A Shard of Ice (Black Symphony, #1)(2)
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."