(c) 2007 by Maura Anderson
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Whooooomp!
Before he was even fully conscious, Michael was out of bed and flat on the floor. The thick, braided cotton rug cushioned his fall as well as kept his naked body from direct contact with the very cold wooden floor.
Adrenaline raced through his system. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. The long ingrained training kicked in and he had control again. Absolutely still, he listened intently. His own heartbeat. The occasional subtle whoosh of the snow sliding off the steep roof of the cabin or off the nearby snow-encrusted trees. Nothing else.
Every sense alert, he rose silently to his feet and reached for the wax wood staff he’d set in the corner near the headboard.
Hyper-aware of everything around him, Michael slowly and cautiously crept toward the bedroom doorway, ears straining for any sound. A check through the small opening where the door was ajar revealed nothing that seemed amiss.
He slowly drew the door open just far enough for him to slip through. One step at a time, careful to stay centered and aware, he eased into the main living space of Aaron’s cabin. Staff at the ready, he scanned the room.
When he could find nothing wrong, Michael allowed himself to partially relax and stand upright, no longer crouched and prowling for potential prey. He flicked on the light and relaxed even more at the complete lack of any sound or movement that was not his own. Nothing seemed to lurk in the corners.
He set the staff against the wall. “Well, that was a really crappy way to wake up.”
There was no way he was getting back to sleep right away, not with that scare. Maybe some tea and some meditation would help. He’d just put the kettle on the stove to boil when he heard a scratching at the door.
He stopped at the couch to tug on the pair of sweatpants he’d tossed there earlier, after his Tai Chi exercises. Had an animal gotten lost in the snow? The predicted storm had quickly turned from a typical winter snowstorm to one of blizzard proportions.
All he could see through the peephole was the fluffy drifts of snow, illuminated only sparsely with the porch light. The snow was still coming down rapidly, making it impossible to see much beyond the edge of the porch.
About to turn away, he heard the scratching sound again, this time accompanied by a soft moan. Gut instinct made Michael unlock and open the front door, only to have the freezing air nearly take his breath away. Now he could see a large depression in the snow near the base of the porch steps with a packed path leading toward the house, spotted and streaked with some dark substance. He looked down to find not an animal but a woman collapsed face down in front of the door.
In the face of the bitter cold, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into the cabin’s great room. She slid easily on the polished wood floors and he slammed the door on the blizzard as soon as he had her far enough in the room.
What the hell was a woman doing here? And who had hurt her?
Long white hair was plastered to her, red in some places with the blood seeping out of the four long gashes down the her back. Pale, almost bluish skin was very cold to the touch. She needed to be warmed up.
Careful of her wounds, Michael turned her over. Her face was finely sculpted with high cheekbones and a delicate chin. White eyebrows arched over closed eyes with matching thick white lashes. Her lips were a combination of pink and blue, enticing him to warm them with his own.
She reminded him of something, of someone. But damned if he could remember what or who.
He pushed her hair away from her face. Suddenly, her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Long, sharp silver nails dug into his arm, his own blood oozing out over the needle tips that pierced his skin.
He stared at the talons then looked up at her face again. Deep, glacier blue eyes stared back at him, angular pupils making it clear she was not human. He recognized those eyes – the distinctive eyes of a frost dragon.
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