Chapter 37
906 Words
The ascent to the High-Spire Basin was steep, the air thinning until every breath felt like drinking melted snow. Above the tree line, the world stripped itself of color, leaving only the blinding white of the drifts and the deep, bruised purple of the mountain peaks.
"Stop here," Fenris commanded as they reached the final jagged ridge.
Rhiannon halted, her chest heaving. The static in her mind was restless today, agitated by the sheer vastness of the heights. When she looked at Fenris, her fight-or-flight response gave a confused, sickly lurch. He was the man who had healed her mind, but he was also a creature of immense, predatory power. Her body wanted to hide from him and huddle against him all at once.
"Close your eyes," he said.
Rhiannon stiffened. Every instinct she had honed over ten years screamed at her never to blind herself in the presence of a male. Her fingers twitched, a spark of defensive blue flame dancing at her cuticles. But then she looked at the silver scar on his chest- the mark of her own mercy, and the frantic beat of her heart slowed just enough. With a shuddering breath, she obeyed, letting her eyelids fall shut.
The world became a symphony of wind and the crunch of Fenris’s boots. She felt his hand hover near her elbow- not touching, but guiding her forward by the sheer heat of his presence.
"Step down," he murmured. "Trust the rhythm, Rhia."
She took a tentative step, expecting the sink of snow, but her boot met something impossibly smooth and hard. She opened her eyes and gasped.
Before them lay a hidden crater filled with a high-altitude lake. It had frozen so deeply and so purely that it looked like a massive slab of turquoise glass dropped into the center of the world. It was a flawless, translucent blue, so clear she could see the ancient, frozen boulders and preserved skeletons of pine trees thirty feet below the surface.
"Balance isn't just about where you stand on solid ground," Fenris said, stepping onto the lake. His heavy weight should have shattered the surface, but the ice was an impenetrable shield. He glided a few feet, his movements effortless. He turned back, his blue eyes catching the sun. "The south is slick. People will smile while they try to trip you. You need to be sure of your feet when the world offers no friction."
Rhiannon hesitated at the edge. The ice looked like water; it looked like a trap.
"Come out, Rhiannon," Fenris urged, his voice low and grounding.
She stepped out, her boots immediately sliding. Her arms went wide, her fingers splaying as she fought the terrifying sensation of losing control.
"Don't fight the ice," Fenris called out. "If you fight it, you’ll break. Flow with it. Let your weight settle into your heels. Move with the slickness, not against it."
Rhiannon forced herself to sink her center of gravity, remembering the "stone" mentality from the training ring. Slowly, the panic began to subside, replaced by a strange, budding sense of liberation. She began to slide, her boots making a high-pitched skree against the turquoise glass. After a few minutes, she wasn't just walking; she was skating.
A small, surprised laugh escaped her. She moved faster, her blue hair whipping behind her like a banner. For a heartbeat, the static was drowned out by the sheer, cold joy of the movement.
"There she is," Fenris murmured, a rare, genuine grin breaking across his face.
He began to move with her, circling her like a great dark moon orbiting a blue star. For a few minutes, it was a game- a moment of levity they hadn't earned in years.
Then, the mountain spoke.
A low, deep groan vibrated through the lake- a sound like a tectonic plate shifting. It wasn't that the ice was failing, but the thermal shift sent a hairline fracture racing across the turquoise surface, zipping right between Rhiannon’s feet.
The vibration jarred her ankles. Her balance vanished. Her feet flew out from under her, and the back of her head headed straight for the unforgiving glass.
"Rhia!"
Fenris moved with the terrifying, blurred speed of the wolf. His boots dug into the ice, sending up sprays of crystal as he lunged. He caught her mid-fall, his massive arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her hard against the solid wall of his chest to stabilize them both.
They skidded ten feet across the lake, the momentum finally dying in the center of the turquoise expanse.
Rhiannon was pressed flush against him, her back to his chest, his arms a heavy, protective cage around her ribs. The intimacy was absolute. She could feel the thudding gallop of his heart against her spine and the electric heat of his skin radiating through his vest.
The panic didn't just flare; it exploded.
The weight of his arms felt like a bind; the heat of his body felt like a suffocating trap. Her lungs seized, and the memory of the city men- the weight of them, the smell of them, surged up like a tidal wave. She began to tremble violently, her hands coming up to claw at his forearms in a blind, desperate bid for air.
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