Now I am really confused, and I glance back at the tub. Perhaps I am mistaken. Frost demons tend to be sensitive to intense heat, so the steam may just be a matter of my imagination exaggerating the traces that remain present in the air. That sounds perfectly reasonable. It is certainly not impossible. That must be it.
Nodding to myself, I casually head toward the tub and crouch down at its side. My nose wrinkles slightly in response to the heat I can feel coming off the tub. That doesn’t seem quite right for cooling bath water. I tap a finger to my bottom lip as I consider the temperature as I am still uncertain how it could remain so observably warm when she just climbed out of it, but I am distracted by the sound of Shawna’s retreating footsteps and so my gaze shoots toward her and follows her as she heads to the door.
“I am going to go put something warm on before I freeze,” she comments in parting, and she rubs her arms briskly with a little shiver as she leaves the bathing room.
My heart leaps as I am struck with the instinct to hurry behind her, the hunger propelling me. I fight against it and throttle the urge as I circle my neck to release the tension and lift my wings slightly in a small shrug. I will just hurry and get this done, and then I can rejoin her at a more normal and sedate pace rather than racing after her like a lunatic. My wings pop as I stretch them just as I plunge my hand into the water.
At the moment of contact with the water, I freeze in response to the sensation of heat attacking my skin. It is not the usual cool bathing water that I have occasionally emptied for my human “guests.” This is horrifically hot, punishingly so. And suddenly Iunderstand why Shawna’s skin is so angrily red. She is torturing herself as if she is trying to vacation with fire demons!
Despite the urge to rip my hand from the hot water, I bite back a snarl and sink it deeper as I claw for the plug. It feels like it takes an eternity to reach it, but at last, one claw hooks onto the ring and I shift my hold on it so that I grip it completely. Gritting my teeth against the scalding heat of the bathwater, I use all of my strength and yank my arm upward. I pull with so much strength that the bells on my sash jingle with a chaotic volume as I tear my hand and lower arm from the liquid inferno surrounding it. And with it... the plug. The sound of rushing water rapidly draining from the tub greets my ears as I stare at the plug blankly for a moment but the moment it registers, I sink down to the ground at the side of the tub, my tail curling at my side as I release a thankful groan. Thank the dark ones that it came up easily enough. What would I have done if it had required another attempt? Could I willingly put my hand in that water again? I shudder at the thought.
No, I do not think so. I would have had to sit beside the tub, waiting for it to cool for a long period before I would trust the heat of the water again. My wings twitch helplessly. Even the porcelain of the tub feels too hot against my wings. What was I thinking? I will not make that mistake again. Next time Shawna struggles with the bathtub, it will just have to wait for morning, just to be sure; otherwise, I do not think I will be able to rejoin Shawna so quickly after facing the merciless heat of her baths.
My lips twitch in amusement despite myself. This hunger within me must be insane. If she is capable of withstanding such heat, then how hot would her passions be? Would a frost demon such as myself even survive? Why does that not deter me?
A soft purr rumbles in my chest. Truthfully, the pain could destroy me, but the agony of it would be the sweetest to carry with me into oblivion. What more could a demon ask for?
Chapter 11
Shawna
Iturn over in bed, my jaw cracking as I yawn. There is a delicious scent of food in the air, but there are no familiar sounds of Jak moving around in the kitchen, or the sounds of food sizzling as he readies the meals. He doesn’t necessarily cook in the way people do, though outwardly, when he is standing at the stove, it almost resembles our habits. But the way everything seems to come together is by the work of some kind of magic, though often accompanied by the sound of fat sizzling. But right now, there are no sounds at all.
It doesn’t quite hit me at first, but it does not take me long to realize that the cabin is empty. Although the atmosphere is still quite cozy, not only is it too quiet, but it seems empty of the warmth that he brings to it just by being here with me. With curiosity and no small amount of concern motivating me, I quickly roll out of bed and begin to hunt for something warm to wear. If he is nowhere inside the cabin, then it is most probable that he is somewhere outside, so I do not hesitate to collect and dress myself in the warmest things I can find. Just to be sure that I am not mistaken, however, I don’t immediately leave the cabin. Instead, upon departing my bedroom, I walk through the cabin just to be sure, though it is not like there are many places he can be. And, as expected, every room is as vacant as the last.Upon confirming that the cabin is completely empty that I go to the door, pull on my winter gear, and head outside.
Unfortunately, stepping outside is always a shock to my body, so much so that even bracing myself for the cold doesn’t entirely prepare me. For this reason, I wince with a tiny grimace and instinctively recoil a little when the cold air hits my face like a thousand icy shards. It is not snowing today, but the heavy snowfall has been replaced with a sharp cold that makes me want to hurry back into the cabin. The urge is hard to resist, but I fight it back as my concern for Jak grows heavier. He has never just left me before. Slapping my mittened hands together to keep them warm, I crane my head as I look for him in the small clearing at the front of the cabin.
“Jak?”
No response.
The snow crunches under my feet as I leave the front step. Despite the brightness of the sun overhead, the forest casts long, gloomy shadows over the sparkling, crystalline snow. There is something almost menacing about their long, shadowy fingers, but I try not to overthink it as I make my way toward the tree line.
“Jak?” I call again, a pitifully hopeful note in my voice. “Please, please, don’t make me go into that forest to look for you,” I quietly beg when there is no immediate answer.
Still no response. I apprehensively walk along the treeline, hesitating to enter until a spark of some sort of melody humming through the ice catches my attention. The air also shimmers with faint, fleeting impressions of colors that likewise seem entirely improbable, and yet these two things are drawing me to a point where the trees appear to draw back and open for me.
This is completely unnatural and should be setting off all kinds of warnings in my mind, and yet the colors and music draw me with inexplicable power. It is not unlike the power thatdrew me through the woods the first time, though the merry ring of bells is notably absent. There is no chase and lure this time. It is nothing but pure magic weaving around me and through me, drawing me step by step through the woods among the snow-laden trees, their frosted trunks and branches, and the white-capped needles of evergreens, reaching upward toward the cold blue sky. I weave a path among them, following the twining trail of magic in front of me, dancing with its primal song, until it suddenly expands into a wash of light. It passes through me and all around me for a moment, overtaking my world for a breath and a heartbeat before retreating and leaving a vision of only him remaining.
Jakfros. Jak. My own Jack Frost.
He stands among the trees, a picture of elegance and beauty, his pale hair fluttering with the breeze that catches it as his inhumanely pale limbs move in a graceful dance of motion. He moves his arms like a belly dancer, as if he is gathering and moving with the magic flowing around and through him. He is the pure manifestation of everything I just experienced, and I am held in awe as I watch his body bend gracefully with the magic flowing around him.
His body then twists at an elegant angle, his wings slowly spreading wide. With the sun in front of him, the light pierces his wings, revealing delicate, gossamer segments within the webbing between the long joints of his wing’s fingers. They catch the light in a soft rainbow of hues, not unlike the wings of a dragonfly, and they sparkle with magic in a way that reminds me of ice crystals catching the sun. A sweet, pulsing hum rises from him as he twists his fingers in slow sweeps as if painting the air, his claws gliding as they cut through the frost gathering at his fingertips.
