Claimed by the Snowbound Convict

1. Marie

MARIE

I squint through the blizzard pounding against the window, snow flurries almost blocking the road from view.

How much further is it to the nearest town?

I just need to keep going, stop myself from getting slowed down.

It can’t be more than a few miles, and, as crappy as my car is, I’m sure it must be able to make it at least that far, right?

“Come on, come on,” I mutter as the engine grumbles angrily. I tighten my grip on the wheel, and, to my horror, I feel it sputter dangerously beneath me. The tires careen to the side, and I spin the steering wheel hurriedly, doing everything I can to keep it on the road.

I let out a cry as the car swerves off the highway and into the snowy embankment below.

Mercifully, I was driving slowly enough that the car just fizzles to a halt, the hood buried in the snow.

I would need to dig myself out if I was going to hit the road again, if I could even get the engine started.

I clamber out of the car, zipping up my jacket and cursing my lack of foresight to bring something a little warmer.

But then, how could I have known this was where I was going to end up?

When I had fled the city, I had just wanted to put as much space between myself and that psycho as possible.

No point sticking around to pack or prepare for the elements, I just needed to get out of dodge before he figured out that I was on the run.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure that nobody else is on the road, and, once I'm certain that I'm not being followed, I rush towards the hood of the car and try to shovel away the snow with my bare hands. They’re so cold I can barely feel them already, and the feeling starts to spread through my arms as the snow melts against my skin.

Fuck. I let out a furious cry, willing myself to keep going, though even to me, it seems impossible.

I stumble back from the car after a few minutes, the cold air tearing at my throat.

This isn’t going to work. I look around, for something, anything that might be able to help me.

In the back of my car, there’s nothing but a handful of clothes, some toiletries, anything I could grab from the apartment before I bolted.

I reach inside to see if I can start the engine again, warm it up a little, but no such luck.

It sputters loudly, and then fades out to nothing, and I run my hands through my hair in a panic.

Shit. I need to get away from the road. If I leave my car here, and he comes after me, he’ll see it. And if I’m in it. I don’t even want to know what will happen.

I look up, glancing ahead to the woods before me, and suddenly, I think I see something.

I narrow my eyes, lifting my hand against the oncoming snow.

Is that a path? It’s hard to make out under the blanket of white lying over the dirt, but I could have sworn there was a divot in the ground, something that seemed to speak to a path below it.

I make my way towards it, and sure enough, though they are filling up swiftly, there are footprints leading into the forest.

There’s someone in there. I bite my lip then rush back to my car and grab my bag, hitching everything I’ve brought with me over my shoulder, and, before I can stop myself, I take off into the woods, following the footsteps where they wind through the trees.

The strange light glowing off the snow is enough to see by, thank God, even as the trees darken everything around me, snagging at my arms and hair as I run.

The only sound is my feet crunching on the snow, and the whistle of the wind through the branches.

I have no idea where I'm going, or if I'm going to find anything there.

It strikes me that it will be almost impossible to make my way back to the car, if the footprints have filled in as I make my way through the woods, but I can deal with that problem when I come to it.

If I have a chance to.

I stumble forward, foot catching on an exposed root, and almost pitch face-first into the frozen ground, but, as I steady myself, I realize that I must have found it.

I'm in a clearing, and, sat right in the center of it is a cabin; a small, wooden cabin, spilling golden light onto the blueish ground.

I let out a laugh of relief, and rush to the door, banging on it desperately as I try to attract the attention of whoever is inside.

“Hello? Hello!”

I try again, fearful that they will not hear me over the sound of the wind.

After a few moments of silence, I take the door handle, trying it to see if it is unlocked.

It is. With my cheeks starting to go numb from the blizzard, I take a deep breath, and make an executive decision, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The warmth is almost shocking as it hits me, bracing in the contrast to the chill outside.

The place is small, but nicely-furnished; a large fire burning at the far side of the room, where a couple of mismatched armchairs are placed in front of it, next to a bookcase, which sits between the living space and a small kitchen. But none of that keeps my attention.

No, the only thing I can look at right now is the half-naked man standing in the doorway to what must be the bathroom.

Wearing nothing but a towel, he is staring at me with complete shock, as if I’m some kind of mirage.

His dark hair is damp, and his body, though I'm doing my best not to look at it, is strong and laced with muscles.

Like he works out here, like he built this place with his own two hands.

I realize I'm just standing there staring, and, finally, I blurt something out.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, pulling the door shut behind me. “I?—”

“Get out.”

His tone is cold, unyielding. I stare at him.

“I can’t just go back into that blizzard,” I protest. “I’ll freeze out there. My car, it broke down, and?—”

“I’ll fix it for you.”

“You can’t do that until at least the morning,” I argue. “It’s buried in a snowdrift. And it’s only going to get worse tonight. I just… I need somewhere to stay where I won’t freeze to death. Just a few hours, I promise, please, you’ll hardly even know I’m here.”

The man sighs, and pushes a hand through his hair; I notice a tattoo running up the length of his right arm, what looks like a snake breaking free of an egg. It looks slightly faded, and I wonder if he did it himself.

“Fine,” he mutters, turning his back on me. “You can have the couch.”

He gestures over to the small loveseat that sits in front of the fire, and I rush over to it, lifting my hands to warm myself before he can change his mind.

I blow into my palms and shake the droplets of melted snow from my hair, casting a glance over my shoulder and wondering what the hell I have managed to get myself into.

And just how much I should trust this strange man living alone in the woods.

Shit. Not like I have a lot of choice about who to trust right now, anyway.

I pull my bag off my back, and check my phone.

There are no bars of service, and just a few percent left.

I don’t want to ask him for any more than I already have, it seems a miracle he has not booted me out as soon as set eyes on me, but I guess he knows he would be more or less condemning me to death by hypothermia if he did.

I wrap my arms around my knees and stare into the fire, mind drifting now that I'm out of the woods. Literally, if not figuratively. Because I know that Ryan is not going to make it that easy for me, the same way he hasn’t made a damn thing easy for me since the moment I first set eyes on him.

Even now, it feels surreal, knowing there is even this much distance between us.

After so long trapped in that apartment, feeling like there was nothing and nobody coming to help me, I'm out. I have finally done it.

At least, for now.

I hear a sound behind me, and jump as I turn around, seeing the man, now dressed in jeans and a tee, making his way towards the kitchen.

I don’t take my eyes off of him, teeth resting on my bottom lip, wondering if I can trust him.

I know nothing about him. And if he turns out to be the same kind of psycho as my ex, who’s to say that I have not walked into even more danger than I just tried to escape.

But then, to my surprise, after a few minutes standing over the stove, he turns to bring me a small bowl of soup.

“Here,” he tells me, pushing it towards me. “Eat this. It’ll warm you up.”

I stare down at it for a moment, surprised.

Not because of the soup, but because… because of the effort.

I'm not sure how long it has been since someone has done something like this for me, just made a small, kind gesture because they thought it was the right thing to do. I bit my lip. What if it’s drugged, or something? Spiked?

But then, it strikes me that I'm not going anywhere, anyway. I might as well eat some soup while I can. I spoon a little into my mouth, the delicious, savory broth spreading over my tongue, and let out a sigh.

“Wow, that’s good,” I murmur. “Thank you, uh…”

“Gavin,” he replies gruffly. I nod.

“Gavin,” I repeat. “Thank you, Gavin.”

For a moment, he just stares at me, and I can tell he is trying to figure me out. No doubt he doesn’t get many visitors in this place. Hell, that’s likely why he lives out in the middle of the woods like this.

And the last thing he expected was for some random girl to come crashing out of the snow in desperate need of his help. But there is something in his eyes, which flicker with flecks of gold against the brown in the firelight, that seems kind to me, and I will take whatever I can get.

He heads to the bedroom once more, and emerges with an armful of blankets that he tosses on to the couch.

“Here. Use these.”

I stare up at him, more than a little surprised at how kind he is being. I'm not sure I deserve it, but at the same time, I'm going to take what I can get. I murmur another thank you to him, and watch as he vanishes into his room, pulling the door shut behind him.

I finish the soup, and hold my hands up in front of the fire, breathing in the scent of wood smoke as the blizzard continues to rage outside.

I might not know what the hell I'm going to do after this, given that my car is head-first in a snowbank right now.

But for tonight, at least, I have things under control.

And that sounds pretty good to me for the time being.