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Chapter Five

London

Winter

I’ve let the days get away from me, but we estimate from the position of the sun that it’s February. That, and the notches on the wall when I bother to make them. The days are getting longer, but the nights are excruciating. I’m starting to forget things, like details of my life. I keep wondering… Is that all? Is this my life forever now? Maybe it’s not a bad thing, being here forever… But what if this isn’t how it’s supposed to end? We haven’t seen anyone, and there is no sign of life anywhere. No one is around but us.

Micah is quieter than he has ever been. His silence mirrors the world around us. He disappears for hours at a time, even though he’s right beside me. He’s running out of wood to carve, and I’m not sure what he will do with himself then. There are only so many bruises I can endure. We often lie in a still silence, drowning in our own thoughts. We don’t talk about Maison, even though weeks have gone by. We seem to lack the ability to mourn, and the isolation of winter… it’s starting to get to us.

I can usually bring Micah back to me by kneeling in front of him and forcing him to feel me. It usually works, and when I wake up that part of him, we fuck for hours, if not days. Then we slip back into our eerie silence. But we are still here, and we are still breathing, so I suppose that means something. And in the short moments when Micah isn’t looking, I swear I see Maison watching me from the window.

As I pull my hood over my head and run, I can’t help but feel a shortage of oxygen in the air—as if Alaska doesn’t have enough of it. Unseen enemies chase me, lurking and laughing, while I navigate through the thick mist and snow. The air is suffocating, and my lungs feel as if they are full of blood and ash, crushing my heart as I seek out anything to help me decipher where I am. The bones of my hand are breaking into pieces beneath my skin.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“Maison?” I sputter, calling out in the forest.

Concealed among the branches and leaves, he silently waits for me, his whispers calling for me through the wind and pushing me forward.

“Where are you going, London?” A hooded monster blocks my path, the tip of his crooked bow tie sticking out from under his neck. I stop dead in my tracks, catching my breath as I behold him smirking at me, a silent scream on the tip of my tongue.

“Away from you,” I spit, and my spear appears in my hand, or perhaps I was holding it the entire time. My knuckles are white as I grip it.

A dark chuckle. “There’s no getting away from me. I’m coming for you, London King.” He says my name as if he’s a serpent.

The pain in my hand intensifies, and I fall to my knees. Black spirals form in my veins as I watch in horror as the sepsis begins to take over, like shadows eating my hand. Nigel steps toward me, my heart beating violently in my chest.

“Go away,” I beg him. I repeat those words as the wind picks up and the ash falls all around me, grasping my hand as I watch the flesh further decay every second.

When I peer up, he’s gone, and a new hooded figure replaces him.

“Maison,” I whisper, and his smile instantly warms me.

“I’ll protect you, baby,” he says, kneeling. His eyes shift in the night as he blinks at me, his sexy hair falling in his face. A calm and steady aura surrounds him. “Don’t worry about your hand, I’ll fix it.” A flash in his hand gives me pause, striking terror deep within my core. He’s holding a knife, I realize. For a moment, I meet his steady, dark gaze, and my hand finds his face.

It can’t be Maison.

“Micah.” I let out a shaky breath. “Don’t do this.”

His smile turns into a pained frown. “I have to, London. You’ll die if I don’t.”

“Micah… no!” I scream, although no sound comes out, as he grabs my wrist and pushes it to the cold, hard ground, his eyes bound and set on his mission.

I suffocate on my breath, and he begins sawing metal on flesh, giving me no reprieve.

Wake up!

My eyes shoot open, and I wake up from one hell, only to be met with the inky darkness of another. Still stranded, still hungry, still broken. Micah’s wrapped around me, pulling me into him, and his hand goes directly to my heart, trying to calm my shaking body, which is drenched in sweat.

“Calm down, London,” he whispers, his breath grounding me to this dimension. “I’m right here, baby.”

As I regain my composure, I realize he was the center of my nightmare, not the hero I know him to be. I turn to him, straining to see his dark features, and he gently takes hold of my injured hand, the one he’s been tirelessly trying to rehabilitate. He places our hands against his chest, reassuring me.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I can only sob, unable to find the words to express my anguish, bile hitting my throat.

“You need to distract yourself. Try to think about something else,” he whispers in a soothing voice. His thumb finds its way to my brow, and he wipes the pool of sweat and tears from my cheeks with his fingers. “It’s all in your mind. You need to master it, or it’s what’s going to end up killing you. Turn it off, baby. Focus on me.”

“I can’t,” I sob between jagged breaths. I still feel the knife slide through my skin. I still taste the copper of blood as it stings my mouth from when I bit my tongue in my sleep.