The Fall Of Snow: Guard Your Heart

21. Twenty-One

Twenty-One

Up Against a Tree

A fter the group told me all about the day they had and what is to come, we all settled into our beds after nearly being awake for more than thirty hours and found that sweet slumber. I think about what they shared with me, about how lists were posted in each town to inform the families of the deceased, about how supplies will be tight in the coming weeks, tighter than usual in the winter months.

Terran spent most of his day in the infirmary, helping in any way he could, which brought me comfort knowing a friend was close to Coy.

While I spent my day fuzing to the point of burnout, the warriors were hauling bodies, removing debris, and organizing housing and supplies until further arrangements can be made. Emergency meetings were held, and watchtower duty was doubled. Changes will be made to ensure an attack like this doesn’t happen again. The king was notified and will decide on how to deal with alerting Roselaria.

The group told me how Huck discovered Coy, buried under a pile of rubble from catapults that shattered one of the camp's supply sheds. Not only was Coy buried with splintered logs and stone, but Huck had to dislodge him from pieces of weaponry that were stored inside the shed. Luckily, Archer was near enough to hear Huck's plea for help. It took five warriors to get Coy free of the rubble because the one warrior in this camp with strength ability was injured. He was so battered and covered with blood, soot, and debris that if it weren't for Huck, it would have taken the warriors much longer to discover who exactly was trapped under the crumpled shed.

Bear mentioned that we’re lucky we don’t need to double up with other warriors while the affected cabins are being repaired. Apparently, being the cabin furthest away from base has its benefits.

Archer mentioned that this camp was actually an old mining village before the king expanded his rule. Most of the cabins and other structures were already here from the previous settlers. Some of the warriors have been ordered to relocate while the camp undergoes repairs, but most can stay through the winter.

Whip and Terran brought the first batch of cider to the infirmary last night and the results have been better than expected, which isn't saying much. I'm just glad I didn't put anyone into a comatose state or paralyze them by mistake. My confidence in creating the magic wasn't my worry. I was more concerned about combining magic. I didn't know if or how such magics would react with one another once combined. To my relief, no negative side effects have occurred.

I'm already on my third batch of cider when, to my surprise, Huck approaches the kitchen counter.

"You ready to train?" His face is back to the arrogant brooding that I loathe. But my surprise doesn't come from his spare time, I know the warriors have been given the day to recover.

No. My concern comes from the idea that he actually wants to train with me today or spend any time at all with me. Given how he's been acting since the ambush, I would think he would prefer to be alone, or at the infirmary. Really anything other than being alone in the forest with me.

"You . . . want to train with me today?" My words are hesitant and gentle, not wanting to ruffle feathers. At least not yet, anyway.

"Not like you'll get any better sitting in here." His words are so matter-of-fact that I consider punching his smug face right then and there. To hell with being gentle on him.

But then I remember Coy, lying on a cot somewhere in the camp, and I swallow my pride. It burns the whole way down, like thorns shredding my throat. I drop the paring knife.

"Well, if you insist."

I wash my hands and put the sliced apples to the side before covering them. I head over to my small drawer next to the bunk and begin lacing up my boots. Huck watches me the entire time like a hawk stalking its prey making me forget myself. My fingers fumble with the buckle as I feel his stare and my blood begins to boil.

Aspen is fast asleep in his bed, catching up on some much-needed rest. The others are out in the camp, tending to the injured or rebuilding structures. The cabin is unusually quiet as I lace up my boots and grab my cloak, but that might just be my own feelings projecting into the room. I tie my cloak as I follow Huck towards the back door and nearly fall over when he opens it up for me to exit the cabin first. The actions of this man are obnoxiously unpredictable.

Instead of muttering a thanks, I focus my attention on the embroidered initials of my cloak instead, rubbing my fingers over the fabric as I follow the curve of the S that seamlessly slopes into the next letter. My father got me this cloak before he died and I still remember the day he gave it to me. I remember how rich the red color was, and how soft and thick the material felt.

After years of wear and the last how many months on the run, the cloak has seen better days. The deep, saturated red that paired so well with my lips has since faded out to a muted maroon, the fabric no longer soft and plush but thin and scratchy. But I'll never give it up, no matter how many patches are sewn into the lining. It is the only tangible thing left of my father aside from my mother's ring.

"Have you been to visit Coy today?" I try to break the silence for my own benefit before we're in hand-to-hand combat .

"This morning." He clips, looking out at the bare trees, a small layer of snow dusting the top side of each branch. A few stubborn leaves cling to the branches of trees and I decide I admire them the most. The ones that hold on all winter long, through the snowstorms and the frost, refusing to submit to the death that awaits them.

"I think he's improving. His coloring seems to have improved and his pulse is steady." I nod, wishing I could visit him myself, wishing I could tell him to fight, to come out of this deep slumber before it's too late. I don't know how long the commanders will give him before discharging him from the unit, but I do know that the ticking clock is weighing heavily on us all, especially Huck.

The protocol is in place as a kindness to the warriors, but what they refuse to acknowledge is that the warriors want to stay at camp. They don’t want to go home to their families they haven’t seen in years. They want to be surrounded by their brothers in arms.

"I think your cider helped. The group's been wondering when they would get to see your magic in action." At that, my ears perk up.

"He was able to ingest it?" I look up at him on my left as we walk in tandem now. He gives me a nod as his eyes crinkle in the corners. I can see he was waiting to share this news with me.

“They were able to get him to swallow a few mouthfuls. I don’t know how much actually went down his throat. I convinced them that the properties in the cider would be beneficial to his recovery, that the natural sugars would act as healing agents." I mull this over for a moment, not quite sure if put in the position I would take Huck's word.

"And they believed that?" My voice raises a hair and now his lips tug into a full-on smirk.

"I can be very convincing when I want to be." And there it is. That proud arrogance that gets lesser men in trouble.

"Ahh. How could I forget that you can spell others to sway your way." My voice takes on a lightness that matches the cold breeze in the air. He raises his palms in response.

"Hey, I'm not the one who can wield magic into an apple to alter a person."

"Fuze." I drawl.

"What?"

"You fuze an apple with magic," I explain, laughing to myself. “Not wield it."

"Mm-hmm." He eyes me like I've just made up the term on the spot. Like it wasn't passed down to me by my mother and by whoever taught her before that.

I look out at the clearing and take in how it has changed over the time I’ve spent here. The field has lost its vibrancy and fullness, now covered in white.

"You ready?" Huck walks across the field, wielding his weapon. There are so many things I want to say to him. So many questions I have, but instead I just nod, grab my weapon, and hold my stance.

After what feels like the hundredth time working the same move, Huck overpowers me once again, his hulking form eclipsing mine. My muscles are weak, my tunic damp, and I'm completely out of breath. It’s a fatigue I can feel in my teeth.

I’m suspicious if Huck is pushing me over and over again on purpose until I break. He’s barely giving me time to catch my breath. Despite my efforts, it only takes one small move for him to disarm me. My blood boils with frustration as he overpowers my strength with ease. And all the while, he smirks, like I'm a joke to him—like he knows this is a waste of time but is humoring me anyway. It makes me feel small and insignificant. Powerless.

"Come on, Snowflake. You're slowing down again."

"At least I'm consistent." The words fly out of my mouth and I can feel all of my emotions swirling like a tornado trapped within my chest. My power rises to the surface, ready to strike. If only I could use it on him.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" He's still holding onto my wrists, holding me close to him.

"Oh, you know. Just that your emotions change as frequently as the wind." I wrench my arms away from him, reeling with fury. Maybe I'm just tired . I step back from him as I continue my rant. "One minute you're up, the next you're down." I watch as the words reach him, as they worm their way under his skin.

"You don't know what you're talking about." He's angry now, his tone matching mine, and I can see the steam rise from his shoulders. It seems I've struck a nerve.

"Don't I? A guy like that can't be trusted. Too capricious to depend on." I'm drilling into him now, my anger set free and flying at him wildly. All of the worry I felt, sitting in that dark closet. The look on his face before he turned his back on me. The way he calls me Snowflake like I'm a delicate little thing. The stress of feeling helpless as we wait for Coy to wake.

He stalks toward me in two strides, closing the distance in an instant.

"At least I don't run from my problems." His voice is guttural as he towers over me, his chest meeting mine. It's a challenge, one he's daring me to take. Just for the hell of it, I try and release my power into him as I brush my fingers along his arm. Nothing. But his proximity does something to me that diminishes my fury.

The heat from my anger pools in my belly as I feel his chest rise against mine, as I feel his breath hot on my skin. I dare to look into those amber eyes a moment too long, and my rage turns to something else entirely.

"You don't see me running from this one." My voice is smoke, curling around his ears, caressing his face. His lips part, and I know he feels what I feel. I know his fight dissipates like a snowflake hitting a bare palm.

"No, I suppose I don't." Huck's hand reaches up, his knuckles sliding down my cheek, my jaw, my neck. How quickly the tides have turned. My breath is caught in my throat, afraid to make any sudden movements. Like if I do, the moment might shatter around us, leaving me wanting more. I hate that my body aches for him. For this infuriating warrior. But I can't deny that it does. I can't deny my beating heart pounding against my chest wall, begging to be set free.

I grab the back of his arm, needing something to anchor me before I float away from the headiness of his gaze. The heat from his triceps permeates through his leathers and I tilt my chin up at him, just slightly. An offering. He takes the bait threading his fingers through my hair, finding the back of my neck, and tugs, just slightly. I shudder as he tilts his head down to meet mine, going in for the kill.

"Mark my words, you will be my demise." His lips brush my own with each word before they press against my mouth hungrily. His tongue glides in and I moan with the warm sensation that shoots down to my core.

The sound of my voice must unlock something within him because our kiss goes from delicate to feral and he sucks on my tongue before he explores my mouth once again. He bites my lip before trailing his down my neck, across my collarbone. His hand cups the back of my head possessively, fingers laced through my hair and I want to melt into him.

“Huck,” I whisper into his neck as I try to feel for more of him, desperate for his leathers to disappear. I tug on the binding, willing it to fall off when he hoists me up, cupping my bottom with his hands .

On instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist as he stalks over to a nearby tree, pressing my back up against it. When his length presses up against my throbbing core, I nearly cry out in pleasure from the contact. With my body pinned against the tree by his, Huck holds my arms above my head with one hand while the other tugs at my shirt, exposing me to the cold. My skin is on fire and the chill of winter is a welcome bliss.

When his mouth sucks in a breast, I drop my head back against the tree as the sensations of his tongue circling my nipple in rapid succession have me aching everywhere. Shamelessly, I grind my hips into his length, needing so much more of him.

“You’re a fucking goddess,” Huck growls against my skin, but he stops short, his entire body tensing up. He cocks his head to the side, listening. A wave of frustration settles into his features as he gently sets me down on my feet before adjusting my top back in place. My body is wound so tight, I take a deep breath to settle.

Footsteps approach in the distance, leaves crunching underweight. The cadence of the steps tells us it's human and not a creature. The moment shatters in fragments around us as we part, turning to see who emerges from the trees. Archer's teal cap stands out against the muted colors of the woods as he nears. He stops at the edge of the field, unaware of what he's walked into.

"Training's over guys. Coy's awake."