know you’re yanking my chain.”

  She made a condescending sad face. “What? Mommy never made you pie?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” No one was allowed to talk about his mother.

  “Oh, you don’t want me to shut up.”

  He removed his suit jacket and hooked it over the leaf blower hanging from a hook on the wall. “Lea’s not a water.”

  The fire woman laughed. “Of course she is. How else do you think she found me? Found you, for that matter? All Ofarians can do that. That chemical they use to erase
water powers doesn’t do anything to that magic divining rod.”

  He heard little of that except for the name: Ofarian. The sound of it sent a little zing through his brain. A whole world—a whole universe, if this woman was to be believed—left for him to discover.

  For him to parade before Raymond.

  “Ofarian,” he whispered.

  Her mouth dropped open. “You didn’t even know that much, did you? That her kind had a name? Why is it the clueless ones are always the cockiest?”

  Never, ever had he thought of himself as clueless, and no one had ever had the balls to call him that to his face. He always made sure to know the most out of anyone in the room, but this woman had his number. He needed to know everything inside her brain.

  “Lea said her kind were rare.”

  “As rare as water, my friend. She lied to you.” She ran her tongue along her lips and flame followed in its wake. “That’s what her kind does. They lie, they twist things, just to keep the power. They’re selfish. They’re arrogant. They think they rule everything.”

  He realized he should be careful about what he believed. This woman was his prisoner. She’d say anything to get free, anything to cause friction between him and Lea. And that part about being descended from aliens sounded like hokey bullshit.

  “So how many…Ofarians are there?”

  “Not entirely sure.”

  He shifted a few steps to the right, just to make her follow. Just to remind her who really had the power here.

  “And you? What are you called?”

  Her smile was dragon-like, slow and full of teeth. “I’m a Chimeran. Look up what it means.”

  He didn’t have to. His company had done a movie about ancient Greece five years ago. The chimera was a mythological monster that breathed fire.

  “Clever,” he said. “And how many Chimerans are there?”

  That smile morphed into a snarl. “Does it matter? I’m not like you and Boy Wonder in there. I’m not alone. I can guarantee you that I’m missed.”

  “Twenty?” he guessed.

  “Ha!”

  “A hundred?”

  A dry smirk.

  Holy fuck. “A thousand?”

  “How does it feel, to know you’re not all that special anymore?”

  It made him sick to his stomach, actually, because he’d thrown those exact words in Raymond’s face the night he’d flaunted Jase, his first captive.

  “Do you actually think you’re the biggest, most powerful Secondary out there?” She nudged her chin toward the garage door. “That just because you can cage me and force a few other Secondaries into service, you’re king of the magic world or something?”

  She was seriously pissing him off, her attitude layering on top of Cat’s resistance. “So where are all the others?”

  She threw out her arms, displaying her powerfully lean body, dusted in ash and soot. “Everywhere, Michael. Absolutely everywhere.”

  He smirked right back at her. “So if I’m not king of the magic world, as you said, and you’re this tough bitch, how did I manage to get you?”

  “Did you get me? Or did Lea?”

  “Lea works for me.”

  The fire woman laughed. And laughed and laughed. The mocking sound of it made him want to brave the fire just to strangle her. “God, she’s done a number on you. You fucking her? Yeah, I bet you are. Thinking you’re all powerful when you do it, too. Like it gives you some control over her.” She pounded her fist on the box and the whole thing shook. “Let me tell you something about Ofarians, Michael. Ofarians don’t work for anyone but their own. They think they’re the top dogs in the Secondary world. Hell, they think they are the Secondary world. Lea’s not working for you. She’s working for herself.”

  Michael edged away from the box, remembering what Lea had told him about hunting a second water elemental for her own purposes. A water elemental. One of her own people. His fingers grazed his cell phone in his pants pocket. He needed to talk to Lea. Now.

  “There’s a lot more I want to know,” he said. “Can we work something out? Maybe, like, if I let you out?”

  She raised that eyebrow again as if to say, “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said, “your freedom, a partnership, information about me and Sean. Just tell me everything about your world. You mentioned a…Senatus?”

  She was shaking her head, tsking like a schoolteacher. Shit.

  “Okay, then.” He scrubbed his face, the alcohol beginning to wear off. He thought about why he’d gotten drunk in the first place. He thought about Cat. “If I let you go, will you take care of someone for me? Burn him to a crisp? Inside his house or something? Make it look like some sort of accident?”

  “Sure,” she said with a shrug, and he almost pumped the air with his fist, “right after I do the same to you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, woman. You’re the one in that box.”

  She spit flame at him, the residual ash and smoke filling in the peephole.

  “You took the wrong Chimeran,” she screamed from inside the dark. “I’m their goddamn general, and my army will come for me! You’re about to get a really rude introduction to our world.”

  That made no sense. She was grasping at straws and it was showing. There was no such thing as a Chimeran army. Shit like that couldn’t be hidden from the rest of the world. Yeah, half of what this woman said had to be crap. She’d been trying to scare him and, for a moment or two, she’d succeeded.

  He needed Lea. She’d clear all this up. Lea wouldn’t lie to him. Would she?

  FIFTEEN

  The cab deposited Cat on the curb and rolled away through the slush. The wind stung her bare legs, but she just stood there, staring up at Xavier’s tiny house. The shade was drawn over the big front window, but a pale glow came from behind it. Light made a basement-level glass-block window shine. She’d gambled he’d still be awake; looked like she won.

  She climbed to the front porch, her steps echoing up and down the hushed street. She swallowed a big gulp of cold air and opened the screen door to knock on the wood one, just below the off-kilter triangular window.

  Movement inside the house. Inside her chest.

  The door flew open and there Xavier stood, staring down at her in shock. She’d been hoping for one of his rare smiles. An eager embrace. Instead all he said was her name.

  “Hi.” Her teeth clacked together. “I didn’t want to go back to my hotel.”

  He just stood there, one hand holding open the door, the other braced against the jamb. His hair was wet at the ends and even standing a few feet away, she smelled his fresh soap. A blue long-sleeved T-shirt stretched nicely across his chest and clung to the muscles in his arms. She loved the battered look to his jeans, how his bare feet stuck out from the ratty hems.

  “Can I come in?”

  He snapped out of his trance. Without a word, he stepped aside.

  “You took a shower,” she said like an idiot, after the door had closed behind her and they both stood in the foyer.

  He coughed. “Yeah. I was downstairs.”

  Just opposite, the basement door stood ajar. At the bottom of steep, rubber-covered steps she got a peek of a weight bench and a set of giant dumbbells. One of his long arms stretched out and gently pressed the basement door shut.

  “You were working out?”

  He nodded.

  “At two o’clock in the morning?”

  Another nod. She took off her red hat and stuffed it in her coat pocket.

  “And do I smell fresh bread?”

  He glanced at the kitchen, where the only light came from a single bulb hanging over the sink. A pan with a golden crisp bread crust rising bulbous over the top sat on the counter, cooling. “Made the dough earlier. It was ready,” he mumbled.

  The foyer was tiny; only two feet separated them. Now that the basement door had been shut, they stood in deep shadow
. He kept his face averted, but she could swear there was a pale sheen to his eyes. She wanted to touch him so badly. She wanted him to take her mouth like he had on the stairs—all need, no finesse. She wanted him to just give up and grab her.

  “Come in.” He shuffled backward into the dim living room, the kitchen light just barely touching his collection of old, worn furniture that reminded her so much of her own place. He put the coffee table with the chipped corners between them. She stepped onto the carpet, her legs shaking like a tarp in a hurricane.

  “How did the rest of the opening go?” His quiet voice was loud in the still of his house.

  He was so different from the man who’d stood by her side not two hours ago, and she knew it was because she had come to his home. He felt unguarded here. Was it wrong that that was exactly what she wanted? Should she feel guilty? Because she didn’t.

  “I loved having you there,” she told him. “It helped so much.”

  “You’ve helped me, too,” he said, almost too quiet for her to hear.

  “How?”

  He didn’t reply.

  She pressed her lips together. “You were right. About Michael. What he thinks about me.”

  The only part of Xavier’s body that moved was his right hand. It didn’t pretend to hold a knife this time. It tightened into a fist. “What did he say?”

  “Exactly what you said he would.” She laughed humorlessly. Xavier’s face darkened. “I’m…I’m not sure he and I should be working together anymore.”

  Xavier went incredibly still. “You’re strong enough without him. The way you and Helen have worked together…you don’t need him anymore.”

  For a man of so few words, somehow he always knew the right thing to say. “Thank you.”

  “Is that what you came here to tell me?”

  She advanced a few more steps into the living room, her fingers finding the zipper of her coat. Carefully, slowly, she lowered it. “What do you think?”

  The way Xavier caught his breath—the way his stare devoured the stripe of glittering orange fabric showing between her coat flaps—erased any residual chill from her body.