Cold

She raised one hand, hesitant, conflict clear in her eyes, and then
quickly brushed her fingertips across the line of my jaw. Her fingers were
icy like always, but the trail they left on my skin was almost like a burn
that hadn’t turned painful yet

----------------

And it was almost warm, her usually icy skin. But I barely noticed,
because I was touching her face

--------------------

I leaned down, my hands already
in her hair. For the shortest second, her lips were icy and hard against
mine.


---------------------

“Do you mind if I look?” she asked as I started to remove the slide. Her
hand caught mine, to stop me, as she was speaking. Her fingers were ice
cold, like she’d been holding them in a snowdrift before class

------------------------

My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something
solid and cold pinning me to the ground.


------------------------

And then a thin, strong arm was under both of mine, and I was on my
feet without realizing how I got there. The strong arm, cold like the
sidewalk, held me tight against a slim body, almost like a crutch.

------------------------

“Then there are the stories about the cold ones.” Her voice dropped
even lower.
“The cold ones?” I asked. Did I look too interested now? Could she
guess that the word cold would mean something to me?

--------------------------

Beauty, speed, strength, pale skin, eyes that
shift color; and then Jules’s criteria: blood drinkers, enemies of the
werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal.

---------------------------

. I listed again in my head the things I’d
observed myself: the inhuman beauty, the impossible speed and strength,
the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the pale, cold
skin.

-----------------

I reached out blindly toward the sound of her voice, and my hand
caught her slim, cold arm.

-------------------

Though her hand was as cold
as I expected, my hand seemed to burn from the contact. Her skin was so
smooth.

---------------------


 As soon as the room was
dark, there was that same electric tension, the same restless craving to
stretch my hand across the short space and touch her cold, smooth skin.

----------------------

Automatically, I reached out to place my hand lightly against her elbow.
She was wearing just a long-sleeved t-shirt, and the cold soaked through to
my hand immediately

-------------------

Carefully, slowly, I
let my fingertips graze the glistening skin on the back of her arm. I was
surprised to find it just as cold as ever

------------------------

Softly she brushed her hand across the warm
patch in my cheek, then held my face between her small, cold hands.

--------------------

I was paralyzed as she suddenly leaned into me, resting her cheek
against my chest—listening to my heart. I could feel the ice of her skin
through my thin shirt.


--------------------

A cold hand rested lightly against the back of my neck. It helped

--------------------------

And then her cold, perfect lips pressed very softly against mine.

-------------------------

She put her hand on my cheek. The blood under her fingers felt burning
hot next to her cold hand

---------------------

“Does it seem easy to you?” It sounded like she was smiling. She
angled her face up, and I felt her nose trace a cold line up the side of my
neck.

----------------------

While she spoke, she laced her cold fingers around my
wrist like a manacle

---------------------

More tired than I realized, exhausted from a day of mental and
emotional stress like I’d never felt before, I drifted to sleep with her cold
body in my arms.

-----------------------

“I’m fine,” I told her. She was leaning away, but her arms were
stretched out to me; one hand was cold on my forehead, the other on the
back of my neck.

---------------------

Earnest stepped forward as well, offering his hand. His cold, stone
grasp was just what I expected.

------------------------

“No, no, you promised,” she laughed, placing her cold finger against
my lips. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

----------------------------

Then her lips were on mine, and they weren’t quite as gentle and
cautious as they always had been before. They moved urgently, cold and
unyielding, and though I knew better, I couldn’t think coherently enough
to make good decisions

------------------------

 She leaned her face in closer to me, stretching up on her toes so that her nose
could skim up the side of my throat. The touch of her cold skin made me
want to recoil, but I couldn’t move.


----------------------------

There was gold around the edges of my vision—another set of cold
hands.

---------------------------

I couldn’t feel her cold hands on my skin—the fire was too hot. But I
heard her gasp

---------------------

She raised her free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I
held very still, recognizing that the chill of her touch was supposed to be a
natural warning, and wondering why I couldn’t feel that. I felt something
else entirely.

---------------------

There was gold around the edges of my vision—another set of cold
hands.

---------------------------

I couldn’t feel her hand against my face—it should have been cool, but
nothing was cool anymore.