Mated to the Werewolves (Clearwater Monsters #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

EMMA

The wind howls around my car. I inch my way off the interstate and down the exit ramp. The snowstorm that was predicted to hit the Maine coastline arrived earlier than expected, leaving me caught out in the open.

I’d asked my boss at the diner to let me get off work sooner, but he wouldn’t. He said we’d be out a chunk of income anyway in the following days as everyone hunkered down to weather the storm, so he wanted to draw what he could from today’s evening crowd.

Crap.

Andy’s greed might be my undoing tonight. The asshole only had to cross the street to get to his apartment, while I had to drive an hour and a half down the interstate to reach the small town where I’d managed to get a cheap rental that allowed me to put some of my money aside for savings.

But I might not reach Clearwater tonight, not in this weather.

It’s a forty-five-minute drive from the interstate in good weather.

Today, even that could prove too much. Already, my car is skidding on the road, despite the fact that I’d had snow tires put on.

I’m not dumb. I knew that weather like this was a possibility.

But now I’ll have to put on my snow chains and I need a safe space to do it, or else I’ll get clipped by one of the other drivers still trying to maneuver this storm with shit visibility and several inches of fluffy snow already on the ground.

Then I could attempt to get back home. Maybe. Or I might be forced to seek shelter close by. But in rural Maine, surrounded by deep spruce forests on both sides of the road, there aren’t many options.

I shiver despite my thick winter parka and squint through the windshield, trying to see past the wipers and the splatters of snowflakes.

There.

A quick look in the rearview mirror tells me I’m alone on the road, but I put on my indicator anyway and slowly roll to a stop by the side of the road. I know stopping is dangerous. I might get stuck here. But driving on the slick road will land me in a ditch, which is much worse.

I drag on my knit wool hat and mittens, take a bracing breath, and throw open the door.

It’s Inferno out there. I’m fully convinced that Hell is frozen over, because nothing warm could ever feel as awful as this.

The wind whips around me with brutal force, sending a flurry of snowflakes into my face.

I narrow my eyes against the prickle of the ice crystals and grit my teeth, then march around the car to the trunk where I’d put my snow chains.

I even practiced putting them on. I’m a woman living alone in a state that gets hit with bad weather on the regular—of course I checked up on how to survive in a freaking snowstorm.

But putting on the chains on a nice fall afternoon in my driveway was easy.

I’d slipped them around the tires, moved the car a couple of inches, and secured the clasps.

I’d been so proud of myself, too, for being prepared.

The reality of this situation hits me hard.

The chains flop into the snow with a chink of metal, and I fumble with my mittens to pick them up again.

I realize within a minute I won’t accomplish anything with my gloves on, so I tug them off.

That’s when the real torture starts. My skin stings from the cold, and the wet clasps are damn difficult to maneuver.

I try to get the first one on, and it slides right back down into the snow.

My fingers are red, and I can’t even see properly despite having left the headlights on and holding the flashlight between my teeth.

The chain slips yet again, and a sob tears itself from my throat. I didn’t account for nature setting itself against me. I should have, though. I should have known nothing about this would be easy. Why would it be? Nothing in life ever is, not for me.

I wallow in pity for a minute, staring dejectedly at the tire. Then I give myself a mental slap and try again, determined to make it work. I can do this.

When I manage to fasten the first chain to the front-left wheel, a sense of triumph washes over me, even though my hands are numb and I still have to put the chain on the other side and make it back home all in one piece.

But I don’t allow myself to panic about what lies ahead. One thing at a time, Emma.

The rumble of a car engine cuts through the sound of the rushing wind. I lift my head from where I’m kneeling in the snow, trying to get the second tire fixed.

Instinctive fear squeezes my chest. I’m alone in a blizzard by the side of the road. A cautionary tale. Instead of rising to my feet and looking over the car hood, I stay down and fish my phone from my pocket just in case. Maybe the car will just pass by and let me be.

The headlights pan over the other side of my car, throwing a deeper shadow on me.

I think for a moment that the driver has decided to move past me, but then the truck stops right next to mine.

From the sound of it, it’s about three times the size of my small Kia, and for some reason, that has me cringing away from it even further.

If everything goes to shit, I’ll dart into the woods by the road and try to lose them in the blizzard.

It doesn’t escape me that I will likely lose myself, too, because I have zero wilderness skills, but somehow freezing to death in a forest is less horrifying a thought than being assaulted by a stranger.

“Hello?” a deep voice calls. “Is anyone here?”

I move an inch, trying to peer above the hood to see the man. He’s standing not ten feet from me, and even from my vantage point I can tell he’s massive.

My heart goes into overdrive, hammering against my ribs. This might be a good moment to call the cops. But still I hesitate. The man hasn’t done anything yet, and what would I even tell the police? The nice stranger who stopped by to offer assistance asked me where I was?

But if I wait too long, the cops won’t get to me in time. Not in this weather.

“Hello,” the man says.

He’s much closer this time. In fact, while I was deliberating about calling the police, he’d moved around the front of my car. He stands there, giving me space, but stares down at me where I’m still crouched by the car’s tire, my flashlight clasped in my hand.

That’s when it hits me. Of course he found me. I’d all but put out a beacon with this flashlight.

“Miss?” he says. “Are you okay?”

I pan the beam of the flashlight up and into his face. He squints and throws a hand up to shield his eyes, but there’s a golden glint to them before he does. It’s gone so fast I think I must have imagined it.

“Sorry,” I mutter instinctively and lower my flashlight.

He frowns at me. “That’s fine. I just wanted to ask if you needed help.”

I scoot back awkwardly and finally rise to my feet. That brings the height difference between us to light—I’d realized as soon as I saw him that he was large, but he must be a foot taller than my five-foot-five frame, and I have to crane my neck back to look him in the eyes.

Damn, he’s handsome.

He’s bundled up against the cold, like I am, but under the black knit hat and scarf, he’s got a face that could stop traffic. Dark-brown eyes, straight black eyebrows, and a strong jaw covered by a neat, short beard.

And he’s staring at me. Which makes me realize he’s asked me twice now if I was okay, and I still haven’t answered him.

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Just putting on some chains to get home.”

“Where’s home?” he asks.

I squint at him. Does he think I’m dumb? I’m not about to tell a stranger I literally met by the side of the road where I live.

He must sense my reluctance because he takes a step back and holds his arms out in a disarming manner. “I’m not asking to hurt you. You don’t know me, and I get why you’re freaked out.”

“I’m not freaked out,” I snipe. “I just want to get this done and get back on the road.”

He scowls. “Yeah, that’s going to be an issue. They’re calling everyone in, saying to seek shelter immediately. The fog’s getting worse, and unless there’s an emergency, no one is getting on the road because the plows won’t get here for hours.”

My stomach drops. I scramble for the car door, duck inside, and slap my numb fingers over the radio button. The station I’d been listening to has cut off its old rock program to deliver the news that confirms what Mountain Man out there just said.

I stare at the small radio screen while the words roll over me.

Seek shelter. Eight to twelve inches overnight. Freezing temperatures. Emergency. Danger.

My throat closes up in worry, and I swallow to keep the panic down. There’s no way I’m reaching home tonight, is there?

I peer through the window at the dark outline of the man waiting out there. Why is he still here? Is he a Good Samaritan type who wants to make sure I don’t freeze to death in my car or a psycho waiting to bury my body in the woods?

Slowly, hoping that the snow accumulating on the windshield will mask my movements, I reach into the glove compartment and palm the pocketknife I keep in there for emergencies.

I close my chilled fingers around it, the weight of the steel comforting, even though I’ve never stabbed anyone in my life.

Then I push the door open again and get out of the car. The man waits for me in silence.

“Could you help me get the chains on?” I ask. “I managed it on one side but can’t seem to get the clasps on here.”

I indicate the tire and take a step back.

The man stares at me a moment longer, then shakes his head. “It’s no use. You won’t get far in this car. You’ll just end up stranded in a ditch somewhere, and there’s no way you’d get a tow service to come get you in time.”

“In time?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

“Before you freeze to death,” the man says, uncompromising. “The temperatures will drop overnight. Even if you had a full tank of gas, there’s little chance it would last you long enough to keep the heating on.”

The picture he’s painting is bleak, but I know he’s right. I do. It’s just that the alternative—asking him to take me somewhere—is too dangerous.

A sob threatens to break free. My eyes well with tears.

“Hey, now.” The man takes a step toward me. “It’s fine. Everything will be all right.”

I edge away from him. “I’m too young to die. I didn’t even—”

He stops, inhales deeply through his nose, then shakes his head. “Fuck.”

My panic intensifies. “What? What is it?”

He holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm a frightened animal. “Nothing, sweetheart, just calm down and come with me. We’ll get your stuff from the car and we’ll take you somewhere safe for the night, all right?”

“We?” I whip my head around toward the truck that’s still parked on the road, the motor rumbling. “There’s someone else here?”

And then I see him, a dark shadow of a man hunched over the steering wheel, staring at us through the windshield. The snowflakes falling on the glass obscure him for a moment before the wipers brush them away. I can’t see his face, but somehow, the intensity of his gaze hits me hard.

I’ve been so dumb. Thinking I could stab the man in front of me with my ridiculous two-inch pocketknife blade. Thinking I could escape.

A panicked whimper works itself from my throat. “Stop,” I gasp.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man says, his voice low and urgent. “But if we don’t get off the road soon, we’ll all be stuck here.”

“Then go,” I yelp. “Leave. I’ll figure things out on my own. I don’t need your help.”

He takes another step toward me. “I can’t do that. That would be murder, leaving you out here.”

“Better than being murdered by you or-or your freaky friend back there.” I throw a hand out to indicate the stranger in the dark. “Now leave!”

He stops, then turns his head toward the truck and bellows, “Troy!”

The driver’s-side door opens, and a thud announces that the other man has jumped to the ground. I let out a shriek of fear and throw the pocketknife right at this man’s head. He ducks, so it only glances off his shoulder and disappears in the freshly fallen snow.

The man looks down at it, then back at me, his eyebrow quirked up. Then he leaps forward, faster than I’ve ever seen a man move, and scoops me up into his arms.