Sunlight's Kiss

1

Never, in all of his life, could he remember being so miserably cold. On a good day he thrived in frigid temperatures, even enjoyed them. As a Demon Runner who walked the coldest levels of Hell on a daily basis, freezing climates were his norm. Yet here, in the bleak darkness, he hunched, pulled his coat tighter, and hoped the seams held strong.

When he’d left to track down his mark, his soft leather duster had been more than warm enough, but then again, he never expected to end up here in this godforsaken place. With each angry lash of frigid wind, he wondered if his bones might shatter like ice beneath the strike of a hammer.

As he stumbled through mountainous drifts of snow, vicious flakes pelted his face and clung to his long hair. The bits of snow and ice refused to release their hold and like devious sprites they snuck their way beneath his coat, biting and nipping at his skin, increasing his misery by the second.

Of all the places in the universe his employers could have sent him, they had to pick Limbo, the borderlands encircling Hell. Year-round the freezing temperatures competed with those of sub-zero Antarctica and won. Day or night, the realm was shrouded in darkness and only the barest traces of light glimmered in the distance. Through the combined darkness and blowing snow, he barely saw a few scattered boulders and skeletons of what might have once been trees against the backdrop of a faint glow.

He knew there would be no help coming as he looked to his left where a weak trace of gray light haunted the horizon. Hell awaited him just past the borders of the bleak landscape, but even if Hell’s residents took notice of his plight, they sure as sin wouldn’t lift a finger to help. It was just as well. He’d always worked alone and always would. Too often those at your back carried sharp blades and wouldn’t hesitate to sink them into your back when least expected. Betrayal had happened before, and he had no doubt it would happen again.

The urge to look in the opposite direction was a sly, seductive pull, but he denied himself. There, beyond the faintest wisp of deep blue light, lay the gate to Earth.

No matter where one stood, the lights appeared to be the same distance apart. Yet, if they walked in the direction of the blue light, they could walk for years and never reach their destination unless they had the blessing of an elder god. Any ideology would do.

If the stranded being walked in the direction of Hell, no matter how far the dim light appeared, they would reach their destination in just a few short minutes and immediately regret their mistake. There could be no going back. Ever. Hell possessed a one-way door to a real-life horror fest.

Today he not only had the blessing that allowed him to come and go to Limbo, but it was a direct order from one of his employers, the three Sisters of Fate. The three goddesses influenced nearly every event that occurred on Earth. Clotho, the Spinner, created life. Lachesis, the Allotter, measured each and every thread of life. Atropos was the Thread Cutter and chose the time of a being’s death. Combined, the three held more power than most other gods and goddesses combined.

Clotho refused to tell him what his latest assignment was or why he had been sworn to secrecy. He rarely got to see his brothers-in-arms in passing let alone have a real conversation. Why did she think it was necessary for him to vow his silence? He spent nearly all of his time alone. A Demon Runner’s life defined the word solitude. Roaming Unearth and serving the Fates left little or no time for themselves.

Clotho assured him that this would be a simple task. Yet, every instinct he had told him to tread lightly and that no matter what assurances she gave, he needed to be wary. Somehow he knew this one would change his life forever.

The question was how, and how much worse could they make his life?

Calysta had a tip for all those mortals back on Earth who wished for immortality. They could have it. In fact, they could have hers if they really wished. If it weren’t for the blood of a goddess running through her veins, she could have died long ago and moved on to her final resting place. Then she would have been spared this excruciating torture.

With the skirt of her favorite gown torn and shredded until not much more than a few wisps of fabric remained, she was nearly nude. How she’d loved the soft peach color. The lovely shade had been a rare treat in the sterile white and gray temple she’d been raised in.

With nothing else to wear, not a coat or even slippers to cover the battered soles of her feet, every cell in her frozen body screamed with misery. Her hands and feet, which were almost frozen solid, would never be the same again. Ages ago, after they’d lost all feeling, she’d had no choice but to crawl through the rough snow. At least it felt like it had been years ago and not only a few days that had passed. With the perpetual darkness it was impossible to tell how long she’d been in Limbo. She might have been here mere hours or several days.

No, this wasn’t nice, pretty, fluffy snow begging to be turned into snowballs and snow angels. It was harsh and razor sharp on her exposed feet, and then her hands and knees, as she’d crawled through the endless dark, searching for some semblance of shelter.

When she’d first arrived, she faintly recalled ancient stories about the cursed realm of Limbo that she’d transferred from stone tablet to paper centuries ago. She’d tried her best to heed their warnings. As ridiculous as they seemed, it was all she had to go on. The old bogey tales warned unfortunate travelers that trying to reach the apparent safety of Earth’s blue light wasn’t much better than heading for Hell.

She’d had no other option but to forge ahead on a straight path that led her between the two lights until she’d finally come to a rocky formation that weakly resembled a small cave. When she’d walked this path the first time around, she’d missed the low crevice from her standing height. Maybe something good had come from her crawling like an infant. She gladly crawled inside what wasn’t much more than a crack between two jagged boulders. Curling into a tight ball, she escaped most of the howling winds.

It would be best if she kept moving, kept the blood flowing through her veins, even if it had become slush, but she couldn’t make herself care. Limbo bled every ounce of willpower from her body. She had no reason to continue when all that awaited her was more pain and a cruel landscape that would play out like a never-ending treadmill, continuously repeating itself.

All she could do was wait and hope against hope that someone came for her before she turned into an immortal ice cube. Unfortunately the chances of that happening were beyond miniscule. No one had probably even noticed she was gone.

One moment she’d been at work in the Library where she’d been engrossed in the story of a young woman who had been living all alone in a harsh city. Claire had no family or close friends to rely on. She worked every night in a restaurant and spent every day at a university. She didn’t have anything except a steeled determination to follow her dreams, no matter how long it took. Calysta had been awed by the strength of the young woman’s will. She was so petite and quiet, but so very strong.

Calysta couldn’t help but admire Claire. She’d been distracted by the living story one moment and then thrust here into Limbo before she could blink her eyes.

Her aunts would say that was what she had asked for by being the quiet little mouse she was, a near invisible shadow that no one ever noticed, working alone among the scrolls and books of the Library. But she was the Fates’ record keeper. What else was she to do but record history as it happened?

Maybe, while she waited and froze solid and hoped, she could figure out why, out of all the beings in Unearth, her mother had been the one to abandon her to this fate.

2

For the first time in his life he considered giving up on an assignment. This situation was hopeless and Clotho must have known it. He’d searched for what felt like days and the landscape had repeated itself at least twice, not that there was much of it to see. Ahead, he thought he saw a large, jumbled pile of boulders and unless he was mistaken, this would be the third time he passed them. He’d come back to his starting point.

Had they’d sent him on a wild goose chase? What being, even a fugitive of the worst kind, would intentionally hide in Limbo? Really, it made no sense. Yes, it was a great hiding place, but it was beyond miserable here in the freezing darkness. Additionally, there was no way out unless one held an elder god’s favor. And how many fugitives had the favor of a god?

He’d also asked himself repeatedly why Clotho alone had sent him on this quest. Normally when the sisters sent him on a job, all three were present. In all of his memory, this was the first time he could recall an assignment given by just one of the three.

He’d had enough of her game, whatever it was. He forced himself to forge ahead through quickly growing drifts of snow and head for the pile of boulders. There he would allow himself to call a halt to this ridiculous search.

Clotho hadn’t even told him who or what his assignment was. Who knew what kind of rabid demon or mad beast he’d have to bring down? And usually when he brought in a rogue, his next step was to deliver his mark to the sisters. Why was he expected to contain and watch over this one? Something more than the air in Limbo stank to high heaven.

When he reached his goal, he could then honestly say that he had made two full trips around this cursed wasteland. The stench alone was enough to sicken him, a Demon Runner who had trudged through some of the darkest, foulest corners of the Unearth.

Yet, as he neared the odd rock formation, he caught the faintest whiff of a feminine scent that reminded him of orange blossoms. It was official. The cold has frozen my brain cells. But as delusional as this place may have made him, he’d never backed down from an assignment before.

The boulders were almost within his reach as his heavy feet drug through the snow. He had no choice but to gather his waning strength and travel the last few feet in front of him. One leaden foot in front of the other, he staggered to the boulders. Even for all his strength, every ounce of his stamina had been stripped away by the whipping snow and biting cold. With each breath he took, the tissues of his lungs froze. He braced his arms on the tallest of the rocks and leaned in against the cold stone to rest for just a moment. In the dark his long, blond hair looked dank and dismal as it fell into his face. And the stench? He did his best to ignore the gag-inducing smell.

Regret haunted him. Failure was not something he was familiar with and he didn’t like it the least little bit. The last time he’d failed to bring in a mark had been over four hundred years ago. The thought of those holier-than-thou witches looking down their noses at him for not completing a job pissed him off. Seriously pissed him off.

Just as he stood tall and gathered himself to leave, he caught the slightest whiff of that delicious scent. A faint tickle of something sweet and feminine, it called to him. Just when he thought he might be able to pinpoint it, a vicious gust of wind ripped it away. He shook his head. It was time to call it quits.

For just the briefest moment the shrieking wind paused. A quiet whimper whispered just below him. The quiet hint of sound couldn’t have startled him more if it were a cannon blast. Cautiously, he knelt down and looked into the waist-high hollow. It was little more than a large crack between two of the largest boulders. Barely visible in the darkness and wedged tightly inside was a scrap of a woman curled into the tightest ball he’d ever seen.

Near nude and shivering harder than he’d have thought possible, the small figure nestled in the shadows tugged on his heartstrings. Well, if he’d a heart, she’d have tugged at them. Not one of the Fates’ enforcers had a heart or a conscience. Lack of compassion was a prerequisite. Regardless, he couldn’t imagine the misery she must have been in.

What would he do with the poor creature? He couldn’t leave her here. He didn’t have the slightest idea who she was or what she was doing here, but abandoning her was not an option. How long had she been here?

Not wanting to startle her, he stood up and stomped his boots right outside of the little hollow she was in.

No response.

He kicked at a loose stone near the entrance and crouched again to look inside the darkness. Nothing.

Hello? The howling wind and lashing snow ripped the word from his mouth.

He leaned in closer, out of the worst of the wind, and tried again, louder. Hello? He placed a light touch on a bare shoulder and then gave it a slight shake.

Nothing.

Pulling her slight weight into his arms and tucking her trembling form tight against his chest, he stood. He did his best to wrap his coat around her. He’d pressed an ice cube to his heart.

She needed warmth desperately. Where could he take her and keep her safe until he figured out what to do with her? And what was he going to do when Clotho asked why for the first time in his life he hadn’t finished his mission?

3

He placed the rigid little female on his couch, tore off his coat, and tucked it tight around her still form. She made no sound or effort to move and that concerned him more than if she’d wakened screaming and scratching at his eyes.

Illuminated by the moonlight, she lay on his couch with his coat tucked up under her chin. He wasn’t sure which she resembled more, a fae pixie or a dirty, wet rat. Before he’d covered her he’d seen glimpses of an attractive little shape beneath the scant tatters of a dress, but her skin was ashen and discolored from the freezing temperatures. Cuts