Page 10 of A Fate of Ice and Lies
I blinked when I felt his hand circle mine. His panic made mine escalate, so I took a deep, slow breath in that I let out on a quick, painful whoosh.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, my eyes growing heavy. “I’m okay.”
Eyes wide, he squeezed my hand with a sweaty palm. “I have a jack in my car,” he rushed out. “I think I can lift the fridge with it.”
I blinked a few more times until the man before me was replaced by my earlier hallucination. Ethereal and stoic, he seemed to watch me with unblinking eyes.
“Help me,” I whispered.
Rather than my handsome hallucination, the man leaned closer to me. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
Tears trekked down my cheek as I watched him leave. I was tired. So very, very tired. I tried again to push the refrigerator off me, but pain ricocheted through my bodywhile the stupid fridge didn’t move. Strangely, or perhaps miraculously, I could just make out that a shelf had stopped the full weight of the fridge from collapsing on me
Time passed. Seconds or minutes, I couldn’t see beyond the dizzying haze to where the man had gone. Had he run and left me here to die?
I remembered Ryenne and our taco date, and hoped she’d worry enough to let Donnie know I was late getting back home. If she’d texted me again and I hadn’t replied. . . Maybe, maybe she’d let her grandma’s eternal worries rub off on her enough that she’d ask Donnie to swing by the food bank to check on me.
The man returned, breaths heaving as he slammed his knees to the floor. He positioned the car jack under the fridge and took a quick look beneath it before cranking it up.
The refrigerator moved, and pain ripped through my stomach to my back. I screamed in agony as he inched it higher. Each slight movement felt like a rageful fire torching me.
“Stop!” I yelled, my throat raw.
A freezing blast spread over me for a few breaths, distracting me from the pain. Ice-cold wind lashed against my face. It was so bizarre that I lifted my face to the ceiling where snow fell.
“Please,” I yelled when the weight shifted again. “Stop. You’re killing me.” It came out as a whimper.
The refrigerator jolted, and I screamed again. Mercifully, the man stopped trying to lift the fridge, and when I turned to him, he wasn’t there. Tears ran down my face, mixing with the snow that fell around me.
Impossible. Unless .. .
“I’m dying,” I croaked out.
I tried to remember the medical texts I’d read while still in high school with high hopes of becoming a doctor but couldn’t recall a single thing remotely similar to this.
“I should hope not.” The man from my hallucinations knelt beside me, taking up the spot where the other man had been.
His face was far prettier than I’d first thought, with an edge of masculinity that made me wonder if I was using the right word to describe him.
“Great.” I sighed, the slight movement making me groan in agony. “I’m already dead.”
His full lips curled in a hesitant smile that grew as I continued to stare at him. Dimples peeked out on either cheek, and I caught a glimpse of something dipping from his parted lips. Something sharp, like teeth maybe, but that couldn’t be. In hopes of clearing it, I shook my head but immediately regretted the movement.
“You’re not dead, and you certainly better not be dying.” His deep but low voice was powerful.
“Can you help me?” I didn’t dare move aside from blinking my eyes to see past the threatening dark spots.
“I can help you.” He said it kindly, almost reverently as if helping me was all that mattered. His smile widened, and I stared at the sharp fangs that seemed to lengthen before my eyes.
I arched my back in pain as he hefted the weight off me. I reached a trembling hand to where it hurt the worst and felt the hot stickiness of the blood that pooled through my shirt from a deep gash on my stomach.
“Hospital,” I gasped out.
His fingers ran over my face in the most tender of caresses. As I knew it’d be, his skin was soft and smooth, sending ashiver across my body. He then moved that large, gentle hand over my arms to my stomach, where he pressed his palm. A chill pierced the wound, and I cried out when the pain sharpened—my ribs seemed to splinter, my skin tear and burn, until. . . all the pain disappeared. He kept his palm there, and inexplicably, I ran a finger over the back of his hand. He seemed to tremble at my touch, and when I met his gaze, his eyes had darkened into two black orbs.
When he turned his face up and away from me, I felt the absence of his smile.
He sniffed once, worry lines creasing his forehead. “Did you take care of the male?” he asked someone without looking at me.
