Page 25 of The Villains of Winter

His elderly grandfather suffered a myocardial infarction at the heartbreaking news of his daughter’s sudden death. He was buried soon after.

His own father treated him as though he’d murdered his mother and grandfather.

If James dared to allow himself to love anything or anyone ever that immensely again, he would not survive the loss of them. The grief would kill him.

He didn’t deserve their love either. It would only be wasted on a heathen.

Elliott could encounter death at any time, not to mention he turned twenty-one next year. Therefore, James never said he loved him back. He couldn’t bear to lose Elliott. It was better for both of them.

James Wilde was a young man used to everyone loving him, yet he was cursed to never love in return. Elliott pitied him for that. James’s capacity for love and friendship would always be limited.

For himself, Elliott always told all the people closest to him that he loved them. It was something his mother taught him and instilled within him. If you love someone, you must let them know often and without restraint. One day, they may not live to hear your words any longer. Your souls may cease to exist.

The agony of hearing James didn’t love him was easier to endure than the unbearable weight of Elliott never letting his best friend know how loved he was by him. That kept Elliott’s sanity within him.

Yet, Elliott’s eyes betrayed him and prickled with tears against his will.

Somehow, it still hurt to hear James could not love him in return, as if a boar spear had lanced through his heart cavity. Leaking his blood down his chest.

Elliott removed his tie as if that was the culprit choking him, suffocating him, instead of the constricting emotion in his throat. He knew he might cry at any moment.

It arrested James’s attention.

James never could let Elliott anguish alone, that was James’s worst trait, Elliott thought in the moment. He was fiercely loyal by nature.

“I envy your soul. It feels everything. I care deeply for it,” James told him softly in comfort, and it was so close to hearing the words ‘I love you’ that Elliott’s tears willed themselves back. “I care deeply for that soul of yours, Elliott. Anima tua anima est mea. Your soul is my soul. It is mine. You understand that I will protect it?”

“I understand.” Elliott nodded in a wind of relief, as if the words allowed air back into his lungs. Elliott knew James meant the words, every single one, with every inch of himself. “At all costs, I will protect your soul, Elliott.”

James always protected him. However, it was time Elliott protected him back.

He only needed to think of a plan.

Except, he could’ve never anticipated that the plan he would soon concoct would be the catalyst that would cause everyone’s devastation.

​​ CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“ELLIOTT, YOU’RE GIVING ME A heart attack watching you twitch around like that.” Roslyn plucked a bottle of Wite-Out out of her metal drawer as she typed to make herself appear busy. It was the ides of December. Her desk was decorated with little snowmen, ice-frosted pine trees, and a miniature of the Marlborough Mountains that Wulfram made. The rumors were that Wulfram was her new flame. She could hardly keep her eyes off of Elliott’s sleepless jitteriness as his limbs sprung at a rapid beat. He was dissolving.

“Roz, I need to leave the art department.” He handed over the paperwork. His hands were blistered. “Please. It’s killing me.”

Roslyn inspected the lettering as she held the documents up to the light, squinting at the fanciful swirls of the signatures. She was conversational. “Are you heading home for winter break after the hibernal?”

Elliott dragged his hands through his hair, bent over with torture. The last thing he wanted to think about was the hibernal and James’s potential hanging.

To celebrate the winter season, Æscwulf College transported itself into a Jack London novel with rugged adventure at every turn–sled dogs imported from the Yukon Trail of Canada were available for students to cross the small powdery campus with ease; St. Bernard-Scotch Shepherd mixes were offered as companion dogs for hikes to remain calm in the imminent tribulation of the solstice; outdoorsmen led expeditions where daring students could learn to survive in the wilderness per The Call of the Wild. All of the explorations of nature were complete with complimentary rations of 1 ½ sun-dried salmon, a slice of bacon, hard bread, and brackish water as though they were Buck on the Thirty Mile River. There were elaborate distractions everywhere. Elliott didn’t even realize that until his second year.

Elliott had to pretend that he was interested in the chemistry department that Lucien studied in for any other reason than Lucien.

Roslyn handed Elliott a cup of nutmeg-spiced eggnog as he fidgeted. A couple of reindeer sugar cookies perfumed the air in an aroma of freshly baked warmth as she handed him a bundle of treats.

“Elliott, did you go skiing?” She whispered at last. She leaned toward him with a motherly hand on his arm. “You can tell me if you hit the slopes, I’ll help you.”

Elliott mumbled incoherently. “Hit the slopes?”

Roslyn tapped her nose. He shook his head.

Behind Roslyn stood a mammoth glass window that gave view to the snowed landscape where the Sæxhelm Library was buried under snowfall and bright lights were strung over the bookshops blanketed beneath the early snow in the Yuletide. The Nixon Forest was overrun with brash, eager students attempting to learn how to navigate rafts of saw-logs. Freshmen threw snowballs at each other; sophomores tried to learn commands, shouting “Mush on!” to the sled pack of snow hounds. The older students congregated to exchange their wills and final wishes. Near the mountains, the biting wind froze over the river end, nipping every scarf and sweater, ravaging December hats from heads. Already, its ice was frothing, slavering, lurking hungrily for sacrifices.