I
GABRIEL BLACK cursed as the toaster coughed up two slices of blackened bread and the smoke alarm immediately kicked in with an ear-piercing shriek. He moved to the French windows, quickly unlocking and drawing them open, emitting a burst of freezing night air, before grabbing a dish towel and wafting it under the smoke alarm vigorously. As he did so, a flash of black registered at the periphery of his vision.
He turned around in surprise just as a figure sidled through the windows, leveling a gun at him. His mouth dropped open, icy fingers creeping down his back, and not from the cold air. The man was a little shorter than him and not as muscular. He wore a thin shirt and jeans, despite the weather outside being at least ten below, if not more. He was covered with a light dusting of snow. It was on his boots and in the jet-black hair that fell untidily over his face. The face, which was milk-white and startlingly attractive, dominated by huge, jade green eyes and pouting lips, had a few days’ worth of dark stubble lining the jaw. The nose and lips were blue with cold. The man trembled violently, his teeth chattering together.
“Knock that off,” he snapped at Gabriel, gesturing to the annoying smoke alarm, his accent Southern Californian, like Gabriel’s.
Gabriel, numb with shock, did as he was told, wafting the towel again until the alarm went off abruptly, leaving a sudden silence broken only by the sound of the intruder slamming the windows shut and pocketing the key. The two men faced each other across the kitchen. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Gabriel demanded, brave words considering that the nut job in his house held a gun.
The man moved quickly to him, his face stony. “You don’t get to ask questions,” he all but sneered. “Upstairs now. I want some dry clothes.” He prodded Gabriel hard in the chest with the gun to make his point.
Gabriel turned around and moved woodenly through the living room to the spiral staircase. His mind whirled as he climbed. He was miles from civilization, stuck in the middle of the Alaskan woods. Who exactly was this man and was he going to kill him?
He entered his bedroom and turned around to look at the man, who gestured toward the wardrobe. “Open it,” he demanded. “Get me out pants and the thickest sweater you got.”
Gabriel did so, choosing jeans and a hooded fleece-lined sweater that he wore when he needed to chop logs for the fire.
“And underwear and socks,” the man directed. “I’m wet through.”
Gabriel moved to the chest of drawers and got out the items. He was damned if he was going to give away his best boxers, so he gave the intruder some old ones. The man didn’t comment, just indicated with his eyes for him to place the lot on the bed.
“Turn around,” he commanded. “Don’t even think of trying anything because I swear I will shoot you in the head before you can move.”
On legs of rubber, Gabriel did as he was told. There were the sounds of the man kicking off his boots, a zip sliding down, the rustle of denim. He waited for the man to dress.
“Back downstairs,” he said behind him. “I need a hot drink.”
Gabriel turned around. The stranger looked different in Gabriel’s own clothes, softer and less intimidating, even though the expression on his face was hostile. “Move!” he demanded when Gabriel did not immediately comply, once more leveling the gun at him.
Gabriel reluctantly led the way back downstairs and moved to the work surface. “Coffee?” he asked coldly.
“Yeah,” was the reply. Gabriel drew a mug off the stand and reached for the coffee pot. For a moment he looked at the freshly brewed liquid inside. Could he throw hot liquid over another human being? He wondered. Yes, he thought, if that man was going to kill me. But just how big a threat was this man who had invaded his house?
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” snarled the man suddenly, and Gabriel’s dark eyes darted to him in surprise. “Get over here now, pretty boy.”
