Freeze (Midnight Ice Book Two) Read online

  They were invincible.

  Unbreakable.

  “It can be like this again,” Sam whispered, pressing his lips to the bare skin of her neck. A shiver raced through her. “We can be like this again. All you have to do is trust your feelings, trust in us. Leave your doubts behind. Let the wind carry them away, and stay here with me, in our endless midnight.”

  Pandora opened her eyes.

  The world was painted in ebony. It wasn’t the wind pressing against them, but endless smoke, swirls and swirls of inky tendrils rushing past them like a flood of black night. Boundless power. And it was theirs.

  Pandora spun in Sam’s arms and stared into his deep sapphire eyes. They were silently pleading, silently begging. She leaned up, pressing into her toes to lift her body higher, to close the gap. Everything happened in slow motion. His face brightened. He smiled. The darkness spun like a tornado around them. She clutched his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Their mouths moved closer. Their bodies molded together. Their lips touched.

  The world stopped.

  Heat flared like an explosion within her.

  Because his skin was on her skin.

  He was solid. A man. Hungry and passionate and real.

  Not wispy. Not a phantom. Not made of shadow.

  But not enough.

  She wanted him with every fiber of her being, but that wasn’t enough. Because while the woman she once was loved him beyond a doubt, in this life, she was still broken. Still shattered. Still the girl who didn’t know how to fly, who didn’t know how to take such a trusting leap of faith. And to be honest, she didn’t think that was a bad thing.

  She was smart.

  She was independent.

  And she was capable of making the decision for herself, when all the facts were laid bare, when all the choices were clear.

  She refused to be the pawn any longer—not for the titans, not for Jax, and not for Sam. A thousand lifetimes ago, maybe she needed a man to define her. But she didn’t anymore. And that was just fine with her.

  “I’m sorry,” Pandora murmured against his lips, finally voicing her answer to the question he wouldn’t stop asking.

  Sam froze.

  The shadows froze.

  Then, just as quickly, all the power spinning around them closed in like a vortex.

  “I’m not the woman you think I am,” she continued softly, as the darkness wedged its way between them, dragging him away. “Not anymore.”

  Before he could say anything, Sam was gone.

  The shadows were sucked away in the vacuum of his absence, leaving only a thin mist behind, enough to keep her hidden, but not enough to keep her weightless, to keep her floating in the void. She returned to earth, heavy and empty at the same time.

  And then her stomach leapt into her throat.

  Because her toes were stretched over the edge of the cliff, the wind had died down, and her body wobbled over the precipice, unsteady and unsure.

  Pandora had a split second to think, to decide.

  And she jumped.

  Sinking through air.

  Falling. Spinning.

  Head over heels, racing past rock.

  The ground shot up.

  The sky drew back.

  But she wasn’t afraid, because she’d made a leap of faith, only this time it was for herself. She was calm as she slid her eyes closed, drawing her power closer, imagining the spot she needed to be, no longer afraid to face it.

  And when she opened her eyes, she was there.

  Standing at the edge of her backyard, looking at the barren house that had somehow taught her to be strong, surprised to find her father staring back.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pandora stumbled, stepping away as her father’s dark umber eyes bored through her.

  He can’t see me, she realized a second later, taking a deep, relieved breath. He’s scanning the woods. His pupils are moving—slowly, methodically. He can’t see me. She sighed, shaking her head. He never could.

  But even if he couldn’t see her, he was there waiting for her. They all were.

  Why?

  Pandora narrowed her eyes, peering at the ring of titans surrounding her childhood home. From her spot at the edge of the backyard, she spotted six women and men. Her father, a hunter. Jax’s father, Javier, a quaker. A bolter. A tracker. A healer. And a mindreader.

  All different types of titans.

  Each one of them stood with their feet slightly wider than their hips, attention focused out, elbows bent, palms facing the titans to either side of their bodies. The tattoos on the backs of their necks glowed an eerie sort of blue, deep midnight with cerulean streaks, subtle but bright enough to notice. The air around her house buzzed, charged with an invisible sort of energy, something Pandora didn’t understand. Something she’d never seen. Something perhaps only the initiated titans learned.

  She didn’t need to walk around the entire house to guess what she’d find. Six more titans—a mindbender, a weaver, a trident, an alchemist, an archivist, and an oracle. Representatives of the other six types of titan power.

  A mirror image of the titan tattoo.

  A symbol she vividly remembered.

  If she closed her eyes, Pandora could see the image clear as day. Jax asleep in that hotel room no more than two weeks ago, his back turned to her, body slowly rising and falling with his deep, even breaths. The tattoo had called out to her, entranced her. The pinnacle sign of his betrayal, his choice. A brand that could never be removed, beautiful despite the ugliness it stirred within her. She’d reached toward him, stopping when the air became warm, just shy of touching him, and traced the inky lines stained into his bronze skin. Twelve starbursts aligned in a circle, one for each faction of titan power, connected by perfectly straight lines extending left and right and across to the opposite star, representing the bond all titans shared. And in the center, hovering over the point where all the lines intersected, a filled-in keyhole, dark with hidden secrets only fully fledged titans understood.

  Pandora had seen the symbol many times growing up.

  On countless necks.

  Engraved on countless buildings.

  Decorating countless walls.

  But never like this, never brought to life.

  Twelve titans instead of twelve starbursts. A hidden current of interconnecting lines, palpable. And somewhere inside her house, the epicenter. But what did it all mean? And why were they waiting for her?

  Four days, Pandora thought as her father’s voice came back to her. In the prison, he’d said the ceremony would be in four days. But surely, more time than that had passed. Pandora shook her head, counting back from the dash through the woods, the gas station, the truck ride, the helicopter and Vegas, all the way back to the escape from the prison. Her body was exhausted. Was it possible that only four days had passed?

  Pandora glanced up, searching the sky. The sun was already sinking, a dying light. But the moon had yet to appear. And the day before, it had been little more than the barest sliver in the sky. Was that what they’d been waiting for? The night of the new moon?

  But even so, how did they know she’d—

  Pandora inhaled sharply. No.

  Forgetting her father and the titans, she swiveled, then ran over soft soil to a spot ten feet to the left and five feet back, where a box was hidden beneath the dirt near the base of a pine tree. She knew before she finished sprinting that the earth would be dug up, the grass ripped open, the dirt flung free. And it was. At the base of the tree, there was nothing more than a gaping hole, gut-wrenchingly empty.

  Her mother’s brush was gone.

  He was always one step ahead.

  Malcolm Scott.

  The director.

  Her father.

  Always one freaking step ahead.

  Dammit! she cursed and slammed her fist into the heavy bark of the tree. Okay, giving your location away won’t exactly help things. You can figure this out. You can beat him.

/>   Pandora took a deep breath, bending at the knees and brushing her fingers through the vacant space. She’d buried her mother’s brush in this exact spot—there were no doubts about it. Pandora could remember the day as if it were yesterday. She had been thirteen. It was the tenth anniversary of her mother’s passing. Jax was away on vacation, visiting his grandparents, who still lived at the enclave in Spain. Her father was traveling on a mission, as he always was on this day each year. And though the other people in the town glanced at her softly, none offered words of condolence. None offered kindness.

  Pandora had been alone.

  A forgotten child.

  And she’d decided it was time to grow up, to get over the mother who’d never wanted her in the first place, the father who’d practically forgotten she was alive. Invisible. It was what she’d always been, and on that day, she’d decided to embrace it.

  Tears streamed down her face as she pulled up the loose floorboards in the corner of her bedroom, revealing her mother’s brush. She’d kept it hidden for years, only pulling it out on the anniversary of her mother’s death, or on days when she was feeling particularly lonely and afraid and needed the ghost of her mother to confide in. Her father had never mentioned the brush, had never seen her hold it. If he’d noticed it had gone missing on that day after her death when he’d cleaned the house of her presence, he didn’t say. Perhaps it was an oversight, or maybe a small gift. She was too afraid to ask. It didn’t matter anymore.

  She was done.

  Done with the mother who’d chosen to leave.

  Done with the father who’d chosen not to care.

  Done with everyone except for Jax, who’d been blowing up her phone all morning, checking to make sure she was okay, apologizing for not being there for her, telling her he missed her and had bought her a gift while he was away.

  She was thirteen.

  Practically a woman.

  And it was time to put an end to childhood things.

  So she snatched the brush from its dusty spot and put the wooden planks back in place. After carefully opening the box and unzipping the plastic bag, she wrapped her fingers around the tarnished silver handle and swallowed. Her mother’s hair was as golden as it had been nearly ten years before, preserved like a moment in time. But Pandora was different, older. Whereas before she might have whispered to those sun-kissed strands and pretended someone was there, someone was listening, now the metal just felt cold. Lifeless.

  No one was there.

  No one was watching.

  Least of all the mother who’d chosen to leave.

  Had she even thought of Pandora when she’d pulled that trigger? In that split second before the bullet plowed through her brain, had her last thought been of the little girl she was leaving behind? Did she know how lonely it would be in this house after she was gone? Did she understand how vacant her husband’s eyes would become? How empty her daughter’s heart would feel?

  No.

  Because if she had, she wouldn’t have done it.

  She had been selfish.

  And now it was Pandora’s turn.

  Blinking through blurred tears, Pandora ran downstairs, taking two steps at a time, hurtling toward the fireplace already raging in the living room. The flames licked her fingers, scorching hot, reaching for her mother’s brush as though the fire were alive and wanted to claim its prize. More than anything, Pandora wanted to drop the handle, to hear the metal clink against the charred wood, to watch it melt away. She stood, staring into the flames with her hand outstretched for several minutes, hardly blinking as her vision grew orange and burning.

  She couldn’t drop it.

  Couldn’t let go.

  Not yet.

  All alone with no one to see her failure, Pandora pulled the brush into her chest, clutching it against her heart as she started to sob. Knowing Jax was gone, that no one else was around to see, she resealed the plastic bag and shoved the brush back into its box. After flying through her house and into the backyard, she collapsed beneath a tree a few feet into the forest. And then she dug, eyes wide and wild as her fingers tore through the dirt and cries ripped through her throat. Hardly able to see, she threw the brush into the ground and heaved the mud back over it.

  That had been the last time Pandora had seen that brush.

  Barely thirteen, still a child.

  She’d buried her mother, buried her pain, and never looked back. Until now.

  How did you know?

  She ran her fingers through her hair, then rubbed her palms over her eyes.

  How the hell did you know?

  Her father had been away, out of town. Jax had been gone, and she’d never told him. No one, not a single person aside from Pandora herself, had known about that brush buried in her backyard, a last lingering piece of her mother.

  And yet it was gone.

  He must have had people watching me, she realized as she stood, steeling her shoulders. She spun to face the ring of titans surrounding her house. All those times I thought I was alone, there must have been someone watching me. She released a sad puff of air. Not loving me, but surveilling me.

  There was no other explanation, not that it mattered now. Her father had found the brush. He’d read her. He knew she’d left with Naya, with a necromancer, and he’d been one step ahead.

  How long had the titans known she was traveling toward the enclave? How long had they been setting this little trap? The day in Vegas with the helicopter? During one of her naps on Naya’s back when they thought they were being so ingeniously sneaky?

  Or were the titans just waiting with blind faith?

  Hoping they’d guessed her next move right?

  Pandora emerged from the forest, still hidden in shadow, and walked closer. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the strands of blue glimmer hovering in the air, stretching from palm to palm, subtly glowing as they connected each titan to the other. Some sort of magic. Some sort of power. The tattoos gleamed with the same cerulean glow. Everything was connected.

  But what did it mean?

  She paused with her fingers a few inches away from the electric current, from the heat sizzling in that soft blue haze.

  What would happen if she touched it?

  Pandora closed her hand into a fist, resisting the urge, and turned once more to her father. His face was polished stone. Totally smooth. Impossible to read.

  She wouldn’t waste her time.

  Instead, she closed her eyes and drew the darkness closer, picturing a different place—a girl’s room with striped pink walls that had never been changed in twenty years. When she opened her eyes, she was there. In her bedroom. In her past.

  Nothing had moved.

  It was as though her father had simply shut the door after she’d left and forgotten her room ever existed. Her bed was still unmade. Her drawers still hung open. Her clothes still littered the ground, remnants of that night four years ago when she’d hastily spun through her room like a tornado, packing for a journey that would end up so differently than she ever could have imagined. Papers were scattered across the top of her desk. Homework she never finished. Research on colleges. Information about all the cities she hoped to visit, all the travels she dreamed of making. Books lined her shelves, neatly arranged by size and color. And carefully tucked into every corner of her room were photographs. Two brightly smiling faces, over and over again. Two best friends, two lovers, a boy and girl who had never thought their story would end up like this.

  Pandora shifted her gaze to the window out of old habit.

  She half expected to see him through the glass, strumming his guitar, watching her. Half expected him to slide open his door and call out her name. Or hold up his hand with their signal for the tree house and set off at a run, racing her there.

  But his room was empty.

  Black.

  A darkness that made her heart ache.

  Because it was a void.

  Not powerful, but desolate.

  Pandora rip
ped her gaze away, unable to even think his name because the pain was too overwhelming, too fresh. Instead, she focused on something easy, something small. Putting one foot in front of the other, again and again, until her palm closed around a knob and she twisted, stepping free of the memories she wasn’t ready to face.

  But the images ambushed her in the hall.

  The sight of her fifteen-year-old self crouched against the top step, head turned so her ear stretched forward, listening to the hushed conversation downstairs, a girl unaware her entire life was about to change. The sound of her father and Javier arguing, one voice loving and passionate, the other hard and unforgiving. The path her feet made as she stumbled back, awkward and broken and shocked, before racing into the night.

  It’s fitting, really, she mused darkly as she descended the steps to the first floor, trapping each creaking floorboard within her shadows. Fitting that they’d try to trap me here, in my own house. It’s always been my cage.

  The blue currents she’d noticed outside traveled through the walls, simmering at chest height. Pandora followed one, knowing what she’d find before she found it. And she was right.

  Just like in the tattoo, the lines all met in an epicenter. The glowing sapphire turned brighter where the lines touched, creating a sphere of power that hummed in the silence of her house. And placed directly in its center, sitting in plain sight on the dining room table, was her mother’s brush.