Blizzard Boy ✓

VIII

"Tears come from the heart
and not from the brain."
-Leonardo da Vinci

• • • • • • •

The car is flipped. Skid marks surround the shattered windshield. His passenger door barely hangs from its hinges, bent from crashing into the speed racer moments ago.

"No. No, no, no." The word breaks from my throat like a song on a scratched record. I back up until a crunch sounds beneath my foot.

Oh, no.

He's crumpled on the ground, lifeless. Glass protrudes from his twisted limbs. On his cheek is an imprint of my heel. The snow is stained red, growing redder by the minute. Suddenly, the corpse opens its eyes. They're brown, chocolate brown, the same color that girls from school constantly obsessed over.

Quin.

He gets up, simultaneously tugging out glass shards.

"I'm sorry," I sob. My voice is muffled. "You're my boyfriend, and I did this to you."

At the words 'My boyfriend,' his brown eyes turn ice-cold. "Not anymore," he sneers, repeating my words from earlier that night. "Go find yourself a new one."

I watch, horrified, as his body begins to multiply. His clones surround me and glare angrily. One of them opens his mouth, revealing a pair of pointy, razor-sharp teeth. He leaps forward and sinks them into my throat.

The shriek that erupts from my vocal chords is guttural, almost inhuman. I claw at the ground, unable to feel anything but complete terror.

"Astrid! Astrid, it's okay. You're okay."

Two arms wrap around my waist. My back presses against a muscular chest. At first I struggle, fists lashing out, but the figure forces me to calm my erratic heartbeat.

It was just a dream.

Of course it was, the realist inside me scoffs. Real people don't have fangs, Astrid.

That doesn't make it any less scary, though.

I relax into his tight embrace, breathing in an aroma of coffee beans and cinnamon. We haven't showered in days, and he still manages to smell good. I'm undoubtedly between "wet dog" and "decomposing body."

The thought brings me back to Quin's zombie-like form. A shiver travels down my spine.

"Sorry," I tell Miles, feeling both embarrassed and concerned.

"It's fine." His chest rumbles as he speaks. The arms release me, though we still retain contact in such an intimate position. My dream is replaced by heightened senses. It's hard to concentrate on anything with his breath rising and falling on my back.

"Thank you," I say gratefully, craning my neck to look at him. His blue eyes turn soft.

"Your nightmares," he says carefully. "They are about Quin's death? The car accident?"

"Yeah."

Wait a second.

Dread courses through me. I try to think back to what I've already told him. I did say my boyfriend had died, but the rest?