Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2016 05:37:11 -0500
From: Kody Boye <boyekody@gmail.com>
Subject: His Touch of Ice - Part 63

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction, and contains scenes of graphic violence and
explicit male/male sex. If you are not of the legal age to read this, or
are uncomfortable with this sort of content, please turn back now.

HIS TOUCH OF ICE (The Ice Men, Book 1) is copyright © Kody Boye. All
Rights are reserved.

______________________________________________________________________________

Hope was but an illusion as we walked through the high-security door into
what was for all respects a medical facility. The rows of glossy metal
tables, the acrid stench of painkilling fluids and antiseptic wipes, the
sheer, blinding white light that emitted from fluorescent bulbs all
around—all spoke of hospice: a place where the sick came to be
healed. But I knew better. Death was here, laid plain in stains and colors,
and the smells that wafted as we tread into the space I could not have even
begun to imagine.

Despite the pain coursing through my body, I had enough merit to warrant a
shiver.

This was no medical facility—at least, not the kind I was used to.

This was a laboratory.

Disoriented by the shock likely rocketing my system, my eyes trailed across
the space, darting across areas where light was consumed by shadow and
where figures could briefly be seen in human form.

Eventually, my eyes fell to a fixture at the far side of the room, one I'd
not noticed upon our initial entrance—a glass wall, or at least a
window, set into a series of stonework behind behind which held a
self-contained room.

A flicker of movement appeared from the depths of it.

At first, I wasn't sure if I was seeing things. Then I realized I wasn't.

The eyes looked back at me, their rims solid and glowing blue.

I lost my breath as the only thing I could say was, "Guy."

The Kaldr man—stripped naked but for commonplace white briefs—stood
opposite the glass window, hand pressed to the glass.

"Jason," he said.

The sound of his voice through an intercom caused a jarring pain that
ripped fire through my head. Grimacing, and stumbling forward, I reached up
to cradle one ear with my good arm while keeping my bad one against my
chest.

Before the glass, I looked at Guy with tears in my eyes.

Frost framed his dispersed fingers.

"Jason," he whispered, eyes falling to my arm.

The click of a gun sounded. Then the barrel was placed to my ear.

"Time's up," the Frenchman said.

"Let go of him you bastard," Guy growled, spittle flying through his
teeth. "He had nothing to do with this."

"Quite the contrary, Mr. Winters. He has everything to do with it." I felt
the touch of the man's hand along my collarbone and shivered at how hot his
skin felt. "I see you haven't marked him—at least, not in the way I
would've expected. A human mate? Warm flesh? Are you Kaldr really that
noble?"

"Let him go, Pierre. You can do whatever you want to to me, but by God, let
him go."

"I could," the Frenchman said, "but then there's the matter of his
infection." I grimaced as he reached around and took hold of my right arm,
his fingers prying through the tattered flesh to take a rough hold. "You
see, Guy, there was an... accident. One of my wolves got too careless and
let the boy shoot him after the first bite. He didn't finish the job. He's
infected. He's turning. Now. I let him go—and by God, out there, in the
wild—he's going to go on a rampage. The bloodlust will consume
him. There's a reason Howlers are made in confined quarters."

I fought to contain my tears as Pierre tightened his hold on my
arm. "Please," I begged. "Don't do this to me."

"There's a perfect alternative to the matter, Jason. I assure you of
that. But your boyfriend here is the one who has to cooperate."

"I told you," Guy growled, "it's not going to work. It's just legend."

"You Norsemen believe the Wendigo is legend?" Pierre laughed. "What the
hell is wrong with you? Your history speaks for itself. You believe it the
monster of man, the perfect chimera of bestial nature. There's always been
whispers of a bond between us, but you've been too afraid to seek them
out."

"You're mad with power."

"And your boyfriend's turning faster than you can think."

"If you're so convinced this is going to work, why not test it on one of
your men? Or yourself?"

"Because every number is important when we have so many others to deal
with," Pierre replied. He released hold of my arm and nudged the gun
against the back of my head—directly where the robber had in weeks
past. "It's your choice, Guy. Either way, I'll get what I want out of
you. I'd say my deal with the Spaniard went pretty damn well."

"The Spaniard?" Guy gasped.

No.

"Amadeo," I whispered.

"Yes," Pierre chuckled. "Our beautiful little Spaniard. He's the one who
orchestrated this entire ordeal. From slipping the robber a master key, to
flushing you out of Austin, to killing the joggers along the lake."

He'd known where Guy was, had shown such indifference, had paled when
offered mention of the murders.

A flash of pain erupted between my eyes.

Crimson flooded my vision.

At first I thought I was bleeding, but when I felt nothing trailing down my
face, I realized that wasn't the case.

Could I be bleeding internally?

A second flash erupted along my conscience, followed by a third which sent
a whimper from my throat.

My gut churned.

My arm throbbed.

"Do you see what you're doing?" Pierre asked. "How you're torturing him?"

I forced my eyes together to fight the images assailing me.

The blood, the teeth, the excruciating pain—

The overhead moon, the hunt that followed—

The pale-skinned man, so naked in his youth, as he was ripped limb from
limb by the savagery of supernatural jaws.

The shiver became violent—to the point where I felt was I in the frigid
arctic—and when I opened my eyes I saw hopelessness in Guy's face. There
was no all-knowing look that gave answer all my questions. There was merely
turmoil that could not be solved.

"Time's running out," Pierre said.

The scuffle of footsteps from the far wall entered my ears and passed
through my head as if they were no more than a foot away. Within moments I
could sense so many were in the room—to the side, in the shadows, along
the wall, even beyond the lab. Their stench of sweat and cigarettes and
even fresh blood was tangible to the point where I could taste it on my
tongue, and my eyes were taking on a subtle shift that I couldn't discern
at first.

I was changing, right there in front of him.

"Jason," Guy said, his voice a whisper through the intercom. "Your eyes."

A brief impression of gold-rimmed eyes entered my awareness before leaving
completely.

"Time's up," Pierre said.

Even though he was behind me, I heard his finger shift to the trigger.

Without thought, driven by primal instinct, I spun and knocked the gun out
of his hand with my right arm.

The weapon discharged and spun across the floor just as Pierre stumbled
back, blood coating his face from a gash inflicted upon his cheek.

I lifted my arm.

All five digits on my right hand had lengthened and developed black claws.

"Get him!" Pierre screamed. "Shoot that motherfucker!"

I flung myself over one of the metal autopsy tables and brought my foot
down on the end of it just in time to deflect a hail of bullets.

The world was lost in the sound of chaos. Animal instinct helped me detect
every life form within the room. The gunpowder was no deterrent. There were
several on the wall—three, at least four—not counting the two pressed
alongside the door and Pierre, whose presence I could no longer detect. The
bullets were another matter. Each discharge could be heard like the drop of
a pin, followed by an explosion similar to a car crash in the middle of a
quiet street. The number of shots gave me cause to believe that they
weren't firing in succession—it was blind tactics, meant to kill me
regardless of loss.

The world was moving so slow.

My head was spinning.

My vision, brightening—

The wink of metal along the floor caught my eye.

I lunged without question.

My speed, far beyond that of any human, delivered the gun into my hand,
then me to my feet in an instant.

"GET DOWN!" a voice screamed.

I fired toward the glass entrapping Guy.

Webs splintered across its surface.

The entire magazine was emptied.

The glass shattered and the temperature plummeted.

I threw myself to the ground as the beads of sweat along my body turned to
ice.

Faintly, I could just make out the fluctuating temperature clashing between
the testing and examination rooms.

Guy stepped from its depths.

His eyes blue, his ancestral mark emblazoned upon his skin—he lifted his
hand and guided shards of glass about the air in front of him as if they
were a revolving spectrum before firing them throughout the room.

Screams shattered the night.

Blood splashed the air.

A single convulsion forced my back into the air and then back on the
ground.

My head slammed against the tiled floor.

My teeth sunk into my tongue and drew blood.

I was barely aware of the ongoing events as the seizure took my
body. Forcing tremors throughout every limb, occasionally causing my back
to spasm in a mild convulsion, spilling froth from my mouth that I thought
would choke me but instead brought forth a sound that sang like the angel's
lips upon the midnight ferry—what little breath I managed to take did
little to seep into my brain, for the stars before my vision were falling,
exploding, reforming, then falling against.

A single second felt like an hour's worth of pain.

One moment, everything was chaos. The next, everything was silent.

The fine hairs springing along my arms and the exposed portion of my
collarbone stood on end as from the side came a presence.

I tried to turn my head, but failed to do so.

A foot stepped forward.

Swathed in light, his figure illuminated only by the glowing crystals that
circled about his body, Guy leaned over my trembling form and took me into
his arms.

"It's ok," he said, his voice nirvana within my head. "Everything's going
to be fine, Jason. I'll get you out of here."

I tried to speak, tried to breathe, tried to cry. Nothing worked.

The flash of pain that had come earlier returned.

This time, it hit me like a truck.

All I heard was my final scream before I blacked out.

____________________________________________________________________________
If you enjoyed this installment of HIS TOUCH OF ICE, consider emailing the
author with your thoughts or donating to him via Paypal at
boyekody@gmail.com. You can also download the novel for free on Smashwords,
Amazon Kindle, or any other major eBook retailer, or buy the Audible
version online via Amazon.com. You can visit the author online at
www.kodyboye.com.