Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
The sight of the white snow looks disturbingly peaceful as horror and anguish begin to war inside of me.
It feels as if I’m being sucked into the past when the realization hits – I don’t see Kingsley.
“Kingsley,” I stupidly whisper.
A feeling of Deja Vu eerily ripples over me.
One breath.
Two beats of my heart.
My carefully patched up world – everything that’s been keeping my sanity from snapping – warps into chaos.
“What did you say?” Falcon asks, and leaning forward, he must catch sight of the look in my eyes, because he instantly kneels down in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head to get out of the paralyzing daze I’m caught in. “Kingsley. I couldn’t hold on to her.”
“Oh, God,” Layla gasps, and I almost snap at her to shut up.
I grab hold of Falcon’s shoulder and use him, so I can climb to my feet.
How long has it been? Ten minutes? An hour?
I struggle back to where my stuff is. Exhausted, I close my eyes.
I take a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Kingsley!”
I don’t bother with the people either making their way to the ski lifts or skiing down the slope. I don’t check to see what Falcon and Lake are doing.
I begin to search, feebly hoping she’s not buried under the snow.
I should have held onto her.
The second I knew of the avalanche, I should’ve grabbed her to me instead of just letting my eyes pass over.
Another feeling of Deja Vu eerily flutters through me, yanking me back into the past.
I could have saved her.
She’s dead because of me.
Chapter 2
Kingsley
Waking, half-covered in snow, I’m blinded by the sun reflecting off the fresh powder.
I let out a groan then lift my head. Not seeing anything familiar, I pull my right hand from where it’s stuck beneath me and let out a painful cry when sharp pain cuts through my wrist. I suck in a couple of icy breaths before I carefully try to turn onto my back, but the movement only engulfs my right ankle in pain.
“Crap, it hurts,” I groan, keeping still until the aching subsides a little.
And it’s cold.
Using my left arm, I push myself into a sitting position and shake the snow off of me. Remembering the avalanche, I hurriedly glance around me. Panic slams hard into me when I realize the snow pushed me into a lining of trees, and I have no idea where I am. I can’t see anyone. A ski sticks out of the ice a couple of feet away, and further up, I catch sight of a pole.
Damn, I lost everything on the way down.
I sit still for a couple of minutes, processing the situation while trying to come up with a plan.
What do I do now?
Looking down at my right hand, I pull my sleeve up to see if it’s bleeding. Luckily, it’s only blue and swollen. I probably sprained my wrist and ankle when I landed on it.
“I wish I had my phone,” I mutter. “It’s the last time I go anywhere without it.”
Making the decision to get moving, I put most of my weight on my left hand and leg and grind my teeth against the pain while I climb to my feet. Once I’m standing, I lift my right foot from the snow and glance around me again.
“Which way do I go?”
I look to the sides of me, and then down the mountain.
“I suppose down is best. Getting off the mountain is all that matters.” I try to hop, but it’s a failure of epic proportions when I just sink deeper into the snow.
“Kingsley!”
I freeze like a deer when I hear Mason’s shout.
Now is not the time to be picky about who saves your ass. It’s not like you can walk on your own.
“Mason?” I call out.
“Kingsley!”
His voice sounds closer, and I turn to my left, this time yelling, “Mason.”
I see a glimpse of black a little ways up, and then Mason appears from behind a line of trees.
Sigh. The beauty of a fallen angel… with a soul as dark as night.
He’s moving fast, sliding sideways down the steeper patches.
I might not like him, and even though he scares the crap out of me, I have to admit I’m glad to see him.
When he’s closer, I feel the familiar nervousness which I’ve become accustomed to whenever he’s around, and I begin to ramble, “I have no idea how I ended up out here. One minute I’m standing on the slope with you, and the next it’s like bam, I’m out in the sticks.” I glance down at my leg. “I think I sprained my ankle. Oh, and my wrist.” I hold my wrist up for him to see, and as I look up, my eyes just about pop out of my head.