Chapter 48: The Frozen March
The gale ripped the front door from Genevieve Sterling’s grip, slamming the heavy timber against the exterior brickwork with a force that sent tremors through the doorframe. The instant she cleared the shelter of the portico, the negative fifty degree squall struck her like a physical blow, driving the breath straight from her lungs in a sharp gasp. The air was not merely cold; it was a razor that sliced across her bare forehead, cheeks, and neck, instantly freezing the moisture on her skin into brittle crusts of white rime.
Her fifteen pound mink coat, tailored for walk-in closets and heated town cars, proved utterly useless against eighty mile per hour coastal winds.
The gale forced its way straight through the stitched seams of the pelts, tearing beneath
