Frosted Torment (Marked Mortals Saga #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

I clung to the toilet, feeling the urgency of another wave of last night’s drinks making a violent reappearance. Some of it splattered into my hair. I pushed my soiled hair from my face, then leaned back against the cold bathtub and closed my eyes. I tried to shut out the consequences of my actions.

“Happy birthday, Noa,” I whispered to myself, feeling a wave of bitterness.

How did I end up celebrating amidst such self-induced misery?

A low voice echoed next to me and whined, “You did this to yourself.”

“No kidding, Dos. Now hush,” I gritted through clenched teeth.

I couldn’t recall the guy’s name. But a local rugby player, my latest mistake, stayed passed out on the living room floor, oblivious. The last thing I needed was for him to think I was as unhinged as the town gossip suggested.

People often called me disturbed when they overheard me conversing with invisible entities. My three best friends were the only ones who knew I could communicate with spirits and accepted my gift. Though I had no plans to see the random guy from the bar again, I preferred that he didn’t spread rumors about my supposed instability.

Not an ideal reputation for a bookstore manager in the heart of this small town. Ever since kindergarten, I’ve had two constant companions that only I could hear and somewhat see on occasion. I didn’t know their origins when they first appeared, but their sudden presence terrified me.

Over time, their frequent visits had not dulled the shock of their arrival. They came and went on their own terms, easier to explain away as imaginary friends in childhood.

“He meant no harm, doll,” Uno’s singsong voice crooned in my ear.

Her form flickered in and out of sight as she pretended to puff on her cigarette holder. She blew a kiss at her reflection in the mirror and winked.

“Please, not now, guys.” I exhaled, feeling exhaustion seep into my bones as I kneaded my throbbing temples.

Dos’s shadowy shoulders slumped, reflecting his regret. “Happy birthday anyway,” he murmured.

I glanced at the faint outlines of what used to be human, now hovering in the doorway. “I won’t feel guilty today. Now leave,” I insisted with a dismissive wave of my hand.

Certain there was nothing left to expel, I lay on the cool floor, letting it caress my face. I sought a moment of solace amidst the chaos that surrounded me. My phone vibrated across the tiles, and I shoved it away, ignoring the same call as I had done for the past three days.

As I pressed my forehead onto the floor, a stinging sensation pierced my upper lip. I rubbed it to work out the pain as another one shot up into my nose. Tears poured from my eyes. It was odd since I hadn’t felt that way since my surgery years ago.

My cleft lip felt like it was being torn apart. Then another excruciating jolt, resembling a punch to my jaw, spread across my face, and my legs couldn’t propel me to the sink fast enough. My fists came down on the counter as my knees buckled under the pain, but I caught myself on the edge of the sink.

“Motherfucker!” My voice bled through the paper-thin walls of my apartment.

My neighbor banged on the wall. “You’re always so effing loud, Noa.”

I returned the favor somewhat harder as I turned on the faucet. “Deal with it!”

Her rattled voice trailed off, and I shook my head while splashing icy water across my face, certain the entire building had heard the exchange. Water dripped down my shirt as I traced the snake-tongued scar, while a tingle played across my lips. The kind that came after sitting on my foot too long. It spread outward into my hairline, then stopped.

I blew out a puff of air waiting for another assault, but nothing else followed, so I pulled my hair into a ponytail and then peeked into the living room. The gift to myself from the previous night spread himself naked across the blanket on the floor. Still asleep, he rolled onto his back, pulling a sheet across his muscular thighs, and I caught a glimpse between his legs.

That was the reason I had let him stay. His exquisitely carved chest remained on display like a museum statue, and his muscular arms drew me closer. As much as I craved mounting him again for one last euphoric ride, I couldn’t recall his personality or voice; not a risk I wanted to take and get turned off. That was not a birthday gift I desired.

Besides, a headache brewed at the base of my skull, so finding pain meds fast before a migraine set in was now my priority. As I dug through my bathroom drawer, I found a pill organizer that contained more colors than a crayon box. One compartment with an ‘E’ sat in the middle, and I raised my hands to the sky in praise.

It went down smooth with a gulp of whiskey straight from the bottle I’d left sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Hair of the dog and all. As I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, I peeled off my shirt and dabbed my neck and chest dry of the remaining water, then turned to check my lip in the mirror one more time.

No tears or blood, but my hands shook and my anxiety meds caught my eye where they sat unopened on the counter for months.

“Don’t do it,” Dos warned. “The pills won’t help.”

“You’re still here?” My tone came out harsher than intended.

I didn’t know if he was right, but I heeded his advice since he always cautioned against the bottle. If only he could tell me what I did need. I didn’t listen to lingering spirits, often doubting those who refused to move on, but I trusted Dos.

And honestly, I felt better after quitting them anyway. Weed soothed my nerves far better than any prescription, so I wrung out my hands, needing to find my vape .

As I turned around, dancing prisms of orange and purple swept through my apartment as afternoon sunlight streamed in. I turned and smiled at the rainbow edges dancing along the patio door. Beyond, snow-covered mountains and frosted grass gleamed.

A frigid gust of Montana’s December air burst through the cracked door, soothing me. I reveled in it as I stepped forward, bracing my arms in the doorway. The chill kissed my skin, and my bones vibrated against winter’s caress.

I fought to hold my ground as my nipples peaked into icy tips. If the piercing wind could reach my heart, it would kill the pain dwelling beneath. Though my bravery lasted only seconds before my hands slipped and I tumbled over the nameless man, catching myself on the couch.

My rash decision now bore instant regret, as it often did. Rugby guy ran with my old college crew, so not a total stranger, I told myself, grasping at straws. Caramel skin glowing in the sunlight, full lips slightly parted, and long lashes rested on olive cheeks. Despite being no match for Lex Sazerac and his captivating gray eyes, I couldn’t help but let my eyes linger on the current erection in front of me.

Lex only had eyes for impossibly beautiful women. They graced fashion spreads, did cocaine in the morning, and partied all night. Except he never touched any of it and treated his body as if it were a temple.

He stood by his rule not to date his sister’s friends either. Despite only being two years older than me, being his sister’s best friend became my greatest obstacle. So, I settled for cheap thrills with random guys.

“Hey,” I said, nudging Mr. Rugby with my foot a couple of times, and he let out a soft moan. “You’ve gotta go. I have plans.”

He grabbed himself over the sheet, then stretched with a grin when he saw my bare chest. “I have one more birthday gift for you, Noa.”

Gross. Definitely a mistake.

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, sucking air through my teeth. “But it’s not happening.”

I yanked on my favorite worn hoodie draped over the arm of the couch, covering my naked skin. My eyes scoured under the couch for my vape until I spotted it tucked against the wall. Meanwhile, Mr. Rugby stomped into the bathroom like a sullen child, the chiseled curves of his ass flexing as he walked.

He griped from the other room as I exhaled a puff of sweet blueberry vapor, leaving a sugary taste on my tongue. The scent never failed to make me smile.

Needing music, I stood to put on a record. But I noticed the old shoebox where I kept mementos and news clippings about the fire that destroyed my childhood home, scattered across the floor. I didn’t remember taking it out.

I shook my head and replaced each treasure with caution. The cops never found the arsonists who burned my family home, with my mom inside. But they weren’t looking for any either.

They ruled her death a suicide. They claimed the fire began in her bedroom, where she locked herself in with bottles of alcohol and pills. Erratic at times, yes, but not an alcoholic. Anger resurfaced at their ignorance, or was it incompetence?

As I reorganized the scraps of my past, I noticed an old bracelet my mother had gifted me. It hid under some faded photographs of my Gran Sasha, whom I had never met. My mom said the jewelry was a family heirloom. She warned me to never lose it, but it looked like a rusty, beaten-up junkyard relic.

I tried scrubbing away the tarnish once, to no avail. It wasn’t a great accessory, much like myself. Something unwanted, like a discarded fixture in my disappointing life. Even so, I didn’t want to lose this link to my mom, so I slid it onto my wrist, vowing to do better.

Mr. Rugby emerged from the bathroom, as if entitled to more from me. I turned to see him yank his jeans up off the floor and pull them on without zipping them. The sharp V of muscle above his hip dipped south, and I fidgeted with my shorts.

The sight stirred a hunger inside me. But I wouldn’t gratify his undeserved satisfaction. As he grabbed the doorknob and glanced back, I offered a wave before he pulled it shut, applying unnecessary force.

Another long, soothing drag of vape entered my lungs, and I closed my eyes, remembering my purpose. Find the ones who killed my mother and kill them. One crime scene photo showed two figures of light that weren’t reflections of the flames, despite the police claiming it was a camera glitch. I called bullshit then and now.

I knew better, with Uno and Dos whispering truths in my ear, but it didn’t matter how much I begged for a different answer. The police closed the case. With no family left, I moved to my godparents’ farm. By sixteen, my life was a dull, anxious routine, with an endless supply of anxiety meds.

As the new girl in a small town, shoving and teasing about my scarred face became everyone’s new favorite game. With my deep onyx eyes, some even called me a demon. I did my best to ignore it and kept to myself.

My free time was spent searching for answers about my mom and the fire, only to hit one dead end after another. The spirits had no useful info. Either I didn’t ask the right questions, or they didn’t want to get involved.

I let out an exhausted groan and set the shoebox of my past on the counter next to my vape, then decided to put on a vintage Tom Petty album. My body melted into the thrifted orange corduroy couch serving as my bed. Despite a couple of cigarette burns and cat scratches along the side, its soft embrace was worth it.

I found peace wrapped in the lemon-colored goose-down comforter trimmed in tiny white pom-poms that Ivy forced into my hands before we went out last night. Though something darker would have suited my soul, I couldn’t shred her gift even if it wasn’t my exact taste.

A sudden knock interrupted my brief moment of self-care, jolting me upright. I glanced around, confirming Mr. Rugby hadn’t left anything behind. I rushed to check my calendar for a tarot reading I had forgotten, but found no client scheduled

And no way any of them knew my home address. Worry lines creased my forehead. Who the hell was at my door?

“Get lost,” I snapped, then tilted my head back, squeezing my eyes shut.

Ivy’s sing-song voice called out to me. “Come on, Noa. My hands are full!”

My eyes shot open, and I leaped up, combing my hair and gagging at my breath. With no time to brush, I swished the gunk away with mouthwash, then ran over to stop my record player. When I flung open my apartment door, the knob hit the wall so hard that it left a dent.

“Why didn’t you text me that you were coming early?” I asked.

Ivy breezed into my apartment with Barbie-hued lips that brought more color than my new comforter. Her hair transformed from its usual blonde curls to a deep lavender hue. A beautiful contrast to my drab apartment. Perfect teeth flashed across her thin face; then she leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my cheek.

“I did,” she acknowledged with knitted brows. “You didn’t answer, but here I am. And I brought your favorites.”

She handed me a large double mocha peppermint latte and a blueberry muffin. Dusted with sugar crystals from my favorite bakery, I breathed in the scent of the warm muffin and moaned in gratitude. The savory aroma filled my messy apartment.

As Ivy glanced around the cluttered space, I popped open the refrigerator and poured one shot of peppermint schnapps into my coffee cup. Taking a quick sip after a bite of the muffin, my eyes rolled back in sheer delight.

She wrinkled her nose, disapproving of my drink of choice. “Alcohol doesn’t look good on you. It doesn’t smell good either.” Her concern was evident in her tone.

“It’s my birthday,” I argued as I chewed another bite. “What are you doing here so early?”

Her eyes narrowed as she considered my question. “Who else is going to bring you breakfast and gossip with you about Jude?”

I swallowed a mouthful of muffin. “Who is Jude?”

“The guy you took home from the bar.” Ivy shook her head. “ Seriously, Noa? You’re not in college anymore. You’re a full-fledged adult and need to act like it.”

I set the muffin aside and walked past her into the living room as I headed to the couch. “What is that supposed to mean?” I inquired, a note of defensiveness in my voice.

She grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks, and turned me to face her. With my hands in hers, she looked deep into my eyes.

“You’re better than how you’re living,” she huffed. “You deserve better.”

I paused for a moment as her expression softened. “I don’t, Ives. Not yet.”

She brushed my dark hair out of my eyes and smiled. “You do. Let me help you, please.”

“No,” I replied, my tone unyielding.

Her need to do more than I wanted made me uncomfortable, and I decided laundry was a better distraction. I stepped away and kicked the dirty sheets toward a small closet to the left of the kitchen. After loading my washer and pushing start, I looked back at Ivy, who now sat with her arms crossed.

The thorns of her personality threatened to prick me where I stood. I sat down next to her, trying to ignore the sudden tension between us.

“I’ve saved up enough money,” I said. “I wanted to tell you after the party, but now is as good a time as any.”

She leaned back, rubbing her forehead with the back of her palm, contemplating the news. “You’re ready to leave?”

My eyes met hers, and I smiled, placing my hand on her thigh. “Yes, but come with me, Ivy. I don’t want to do this without you. ”

Her mouth twisted in disappointment, and she stood up to shut the patio door. “Texas is too hot and not something I want to get used to.”

When she turned to face me, I could see the reluctance in her eyes, but I knew deep down she was considering my proposal. I waited in tense silence, studying the way the curls framed her face. Her vividly painted lips narrowed in thought. After what felt like an eternity, her expression turned to skepticism.

“I can’t,” she said, waving her hands at me. “And you’re going to get sick if you keep leaving the door open like that.”

I nodded, then let out a quiet breath, not wanting to push the issue. “I’m hot-natured, and I let Dust Bunny in to get warm last night.”

She paced back and forth, worry covering her face. “You’re not acclimated to Texas weather anymore. Besides, who will take care of that rabbit?”

I stood grateful for how much she cared about me, but nothing would stop me from searching for my mom’s killers. Stepping in front of her path, her balance wavered, and I pulled her close.

My eyes pleaded with her as I said, “I’m coming back, and I hope you will look after Dust Bunny while I’m gone.”

Her mouth gaped open as though she couldn’t fathom the idea. “I don’t exactly pet-sit, Noa.”

She dropped her hands to her side, and I grabbed my new comforter as a distraction. Throwing it over my shoulders like a cape, I twirled around the living room. Anything to ease the seriousness that our conversation had become.

“You worry too much, Ivy. Dropping by once or twice a week is all Dust Bunny needs.” I laughed and kept spinning until she broke.

Her shoulders finally relaxed as she grinned under suspicious eyes.

Then she pulled me onto the couch into a hug. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”

“Won’t be for long, but I know my mom’s killers are still out there, and now I can try to do something about it. Like, really try.”

“You think so?” Ivy asked.

I sat upright and pointed to my chest. “This full-fledged adult knows so.”

Ivy didn’t understand my need to figure out the truth behind my mom’s murder after all these years, and it was murder. If I couldn’t prove it, I didn’t know how my state of mind would be in the end, but I had to try. And maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to move on from the pain and the guilt that had consumed me for so long.

Ivy looked up at me, and I bit the inside of my cheek as her gaze lingered too long. She flung her hair back with a look of exasperation, then placed a hand on my calf.

“Enough of the serious. Have you heard from Jack and Claire?” she asked, shifting the topic.

“Multiple times,” I replied, twisting a loose thread on the comforter while my mind wandered. “They’ve been calling, but I don’t answer.”

“And when was the last time you talked to them?” Ivy’s curiosity spread across her face.

Eyes squeezed shut, I cracked one open to meet her gaze. “ Too long. Disrespectfully too long. I’m a horrible person for ignoring my godparents, aren’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say?—”

Ivy began, but I cut her off with a sharp, “Then don’t.”

A laugh bubbled up from deep within me, startling us both. As it reached my lips, the washing machine thumped with a force that drew our attention to the sound. Ivy jumped up with such speed that I nearly toppled off the couch.

“Why, Ivy Sazerac, I had no idea you knew anything about unbalanced washing machines!” I teased.

She rolled her eyes and straightened, extending a hand to signal for me to stay put. “And Noa Drake, you’d be surprised at what I know,” she declared.

Ivy moved clothes around inside the machine with unexpected ease. Then, with a satisfying click, she closed the lid and turned back to face me. Then, a series of quick, loud knocks rattled the door. She walked over to check the peephole, and her shoulders slumped with a resigned sigh.