“No.”
He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the snow. Everything in me screamed to back away, but I was rooted again, powerless against the quiet intensity in his gaze.
“It’s not pretty. And it’s certainly not the way I’d choose to die. You wouldn’t die right away. That’d be merciful. No, it starts slow.” His words weren’t cruel or threatening. They were precise. Intentional. Informative even.
“It starts with your fingers and toes. A slow prickling. Pins and needles. You try to move, stomp, flex, but it only gets worse. No blood flow. Just pain and numbness fighting each other. Like your nerves are short-circuiting.”
I swallowed hard, involuntarily flexing my hands to make sure I could still move them. Thankfully, I could, albeit barely.
“Then the cold creeps up your legs and arms, burrowing deep in your marrow. You’ll start to ache to the point that it feels like someone’s lit your insides on fire. Your muscles will seize. You can’t control them. You’ll try to walk, but you’ll fall. Again. And again. And again.”
He came to a stop mere inches away from me, his eyes searing into me. Cold. Unflinching.
“Then comes the shaking. Not shivering. No. Shivering is nothing compared to the violence in store for you. Like your body is trying to tear itself apart just to stay alive. To anyone observing, it’ll look like you’re having a seizure. But unlike a seizure, your brain is fully aware of what’s going on. You’ll feel every tremor. Every shake. Every thread of pain as it courses through your body. It’ll feel like thousands of knives are stabbing you at the same time. Like you’re being skinned alive. But at least you can still breathe, right? Except every breath will feel like you’re swallowing shards of glass.”
My breath came faster. Too fast. I hated that his words were getting to me, but I couldn’t stop picturing it. Stumbling in the snow. Legs buckling. My body thrashing in some silent, lonely fit. The terror of it. The helplessness. And all the while, feeling everything.
“But the worst part?” He curved toward me, his face mere inches from mine, not letting me escape his words.
“Yes?” I managed to squeak out, my morbid curiosity engaging with him when every other voice in my head screamed at me to retreat.
“That’s when the shivering fades. You’ll think it’s over. Maybe you’ll be okay. You’ll feel…warm. Comfortable. Peaceful. But it’s all a lie. Because that warmth?” He arches a dark brow. “That’s death putting its arm around you. That peace? That’s your body waving the white flag. You’ll watch the trees, the sky, the snow...and wait.”
I swayed where I stood, swallowing hard. I could feel the weight of my socks again, the raw sting in my fingers, the hollow ache deep in my bones.
“And if something finds you, a wolf or mountain lion perhaps, it might think you’re already dead. Fresh meat for the taking. They’ll bite. Rip. Feed. You won’t be able to scream. Won’t be able to move or fight them off. You’ll have no choicebut to watch them feast on your body. And that will be the last thing you see of this world. Wild animals ripping you apart.”
The bile surged fast, and I fought to force it down.
I hated this.
I hatedhim.
But mostly, I hated that I could still smell him — faint pine, warm leather, and soap.
Hated that, even as he detailed my own dismemberment, part of me still noticed the angle of his jaw, the stubble catching the light, the way his mouth curved when he delivered something brutal.
There was no mistaking it. This man was a monster.
But he didn’t look like one.
Then again, neither did Victor.
I’d learned by now the worst monsters were the ones who hid their true nature.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
And there was no doubt in my mind that was what he was.
“But if you’d prefer that ending…,” he interrupted my thoughts, stepping back, giving me space again, “be my guest.”
The cold sliced at my cheeks, burrowing into my bones. My body was trembling violently now. Just like he predicted would happen.
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached.
“Fine,” I hissed, holding my head high. “But only because I don’t feel like dying today.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Infuriating. Beautiful. I wanted to slap it off his face. I wanted to touch it.
