Touch
In the dreams, her lips are fire in ice. Her kiss hurts.
Like her touch, burning blue-white and cold against his face, his throat, his body.
Like her voice and those coaxing, desperate words stiletto-sweet in his mind. Like her eyes, filled with ashes.
Like the bitter memory of a blazing plane, a fire he sees in his minds eye, sleeping or waking.
He has to find her killer, he has to. He can't explain it, not even to his devoted keeper, but in the dreams he knows that once he finds Kate's killer... her lips won't hurt any more.
-the end-