Every time he fell, he pushed himself up and kept going. His strength amazed her.
The winds whipped at his broad, tawny shoulders, blowing his long black hair around his clean-shaven face. He squinted as if trying to see through the storm.
But there was nothing around them. Nothing but white, barren landscape.
Numb to the cold that plagued him, Astrid followed him.
"I won't die," Zarek snarled, gaining speed as he walked. He looked up at the starless, black sky. "Do you hear me, Artemis? Acheron? I won't give either of you the satisfaction."
He started running then, trudging through the crunching snow like a child running after a toy. His feet were red from the cold, his bare skin mottled.
Astrid struggled to keep up.
Until he fell.
Zarek lay quietly in the snow, facedown with one arm above his head and one out before him, panting from his run. She stared at the tattoo at the base of his spine that moved with his breaths.
Rolling over onto his back, he looked up at the black sky as the snowflakes fell on his naked upper body and leather pants. His wet black hair was plastered to his head. He continued to breathe heavily while his teeth chattered from the cold.
Still he didn't move.
"I just want to be warm," he whispered. "Just once let me be warm. Is there no star capable of sharing its fire with me?"
She frowned at his odd question, but then, in dreams bizarre phrases and events were commonplace.
Zarek rolled over again and pushed himself up, then continued through the blizzard.
He led her toward a small, isolated cabin in the middle of the woods. There was only one window, but the light inside was a bright beacon in the cold desolation of the arctic storm.
It looked so inviting.
Astrid heard laughter and conversations coming from inside.
Zarek stumbled toward the solitary side window. Breathing heavily, he splayed his hand against the frosty glass pane as he stared inside like a small, hungry child standing outside a fancy restaurant where he knew he would never be welcomed.
She came up behind him so that she could see inside, too.
The cabin was filled with Dark-Hunters. They were celebrating something while a blazing fire roared in the fireplace. There was food and drink aplenty while they laughed, drank, and spoke to each other like brothers and sisters. A family.
Astrid didn't recognize any of them, except for Acheron. But it was obvious Zarek knew them all.
Clenching his fist, he pushed himself away from the window and headed to the front door of the cabin.
Zarek pounded fiercely on it. "Let me in," he demanded.
A tall blond man opened the door. He wore a black leather motorcycle jacket with red Celtic scrollwork on it and a pair of black leather pants. His dark brown eyes were scornful and held an extremely distasteful look on his handsome face. "No one wants you here, Zarek."
The blond tried to close the door.
Zarek braced one hand against the doorframe and the other against the door so that he could keep the man from shutting him out. "Damn you, Celt. Let me in."
The Celt stepped back as Acheron came forward to block Zarek's way. "What do you want, Z?"
Zarek's face was anguished as he met Acheron's gaze. "I want to come in." He hesitated and when he spoke his next words, his eyes were bright with humiliation and need. "Please, Acheron. Please let me in."
There were no emotions on Acheron's face. Not one.
"You're not welcome here, Z. You'll never be welcome among us."