Chapter One

“ This is unreal.”

The snow fell in thick, relentless bands, swallowing the world in a monochrome nightmare. It was the kind of snow that silenced everything, making the world around Ryker seem like a void.

Crunching snow under the tires and the rhythmic slapping of the wipers were the only noises breaking the eerie quiet. The harder it snowed, the more he wondered if traveling an hour to buy his three-year-old nephew the “perfect”

Christmas gift was worth it.

The damn thing better light up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree and sing carols in seven languages for all this trouble.

Squinting, Ryker peered out the windshield as he tried to distinguish road from ditch. Everything from the trees to the signs to the entire stretch of the back road had vanished beneath layers of white powder. He tapped the brakes to keep the SUV crawling forward, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the backend fishtailed. The tires slipped, and the rear swung out, causing him to grit his teeth.

“Don’t you dare,”

Ryker muttered, easing his foot off the gas in an attempt to steady the SUV. The back wheels once again spun, unable to find purchase, as a low curse left his lips.

It hadn’t been forecasted to snow like this. Just a few flurries, they’d said on the radio. Flurries my ass. He hadn’t seen a damn flake on the drive out, but now, on the way home, a whiteout had descended like a cruel prank of nature.

Ryker just wanted to make Ethan’s Christmas magical. Instead, he found himself stuck somewhere between Frostbite Boulevard and I-Should’ve-Stayed-Home Avenue, trapped in an unexpected snowstorm.

Up ahead, a flickering light cut through the blanket of white, and Ryker felt a spark of hope. A sign, its bright red letters bleeding through the storm, announcing, “Vacancy.”

It swayed in the wind, the neon buzz audible even from this distance, like an old bug zapper that refused to die.

A motel. There was salvation after all.

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there,”

Ryker urged, coaxing the vehicle like a stubborn mule. The entrance to the parking lot was an indistinct shadow under mounds of fresh snow. Ryker nudged the steering wheel to make the turn, the back tires groaning in protest while the front end slid as if the damn thing had a mind of its own. He jerked the wheel to correct it, only for the back tires to spin aimlessly.

“You’re killing me,”

he growled.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of praying to whoever would listen, the tires caught enough traction to drag the SUV into the motel’s parking lot. Ryker gently tapped the brakes, bringing the beast to a jerky halt.

With an exhale, he felt the stiffness in his shoulders ease just a fraction.

“This is what you get for waiting last minute to pick up the damn gift,”

he grumbled, wishing he’d made the trip a day sooner. “Where in the hell have I ended up?”

The “Open”

sign above the office door blinked in and out of existence, barely holding on to life, much like the building it clung to. That was how Ryker felt at the moment—adrift in a world where everyone had found their anchor except him. Happiness for his family mingled with an unrelenting ache, a stark reminder of how utterly alone he was.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

He stared at the building—if the structure could even be called that—and decided the motel looked like it had been pulled from a 1950s postcard. The kind you found at a flea market, crumpled in the corner of a bin marked “free.”

With its dingy brick walls and broken shutters framing dirty windows, the entire facade looked as though it had been dipped in a jaundiced yellow. A single porch light illuminated the entrance, barely enough to cast away the shadows clustering around the door.

The motel looked as desolate as Ryker felt.

When he swung the SUV door open and got out, snow immediately worked its way inside his collar, the cold bite making him hiss. “Son of a bitch.”

He tossed his go-bag over his shoulder and fumbled with his keys, shoving them into his pocket before trudging through knee-deep snow toward the office. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, and his boots crunched with every labored lift of his feet. The wind whipped against him, flinging ice crystals into Ryker’s face with malicious intent, forcing him to duck his head to protect his eyes.

A jangle sounded above the door when he shoved it open, the tiny bell announcing his arrival. After stomping his feet to shake off the snow, Ryker glanced around.

The inside was worse than the outside—dingy linoleum flooring, the walls covered in yellowing wallpaper adorned with faded floral patterns, and a rug that looked as if it had been hauled out of a dumpster.

A worn wooden counter stood to his left, complete with a brass bell that looked like it had seen better decades. Behind the counter was an old man, or maybe just a guy who’d lived too hard. His skin was etched with deep lines, and his dark hair stuck up at odd angles.

“Evenin’.”

The stranger’s voice was a raspy wheeze as if each word had to climb its way out of a gravel pit. He gave Ryker a long, considering look, like the old man was trying to decide if he was a paying customer or just some idiot who’d wandered in from the storm.

Or both.

“Hey,”

Ryker breathed out, wiping his gloves against his coat, and noticing a once-white plastic nametag on the guy’s shirt. Otis. “I need a room until this storm passes and the roads are cleared.” Hopefully it wouldn’t take long. Christmas was three days away, and Ryker was determined to get home before then.

In his 250 years, he’d never missed a holiday with his family, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Otis didn’t answer right away, his gaze darting to the window where the snow raged outside. Then he let out a long sigh, the kind of sigh that had seen too much of life.

“Lucky for you, we got vacancies.”

His lips curled up into something that might’ve been a smile, but Ryker couldn’t be sure. “How ya wanna pay?”

“Credit card.”

“Only take cash.”

Then why did he ask? With a grunt, Ryker stripped off his gloves and fished some bills out of his wallet. Otis snatched the money quickly, as though the snow would miraculously clear and he’d lose his “guest.”

After stuffing the bills into an ancient cash register, he turned and grabbed a key off the wall then slapped it down with a thud that rattled everything on the counter.

“Room seven.”

When Ryker cast a dubious look at the snow beyond the window, Otis gestured to a door and added, “Interior hall. Room in the middle. You need anything, don’t ask.”

He must be Ebenezer Scrooge.

The key was a tarnished piece of brass attached to a bright green keychain. Classy. After offering the old man a tight nod, Ryker snagged the key, muttering a quick thanks before heading away.

The hallway was dim, the lighting weak and flickering, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Ryker’s boots echoed on the thin carpet, the scent of mildew thick in the air.

Each door had a tarnished number nailed to it, some hanging by a single screw, others barely readable. When he reached his room, he shoved the key into the lock and twisted, hearing a reluctant click before he swung open the door.

The smell hit him first, a mixture of stale air, old cigarettes, and something that might’ve been pine-scented cleaner once upon a time. With his heightened senses, the smell was far worse. Wrinkling his nose, he prayed he didn’t need to stay longer than necessary. His bear grunted in agreement.

The room was surprisingly large, with dark wood paneling that gave it the aesthetic of a poorly maintained hunting cabin. A single bed stood against the far wall, covered with a patterned bedspread that looked scratchy even from a distance.

Next to the bed was a tiny nightstand with a lamp that had seen better years, its shade slightly askew, and to the right stood a TV that probably weighed as much as he did. There was also a small table with a single wooden chair tucked under its scratched surface, and a large, cracked mirror hanging on the wall above it.

Ryker set his bag down on the floor, letting the door creak shut behind him, the sound echoing eerily through the empty room.

“Home sweet home,”

he mumbled, stripping off his gloves and tossing them onto the bed. Then he shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on a rusted hook by the door, and pulled off his wet boots.

The cold still clung to him despite the faint warmth seeping from an ancient radiator tucked beneath the window. It let out a low groan, sputtering as if it resented the effort of actually producing heat.

Ryker rubbed his hands together, blowing on them for good measure while he walked to the window. Tugging the frayed curtain aside, he peered out at the storm. The conditions had only gotten worse. A solid wall of white blocked any view beyond the glass. Ryker couldn’t even see his light-colored SUV. It had been swallowed by the storm.

Perfect. Stranded in a cut-rate motel with questionable heating. Not exactly how he’d pictured this day going. Sighing in resignation, he let the curtain fall back into place before turning around.

“This is the saddest, most dilapidated motel room I’ve ever seen.”

The bed gave a miserable creak as he sat down, springs groaning under his weight, causing him to pray it didn’t collapse under him. That would be just his luck.

Ryker’s frustrations mounted when he pulled out his phone to call his dad. The screen lit up to reveal the “No Service”

message plastered across the top.

“Just fucking great.”

He dropped his head back and let out a loud groan. “All right, universe. I get it. I’m an idiot,” he muttered, his voice echoing off the empty walls. “You can stop rubbing it in now.”

The room responded with silence, a reminder that he was very much alone. What else is new?

Flopping back onto the bed, Ryker stared up at the water-stained ceiling, his gaze tracing the patterns the damp had created—vague shapes that could’ve been clouds, or bunnies, or maybe just his imagination trying to entertain itself. He could feel the cold creeping in from the window, the draft seeping through cracks in the wall, allowing it to pass unchallenged.

Anxiety tried to take hold, nibbling at the fringes of his mind, but Ryker pushed it away.

This was just another challenge.

A minor inconvenience.

A gift wasn’t worth getting stranded in a snowstorm, and yet…Ethan’s smile when he opened it on Christmas morning would make this all worthwhile. Or at least, Ryker kept telling himself that.

A thud from the room next door, followed by muffled voices, pulled him from his thoughts. Turning his head, Ryker listened for a moment, hearing snippets—an argument, possibly—though the words were too faint to make out.

With a groan, he lay down and pressed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes. For two days straight he’d let the stress of the holidays keep him awake. Although he’d never suffered from anxiety before, the thought of watching the happy couples unwrap their gifts while he sat alone fucked with him more than he’d realized.

Not only would he spend Christmas mateless but New Year’s Eve as well. Being single had never bothered him until mates started showing up, leaving Ryker as the last bachelor standing. He hid the depression from his family, but now that he was alone in this barren room, it was as if his suppressed emotions were converging on him all at once.

What he needed was sleep, or at least something resembling rest, but the room felt too foreign, too cold, and too empty.

He got under the covers and shut his eyes, fatigue finally catching up to him. The wind howled outside, and the radiator groaned again, but somehow, it all blurred together into a lullaby.

The sound helped him drift off to sleep, the thought of getting home for Christmas floating through his mind. Despite the storm, Ryker was determined not to miss the holiday with the people who were his entire world.

* * * *

Ryker woke to the sound of muffled arguing again, the voices coming through the thin walls like ghosts haunting his sleep. He blinked, momentarily disoriented as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room.

Fuck. It hadn’t been a bad dream. He was really stuck in this dingy motel.

The radiator sputtered, the room an uncomfortable blend of too hot and too cold. With a deep yawn, he scrubbed his face, the springs creaking in protest as he sat up.

The argument next door carried on, more distinct now, though the words were still indecipherable. Curiosity gnawed at him, and before he could convince himself to mind his own business, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

“Oh, oh, oh, crap.”

The floor was freezing under his socked feet, the cold seeping into his bones. “I’m really starting to hate this place.”

Ryker shoved his feet into his boots, tied them, and then opened the door. As he stepped into the hallway, the dimness felt even more oppressive. The air somehow smelled even staler, and the flickering light overhead was getting on his last nerve.

Admittedly, he was cranky as shit for being trapped in a motel instead of being at home. Ryker could possibly get over the conditions of this place, but he was also starving and doubted there was room service.

There was barely sufficient lighting and warmth.

Ryker stood there, listening again to the muffled voices. What if someone was being abused? Now that he’d had some sleep and his brain was somewhat rebooted, he couldn’t simply stand by and do nothing if someone needed help.

Before he could take a step in that direction, the door opened, causing him to pause.

A guy stepped out, his frame small and slight compared to Ryker’s own bulk. The stranger had a mop of messy blond hair, disheveled enough to demand attention, the faint glow of the hallway light brushing against the unruly strands.

Ryker’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as something sharp and sudden wrenched at him—a sensation he couldn’t name but felt deep in his core.

It wasn’t attraction, not exactly. It was more . The kind of more that stripped the air from his lungs and left him standing there, stupid and frozen, caught in a moment he didn’t understand but couldn’t escape.

The blond glanced up, their gazes locking, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. There was something unguarded in the way he looked at Ryker, like he’d caught the stranger mid-thought, unprepared.

Then, the corner of the guy’s mouth hitched upward, and he offered a grin—soft, dimpled, and disarmingly beautiful. It wasn’t just a smile. It was a spark, small but bright, that lingered in the stillness between them. “Guess we’re both up for the late-night hallway club, huh?”

Ryker blinked then snorted, his lips twitching. “Something like that. Kind of hard to sleep with all the arguing going on.”

A glint of something unreadable passed behind the man’s eyes. “My, uh…friend’s having a bit of a rough night.”

He shifted his weight, his gaze darting briefly toward the door he’d just come out of.

The strange sensation continued to build in Ryker’s chest, like an itch under his skin, paired with a need to get closer. His bear softly growled as the faint scent of peppermint drifted toward him. It was subtle, almost lost under the musty odor of the hallway, but it was there. Ryker inhaled deeply, his bear growling even harder now.

Then it struck him like a thunderclap, sharp and undeniable.

Mate.

The word reverberated in his mind. His heart giving a hard, jarring thud, stunned that a freak snowstorm had led him here.

“Name’s Ryker.”

He stuck out his hand, hoping he didn’t look as flustered as he felt.

The blond eyed the offered hand for a beat before shaking it, his grip surprisingly firm. “Nathan, but I prefer Nate.”

His smile returned, more genuine this time, and Ryker felt heat ignite in his gut, battling the chill of the hallway.

They stood there, hands still clasped, longer than was probably necessary, but Ryker didn’t give a shit. The human was his mate, and he was completely captivated by him.

“The storm bring you here?”

Nate cocked his head in the cutest way.

“Unfortunately.”

Or fortunately since he’d found his mate. Reluctantly, he let go of Nate’s hand, already missing the contact. “What about you?”

“Same. Weather’s a real mess out there.”

Nate shrugged, and Ryker noted the way his dark blue eyes seemed to sparkle even in the dim light. “Anywho, I was heading to the ice machine. Care to join me? Not much else to do in this place for us hallway club members.”

Ryker loved his mate’s sense of humor, also his smile, those dimples that popped whenever he grinned, and even the sound of his soft voice.

The pull was strong, the invisible force nearly overwhelming him. “Of course, and on the way, you can fill me in on the rules of our club, honey bear.”

The endearment had just slipped out, but Nate didn’t seem to mind because he didn’t ask why Ryker had just called him that. He followed his mate, his gaze drifting over the human’s slim back and cute butt. He was small, delicate almost, and damn if Ryker wasn’t enjoying the view of his rear end swaying as the guy walked ahead of him.

Even his bear appreciated it if his low snarl was anything to go by.

They reached the ice machine, an ancient contraption that looked as if it belonged in a museum. Nate grabbed a bucket from the small, upturned stack, the plastic rattling as he tried to position it under the chute.

“So, where were you headed before you got stuck here?”

He glanced at Ryker as he pressed the button. The machine groaned, a loud, mechanical clunk echoing through the empty hallway.

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Ryker shrugged. “Christmas shopping. I was picking up a gift for my little nephew. Thought it’d make up for…missing some time with him.”

The guilt twisted inside of Ryker. He could still see Ethan’s terrified expression as the deranged drug dealer held a gun to the toddler’s head. Ryker should’ve protected the boy better. He should’ve—

“Hey.”

Nate’s voice broke through Ryker’s thoughts, his mate’s gaze softening. “ Life doesn’t always go as planned. It’s what you do afterward that counts, right?”

Ryker stared at him, surprised by the empathy in Nate’s voice. His mate’s presence was calming, making Ryker’s gut feel less twisted. He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Guess so.”

Before he could say anything else, like asking who Nate had been arguing with, the door near his own opened. Ryker’s gaze narrowed at the sight of a buff man with dark eyes, though his face was partially obscured by the shadows. The stranger gave Nate a pointed look, his expression cold.

Nate stiffened, his smile fading. He cleared his throat, his gaze lowering, which pissed Ryker off. It was clear how much Nate feared Dark Eyes. “I should probably get back, but maybe, um, I’ll see you around?”

He glanced up at Ryker, a flicker of something—hope, maybe—in his blue beauties.

Ryker wanted to tell him to stay and also to tear apart the guy who frightened him. But that might only make the human run from him, which was the last thing Ryker wanted.

Instead, he forced a smile he didn’t feel, suppressing the urge to rip out Dark Eyes’ throat. “You can count on that, honey bear.”

With the bucket of ice clutched against his chest, Nate hurried back to his room, his hips slightly swaying. Dark Eyes watched Nate’s progress, his gaze darting briefly toward Ryker before he followed Nate inside, the door clicking shut behind them.

A deep growl rumbled through Ryker as he stood there. Something was unquestionably off. There had been an unease in Nate’s pretty blue eyes, like his mate had been trying to convey something Ryker couldn’t decipher.

What he could interpret was the possessive and controlling way Dark Eyes had stared at Nate.

The pull inside Ryker intensified, the instinct to protect the small man overriding everything else. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was going to find out.

With narrowed eyes, he slowly glanced around. The motel suddenly felt different—less like a place to crash for the night and more like an ominous presence. His gut was telling him he’d been led there for a reason, and now that he’d met Nate, he knew why.

Nate was in trouble, and Ryker was determined to keep him safe.