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Frostbitten
By : fuzzybluelogic
Category: X-men Comics > General
Views: 2223 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
He didn't realize how hard he was gripping the key ring until he felt it biting into his palm painfully, or that he was holding his breath until he lungs began to ache.
The keys in his hand jingled softly as he loosened his grip. His head snapped down, startled, his eyes widening, forgetting the man and his campfire for a few seconds.
Was zum Teufel?
The keys, all twelve of them, no longer were frozen with years of rust. They looked brand new, glimmering silver in the muted light of the moons that had retreated once again to the cover of the wintery clouds, and each key was a tiny work of art, etched with symbols and filigree.
He couldn't find the key that had disturbed him so, with its fingerprint.
There had been thirteen keys.
Now, only twelve.
“You might as well come out.” A hollow voice snapped his attention back to the fire, and the man who still sat with his back to the shadows that Kurt hid in, “It's just going to get colder.”
The man continued to sharpen his sword, “And there's worse things than the cold in the dark tonight.”
He tried to think of some reply, something to excuse the way he looked before revealing himself. But after seeing what hung from that tree, he doubted any explanation would opened a closed mind in this dreadful place. He was wearing only his uniform, a simple sleeveless microfiber like top and leather pants ensemble that did nothing to hide his appearance, and his coat did little to keep the wind off him. It had been a warm day, he was lucky he was even wearing boots.
He had his swords, though he doubted he had the strength to use them in any useful way, and he'd somehow managed to leave his bag behind.
He didn't even have his image inducer.
But it was accept this man's offer, or die in the cold.
Or worse.
Kurt -- very carefully and poised to run if need be -- stepped into the light of the campfire.
"Thank you." Was all of could think of to say, as he turned toward the man, who's face was mostly hidden by his hood and the shadows cast off from the flickering fire, what he did see was fair, smooth pale skin and a high cheekbone, and his eyes.
Gott, his eyes.
They were pale as the moonlight that was now hidden again by the black clouds, an ice-blue ringed with black...like a wolf's. And there was something haunting and old, despite the smoothness of the cheek that Kurt could barely make out, about them.
And something familiar.
Kurt sank into a crouch, holding his hands toward the fire to warm them, his golden eyes never leaving the man's wolfen ones. "Thank you." He said again. "I suppose I don't need to explain that I'm a bit lost..."
“No, no you don't.” There was grim amusement in the man's voice, “You're very far from home, aren't you, Kurt?”
“You know my name?” Kurt turned away from the fire, just as the man reached up and lowered the cowl of his cloak.
Gott...
“Of course...you're an X-Man.” Bobby Drake – or a man who once used that name – dragged a calloused hand through his long hair. “I've been gone for a very long time, but I remember you. Never met you before, but I know you.”
Kurt merely gaped.
“I'm the one who summoned you.”
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