The storm swallowed the world.
Snow slammed against the windshield so hard I could barely see the road, the wipers scraping in a losing battle. My little rental car wasn’t built for mountain weather, and when the tires spun uselessly before skidding toward the ditch, I knew I was f****d.
The car groaned, lurched, and finally gave up. Dead. Heat fading. My phone had no signal. Panic clawed up my throat until headlights cut through the storm.
A truck pulled up, its engine loud, steady. The door opened, and he stepped out.
Big. Broad. Snow crusted his jacket, beard rough with frost, dark hair falling in his eyes. He didn’t look like a man — he looked like the mountain itself had decided to walk toward me.
“You’ll freeze out here.” His voice was gravel, carried by the wind.
Before I coul
