Jack collapsed.
Just... fell. Like a rotted old tree.
Holly choked on a shriek when she felt him fall. “Jack!” She dove to her knees by his side, sending up plumes of snow. She turned him face-up and brushed little white flakes from his face. “Oh, no, you did not just faint on me, right when we got home. No. I love you, Jack, I’m sorry, but I hate you now.”
Jack didn’t move. His skin had turned an unhealthy tan, his pale gold hair now tawny. His lips were parted half an inch. Snowflakes clung to his long eyelashes. His chest barely moved. The cold that usually emanated from his skin faded; he felt like any normal mortal, lukewarm and dead.
Holly put her ear to his mouth; a trickle of air brushed her skin. She pulled back and shook his shoulders. “Come on, Frost,” she muttered, squeezing hard. “This ain’t funny. If they taught you this trick in prison, I’m gonna tear the place down brick by roasting brick.”
Still nothing.
Holly swallowed hard and let his body fall back in the snow. “Frost,” she whispered, “if you die on me...” She laughed to herself. “You’re crazy, he can’t die. Legendary... immortal, and all that...”
Jack went completely, totally still.
Holly yelped. “No!” She lunged over his body and pressed the heel of her hand into his chest. She had barely completed the movement before Jack’s back snapped into an arch. Holly fell back in surprise.
Jack screamed.
Holly’s blood ran hot. The scream wasn’t human – more like a animal’s terrified keening. Feral, panicked, agonized, all wrapped in one horrible sound.
Jack, what happened to you?
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