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  A SHARD OF ICE

  coming April 14, 2014

  CHAPTER ONE

  UNCHAINED MELODY

  THE bitter, pinching wind stung the Captain’s face as he perched against the glacial-coated bars lining the ship. Even in the twenty plus years of fishing, the sight of his vessel transforming into an icy death trap never failed to mystify him. Hunks of ice, rigid and sharp, weighed everything down onto the deck and its contents, forming a near-impenetrable barrier over it all.

  Then again, that was what you got when you sailed a fishing boat through the untamable sea.

  He stepped back inside, closing the door tightly behind him and making down the tiny, narrow hall. Voices and light danced ahead, rousing shouts and cheers as chips and other random items were scattered onto a small table crammed in the middle of a tightly wedged room.

  “Ice has got to be ten feet thick, easily. Looks like we’re here for the night, boys,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. A round of grunts and groans ran across the small room. Six men of varying ages had squeezed themselves about the table, shoulders and arms draped in thick wool in a vain attempt to shield their skin from the bitter elements lurking outside.

  Shoulders bunched, one of the older men sitting in the far corner reached up to scratch the scruff lining his jaw. He shrugged with displacement. "Only means more time for Jesse here to lose his wife in a game of cards."

  The men laughed, save for a slightly younger one who’d gone red in the face. His voice came out in a half-strangled squeak. “You wouldn’t know what to do with her even if you did win her with your crappy hand.”

  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, the Captain started to shuffle his way about the small space. He paused at the door frame leading to their bunks, glancing over his shoulder. Seated alongside the frame on a metal folding chair, the youngest of their new recruits was quiet and unmoving. Tuffs of slightly curling blonde hair peeked from under his ratty skullcap sporting a hole in the back.

  The Captain placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder, frowning as he stiffened to the touch. “These rats giving you a hard time, Kyle?”

  Leaning back an inch, the boy tilted his head up. Startling, sharp blue eyes glimmered mischievously. He lifted his cards from his chest carefully, exposing a royal flush.

  “Not at all, sir,” he said quietly. “These rats don’t realize a cat is amongst them tonight.”

  The Captain squinted, confused by the boy’s awkward and out-dated choice on words, but laughed it off. Clapping his back, he grinned approvingly. “I remember the first time I-”

  A loud bang jolted the ship. Everyone shifted sharply to the left, elbows and shoulders banging into each other as contents from the game spilled onto the crowded floor. The door to the deck flung open, one of the men stampeding inside.

  His eyes were wide, swallowing his face. “There’s a body, out on the ice.”

  Disbelief colored the Captain’s voice. “What the hell have you been smoking in your pipe?”

  The man didn’t budge. Green started to creep up his face. “A- a body, outside. On a patch of ice.”

  Swears and grumbles swelled in the room like a burst of cellos and drums. Several started to gather their chips and coins, while the Captain and two others rose from their seats and made for the door outside. Kyle followed behind, paying little attention to the glacial temperature leeching at his skin joined the small group.

  Eyes still wide, the man half-slid across the deck, catching himself on the ice-encrusted railing. He flung an arm out over the metal bars, finger pointed in a wild tremor. “Right there! Between those spikes of ice!”

  The few that came out inched closer, exchanging mixed glances. It wasn’t uncommon for one of the crew to go crazy every couple of years, in fact they even took bets before shipping off as to who would crack first under the lonely, inky black skies.

  Tugging his cap tighter over his ears, Kyle brushed past the Captain, bringing himself alongside the spooked crew member. He squinted, peering into the black expanse marred by faint outlines of craggy ice. Shapes began to take form amidst the dark, spikes of frozen slabs stretching as far as the heavens, like knifes trying to cut into the stars. The jagged pieces cradled a base of perfectly smooth ice, spread like a stage.

  Lying in the center, face pressed against the base, lay a girl dressed in a thin white nightgown. Her hair, golden and light, had been fanned out in a perfect circlet around her face.

  Kyle felt the color drain from his face, a new chill rattling in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold. Heat raced up his arms, pain prickling at his skin. He winced, breath puffing like little clouds of smoke in front of his face. It couldn’t be her...

  "Sweet Mary," the Captain gasped, stumbling closer to the rails of the boat. Even against the bitter cold leeching at his body heat, he'd never felt so frozen inside at the sight mapped out in front of him. Staring back at the other men, he screamed. "Don't just stand there, we've got to get them off the ice!"

  The Captain’s words snapped him out of his haze. Without a moment's pause, the men all moved into action, grabbing ropes and hacking at the ice frantically. Kyle stepped back from the railing, biting his lip. He could feel the etchings on his skin returning to life underneath his sleeves. Her presence alone was enough to trigger the memories, to reawaken the spirit within.

  Spinning around, Kyle darted inside the nearest room, grabbing a rope long enough to tether him back to the boat. He looped it around his waist, knotting it and quickly running back onto deck. His fingers shook as he secured the other end to the railing, giving it a final tug to check its hold. Tossing his cap onto the deck, his wild and unruly blonde hair danced around his head like a lion’s mane as he jumped from the boat in a single, flawless leap, landing on the ice soundlessly.

  He dashed across the slippery ground, gliding to the unconscious girl. For a moment, he stood there, transfixed. Her nightgown was thin and sheer, no where near the proper clothing to be braving the cold the sea. Yet she looked perfect and unharmed. Her skin was a fair peach tint; not a single inch of her skin was damaged by the freezing temperatures. Placing his hands under her, he scooped up the girl’s petite frame, cradling her tightly against his chest as he slowly inched his way back to the boat.

  Over the railing, he could hear them chanting in symphony, encouraging each other to pull them up from the ice below. Kyle turned down to stare at the girl in his arms, baffled by her calm, placid composure. His fingers gently brushed away at the stray strands of hair covering her face, grazing her skin with his. The gasp and jolt in his chest nearly screamed from his throat. Pictures flooded his mind like a breaking dam, memories so strong he felt reality slipping around him. Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, his clutch tightened to an iron grasp around her immobile frame.

  With a final tug, the men hoisted them over the railing and onto the icy deck. Kyle dropped to his side, clutching the girl and covering her head before rolling to his knees, then feet. Closely followed by the four pairs of incredulous stares, he carried her inside the ship, shoving aside the quickly forgotten mugs of beer, coins and unfinished card game to the floor. He placed her on the table delicately, but kept a hand linked in one of hers. She was still warm, her heart beating steady.

  Almost instantly, the men all began to fire questions in an uproar.

  "How in the hell did she end up all the way out here?"

  “There’s no other boats but us out here for miles, right?”

  "Where are her clothes?"

  "How long you think she's been dead?"

  "She's not," Kyle spoke with a snap, meeting all eyes with his own steel gaze. "Dead. She has a pulse."


  The room went silent. From the end of the room, the Captain pressed forward. His wary eyes went from Kyle’s steady gaze to the girl. Her chest rose and fell in tiny spurts.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded at the man who first pointed out the body on the ice. “Head on up and radio to base. Tell them we’re coming back with a miracle.” Scratching his chin, he scowled back at the table. "Will someone get a blanket on her, for crying out loud.”

  One of the men rustled in the corner, yanking a thin sheet of wool from a folding chair, but Kyle was already removing his worn coat, draping it over the girl. The longer he stared at her, the more he saw it; the familiar shade of gold in her hair, the way her skin seemed to glow on its own, it was all painfully familiar. Memories jabbed at his mind, shocking him to the point of jolting him where he stood. Could it really be her?

  "I think I know who she is," he murmured, entranced by her unconscious being. "It's the Morgan girl."

  The few men who had stayed paused, silencing any underhanded whispers or suspicions. "She's been missing for weeks, mate. You really think it's her?"

  "Only one way to find out," Kyle replied, a sad smile on his face. He stared at her for another moment before taking her back into his arms, making for the narrow hallway to the set of cots they used for beds. “Make sure he tells base that it might be the missing Morgan girl.”

  They each gave a short nod, moving their separate ways about the small rooms. Kyle brought the girl to his bed, gently laying her down and tossing more blankets over her body. Strings of heat lanced up his arms and legs, burning his body. Freeing his hand, Kyle slowly pulled up one of sleeves, only faintly surprised when he saw the familiar curving black Marks taking shape on his body for the second time in several weeks.

  Crouched beside the bed, he ran a gentle hand over her cheek, marveling at the soft skin. Her breathing had settled into a slow rhythm, no doubt resting in a deep sleep of dreams he couldn't begin to fathom. Small, vivid memories of those exact lips, curved in a knowing smile as she teased him, replayed in his mind. It was too sharp to not be a memory, yet he had never met her, only read of her in the paper the night they discovered her bed missing, a slipper on the roof. She was the Morgan girl, he knew it.

  The sigh bubbled off his lips before he could think twice, and with a roll of the shoulders he rose. He should have known better; no matter how far he ran from the wild memories and visions plaguing his life, the quicker it found him. The girl before him was proof enough to that. Placing a finger on her cheek, the rush of memories swelled to life in his head again. Another, lovely memory rose the front of his mind, a song softer than downy wings on a baby duckling. He began to hum the tune, letting his lips subconsciously form the smile he'd been so desperately holding back.

  Her eyes flung open.

  He stepped back in haste, hands up defensively. The girl scrambled against the blankets and jacket, eyes wide and wild. But she didn’t scream, didn’t cry or shout. Instantly, he moved to soothe.

  "Easy, calm down," he whispered hurriedly. Stealing a glance to make sure no one was watching them, he pressed his hands against her shoulders, keeping her steady. "Breathe."

  She gasped for air, inhaling sharper than a knife cutting through skin. For a moment, Kyle wondered if she had ever taken a breath in her life, or if she was like a princess and his touch had awoken her from an everlasting slumber.

  "What's your name?" He asked her.

  Her eyes ran across the room, panic etched into the very corners of her bright, electric blue eyes. Even in her shocked state, he took her for a beauty. A fallen angel in the flesh, blessed to walk among the normal and fair.

  Or maybe a curse.

  Her mouth moved, a stutter of words colliding on her lips. "Where am I?" Her voice, soft and high, cracked on the last note. When Kyle didn’t answer immediately, her next question came with a heightened fear. "Who are you?"

  Without pressing further, he knew she wasn't playing. He made sure to keep his voice in check, soft and safe, like a lullaby. "It's going to be okay, we're going to take you home."

  She appeared unconvinced, shaking her head with unmatched, terrified fury. Patches of pink stained her face, her skin hot to the touch. "No, I can't go back. He said I can't go back. They'll find me if I do."

  "Who will find you?" He asked, pushing stray locks of the girl's tangled, wet blonde hair away from her face. His hand burned where their skin met. It was fever; the elements had gotten to her, after all. “Who is after you?”

  Fingers touched the crook of the boy's elbow, and he jumped. The girl's hand had wrapped around his arm, her thin pianist like fingers softer than lamb's wool.

  "Your skin... and your eyes..."

  He looked down to where her half-lidded gaze rested, and froze. The Marks were back. He tilted his head to look back at her feverish eyes. The second they met, a small smile graced her lips, eyebrows rising high. Even in fever, she was curious.

  Then the color in her eyes changed, knowledge and recognition flooding them with a strained panic.

  “Kyle,” she breathed, stunning him. He hadn’t said his name, how did she know him? “He’s back. He never died, Kyle, he’s been waiting all along.”

  The words freed from his lips before he could think. “Lilix, it’s okay. Who is after you?”

  Pain shattered her beauty into tiny shards of dimly flickering hope. “I can’t... I can’t protect you. I have to protect you.”

  As soon as the words had left her lips, she closed her eyes, body collapsing into his arms. Kyle cursed under his breath, catching her. He pulled her tightly against his chest, cradling her and pressing his lips in a kiss on her head.

  “Who are you trying to protect me from, my Ice Princess?” He mumbled quietly. “Who is trying to break you?”

  But no one would answer him.

  ALIVIA ANDERS is the author of the Illumine Series, an on-going bestselling series featuring angels and demons. A Shard of Ice is her newest series, kicking off a saga of reawakened souls fighting to save the world from eternal destruction. She currently lives in Center Valley, Pennsylvania.

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