Page 101 of Stealing Embers
The darkness blinds me, so I use my hands to feel the shape of the stone structure I’ve toppled into.
As far as I can tell, it is a small cave about eight or nine feet in diameter. It’s a giant ice cream scoop hole in the mountain.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten since the day before. Ignoring the physical discomfort, I pat the ground, searching for Steel. I find one of his arms and tug him into the enclosure.
Now that we’re somewhat sheltered from the elements, I sink to my knees.
Steel is still deathly cold. He needs to be warmed up, but I have no idea how. I don’t have anything with me to start a fire. And even if I did, there’s nothing except dirt and stone in this hovel. I have no kindling or wood to light.
The flying sparkle drifts into the cave with us. Its brightness reflects off the smooth stone walls, and for that I’m grateful.
Starting at his arms, I peel Steel’s ice-crusted shirt off and lay it flat on the ground. Hopefully the Colorado air will dry it out a bit now that we are protected from the snowfall. Maybe I can get that sparkly thing to heat it up?
Turning back to Steel, I swallow a gasp. His chest is an expanse of blue-tinted, polished marble, the wound he sustained during our sparring session only a thin white line on his whiter chest. If I didn’t hear his lethargic heartbeats myself, I would swear I’m looking at a corpse.
Tugging my bag off my back, I pull the meager amount of clothes out. They’ll never fit him, but at least they aren’t wet or frozen like Steel’s clothes currently are.
I yank the largest of the two sweaters over his head and fit one beefy arm in it. He’s too broad to get any more of it on him. I tug the excess material as far as possible over his chest, but it only covers one of his pecs. I wrestle his other arm into the second sweater and drape the loose fabric over his exposed skin.
Focusing on the task keeps my mind from dipping into a dark place. Seeing Steel so vulnerable and perhaps close to death causes panic to churn and boil in my belly. But I have to hold it together. His life is on the line.
Sitting back on my heels, I survey my handiwork.
Steel looks ridiculous with the fuzzy pink and gray fabric laying haphazardly over him—but so what? At least most of his flesh is covered.
Now for the lower half.
Without thinking too deeply about it, I undo his jeans and slide them off along with his socks and shoes, placing the garments on the ground next to his shirt.
Keeping my eyes fixed on my task, I stretch a dry pair of my socks over his giant feet. No way am I getting my spare jeans up his legs.
I shake out the thin blanket I had rolled up in my pack and lay it over his waist and legs.
“Why do you have to be so stinkin’ big?”
His feet poke out from the bottom of the covering.
I twist my fingers together and saw my teeth over my bottom lip. The wind screams and forces a handful of flakes into our sanctuary. The flying sparkler swoops down and hovers over Steel’s body, surveying my sloppy efforts. It stops in front of my face, as if asking for an explanation.
“What else am I supposed to do?”
The little imp flies around me and shoves me forward. I land sprawled on top of the frozen Neph. The pads of my fingers connect with bits of exposed flesh.
Shoot. Body heat. That’s Wilderness Survival 101.
Grumbling, I shift off Steel. Wadding the last bit of my clothing—an extra pair of jeans—into a ball, I lift Steel’s head and shove the pants under him. Climbing back on his prone form, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and coil my legs in-between his and do my best not to notice which bits of me are lined up with his.
“If you live through this, you owe me big time. By my count, this is the third time I’ve saved your life. I’m going to start a tab for you.”
The light flits around the cave for a few minutes before settling on the ground on top of Steel’s discarded clothes, and then it dims.
“Mood lighting. Awesome.”
The dryness of my tone would be stronger if my teeth weren’t chattering. Cozying up to a frozen Steel is like trying to warm an ice sculpture.
My cheek rests half on my pink angora sweater, and half on his chilly skin.
His heart continues its sluggish cadence. It’s the only assurance I have that he hasn’t passed yet.