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EIGHTEEN
The trek up the rest of the mountain was not easy. Stace could have at least left me with a jacket.
At last, my hand grasps the frosty front door handle of the cabin, prying it open. The heat emanating from the fireplace envelops me immediately, having me practically falling into it. I want to fall into the fur rug that I've kicked snow into, but I restrain myself, looking around the small cabin for any sign of the immortal.
Sure enough, he rounds the corner and into the small living space, taken aback by the sight of me before him, in only a short-sleeved shirt and pants.
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