He snarled in anger. Damn. No doubt the block for the Mach had been cracked from the subzero temperatures, and if he wasn't careful the MX's engine would crack, too.
Zarek rushed outside to check his generators before the sun rose over the hills, only to find both of them frozen solid and not working.
He snarled again as he struck one with his fist.
Well, so much for comfort. Looked like it was going to be him and the small wood-burning stove today. Not the best source of heat, but it was the best he was going to get.
"Great, just great," he muttered. It wasn't the first time he'd been forced to endure a cold sleep on his cabin floor. No doubt it wouldn't be the last.
It just seemed worse this morning because he'd spent the last week in New Orleans's mild climate. It had been so warm while he was there that he hadn't even needed to use the heat at all.
Man, how he missed that place.
Knowing his time before sunrise was growing critically short, he trudged back to his snowmachine and packed its engine with his parka to help keep as much of the heat around it as he could. Then he retrieved his duffel bag from the seat and went to dig his door out so that he could get inside his cabin.
He ducked as he came through the door and kept his head bent down. The ceiling was low, so low that if he stood up straight the top of his head would brush it, and if he wasn't paying attention, his ceiling fan in the center of the room would decapitate him.
But the low ceiling was necessary. Heat in the heart of winter was a valuable commodity and the last thing anyone wanted was the bulk of it gathered under a ten-foot ceiling. A lower ceiling meant a warmer place.
Not to mention that nine hundred years ago when he'd been banished here, he hadn't had very long to build his shelter. Sleeping in a cave during daylight, he'd worked on the cabin at night until he had finally constructed Home Crappy Home.
Yes, it was good to be back...
Zarek dropped his duffel bag beside the wood-burning stove. Then he turned and placed the old-fashioned wooden bolt into its cradle over the door to bar it from the Alaskan wildlife that sometimes ventured too close to his cabin.
Feeling his way along the carved wall with his hand, he found the lantern that hung there and the small box of lucifer matches that was attached to it. Even though his Dark-Hunter eyesight was designed for nighttime, he couldn't see in complete darkness. With the door closed, his cabin was sealed so tightly that no light whatsoever could permeate its thick wooden walls.
Lighting the lantern, he shivered from the cold as he turned around to face the interior of his home. He knew every inch of the place intimately. Every bookshelf that lined the walls, every hand-carved, ornamental notch that decorated it.
He'd never had much in the way of furniture. Two tall cupboards; one for his handful of clothes and one for his food. There was also a stand for his television and his bookshelves, and that was pretty much it. As a former Roman slave, Zarek wasn't used to much.
It was so cold inside that he could see his breath even through the scarf and as he looked around the small space he grimaced at his computer and television-both of which would have to be defrosted before he could use them again.
Provided no moisture had gotten into them.
Unwilling to worry about that, he made his way to his food pantry in the back where he kept nothing but canned goods. He'd learned a long time ago that if the bears and wolves smelled food, they would quickly pay him an unwanted visit. He had no desire to kill them just because they were hungry and stupid.
Zarek grabbed a can of pork and beans and his can opener and sat down on the floor. Mike had refused to feed him during their thirteen-hour trip from New Orleans to Fairbanks. Mike had claimed that he didn't want to chance exposing Zarek to sunlight to feed him.
In reality, the Squire was a jerk, and starvation was nothing new to Zarek.
"Ah, great," he muttered as he opened the can to find the beans frozen solid inside. He considered pulling out his ice pick, then changed his mind. He wasn't so hungry that a pork and beans popsicle appealed to him.
He sighed in disgust, then opened the door and tossed the can as far into the woods as he could.
Slamming the door shut before he let the dawn light in, Zarek rooted through his duffel bag until he found his cell phone, MP3 player, and laptop. He tucked the phone and player down into his pants so that his body heat would keep them from freezing. Then he set his laptop aside until he could get the wood-burning stove lighted.
He went to the corner across from the stove and grabbed a handful of the carved wooden figurines he had piled there and moved to place them inside the stove.
As soon as he swung open the small iron door, he paused.
There was a tiny mink inside with three newborn kits. The mother, angry at being disturbed, hissed a warning to him as they stared at each other.
Zarek hissed back at her.
"Man, I don't believe this," Zarek mumbled angrily.
The mink must have come down the stovepipe and moved in while he'd been gone. It had probably still been warm when she found it and the stove was an extremely safe place for her den.