Chapter 3 - Warmth in the Dark
Jasper did not wait for the deputy to respond. He bent down, carefully gathering Maya into his arms. She was shockingly light, feeling like little more than a bundle of wet twigs and frozen fabric. She held onto the baby with a desperate, iron grip, refusing to let go even as Jasper carried them both across the threshold and slammed the heavy oak door against the storm.
The silence of the house hit them instantly, thick and warm.
Jasper immediately threw the heavy brass bolt and engaged the security lock. He turned to look down at the two small creatures standing in his grand entryway. Snow was already melting off Maya’s thin coat, creating small pools of dirty water on the dark hardwood floor.
“It’s okay,” Jasper said softly, dropping to one knee so he was at eye level with her. “You’re safe now. He can’t come inside.”
Maya’s teeth were still chattering violently. She looked around the cavernous hall, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terrifying mistrust. “Is this... a castle?”
“No,” Jasper said, feeling a strange knot form in his throat. “Just a house. Come on.”
He led her into the warm library, where the fire crackled merrily in the large stone hearth. He pulled a massive, plush cashmere throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Maya’s shoulders. She collapsed into the deep leather armchair, still holding the baby tight against her chest.
“Let me see him,” Jasper said gently, kneeling beside the chair.
Maya pulled back the edge of the gray blanket with trembling fingers. The infant—Noah—was no older than four or five months. His small cheeks were bright red, and his skin was dangerously hot to the touch. He was breathing in short, shallow gasps, his tiny fists clenched tightly against his chest.
“He’s burning up,” Jasper murmured. He picked up his phone from the side table, but the screen displayed a stark message: No Service. The landline on the desk was equally dead; the falling trees down the mountain had cut the lines.
“I tried to give him water,” Maya said, tears finally carving clear tracks through the grime on her face. “But he wouldn't drink. Mama was in the ambulance yesterday, and then the landlord came and put big yellow stickers on our door. He said we had to leave. I didn't know where else to go. I remembered seeing this big house from the bus when Mama used to take me to school...”
Jasper reached out and tentatively touched the baby’s forehead. The heat radiating from the child’s skin sent a spike of pure adrenaline through him. He had spent his entire life avoiding responsibility for other human beings. He had paid millions to construct a fortress of isolation so he would never have to care for anyone again after his own family’s sudden, tragedy-riddled past. Yet here he was, in the middle of a killer storm, with two lives depending entirely on his next move.
“Wait here,” Jasper instructed.
He hurried down the hall to the master bathroom, grabbing every clean towel he could find, a bowl of tepid water, and his extensive first-aid kit. When he returned, Maya had slid off the chair and was sitting on the Persian rug as close to the fireplace as she could get without burning herself.
“We need to cool his body down gradually,” Jasper explained, kneeling beside her. “If we do it too fast, he’ll go into shock.”
He wet a soft cloth and gently pressed it against the baby’s head and small neck. Noah let out a faint, pitiful whimper, his tiny eyelids fluttering open for a brief second to reveal striking blue eyes before heavy sleep dragged him back under.
“Will he die?” Maya asked, her voice impossibly small in the large room.
May you like
Jasper looked at the little girl. Her hands were raw and red from the wind, her lips bruised from the cold, but her eyes held a fierce, unbreakable protectiveness.
“Not on my watch,” Jasper promised, and for the first time in twenty years, he meant something with every fiber of his soul.
