Snowed in With the Yeti (Monsters and Mistletoe #8)

Chapter 1

Maya

My knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as my aging car crawled along the mountain highway.

The snow had started as a few picturesque flakes an hour ago.

At first, they were the kind that made me think of holiday movies and cozy sweaters.

Now it was a churning wall of white that my wipers could barely keep ahead of.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, driving granny-style, leaning forward until my nose nearly touched the windshield. “Totally fine. People drive in snow all the time.”

People who grew up with snow, maybe. People who didn’t spend the last twenty-eight years in Southern California, where ‘winter’ meant wearing a light jacket, did not drive in the white nonsense all the time.

My phone chirped from the cup holder, and I risked a glance down. A text from my mother: Are you there yet? It’s not too late to turn around and come home.

My jaw tightened. I loved my mother, but her text was a classic example of why I needed to leave.

She meant well, and I knew she’d always worry about me, but she made assumptions about me.

She assumed I couldn’t handle anything outside my comfort zone.

I’d overheard her talking to my aunt before I left.

She thought I’d fail and come crawling back.

Another text popped up, but this one I welcomed. My heart did that stupid little flip it always did when I saw the username.

YetiBeGood: Storm’s getting bad up here. Drive safe, yeah? The convention isn’t going anywhere.

I smiled despite my death grip on the wheel.

Three years. Three years of late-night gaming sessions, of inside jokes and shared strategies, of conversations that started about raid tactics and ended so late in the evening they could be early morning conversations discussing everything from childhood dreams to favorite pizza toppings.

Years of wondering what he looked like, what his real name was, whether the connection I felt through my headset could possibly translate to real life.

This weekend, I’d finally find out.

If I survived this drive.

I’d rehearsed our first meeting a thousand times.

I’d walk up to him at the convention center, dressed in my best cosplay outfit, probably recognize him by the vintage gaming t-shirt he’d mentioned owning.

We’d have that awkward should-we-hug moment, then fall into our easy banter.

Maybe grab coffee. If I were brave enough, I’d tell him he’d been the highlight of my days for longer than I wanted to admit.

The car slid slightly on a patch of ice, and my stomach lurched. I eased off the gas, heart hammering.

“Okay, maybe Mom has a point,” I whispered.

But turning around wasn’t an option. Behind me, the storm was just as bad, and I was closer to Calamity Creek than to anywhere else.

Besides, the back seat and trunk held my entire life.

My apartment lease had ended, my limited furniture was in a shipping container somewhere en route, and my new landlord was expecting me.

More importantly, I’d made a promise to myself. No more playing it safe. No more letting fear keep me small.

That’s what had drawn me to Calamity Creek.

Well, that and the surprisingly affordable rent.

The town was one of the few places in the country where monsters and humans lived openly together, integrated into the same community.

After monsters made themselves known to the general public about fifteen years ago and supernatural beings had stepped out of hiding, most places had remained segregated.

Humans in their areas, monsters in theirs, everyone polite but separate.

Calamity Creek was different. It was weird and welcoming, according to the forums I’d obsessively read. A place where being different was the norm. A place where I might finally fit in, even as a completely ordinary human.

“You’re not ordinary,” YetiBeGood had told me once during a conversation about why I was moving. “You’re kind, funny, and you’ve got a tactical mind that’s saved my ass more times than I can count. Your new town is lucky to have you.”

I’d saved that message. Read it whenever doubt crept in.

The road curved sharply, and I realized too late that I was going too fast. I tapped the brakes gently, like the internet articles I’d scoured before moving here had mentioned, but the car had other ideas.

The back end swung out, and suddenly I was sliding sideways, the world tilting into slow motion.

“No, no, no!”

I turned into the skid. Or was it away from the skid? My mind went blank with panic as the car spun, the guardrail rushing toward my passenger side. At the last second, the tires caught something. Based on the crunch, I think I hit gravel and the car lurched in the opposite direction.

Straight toward the snowbank on the other side of the road.

The impact wasn’t dramatic. No explosive crash, no shattering glass.

Just a soft, almost gentle crunch as the front of my car buried itself in snow that was apparently hiding a very solid embankment.

The airbag deployed, punching me in the chest and face, and then everything was still except for the frantic beating of my heart and the hiss of the deflating airbag.

For a moment, I just sat there, breathing hard, hands still locked on the wheel. The engine had died. Snow was already piling up on the windshield, and the headlights illuminated nothing but a wall of white.

“Okay,” I said to the empty car. My voice shook. “Okay, that happened.”

I fumbled for my phone, but the screen was black. Of course. I’d been meaning to charge it, but the gas station twenty miles back had seemed too soon to stop, and now, well, I was screwed.

Now I was stuck on a mountain road in a blizzard with a dead phone and a car that was very much not going anywhere.

I tried to open the driver’s door, but it wouldn’t budge. The snow had packed in around it. I threw my shoulder against it once, grunting. I tried again without luck, but on the third try it gave way, dumping a cascade of snow into my lap.

The cold hit me like a physical force. I’d changed out of my California clothes a half dozen rest areas ago, pulling on the new winter coat and boots I’d ordered online, but nothing had prepared me for this. The wind cut through my jeans instantly, and snow stung my face.

I needed to stay in the car. That’s what all the survival articles said. Stay with the car, run the engine periodically for heat, and wait for help.

Except my engine was thoroughly stuck in a snowbank, and I was pretty sure no help was coming. I hadn’t seen another car for over thirty minutes.

I looked up and down the road, but visibility was maybe ten feet in any direction. The forest pressed in on both sides, dark trees already heavy with snow. In the summer, this was probably beautiful. Right now, it was terrifying.

My coat wasn’t enough. I climbed back into the car, wincing at the pain in my chest from the airbag, and grabbed the emergency blanket I’d packed at my mother’s insistence.

Then the granola bars from my snack bag.

The half-empty water bottle. The tiny first-aid kit that had seemed excessive when my mother demanded I buy it.

“Thanks, Mom,” I muttered, shoving everything into my backpack.

I should wait. I should definitely wait.

But the cold was already seeping into the car, and my breath was fogging in front of my face. How long before hypothermia set in? How long before the snow completely buried the car (and me) and no one would be able to see it? I started to panic.

Through the swirling white, I spotted a shape up ahead, maybe a hundred yards away, or maybe less; it was hard to tell. Something dark against the snow. A building? A ranger station?

It was probably stupid to leave the car. Scratch that. Definitely stupid. But sitting here freezing didn’t seem much smarter.

I zipped my coat up to my chin, pulled the hood tight, and stepped out into the storm.

The wind immediately tried to shove me back. I bent into it, one arm up to shield my face, and started walking. With each step, I sank into snow that was already shin-deep and getting deeper. My new boots, which had seemed so practical online, were not rated for this.

I’d made it maybe twenty feet when my foot hit a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. My legs went out from under me, and I went down hard on my hip. Pain shot through my side, and snow immediately began soaking through my jeans.

“Great. Perfect. Fantastic.” I struggled to my feet, tears stinging my eyes, whether from the cold or frustration, I wasn’t sure. Probably both.

The dark shape I’d seen was gone, swallowed by the storm. Or maybe it had never been there at all.

I turned back toward my car, but I couldn’t see it anymore either. Just white. White everywhere, above and below and all around, the world erased.

A spike of real fear shot through my chest. This was how people died in the wilderness. They got turned around, walked in circles, and froze to death fifty feet from safety.

“Help!” The wind swallowed my voice. “Is anyone there?”

Nothing. Just the howl of the storm and the sound of my own ragged breathing.

I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to think.

Every article I read said that in weather like this, I had maybe ten minutes before the cold became dangerous.

I needed shelter, needed it now. The trees became my focus.

Maybe I could get to the tree line, huddle against a trunk, use the branches for some protection, and I could survive.

A shape emerged from the white.

For a second, I thought it was a trick of the snow, a shadow cast by the storm. But it kept coming, huge and solid and impossible to miss. Eight feet tall, maybe more, covered in white fur that blended with the blizzard until only the movement gave it away.

My brain tried to categorize what I was seeing. Bear? No, wrong shape. Person in a costume? Not out here, not in this.

The figure stopped a few feet away, and I saw its face. It was broad and humanoid but distinctly not human, with a flat nose and eyes that caught what little light existed. Concerned eyes. Gentle eyes.

A Yeti.

Of course. I was moving to a monster-integrated town. Maybe I was closer to Calamity Creek than I thought. I hoped so, and I hoped the welcoming committee made house calls.

“Are you hurt?” The Yeti’s voice was deep and warm, with a rumbling quality that vibrated in my chest.

It was also achingly, impossibly familiar.

My thoughts scattered. The cold, the fear, the pain in my hip - all of it faded into background noise as I stared up at the massive figure in front of me.

“I,” my voice came out as barely a whisper. “My car. I crashed.”

“I know. I heard the skid before I saw it.” He moved closer, and I could see the snowflakes caught in his fur, the way his breath misted in the air. “Can you walk? We need to get you somewhere warm.”

That voice. God, that voice. I’d heard it a thousand times through my headset, laughing at my jokes, calling out enemy positions, talking me through bad days and celebrating good ones.

“YetiBeGood?” The name fell from my lips before I could stop it.

The Yeti went still. Even through the snow and the panic and the surreal impossibility of the moment, I saw the recognition in his eyes. The shock. The fear.

“Maya?” He breathed my name like a prayer and a question all at once.

At that moment, my legs decided they were done, and I felt myself falling forward.

Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.

His arms could probably crush me without effort but held me with infinite care.

The warmth of his body was incredible, cutting through the cold like I'd stepped in front of a furnace.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, and I felt the rumble of his voice through his chest. “I’ve got you, Maya. You’re safe now.”

As he lifted me against him and started moving through the storm, my last coherent thought before shock and cold claimed me was that I’d been so worried about what to say when we finally met.

I’d never once imagined saying hello like this.