Indigo Moon Read Online Free Page A
Author: Gill McKnight
barbs embedded in her dreams and reeled in her last thoughts. Ren.
*
She was buried alive in ice. Clear, crystalline sheets of it covered her, a glazed lid to her coffin. This was an empty, lonely world. A place that existed inside her, far too close to her heart. Mighty forests stretched for miles. She could smell the sharp scent of pine sap and hear tree roots rumble in the frozen earth around her. She couldn’t move, yet through the solid layer of ice above her she could see the sky, a featureless and arctic white dome. Against the endless space her black graveyard bird swooped in lazy circles with the lassitude of a vulture awaiting the feast. It gave a sudden shriek and fell out of the sky onto her, claws hooked, black beak clacking at her icy coffin. The lid cracked and the bird broke through. It ripped at her immobile face, bloodying her cheeks, tearing at the pink of her lips, then it pecked out her frozen eyes—Isabelle jerked upright in sweat-stained shock. She scrabbled at her face expecting to find empty, torn eye sockets. She could see! Her face and eyes were unharmed. It was just another nightmare.
She blinked several times to make sure. It had all seemed so real—the sharp wind and the bird’s shrill clamor all around her.
The bedroom was dark and filled with eerie shadows, but at least it was solid and real. She trembled all over; her feet and hands were stone cold. Her teeth chattered even though her brow was beaded with perspiration and her heart thumped painfully in her chest.
“Here, drink this.” A supporting arm held her shoulders and water trickled into her mouth. No oily aftertaste this time, just pure, cool water. She gulped it down.
“You’re shivering like a leaf,” Ren murmured and laid her back on the pillows. There was a rustle and then a cool draft as the bedclothes rose a little. Isabelle sighed as Ren slid in behind her and spooned around her. The heat that radiated off her was intense. Heavy-headed and sluggish, Isabelle melted back into the warm body and fell back to sleep.
It was pitch black when she opened her eyes again. She was blissfully warm, pushed up against a satin wall of muscle and heated skin. A forearm rested on her waist. Ren’s other arm had slid in under Isabelle’s neck and reached across her front to cup her injured shoulder. Ren’s thighs were drawn up underneath hers. They were both naked.
Isabelle stiffened. She lay and listened to Ren’s breathing. She was sleeping deeply. Her warm breath hummed against Isabelle’s scalp. Her face was buried in Isabelle’s hair, breathing her in, whispering her out. Lungful after lungful. Isabelle twitched. The sweat, blood, and tears of God knows how long were pungent on her body. She was embarrassed by her stale odor and by the intimate spooning, and yet she felt comforted by it, too. She took a deep breath, and at first faintly, then with certainty picked up another odor, a new smell, piquant and peppery. It was Ren’s scent. Isabelle’s mouth watered and her flesh tingled.
Afraid to move in case she woke her, Isabelle lay still and tried to orient herself with the darkened objects in the room. There was a straight-backed chair and a bedside table and lamp. To the left stood the blocky outline of a chest of drawers. She breathed in the comforting scent of Ren’s nakedness.
How did she get here, and why was Ren nursing her with such care? Isabelle’s thoughts were still a jumbled mass of jagged images, torn-up photographs of monsters and frozen wastes, of forests and blood. They all jostled in her head until it hurt. And with the images came whispers and warnings, half-formed thoughts and ideas that slithered away like snakes before she could grasp them. These were her memories, her life…all frustratingly out of reach. They danced around the edges of her mind and teased her inability to chase them all the way home.
If she could relax, perhaps they might creep closer? Her eyes grew heavy as the
*
She was buried alive in ice. Clear, crystalline sheets of it covered her, a glazed lid to her coffin. This was an empty, lonely world. A place that existed inside her, far too close to her heart. Mighty forests stretched for miles. She could smell the sharp scent of pine sap and hear tree roots rumble in the frozen earth around her. She couldn’t move, yet through the solid layer of ice above her she could see the sky, a featureless and arctic white dome. Against the endless space her black graveyard bird swooped in lazy circles with the lassitude of a vulture awaiting the feast. It gave a sudden shriek and fell out of the sky onto her, claws hooked, black beak clacking at her icy coffin. The lid cracked and the bird broke through. It ripped at her immobile face, bloodying her cheeks, tearing at the pink of her lips, then it pecked out her frozen eyes—Isabelle jerked upright in sweat-stained shock. She scrabbled at her face expecting to find empty, torn eye sockets. She could see! Her face and eyes were unharmed. It was just another nightmare.
She blinked several times to make sure. It had all seemed so real—the sharp wind and the bird’s shrill clamor all around her.
The bedroom was dark and filled with eerie shadows, but at least it was solid and real. She trembled all over; her feet and hands were stone cold. Her teeth chattered even though her brow was beaded with perspiration and her heart thumped painfully in her chest.
“Here, drink this.” A supporting arm held her shoulders and water trickled into her mouth. No oily aftertaste this time, just pure, cool water. She gulped it down.
“You’re shivering like a leaf,” Ren murmured and laid her back on the pillows. There was a rustle and then a cool draft as the bedclothes rose a little. Isabelle sighed as Ren slid in behind her and spooned around her. The heat that radiated off her was intense. Heavy-headed and sluggish, Isabelle melted back into the warm body and fell back to sleep.
It was pitch black when she opened her eyes again. She was blissfully warm, pushed up against a satin wall of muscle and heated skin. A forearm rested on her waist. Ren’s other arm had slid in under Isabelle’s neck and reached across her front to cup her injured shoulder. Ren’s thighs were drawn up underneath hers. They were both naked.
Isabelle stiffened. She lay and listened to Ren’s breathing. She was sleeping deeply. Her warm breath hummed against Isabelle’s scalp. Her face was buried in Isabelle’s hair, breathing her in, whispering her out. Lungful after lungful. Isabelle twitched. The sweat, blood, and tears of God knows how long were pungent on her body. She was embarrassed by her stale odor and by the intimate spooning, and yet she felt comforted by it, too. She took a deep breath, and at first faintly, then with certainty picked up another odor, a new smell, piquant and peppery. It was Ren’s scent. Isabelle’s mouth watered and her flesh tingled.
Afraid to move in case she woke her, Isabelle lay still and tried to orient herself with the darkened objects in the room. There was a straight-backed chair and a bedside table and lamp. To the left stood the blocky outline of a chest of drawers. She breathed in the comforting scent of Ren’s nakedness.
How did she get here, and why was Ren nursing her with such care? Isabelle’s thoughts were still a jumbled mass of jagged images, torn-up photographs of monsters and frozen wastes, of forests and blood. They all jostled in her head until it hurt. And with the images came whispers and warnings, half-formed thoughts and ideas that slithered away like snakes before she could grasp them. These were her memories, her life…all frustratingly out of reach. They danced around the edges of her mind and teased her inability to chase them all the way home.
If she could relax, perhaps they might creep closer? Her eyes grew heavy as the
Readers choose
Jack Lasenby
Madelaine Montague
Paige Tyler
Steven Brust
J. S. Bangs
Suzanne Young
Diane von Furstenberg
Scientific American Editors
Jaci J
Stacey Kennedy