Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite

Chapter 20: Apology Accepted (Part 1)

Cassie was so cold.

Her cloak provided little protection from the brutal Canadian wind. Wherever she ran, the wind chased her. Swirled around her. As it tossed and pulled her cloak away from her body, she could feel the cold burn on her bare legs.

Snow began squalling all around her. The drifts piled high on the sides of her path, creating a maze of white walls.

With the snow strengthening the wind, and the wind strengthening the snow, she had to keep running. There was warmth somewhere. She just had to find it.

Only the starry night sky provided any solace. She could see Orion, the hunter and the colors of the aurora borealis. In Ursa Minor she saw the twinkle of Polaris, the North Star. And then she regained her sense of direction.

Go south. . .

She turned her back on Polaris. Soon the wind died down and the snowflakes turned into works of Mother Nature's genius. She looked up at the bluish-white moon and spun around. The blanketed treetops, the snow, the stars, and the sky spun with her.

Still dizzy, she cupped her palms and lifted them to the sky. A snow crystal landed in her hands. She brought it to her lips, closed her eyes, blew it into the still air, and made a wish.

For the first time ever, she knew exactly what she wanted.

Cassie almost awakened with the wish still on her lips and in her heart, but she held on a little longer, knowing it was a risk. A dream this good wasn't meant to continue.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw a hut of twigs jutting out of the snow. There was a fire inside. She could see it flickering through the rude walls.

The stiff breeze at her back made her shiver. Behind her, there was only cold, wind, and darkness. The choice was simple, if it even was a choice. Whatever was inside the hut, the pull was hard to ignore.

She opened the tree-bark door. Christopher MacRae, Son of Grace, had his back facing her. He turned when the wind rustled his clothing. In the crook of an arm was a baby boy with a head of golden curls and deep brown eyes—the perfect union of father and mother.

Cassie untied her cloak. Chris hung it up for her next to the fire. In a panic, she glanced down and discovered that she was wearing very little else. It was no wonder she had felt the wind so strongly on her legs. Though she matched Chris's attire in theme—rustic, primitive, homemade—her clothes didn't suit her the same way. He looked handsome and natural in the leathery grays and browns. Her dress exposed most of her legs, but otherwise, it was baggy and too wide for her shoulders. She thought it made her look young. Perhaps too young for him.

Chris smiled at her as if he didn't notice and stroked her bare arm in a way that said she was beautiful no matter what she wore. She wasn't a girl anymore. She was of the age to bear his children. And he wanted many. His love had no bounds. She could see it in his eyes.

He kissed her forehead. His lips were warm and full of want.

"The little prince wants his mother," he whispered as he shifted the baby into her arms.

There was no sarcasm in Chris's voice. Their child was a prince. Their heir. Would he be a king one day?

With the baby in her arms, she could feel her left hand heating up. The warmth increased and the orange glow from the fire seemed dull in comparison to the bright and pure yellow light. Its source had to be underneath the baby.

She shifted him into her right arm. Then she lifted and turned over her hot and heavy hand. On her ring finger, a smooth stone glowed like a piece of the sun. Slowly, the glow dimmed to reveal a yellow sapphire. But as she lowered it back toward the baby, the light from the sapphire strengthened.

Strange. . .

Her hand returned to where it was apparently supposed to be, holding her son tight to her chest. And in the heat of the light, the baby drifted to sleep.

On the other side of the fire, there were animal-skin blankets on the ground and a cradle beside them. She kissed her baby's rosy cheek and set him in his bed. He whimpered for her, so she sat beside him and rocked him back to sleep.

Mesmerized by her dimming ring, she started when she felt Chris's lips on her shoulder. They moved to the base of her neck and her body tensed with need.

She turned to face him. To satisfy that need.

Gradually, her racing heart and shallow breathing made her feel light and carefree. Every time they touched, hands or lips, the pace quickened. They soon became a jumble of arms, legs, blankets, strings, buckles.

He was bare-chested first. She ran her hand through the light streak of hair over his heart. Over the strong, sleek, perfect display of muscle. Her lips couldn't resist, either.

With his fervent tug, the dress that made her feel so undesirable was over her head and tossed aside as well. There was nothing left to cover her, except for him. She lay back. He eased himself on top while he was busy consuming her—neck, breast, stomach—as if she alone were the key to his vitality.

And then. . .

Cassie forced herself awake. Her body was in tight knots from her throbbing temple all the way down to her pointed toes, but she couldn't bear to watch, to feel, to be with him any longer.

She had never had a dream like that before—and it was incredible—but she knew it was about to end badly. Andromeda would come with her army, and they would burn the hut to the ground or take Chris and the baby. . .

Andromeda would turn the baby over to the Brute, and the smell of innocence would rile the demon inside of him.

But all of that was in Cassie's mind, not in the dream, and she tried to appreciate the dream for what it was—a beautiful tease. Chris might never be able to love again, and if he could, that love would not be given to her.

Cassie's mother had been the cause of his suffering. How could he ever move past that? 

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