Page 97 of The Heart of Winter

Was he dead? A sickening wave of fear twisted in my stomach. I reached out, fingers trembling, and pressed them against his neck.

Relief crashed over me as I felt his pulse, steady, though his skin was rather cold. I tried to shake him, but he didn’t stir.

My hands, still trembling, fumbled at my seatbelt. It was stuck for a moment before finally clicking open.

I turned fully toward Sariel, touching his jaw, and carefully tilting his head upward.

His eyes remained closed. He was breathing. There were no visible head injuries.

But… was he hurt somewhere else? I ran my hand carefully over his body. We were both still wearing our suits and shirts, not the most comfortable outfit for a long flight, but since a representative from the Japanese government was supposed to meet us at the airport, we’d wanted to make a good impression. I slipped my hand under the lapel of his jacket, feeling his heartbeat. His chest and stomach didn’t seem injured.

Only then did I lean slightly to the side, and see it.

Sariel’s foot.

Because he was taller than me, his leg must have extended lower when the seats hit the ground, and now… now his foot was twisted at a horribly unnatural angle, partially pressed into the frozen, grassy terrain beneath the row of seats.

My first instinct was to try to straighten it, but I stopped myself just in time, realizing that could make it even worse.

"Sariel!" I nearly shouted, my voice sharp with alarm.

At last, he stirred, barely.

He was coming to awareness much more slowly than I had, blinking drowsily, until suddenly, his face contorted in pain.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his voice weak, raspy.

"Your leg…" I whispered, hating that I had to be the one to say it.

Almost reluctantly, he looked down.

"Oh, fuck," he repeated, his lips going pale, almost chalk-white. He stared at his leg, blinking, clearly in shock.

I had to help him somehow. I couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. That kind of twist must have been agonizing.

After sliding off my seat, I knelt beside him in the grass. It was dry, brittle, and cracking under my knees, the long strands stiff and frosty. At least I’d had the sense to wear relatively warm shoes.

"I’m going to try to move it, okay? Get it free—"

"No!" he gasped. I could see the fear in his eyes, the terror of what shifting his foot even slightly might do.

"Sariel, we have to get it out."

"Wait. What… what happened? Where are we?" he stammered, obviously trying to distract himself, to delay the inevitable.

"I don’t know," I admitted honestly. "But we were on the plane."

"Yes."

"Something happened, an explosion, maybe."

"Yes."

"We started falling."

"Yes."

"So how the hell…?"

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