Chapter Text
Martyn yelped at the rocks that fell behind him. His lantern was flickering, but he shouldn’t have much further down to go. The tunnel was narrower towards the exit, and the ground was covered in water. He sighed with relief as he saw the light filtering through the stalagmites and came to the end of the tunnel. It seemed almost metaphorical, but he didn’t have time to decipher what that could mean.
For now, his focus was on getting home. It was still midday, so he had time to get further away from the castle while the Vampires were weakest. Every part of him longed to go to town, but he was sure that would be the first place they’d check. He hated the idea of putting them in danger, but if he could stop there for just an hour…
Decision made, he walked down to the water’s edge, where the rocks were more stable. He frowned at the water, still moving and unfrozen. It was surely cold enough to freeze, but the movement refused to freeze over. Either he swam and risked hypothermia, or…
He couldn’t see another option.
Unless he went back up and used the bridge, he’d have to find a narrow passage and swim. That was fine, he told himself. Martyn enjoyed swimming, and Ren’s house was only a few miles into the woods from here. He wasn’t sure how long it took for the cold to set in, but he could certainly warm up faster than that.
Surely?
He worked his way down, careful of the loose rocks hidden by the snow. Ice was also dangerous, though he didn’t see any. He kept his movements confident and slow, slowly looking up at the river again. It was only a few paces away now, but he saw a tree on the other side. It hadn’t quite fallen, but it was close to it. Its bare branches barely touched the other side, thin until about halfway over the river. It could easily hold his weight, but not until he got there. And if he fell into the river, he’d be pushed further downstream, away from the safety of Oakhurst.
Still, it was better than the cold.
Martyn examined the tree carefully, testing the toughest branches. They were viney and stubborn, but lacked the strength. He found himself closer to the bank before he could even attempt to pull himself up. The bark dug into his palms, soft in the past few months, and a careful childhood. He envied those farm kids now. Maybe, if he’d been just a little more like them, he’d know how to climb a tree.
He threw a leg over the branch, holding his body close to it. Every muscle felt tense and terrified, but he scooted along the dancing limb. His breath came faster as he neared the water. His stomach dragged along the snow, and he couldn’t lift himself further than an inch above. The river seemed to move faster over the large stones, churning and running with purpose. That same purpose pushed Martyn forward.
He stayed silent as he moved, one limb at a time. He understood now why animals would cry when they were scared. That trait had been trained out of him as a boy. There could be no good deals if the others knew what you gained. Still, Martyn understood it now.
He wanted to cry with fright. He’d never been good with heights, and the promise of hypothermia or drowning pushed him on. The tree would snap. Martyn would fall. The snow would push him down.
He dug his fingers into the snow-covered tree, pulling himself another inch. A braver man would move faster. A braver man would do a million things Martyn didn’t. Pappa would certainly have things to say about his actions. How better to do them. But Pappa wasn’t here.
And that was the thought he had as he pulled himself another inch. Two more. Three.
Pappa wasn’t here. The capital wasn’t here. Those large buildings filled with stale dust and shiny walls were a thing of the past. They were behind him, much like the castle and politics that Scott demanded of him. The same laws that killed Grian’s son, took his mates, killed Owen’s sire and lover, even before Scott, they were pathetically reminiscent of the Capital of Martyn’s childhood. And it was all behind him.
Ahead of him? This tree. Oakhurst’s walls. Ren.
He pushed himself further. Faster. The water below him sounded nothing more than a stream now, a little brook that fish swam in. He smiled.
He’d reached the end of the tree and cried with laughter as he slid down the side. He took only a moment to smile, then he took off running.
Tree vines whacked him, bushes pulled at his pants, and Avid’s cloak. His feet burned with his speed, but he couldn’t slow down now. Snow had started falling from the sky, beating him. His body burned with fire and ice, pushing him on. He could barely see a few paces ahead of him, but he knew where he was going.
He ran until he couldn’t. Months of heavy meals and low effort had reverted him to his body of the past, pale and plump. There was a give to his stomach if he pressed against it, instead of the starch muscle of the weight he’d lost in Oakhurst. He had to stop about halfway to his destination and fell to the ground. His body ached with relief, pressing against a tree branch.
Six months ago, he’d been in a similar position. He’d been a lost boy in the middle of nowhere, curling into a large tree, wondering what bear or wolf would be the end of him. Now, he wondered which of his old friends would bring him back to that damned castle.
Shelby? Drift? Avid?
Ren.
That was the difference between the Martyn now and the boy six months ago. Now, he rose to his feet again and ran.
He ran to Ren.
— — —
It was early afternoon when the familiar cabin came into view. He couldn’t imagine what its field would look like covered in snow, or how its shutters would form its icicles. Six months ago, it hadn’t existed. Oakhurst and all its surrounding towns had been abandoned. But it was full of life now, just as the man who ran to it.
“Ren!” Martyn called. He couldn’t remember ever calling Mr. Renhart by his name, but he was too excited now to think about that. It felt right on his tongue. As right as ‘Specks,’ and every possible compliment he’d given to the man. “Specks!”
A light turned on from inside the house. A flash of red and black hair moving inside. Martyn laughed, sprinting and nearly falling to get there faster. Avid’s cloak did wonders to block the wind, but little to the snow. Still, he kept it, if only to taunt the man. The door opened, and Martyn saw Cleo.
They poked their head outside, tilting curiously. Someone inside said something loudly, but it was replaced by Cleo’s screech of happiness. They ran out, forgoing any sort of cloak or fur to cover them from the chill, her pale face bright with delight.
“Martyn!” They called. They crashed into each other, laughing like children. Sobbing like widows. “You’re alive!”
“And I’ve got a story,” Martyn laughed. Then looked over his shoulder. “We need to-”
“Mr. Woodhurst!”
“Specks,” Martyn flung himself into Ren’s arms, resting his cold cheek against his warm neck, his hot fur jacket warming his frozen arms. That jacket was thrown over Avid’s cloak, though Martyn didn’t pull away. He could feel Ren’s chest shake with his sobs of relief, and Martyn clung closer. “It’s good to see you.”
“We thought-” Ren started, then coughed. He pulled away just enough to look into Martyn’s eyes, cupping his icy cheek with his warm hands. “I feared-”
“I thought I’d never get back, too, Specks,” Martyn couldn’t look Ren in the eye as he thought about Grian. The brightness he’d lost as his mates raced out the window in their attempt to escape, him clutching his dead son. “But I’m here.”
“You jerk!” Cleo yelped, a sudden fierceness in their eyes. “I saw you! You left town! You disappeared! We thought you were dead!”
“I did too, a few times!” Martyn laughed. “Avid was right, by the way. Vampires are real. Scot’s their leader, and apparently in love with me? I don’t know what’s happening there. Also, Avid’s in a sort of war with Pyro– they’re both Vampires, by the way– and in love with Scott.”
“That- our Avid?” Ren blinked.
“Yeah, but he’s a Vampire,” Martyn said. “And Scott wants to keep me as some kind of meal forever, so I ran.”
“Maryn,” Cleo blinked, “Slow down.”
“Right.” Martyn frowned, trying to place his thoughts into order. “It’s been a long few months, hold on.”
“Why don’t we get out of the snow?” Ren looked up at the sky. It was snowing harder now, and Martyn was shivering violently. “Warm up by the fire as we figure this out, dontcha know?”
“Good idea,” Martyn didn’t pull away from Ren. He was warm. His jacket was warm. Everything else was cold, freezing his blood and toes. He couldn’t feel his fingers, digging into Avid’s cloak and Ren. He tried to move in sync with Ren, but his body leaned before his body responded. He yelped as he fell, pulling Ren down with him.
“Easy there, Mr. Woodhurst,” Ren gasped, pulling them both off the ground with a strained noise. “Lady Cleo, help me carry him into the cabin. I’ll start up a fire, don’t ya know?”
“Yeah, we know,” Cleo responded, grabbing Martyn’s other arm. The blond didn’t protest, except for a small grunt of annoyance. He let himself be pulled into the cabin and placed on a pile of blankets. Cleo sat beside him, piling the blankets over the frozen robe. “I can’t believe you got out,” they said, fingering the embroidery. “The castle is well guarded, especially if Scott wanted to keep you.”
“Fire’s ready,” Ren said, pulling them closer to the flames.
Martyn sighed, leaning against the fireplace wall. He could feel the ice melting from his hair and eyelashes, finally covered in warmth. Cleo rubbed a towl over Martyn’s hair and helping him shed his wet clothes, while Ren returned with something warm to drink from the kitchen.
“Drink up, Mr. Woodhurst,” Ren said softly, lifting the drink to Martyn’s lips. “It’s soup from last night, don’t you know. I hope you don’t mind.”
Martyn opened his mouth to respond, but instead let in the warm soup. He could taste the vegetables from Cleo’s garden and whatever meat Ren had added and steeped out for Martyn’s bowl. His mouth would’ve watered if it weren’t filled with the soup. He closed his eyes with a soft hum, slurping down whatever Ren offered.
“Easy there, don’t cha know?” Ren purred with laughter. “Who knows when you ate last?”
Martyn pulled away with a sigh. “It’s been about a day,” he said, “maybe a day and a half.” He sighed, pulling the blankets closer to his now bare body. Cleo disappeared for a moment before returning. They had some spare clothes– Martyn decided not to ask where they’d found them– and carefully helped Martyn dress again. “Damn, I’ve missed being warm. They keep that castle frozen.” He leaned closter to the fire until Ren stopped him.
“Not too close, Mr. Woodhurst,” Ren murmured, almost amused.
Martyn only hummed in response. He could stay here forever, buried in blankets and surrounded by Ren and fire. He felt the adrenaline finally settle, dripping like raindrops off the shingles of a house. He yawned, leaning further into Ren’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he said, his voice slurred with sleep.
“Of course,” Ren smiled warmly, so oddly different from the faces of the past few months. “Whatever you need, don’t cha know?”
“I know,” Martyn’s eyes felt heavy, and he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Cleo placed another blanket over him, and Ren’s hand was rubbing small circles over his back. He thought they said something else, but it was muffled. He yawned a final time, drawing in the smell of burning food and Ren’s cabin before he slept restfully for the first time since early Autumn.