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8. Riley

8

RILEY

Riley sang along with the radio as he drove, still on a high from his time with Brandon. Everything had gone so well, better than Riley dared hope.

We never seem to run out of things to talk about. He isn't annoyed that I'm not super outdoorsy, and he taught me how I can have fun on his turf. We like a lot of the same things. He can cook. And if I had my way, we'd never get out of bed.

Riley touched the hickey on his neck fondly. Does a mating bite hurt? Will it leave a scar? He'll bite me as a human, I hope. Moose have a lot of teeth.

Accepting a bite as a declaration of forever love from a moose shifter wasn't what Riley had in mind when he relocated, but now he couldn't imagine being without Brandon.

I'm totally smitten.

Other cars were still on the road, and Riley wondered if they were gathering supplies as well. He hadn't gotten an alert about business closings, but the dark clouds looked forbidding and full of snow.

The music store held down one end of an older strip mall. Riley parked slightly away from other cars, worried about someone sliding into him on the snow. He hurried inside, hoping he could finish his errand, pick up lunch, and get back to the motel with some time to relax before his performance.

And look at job postings. If I'm going to stay, I need something in addition to playing the guitar.

A strange feeling washed over Riley as he walked toward the music store. He stopped and looked around but didn't see anyone nearby. He felt more tired than he expected and chalked it up to the skiing.

Guess I should add a nap to my list before the gig tonight.

Riley checked the prices on some wish list items, found what he was looking for, and took a few minutes to see what else the store carried. By the time he was ready to check out, he felt like he was asleep on his feet. Wow—skiing must have taken more out of me than I thought.

"Hope you don't have far to go," the clerk said. "That storm looks like it's coming in faster than they said it might."

Riley glanced outside. Slate gray clouds looked ready to burst with snow. "I don't have far to go. Thanks for the warning."

A gust of wind made Riley shiver. In just an hour, the temperature had fallen, and the sun hid behind the dark clouds. Still, that didn't account for how every step felt leaden, and a sudden headache nearly blurred his vision.

As he reached for the handle of the SUV's door, he felt a hand fall heavy on his shoulder and the muzzle of a gun against his spine.

"We're going home," Tate said, low and menacing. "Taking my car." His pickup truck was parked on the far side of Riley's SUV, and he jabbed Riley with the gun to get him moving in that direction.

"Make noise, and I'll kill you right here." The way their cars were angled, Riley's vehicle hid what was happening from view for most of the lot and anyone in the store.

Panic filled Riley. Tate found me. He's here. Fuck—he's got a gun. What's he doing to make me like this?

Brandon! Help!

Riley suddenly felt too tired to keep his eyes open. He saw a glint of metal as the pistol in Tate's hand came up sharply, hitting him in the temple and making the world spin. Blood streamed down the side of his face as consciousness faded.

When he woke, Riley's head pounded, and the left side of his face was sticky with blood. Zip ties bound his wrists and ankles, and a blanket covered him where he was stretched out on the back seat. He spat a rag out of his mouth and took stock. Other than the headache and the damage to his temple, there didn't seem to be any injuries beyond exhaustion.

Tate's a psi-vamp. Guess he only "sipped" before and this time he took big gulps.

I'm not going back with him.

I've got to get loose.

Then he noticed the truck's movement and caught his breath. Tate was driving fast, and the vehicle slipped and slid. Apparently, the snow had started while Riley was unconscious and was coming down thick and heavy.

Idiot. A pickup is terrible in bad snow.

Without much weight over the back wheels, pickups often struggled for traction. Riley knew that Tate had never lived anywhere with worse weather than Jamestown, so his skills in a blizzard weren't likely to be good.

The truck fishtailed wildly. Riley jerked up and lurched forward. "You're going to get us killed!"

"Sit down and shut up," Tate snarled, turning to glare at Riley.

"Watch out!"

Tate turned back to the road seconds too late and hit a patch of ice at full speed. He wrestled with the wheel, overcorrected, and sent the truck spinning.

Riley grabbed the unused backseat shoulder harness, fastening himself in, and braced for impact.

The truck left the road and crashed through the guide rails, thudding down a steep slope with one bone-jarring jolt after another.

Riley saw the tree coming up fast and tucked himself down in a crash position.

I love you, Brandon. Sorry I never got to tell you.

Please find my body so you know I didn't leave on purpose.

Remember me.

The truck hit the tree head-on. Tate flew forward through the windshield in a spray of blood.

Riley's seatbelt locked, catching him hard enough to bruise, then the impact threw him back into the headrest. His vision swam, and for the second time, he blacked out.

When he came around, Riley smelled blood and gasoline. Always a bad combination.

Tate lay across the crumpled hood of the truck, bloody and still.

Riley moved gingerly, testing to see if he had any broken bones. His ribs hurt like a muther, his head pounded, and he could taste blood in his mouth where he had bitten his cheek, but his arms and legs seemed okay, although the damn zip ties still held.

"One thing at a time." He managed to unfasten the shoulder harness. The back seat was littered with broken glass, and he rubbed his ties against a shard that was still in the side window, freeing his hands. Another shard cut his ankles free.

Riley took stock. They tell you to stay with the wreck—unless it might explode. I don't know where I am, but I'm betting Tate took the highway toward Jamestown. The storm's hitting, so sane people won't be on the road. Maybe road crews—and maybe not.

If anyone comes looking for me, they'll never find me down here. Not with the way the snow is falling. We'll get covered.

He realized that the blanket that had covered him was red. He grabbed it and hunted for his phone and wallet. Riley found them up front. The wallet lay in the center section, and he grabbed it and put it back in his pocket. His phone was broken from the impact. Tate's phone was nowhere to be seen.

Riley made a quick search for an emergency kit, hoping to find flares. He found nothing in the cab, and the keys to the box in the bed of the pickup were probably on Tate's body, which he was not about to touch.

Tate hadn't taken Riley's coat or boots, but he had removed his own coat, which lay on the front seat. Riley grabbed it, knowing that he was going to need all the insulation he could get.

The smell of gas seemed stronger. Riley's door had jammed, so he knocked out the rest of the broken glass and managed to wriggle through. The effort made his head swim, so he had to rest before he could leave the wreck.

Dark clouds hid the sun and gave him no way to navigate. Snow had already partially obscured the tracks down the slope but gave him hope of a direction. Unless we completely spun around and were moving opposite traffic when we went down the slope.

Can't stay, and no one will find me down here, so I'd better start climbing.

Riley might not have broken any bones in the crash, but everything hurt. He picked his way up the slope, watching his footing carefully. Twice he slid back several feet when snow-covered rocks shifted under his weight. The road seemed so high above him, unreachable, but he kept going, one step at a time, gritting his teeth against the pain.

How long will it take before they notice I'm missing?

Riley fought through the snow, panting from exertion and pain. He could feel how drained he was from Tate's psi-vamp trick, something that his ex had either learned since they broke up or that he had never felt the need to use full force on Riley before.

The enhanced fatigue meant Riley might not get much farther than back to the road. He couldn't hear any cars going by. With how thick and fast the snow was coming down, he wondered if the road was closed.

After what seemed forever, he dragged himself over the mangled guide rail, leaving a bloody handprint. The twisted steel would soon be the only clue to his passing since snow was filling in the tire tracks on the road and down over the slope.

At least I'm not close if the truck blows up. That could be a good thing to attract attention—if anyone is looking.

Riley covered his mouth with his scarf as he struggled to catch his breath. His mittens and jeans were soaked. Tate's coat was tied around his waist, and he had stuffed the red blanket inside his parka to keep it dry. On a whim, he had also grabbed the rear-view mirror that dangled from the shards of the windshield and shoved it in a pocket, still trailing wires.

No one is going to be out in this—maybe not even the plows if they close the road.

I'm in the middle of nowhere, no one knows I'm missing, it's cold and snowing, I'm hurt, and I've got no way to call for help. There's no reason anyone should think to look for me here.

I'm probably not getting out of this alive.

Riley couldn't see any traffic in either direction. From the rapidly filling tracks, it looked like Tate had gone into a spin, torn across the median, skidded through the guide rail on the opposite side of traffic, and then gone down over the embankment.

He shuddered, realizing how lucky he was to be alive and relatively unhurt.

Then again, bleeding out is faster than freezing to death.

A bitter gust knifed past him. Even if he hadn't been drained and injured, the frigid temperature and deep snow would do him in long before he made it to the next exit.

I need to get out of the elements.

He eyed the mountain of snow in the median pushed there by the last snow plow. It had glazed with the wind, making a rigid pile. Nearby, a heap of road junk peeked from beneath the snow.

I can make a snow cave if any of that junk is hard enough to let me chip out the icy top layer so I can get shelter from the wind.

It won't save my life if someone doesn't find me soon, but it might buy me a little time.

His remaining energy was fading fast, and the aching muscles from the wreck were starting to stiffen up. Riley set to his task, resolutely ignoring the headache that made him grit his teeth and grimace at the pain. A broken piece of two-by-four was the best implement he could find in the junk pile, but it was enough to carve a shallow indentation just deep enough for his body with a slight overhang to blunt the wind.

Riley pushed Tate's coat in first to insulate him from the snow. He shoved the broken two-by-four into a smaller drift and used the tangle of wires to tie the rearview mirror to the wood, hoping that the reflected light would attract a rescuer. Then Riley crawled into the snow cave, using the red blanket as the final layer of insulation, hoping the bright color might attract attention or the mirror reflecting headlights would draw a rescuer.

Those were both long shots, he admitted, getting as comfortable as he could, huddled in the makeshift shelter. Riley covered his face with his scarf and tucked his hands into his armpits. His parka covered his front as did the red blanket, while Tate's coat kept him from lying against the snow.

Long ago, he had read an article about hypothermia. Riley was shivering, and his teeth chattered, but he knew that was a good sign. If the shivering stops…it's bad.

When he didn't show up for his gig, Todd would make calls. Brandon and Dr. Jeffries would sound the alarm. Rescuers would mobilize. And by then, it would be too late.

Resigned, Riley turned to his imagination for comfort.

Brandon and I barely got to start…and now it'll be over. I imagine the sheriff will piece together what happened once they find the wreck.

I didn't get to tell Brandon that I love him, whether or not we're true mates. If he really is a moose shifter, I didn't get to see his moose or accept his bite. Will it harm him to lose his mate?

I wanted more time together. I wanted forever.

Is a true mate's death something a shifter doesn't get over?

Riley closed his eyes and pictured the future he would never see. Laughing with Brandon as they moved him into the cabin. Toasting marshmallows over the fireplace. Making love by the fire's glow. Cooking meals together. Watching the trees bud in the spring and seeing the forest come to life. Come summer, swimming in the lake or taking a canoe out on the water.

Riley imagined how the mountains must glow in autumn and thought about going for long walks amid falling leaves. Decorating a Christmas tree together and exchanging gifts in front of the fire. Growing older, year by year, hand in hand. He wouldn't experience any of those moments, but it comforted him to imagine them.

Fated mates and a perfect zodiac match. We would have been so good together. He'd never liked being alone with his thoughts for too long—another Gemini thing—but now thoughts, memories, and regrets were all he had.

Riley knew he should fight the exhaustion that swept over him, that falling asleep out here would be deadly, but he lacked the energy to struggle. He hoped hypothermia was as peaceful a death as stories made it out to be.

His eyelids kept drifting shut no matter how hard he fought, heavy with sleep. Time to let go.

Loud crashing and bellowing woke him with a start. It sounded like a freight train was barreling toward him, blaring an air raid siren.

Riley opened his eyes and drew back the red blanket. A massive bull moose thundered toward him, hurtling through the deep snow as if it was bare ground. Huge antlers stood out against the gray sky. The very loud noise was coming from the moose, like an amplified air horn.

Brandon?

Riley struggled to move, grabbing the red blanket and waving it as best he could. "Brandon!" he shouted. "Over here!"

The moose's huge head swung toward him, and the creature's nose twitched. It slowed its pace, scenting the air, and then made straight for Riley's snow cave. Just in front of his shelter, the moose knelt and pushed its nose toward him, taking a deep inhale.

"Brandon?" Riley reached out a shaking hand and gently stroked the bridge of the moose's nose. It blinked in response. Riley realized the moose wore something around its neck on a sturdy collar and saw that it was a tracking device.

"Thank you for coming for me." He struggled to speak, slurring his words. "I love you. I wanted to be your mate. I'm sorry we won't get time."

The moose made a pitiful sound and started to shift position. Inch by inch, the huge animal maneuvered its sizeable bulk until it blocked the door to the snow cave with its body, surprisingly careful not to squash Riley.

In just moments, the moose's body heat warmed the cave. Riley reached out to pet the thick neck with gentle strokes.

"I'm glad you're here," Riley whispered. "I didn't want to die alone."

The moose's distressed noise conveyed its worry and fear.

Riley couldn't fight the exhaustion any longer, but the scent of the moose calmed him, reminded him of where he belonged. "Mate," he sighed, wrapping his arm around the moose's neck.

As he lost consciousness, he thought he heard the roar of motors growing louder, but then again, it might have been the wind.

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