Ashes & Embers Series Collection (Books 1 to 4)

by Carian Cole

  He stands up and brushes the snow off himself then shakes his head, flinging snow everywhere before he takes his sunglasses off to wipe away the snowflakes. “Let’s go.”

  I squint up at him, thinking I might be hallucinating. He’s wearing black kohl eyeliner under his incredibly emerald green eyes. Seriously, eyeliner?

  “Excuse me,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Are you wearing eyeliner?”

  He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Never mind that. Let’s just go already.” He puts his sunglasses back on.

  I can’t let it go. “Are you some kind of cross-dresser or something?”

  “Fuck to the no.”

  “Then why are you wearing eyeliner?” And wearing it very well, I might add. I can never create the smoky, perfectly smudged look he’s got going on.

  “It’s part of my persona. Can we talk about this shit later? We’re in the middle of a fuckin’ blizzard. Not exactly the time to be talkin’ about makeup.”

  I suppose it’s part of his weird Goth look, which I’ve only really seen on TV in music videos and vampire movies. Maybe he’s a Twilight fan? Good Lord, I hope not. I can’t take any more sparkly vampires. My best friend is a huge Twilight fan and insists on watching the movies every time we have a girls’ night in.

  He holds out his hand to help me out of the car, a polite gesture, which doesn’t quite match the rest of him.

  “I can’t walk in the snow,” I say meekly.

  “Huh? Why not?”

  “Because I’m wearing heels.”

  “Heels? Who the hell wears heels in weather like this?” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fuck my life!” he screams up into the snow-filled sky. “I just wanted an uneventful weekend. Alone.”

  “It wasn’t snowing this bad when I left, okay? Yeesh. What the hell do you know about fashion anyway?” I nod my head at his ensemble of faded ripped jeans and work boots, which in reality is much better than the business pantsuit and high heels I’m currently wearing.

  “I’m going to have to effin’ carry you to my truck then.”

  “Carry me? No way. You are not touching me.” I cross my arms. I know I must look like a pouting child, but I don’t really care.

  He sighs, reaches into the car and before I can even protest, he has me scooped up without effort into his arms.

  “Enough of your bullshit. Done,” he states, then kicks my door shut and starts to walk up the snowy hill. I have no choice but to put my arms around his neck. Even with his coat on, I can feel very muscular shoulders and arms. He’s a big guy; my guess would put him at about six-two or taller.

  “Please, don’t drop me,” I say, hanging on to him, but trying not to touch him at the same time.

  “Are you kidding me? You weigh next to nothing. Don’t you eat?”

  “Yes, I eat. You feel very big.” I immediately want to take my words back once I realize what just came out of my mouth. “I mean . . . I can feel the muscles in your shoulders and back.” Heat rises to my cheeks and I beg the universe to swallow me up.

  He’s laughing at me. “Shit, you keep talking like that and I might drop you.”

  “At this point, I don’t think I care. I just want this ordeal to be over.”

  Finally, we get to the road and he treads over to his big, black pick-up truck, which is now covered with a few inches of snow. The rate of snowfall is alarming to me, even as a New Hampshire native. I reach over and open the passenger side door when we get close enough.

  “Oh, my God!” I scream. “A wolf got in your truck!” I turn my head away from the hulking beast and bury my face into his neck.

  “Calm the hell down! It’s just my dog. Are you always this crazy?”

  “He’s huge!” I scream, not looking at the enormous furry thing panting at us.

  Eyeliner Sasquatch tries to put me in the truck, and I scream some more, kicking my legs out. “Are you sure he won’t bite? He’s looking at me like I’m lunch.”

  The guy holding me grinds his teeth, then starts yelling.

  “Niko! Get in the back.” The dog whimpers. “In the back! Now!” The wolf-like dog relents and jumps into the back seat of the extended cab. Sasquatch puts me down on the passenger seat.

  “Don’t be afraid of him. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s a big teddy bear.”

  I run my hands through my long hair, which is wet and slightly crunchy from the snow. “You and your dog are both kinda scary. No offense.”

  “None taken. Now, let’s get out of here.” He starts to close the door, but I put my arm out and stop him.

  “Wait! I just remembered my purse and travel bag are still in my car.”

  “So?”

  “I need them. All my stuff is in there.”

  “Really?” he asks. “Are your meds in there, too?”

  Meds? What’s he talking about?

  “Huh?”

  “You must be on some kind of meds for whatever mental illness you have. You want me to walk all the way back down that fuckin’ ditch just to get your bag full of clothes and more stupid shoes?”

  “I’m sorry, but my laptop is in there, and it has all my work on it, which I need for my meeting—”

  “There’s no way in hell you’re getting to that meeting this weekend, honey. Just sayin’.”

  “I still need my things! I can’t just leave my personal stuff out here in the middle of nowhere!”

  He lights up another cigarette, takes a long drag, and stares off into the woods toward my car. I see smoking is a pattern with him when he is thinking. “Fine!” he finally says. “Just sit there and try not to get into any more accidents, okay? And don’t touch anything.”

  I shiver as I watch him trudge back down the hill to my car. I am acutely aware of the humongous dog in the backseat breathing down my neck. I do not want to be alone in the truck with this animal, or his owner, or both of them. I can’t understand how this day went so wrong, so fast! I should be at a cozy hotel right now, soaking in a nice hot bath and ordering room service—not sitting in a blizzard with this stranger and his obscenely huge dog. I snap down the sun visor and flip down the mirror so I can keep an eye on the dog behind me. I can see he is watching me in the mirror with his tongue hanging out. He seems to be smirking at me, just like his master.

  After what seems like eons later, I see Sasquatch walking back up to the truck, the snow swirling around him. He opens the truck door, throws my bags in, and climbs in behind the wheel.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a latte? Maybe I could walk to Starbucks in this blizzard for you and get you a coffee.”

  Actually, I could totally go for a nice hot white chocolate mocha right now, with some whipped cream and those little chocolate curls they put on top for the holidays.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I say to him. “Let’s just go.” I just want to get away from this guy and find a way to get to my hotel or back home as soon as possible. And now I really want a white mocha, like yesterday.

  He starts his truck and the engine roars. “My cabin is about two miles up the road.” He turns the heat up higher. “Once we get there, we can call a tow truck for your car if the phones are working.”

  “And what if the phones aren’t working?”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to hang out until they are working, or until they plow the roads enough for me to drive you to town.”

  I let out a big, aggravated sigh. “This day sucks.”

  He nods in agreement. “A wicked lot.”

  The snow is now coming down so hard and fast, we can barely see out the windshield. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen such a bad snowstorm. In a twisted way, I’m kind of glad my car got stuck because I can’t even imagine trying to drive myself in this snow right now, especially as it’s now becoming even darker out.

  We drive slowly in awkward silence when suddenly a deer jumps out from the woods on the side of the road, right in front of the truck. I scream as Sasquatch s
werves and the truck starts to slide and spin, gaining speed. He throws one arm across my chest to hold me against the seat as he tries to regain control of the truck, but it’s not working. I scream again as the truck flies off the road and into the woods, crashing downhill and plowing down small trees, until it finally comes to a halt, wedged amongst a bunch of larger trees on the side of a hill.

  “Fuck!” He slams both his hands against the steering wheel. “I can’t fucking believe this shit!” He turns to me. “And why the fuck wasn’t your seatbelt on?”

  I move away from him and smash myself against the door. “I’m sorry.” My voice sounds small and weak. My heart is pounding so hard I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  He rests his head against the steering wheel and takes several deep breaths. “I’m sorry for yelling at ya,” he finally says, his voice level and calm, but I can see it’s a struggle for him. “Are you okay?” He turns to me, and I can see my reflection in his sunglasses.

  I nod, afraid to talk. I can’t stand to hear the fear in my own voice. He reaches into the back seat and pets his dog. “You okay, Niko?” The dog whimpers and licks his hand. “That’s a good boy,” he says softly, caressing the dog’s head. “You’re okay.”

  He tries to restart the truck, but it’s completely dead. I can’t believe this; honestly, I just can’t.

  “Wh-what are we going to do?” I ask, fear settling deep in my stomach at the thought of being stranded out here.

  “Well, we’re out of cars, so unless you want to walk or ride the dog to my place, we’re stuck here.”

  Terror rises in me like a tidal wave and all-too-familiar irrational anxiety takes over. “What? What do you mean? We have to get out of here. We could freeze or starve, you said so yourself, and—”

  “Shh!” he yells, making me jump. “Just calm the hell down, okay? Obviously, both of the cars are fucked. We are still about a mile, maybe more, from my place, and that’s way too far to walk in this storm—especially with you wearing those fuck-me pumps.”

  “Can you give it a rest about my shoes, please?”

  “Whatever. The storm will probably stop tonight or sometime tomorrow, so we’re gonna have to just stay put until the plow truck comes by, and we’ll have to hitch a ride. Until then, we’re in luck, because I stopped at the grocery store on the way to my cabin. I think I have enough things we can eat and drink to keep us going until then, as long as it all doesn’t freeze.”

  Keep us going? What does that mean?

  “ . . . I have a big blanket in the back seat, so we should be able to stay pretty warm. It’s really heavy and thick.”

  I’m a shaking and shivering mess, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m cold, or scared out of my mind, or maybe both. I want to get out of this truck and away from this guy and his dog right now. I beg myself not to panic, even though I know it’s inevitable because I’ve had panic attacks since I was a little girl, brought on by all sorts of things. Being stuck in a truck in the middle of the woods is definitely a perfect recipe to bring an epic one on.

  He reaches across the seat and touches my leg. “Hey, we’re gonna be okay. Don’t worry.” I cross my arms in front of me, hugging myself.

  I nod, but I refuse to talk, and he continues. “Okay, so I think we should both sit in the back seat, since there’s a lot of room back there and we can put the blanket over us. I think it will help keep us warmer.”

  “What about the dog?” No way am I going to sit close to that monstrous animal. I wish my cat were with me. Halo is warm, sweet, and would cuddle up on my lap and purr me into a comforting lull.

  “ . . . have to sit up front. He’s got a ton of fur and he’s made for the cold, so he’ll be fine.”

  The last thing I want to do is sit in the backseat under a blanket with this longhaired, eye-linered, sunglassed, face-pierced, cowboy hat-wearing dude. What strange Hell have I fallen into?

  “Okay, so you climb in back and I’ll call Niko up here, and then I’ll move back with you, all right? I know he freaks you out, but he’s not gonna hurt ya.”

  I swear under my breath and climb over the seat and into the back, arranging myself as far into a corner as I can while he maneuvers the dog into the front before climbing into the back himself. He holds up a huge, thick fleece blanket, shakes it out, and then lays it over our laps.

  “It’s got some dog hair on it, but at least it’s warm and clean, except for the fur.”

  I give him a weak smile. “This will work.”

  The back seat of the extended cab is pretty big, thankfully. I haven’t been in a pick-up truck in years, and I don’t remember them having these huge backseats. It must be something the newer models have.

  “This is nice, very roomy.” I have no idea what else to say.

  He offers his crooked smile and laughs. “Um, thanks?”

  “I’m just trying to make conversation. This is really awkward.”

  “Yeah, it fuckin’ is, in a bad way. But it looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, so we’re gonna have to be friends for a few days. Maybe we should start with names. What’s yours?”

  “Evelyn. And you?”

  “Storm.”

  “Storm?” I repeat. “Are you kidding me?” The irony.

  “Yeah . . . When my mom showed my dad the ultrasound photo, he said it looked like a bunch of dark storm clouds to him, so they named me Storm.”

  “It must be weird to have a name you have to explain the meaning of every time you meet someone.”

  “No, not at all. I like my name. At least it’s not fucking boring like Joe, or Michael.”

  That reminds me of Michael, and I wonder what he’s doing. If I don’t call him, he’s going to start to worry about me. Maybe he’ll come looking for me and save me from this fresh Hell.

  Storm leans forward and takes off his coat. “This got wet while I went on the tour of the forest for your bags. I think it’s best if I just take it off so I don’t sit here like a sponge, huh?” He folds it up and puts it on the front seat, and then he removes his hat and pushes his sunglasses on top of his head.

  My eyes are mesmerized by him, betraying the rest of me, which is trying to get as far away from him as possible. His hair is dark brown and long, a few inches past his shoulders. On the right side, two thin sections are dyed—one purple, one white. He’s wearing a black cable knit sweater with the sleeves pushed up, and I can see tattoos covering both of his arms, from his wrists up to his elbows. The artwork extends beyond the collar of his sweater, up toward his neck. I’ve never seen anyone who looks like him before, and I’m fascinated, just gawking at him like an exotic zoo animal. His eyes meet mine and I quickly glance away.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “You were staring at me. Do you want to say something?”

  “No . . . I didn’t mean to stare. I’ve just never seen anyone who looks like you up close before.”

  He raises his brows at me and smirks. “Looks like me? Is that an insult, or a compliment?”

  I shake my head and squirm a bit. “Definitely not an insult.”

  “Lemme guess . . . you’re used to the jock type with short hair and their preppy pants and loafers?”

  I nod admittedly. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’m not used to men with eyeliner and colored stripes in their hair.”

  He leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes. “I like being different. I don’t feel the need to fuckin’ blend.”

  I won’t admit it to him, but I admire it. Michael is a blender. I can barely tell him and his friends apart anymore, dressing the same, driving the same kind of car, short hair with a little spiky mess in the front. I suppose I’m the same, dressing like all the other girls in the office with the latest fashions. But once I’m home and alone, I can’t wait to throw on an old t-shirt, put on yoga pants, and wear pink Converse sneakers.

  “So, Evelyn, what kind of meeting were you heading up to?”

  “It w
as for work.”

  “I gathered that. What do you do?”

  “I’m a marketing exec. at a small advertising firm. I was supposed to be going to a seminar on branding and marketing strategies for new small businesses.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “Well, as you said, I’m obviously going to miss it now. My boss is going to be pissed. It cost quite a bit of money to register and pay for the room and everything.”

  “What the fuck, Ev? You’re stuck in a ditch in a blizzard. I think he’ll understand.”

  Did he seriously just give me a nickname? I shake my head, moving on and thinking back to my current situation. I can already hear Jim screaming about wasting money and my lack of responsibility, especially as the youngest employee at the office, which he always seems to point out. He only cares about money and profit.

  “My boss is not exactly an understanding person.”

  “Fuck him then. You don’t need that shit.”

  “Yeah, but I do need my job. And do you always talk like that?”

  “If he gives you any shit, let me know, and I’ll cover the costs he lost from your ditch-dive. And yes, I fuckin’ do talk like this.”

  “What? Are you crazy? You can’t give me money.”

  “Yeah, I’m probably a little crazy. But it’s no fucking big deal to me. I don’t want some douche stressing you out over money. Life’s too short for that.”

  I stare at him for a moment, realizing he’s very serious. “Why do you care?”

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “I dunno. Why not? I’m not a greedy person.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but thank you,” I say sincerely.

  He yawns. “No problem.”

  “Do you work?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going. I don’t want to sit in silence in the dark truck because that just feels really awkward.

  “Yeah, even people who look like me have jobs,” he responds sarcastically. Ouch.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, what do you do for work?” I really need to watch how I word things. Sometimes really dumb stuff spews out of my mouth.

  “I build custom motorcycles.”

  Wow. I’ve never been on a motorcycle, and I’m scared of them, but it sounds like an interesting career to actually build them.