A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read this. You're reviews have been inspiring. I've finally decided how I'm going to continue this story. Be aware the POVs are going to start change every few chapters.
Captive
Author: Zorra Reed
Moonrise Inn Publications
The North Wind – Part 3
Jack was dead. Only the being Pitch had taken to calling Frost remained. A puppet, masquerading as a passionate soul tangled in the twisted pleasures of his master. The truth was this being was empty with a heart of ice at his core. Frost cared for nothing, and concerned himself with nothing beyond the moment in which he existed; his awareness surfacing like a fish to bait when Pitch was able to rouse him. The biting lash of a whip or the telltale whisper of fingers creasing his inner thigh is all that was needed to draw this dormant being into Pitch's twisted world of entertainment. Frost danced for Pitch as his body was devoured. He obediently screamed and wailed as he was beaten. Most importantly, he delighted in his masters hurtful attentions, surrendering his very soul to darkness.
The day that Jack awoke from his enchanted sleep was the day Pitch no longer found him of value. Ejected from the heated caves after nearly three years imprisoned in their belly, the starving urchin discovered himself stretched necked upon the sand of an abandoned beached somewhere in the tropics. The heat was not as intense as the inside of the caves had been. Winter was in the air, and it clung to his pale flesh like a Band-Aid, trying and failing to frost him.
"Wind?" he whispered, the sound broken as it tore from a throat that no longer recalled speech. I swept down to the pitiful creature I'd once carried upon my back and spun a cyclone about him. It was fruitless, without his staff I was unable to lift his flesh. Again I was helpless to assist him. For three years, Pitch kept me at bay; only wisps of my breath had entered the caverns that crisscrossed beneath the island. I could not take the boy from his clutches and I was unable to summon his friends to his aid. They look still for him, in places cold. They don't imagine Jack Frost a winter spirit, could survive long in a tropical environment. How little they understand. Jack is an immortal child, as difficult to kill as they are.
Settling beside the youth, I shift the sand against his fingers. I am here, I tell him. For a brief moment, there's understanding in his eyes. He remembers. Just as quickly, it is gone, replaced by the unfeeling eyes of Frost. They blink blindly. This puppet does not know me. He shifts his fingers through the course sand and struggles to rise. The attempt is futile. The movement, faint though it is, rips open the parting wounds Pitch had laced across his shoulders. Blood oozes down his arms, staining the sand a deep crimson. Soon, it will summon the crabs and birds. Frost settles, his senses fading. His body is hardly more than a shell now, left upon a beach to rot.
I rise from my resting place beside him and with a chilled kiss to the back of his neck, depart. I had one chance to save him. I would summon up such a storm as to terrorize and destroy his friends, if only to make them understand and follow me back to this dreadful place.
I promise Jack. I promise I shall return with those who love you.