Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (9 page)

Whyborne

“No,”
Christine said, sounding numb. “We’re too late.”

Griffin
frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean,” he said looking down the slope to
Hoarfrost. “Everything seems ordinary to me. There are people moving about, and
we still have almost a week until the solstice. Surely the town can be saved.”

“Not the
town,” she snapped. “My site! Look at it, man!”

It was,
I had to admit, a depressing sight. The low, reddish sun was already on the
wane. Even so, it gave more than enough light to see the extent of the
destruction.

The
forest had been cleared for hundreds of yards to either side of the river,
nothing left but hewn stumps and broken branches. Deep holes pitted the riverbanks,
accompanied by piles of raw earth waiting to be sluiced for gold once the
spring thaw came. Scaffolding and sluices crisscrossed the landscape, ready for
use once the water flowed free once more. Ramshackle cabins stood near the
pits, built on the same claims the miners worked. Other buildings sprang up
away from the diggings themselves, although many of them were nothing more than
wooden fronts with large tents behind them.

Even in
the cold, Hoarfrost was a hive of activity, with curses and shouts, the hiss of
saw blades on downed trees, and the omnipresent bark of dogs. The scent of
smoke hung heavy on the air, too thick to be accounted for by the stovepipes
projecting from the cabin roofs.

Beyond
the camp, the mountains rose sharply up, their flanks of bare rock mantled with
snow. The great mass of a huge glacier wended down the valley toward us, a
river of ice creeping inexorably onward.

I patted
Christine’s shoulder, glancing back to see if anyone overheard Griffin.
Certainly it would lead to awkward questions. No one seemed to have, however,
over the wild barking of our dogs in response to those howling from the camp.

“Perhaps
something might yet be salvaged?” I suggested weakly.

“Salvaged?
Look at that!” She gestured rudely in the direction of the gold camp. “The site
is completely disturbed.”

Jack
joined us. “The broken stele has been preserved,” he assured her. His attitude
toward me had altered strangely since the incident at the waterfall. Where
before he’d been confident in speaking to me, now he seemed uncertain, and I’d
caught him watching me thoughtfully several times.

“There
will have been more to the site than the damned stele,” Christine bit out. “Even
if it was the only monument, people can’t go anywhere without leaving some sort
of detritus. Broken projectile points. Bones from dinner. Beads spilled from a
necklace. Pottery like the Eltdown Shards. All of which was desperately
important in understanding who they might have been, and is now gone. Gone! And
for what? Most of these men will leave here no richer than when they came.”

“There’s
nothing to be done now, dear heart,” Iskander said soothingly. He took one of
her hands in his. “Let’s proceed into the camp and see what awaits us.”

The
corners of her mouth had gone white, but she took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.
You’re quite right, Kander. We’ve experienced setbacks before, and we’ve
overcome them, just as we will now.”

Work
stopped as we drew close; no doubt word of our coming preceded us. Men filthy
with mud climbed out of the pits, or else stared at us from the rope and pulley
system used to winch the pay dirt up from the bottom of the shafts. A second
look showed not all were men; women worked the claims as well, alongside
husbands or each other.

Our
journey ended in what passed for the town here in the wilderness. We trudged
past the low row of mixed tents and buildings. A post office rubbed shoulders
with a gambling hall, which sat immediately beside a hovel carved out of the
hillside and advertising itself as a hotel.

Dear
lord, if that were to be our lodgings, I’d burrow into a snow bank with the
dogs.

“Twenty-five
cents for waffles and coffee!” Christine exclaimed. “Robbery!”

“A good
meal can be hard to come by out here,” Jack replied with a shrug. “A lot harder
than gold dust. When you can dig money out of the ground, it begins to have less
value to these men than a hot meal or a tin of tomatoes.”

“Hmph.”
Christine’s dark brows lowered in disapproval. “I hope at least the working
ladies are getting paid well for their time.”

Jack
looked shocked at her comment, but I rather thought she had the right idea.

“Which
claim is yours?” Griffin asked.

Jack
pointed. “The one with the tent over it. We put it up to protect the find.”

“At
least there’s that,” Christine muttered.

Griffin
frowned. “And you said Nicholas took up running the saloon while awaiting our
arrival?”

“Yes—there
it is.” Jack indicated a ramshackle building with THE NUGGET SALOON on a crude
sign out front. “He realized pretty quick we could make more money selling
whiskey and running gambling tables than we could hope to haul out of the
ground. We’d already intended to hire a few men to work our claims in our
place. The stele changed our plans, of course. Come on—he should be
inside.”

The
saloon was murky after the brightness of the snow, even given the dim light of
a short winter day. An iron stove heated the building’s interior, at least in
its immediate surroundings. Two men sat at one of the crude log tables, and a
third behind a rough-cut counter, but otherwise it seemed deserted at the
moment. Parkas, fur pants, and moose hide gloves hung from the rafters near the
stove to dry, and the air smelled strongly of wet wool and sweat.

“Nicholas!”
Jack called as he knocked the snow off his boots. “I’m back, and I’ve brought
the Ladysmith expedition with me.”

The man
behind the counter looked up. He was older than Jack, perhaps in his late
thirties, the sandy hair beneath his bowler hat touched with gray. But his body
remained sturdy, shoulders straining at his coat.

A bright
smile immediately creased his weather-seamed face. “Jack! Well done, well done.”
He emerged from behind the counter to shake hands with his partner.

Jack
introduced each of us, and Nicholas Turner shook our hands with great
enthusiasm. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said. “I’d wager few camps in Alaska
have entertained such eminent guests, Dr. Putnam, Dr. Whyborne.”

Christine
looked somewhat mollified. Why Turner thought me eminent, I didn’t know, unless
he was unusually familiar with philology. Or perhaps Jack had told him my
father ran one of the biggest railroads in America. That seemed more likely,
although somewhat depressing personally.

“You
must all be exhausted after your long journey,” Turner went on. “I’ll show you
to your cabins.

“I’d
like to see the stele,” Christine said.

“First
thing tomorrow,” Turner agreed with a nod. “For now, even though most of our
work takes place in the dark, Hoarfrost still marks the end of the day with
sunset. The saloon will fill up soon, and I won’t be able to get away. I
confess I’d like to be on hand when you first see the stele.”

Blast.
We didn’t have much time left—only six days until the seals became their
weakest, and we still had no idea what the umbra might be. Let alone from where
we could expect it to emerge—through a tear in the veil to the Outside,
from beneath the stele itself, or from somewhere else. I exchanged a glance
with Griffin, but what could we do? Hopefully a few hours wouldn’t make much
difference.

Christine
seemed no happier than us, but she conceded with a nod. “Very well, Mr. Turner.
We shall do things your way.”

Griffin

Our
cabin was small but well built, the windowless walls of thick logs sealed
against the cold outside. The only furniture consisted of a bunk, both upper
and lower bed wide enough to accommodate two men; four chairs whose seats were
made from logs split in half and sanded, and a rough table.

Whyborne
lit the Yukon stove with magic while Iskander and I transported our belongings
from the sleds to this tiny building. By the time we finished, the little cabin
had warmed nicely. Whyborne took out his river stones and heated them with his
hands, before tucking them into the sleeping bags and fur robes we’d spread on
the beds.

Iskander
glanced at the door, then at us. His white teeth flashed as he bit his lip. “I’m,
ah, going to find Christine,” he said. “I imagine we’ll dine at the restaurant.
She’ll complain of the expense, but a hot meal of something other than beans
and bacon will do wonders for us all.”

“Should
we help you look for Christine?” Whyborne asked innocently.

I
restrained the urge to kick his ankle. Iskander’s bronze face flushed darker,
and he shook his head. “No, it’s…no. I’ll be back later.
Much
later.”

He fled.
I shook my head with a chuckle. “A good fellow,” I remarked, as I finished
making our bed. “Not entirely comfortable with us yet, I think, but I won’t
fault him for his thoughtfulness.”

Whyborne
blinked at me. “What do you mean?”

I turned
from the window and stalked toward him. “Iskander went out of his way to let us
know he wouldn’t be back for some time. Freeing us for…other things.”

Whyborne’s
eyes widened, and his cheeks went scarlet. “I…you mean…if we…he’ll know?”

“
Assume
is the word I’d use.” I laughed at his horrified expression. “Really, my dear,
I’m fairly certain neither he nor Christine are under the impression our
relationship is celibate.”

“Well,
no, but that’s in general.” Whyborne flapped his hand vaguely. “This
is…specific.”

He sat
near the stove, on one of the log chairs. I dropped to my knees in front of
him, and rested my hands on his wool trousers. He’d already stripped off his
parka, sealskin boots, and fur stockings, and hung them to dry. “And?” I
prodded. “Does it matter so very much? Shall we leave the cabin and follow
along behind Iskander, when we could be doing something far more entertaining?”

His gaze
went to my lips, and he licked his own. “No,” he said, and lunged forward to
kiss me.

I
returned his passion. The long days and nights in close proximity, without so
much as a caress, left us both wild with longing. He bit at my lips, and I shoved
him back, plundering his mouth with my tongue as I straddled his lap. I sank my
fingers into his spiky hair, which hadn’t fared well trapped beneath the
fur-lined hood.

“God,”
he mumbled when I let him have the breath and space to speak. “Let’s get out of
these clothes.”

We
stripped hastily. Although the inside of the little cabin was warm compared to
the air without, the chill still stung my exposed skin. But it was worth it to
see him, pale and long and beautiful. The scars running from the fingers of his
right hand all the way to the back of his shoulder had faded slightly over the
course of the year, but still traced patterns of pink frost on his skin.

I’d been
with men and women whom society would consider more attractive. But I’d wanted
him from the moment I’d first seen him, and his gangly limbs, slender build,
and absurd hair never failed to move me.

I
scrambled up the short ladder to the top bunk. As Iskander had been polite
enough to offer us some time alone, it only seemed right to leave him the more
convenient of the two. Whyborne climbed eagerly after me, ducking beneath fur
covers heated with stones.

The feel
of his skin on mine again after so long drew a moan from me. He pressed tight,
flinging one leg over my hip, sliding his arms about me. His cock pushed
against my belly, hard and hot.

“I
missed this,” I murmured to him.

“As did
I.” He kissed me deep, and I clung to him, our bodies rubbing together.

I slid
my hand down his back to clasp one buttock, pulling him even tighter. We both
stank of the trail, but I breathed deep, letting the scent of salt and
ambergris fill my lungs. I’d never understood why he always smelled of the
ocean, until I’d learned of the inhuman blood in his veins.

I loved his
scent. The feel of his skin. How he gasped and shuddered when I put a hand to
his cock.

I loved
him.

It had
been too long for either of us to want something slow. We rutted against one
another, kissing and caressing, drinking in one another’s feel and taste and
scent. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping gently, and he kissed me
hard. I parted my lips, let him fuck my mouth with his tongue, even as his hips
ground his cock into my belly. He was heat and passion and magic-scarred skin,
my lover, my husband, and the world narrowed to only the two of us here in this
bed. All of my worry and grief, that Jack would discover us, that the umbra
might prove to be something too powerful for us to face, vanished. There existed
only this moment, and us.

I bit
back a shout as I spilled, all of it too much. His grasp tightened on my hair,
forcing me to look at him as I spent between us. The intimacy of the act wrung
a second, smaller burst of pleasure out of me. His kiss-swollen lips parted,
and for a moment I thought he’d speak. Then he hauled me close, teeth biting
hard into my shoulder to muffle his cry as he gave himself over to his own
climax.

We lay
in each other’s arms for a long time, just breathing and drinking in the
sensation of being together. But gradually the heat faded and the punishing cold
threatened to slip in again.

“We
should clean up and join the others for dinner,” I said. My head rested on his
shoulder, and I pressed a kiss to the skin in easy reach.

“Probably.”
He didn’t sound happy about the prospect. A moment later, his lips brushed my
forehead. “I love you. You…you know I do, don’t you? This was wonderful, but it’s
not the only thing binding me to you.”

Sometimes
I truly wondered what thoughts moved through that brilliant mind of his. “Of
course—you’re being absurd.” I propped myself up on my elbow and took his
left hand in mine, so our rings gleamed in the dim light of the oil lamp. “Why
do you say such things?”

He
looked vulnerable, in a way he never allowed anyone else to see. “I just…we’ve
never gone this long without making love, and I didn’t want you to think it had
any bearing on my affection.”

I
snorted. “I don’t know…wasn’t one of your vows to love and cherish me, so long
as I satisfied you sexually on a regular basis?”

“Beast.”
He thumped me lightly on the shoulder. But I’d gotten him to smile. “As you
said, we should find dinner.”

“In a
moment.” I rolled over to straddle his body, then pressed a tender kiss to his
mouth. “I love you, Ival. And I’m thankful to have you here with me.”

He
returned the kiss. It edged toward passion, and after a moment, we pulled apart
again with dual sighs. “Let’s go,” he said. “If Iskander returned and found
us…well. I don’t think I could ever look the man in the eye again.”