by Drea Roman
A scent tickles my nose, sage and wood smoke. Something clicks inside of me, and I know. My mate. I’m here for my mate. Marshalling my strength, I try to push myself up to sitting. My head swims, and my stomach attempts to leave my body. “Fuck,” I breathe out. Calculating my injuries isn’t even possible as everything hurts. Well, almost everything. My hands seem fine, which must be a good thing. Okay, I have to get up. Gingerly I lift my head again, slowly, very slowly. When I am leaning far enough forward, I use my thankfully gloved hands to push myself into a seated position. Excellent. Okay, not excellent, but I am trying hard not to panic here. Don’t think about the fact that it is the middle of the night, the temperature must be close to zero, and I have no clue where I am or how I got here. Fuck, I’m hyperventilating again.
No. Closing my eyes, I force myself to take long calming breaths. Each lung full brings me more of that tantalizing sage and wood smoke scent. Mate. My mate is nearby. This knowledge brings me a small measure of calm. All I have to do is find my mate. A few minutes pass before I open my eyes again. Now my head is a smidge clearer, so I slowly disentangle myself from the woolen blanket and try to swing my legs out of the side of the sleigh.
Fuck! My ankle screams at me, and my vision darkens for a moment. It is hard to breathe, like something is squeezing my ribcage. Damn it, something must be broken. Several somethings probably, I think. As I wait for the intense wave of pain to pass, I try to take in my surroundings.
There is no snow on the ground, for which I am eternally grateful. No snow means no slipping. Or less slipping, anyway. If I can stand up. I’m pretty sure my ankle is sprained. Hell, it might even be broken.
I am okay. I am okay. I am okay. This is my new mantra. I tell myself this over and over again as I try to figure out my next move.
The night is dark, but the moon is full and bright, casting enough light for me to see a dark shape in the distance. A house? A barn? Whatever it is, that is where I have to go.
Gritting my teeth in anticipation of the pain in my ankle, I slowly set my feet on the ground. A jingle greets my ears, and I glance down to find I am wearing green boots, lined with thick white fur and topped off on their curled toe tips with a bell. What the fuck is this? Tuck, I think to myself, it doesn’t matter. You have bells on your goddamn shoes, but no one cares. That thought jolts a laugh out of me, and the sound carries in the still night air.
There’s no one here to see your ridiculous shoes, Tuck. Just stand up already. Okay, so that thought wasn’t mine. The calming voice again. Nick. Whoever Nick is. My head throbs again as I try to search my memory. When I’m greeted with only pain and no memories, I give up and try to concentrate on the task at hand: standing up.
Pushing forward, I carefully try to balance most of my weight on my uninjured ankle. Yeah, that hurts. My shoe feels tight, and I realize my foot is swelling. I have to find somewhere safe very soon, or I won’t be able to walk at all. I hobble forward, startling myself with my pained whimpers. An ancient-looking pine tree stands a few yards off, and I resolve to make it there. Every other step sends shooting pain up my leg, and tears begin to leak out of my eyes. The only thing keeping me calm is the fresh scent of my mate on the air. My wolf has been this way recently.
My wolf? How do I know my mate is a wolf? I shake my head and immediately regret the move as dizziness overwhelms me. I fall against the bark of that old tree, relieved to have made it this far without collapsing. It is harder to pull in breath now that I am standing. I lean against the tree for several moments before pushing myself up to standing again.
Luckily, I appear to have crash-landed my sleigh near a dirt road lined with tall pine trees. I limp from one tree to the next, pausing at each one to rest. Time passes. I’m unsure how long I’ve walked, but when I look behind me, I can still see my sleigh lying in a crumpled heap against the broken fence post. Turning back, I concentrate on making it to the next tree. Eventually, the dark building comes into clearer view. I’m making progress, but my teeth are now chattering from the cold. Though I have on a heavy fur coat, the cold prickles my skin. If I’m out here much longer, I might develop hypothermia. Fear seizes me, and I cannot push myself up from the last tree in the lane until a soft breeze brings my mate’s scent to me again.
Yes, I can make it to him. I will make it to him. The distance to the barn door, which is inexplicably open, is farther than the space between each of the trees which lined the road. Gritting my teeth, I make myself put one foot in front of the other. Pain like I have never known before splinters through me with every other step on my swollen ankle. Halfway to the door, my leg gives way, and I fall, barely catching myself on my hands and knees. Tears stream down my face now, and I cannot stop whimpering. Crawling forward, I whisper over and over to myself, “My mate will find me. My mate will find me.” I try to believe, but as the tide of pain rises in my body, I start to fear I might just die before he can.
As I finally crawl across the threshold of the barn door, relief swamps me, and I fall to the hay-covered floor in a broken heap. My tears fall harder now as I drag myself farther inside the dark building. This used to be a horse barn, but from the stale smell of the hay, I don’t think it’s been used in a while. I spy an open stall to my right, complete with a horse blanket and a floor covered in hay, as if it were just waiting for a horse to enter. I snicker at the thought. No, an elf is sleeping here tonight. As exhaustion sweeps through me, a strange calm settles in my soul. I crawl into the stall and pull the horse blanket over me. The hay is scratchy against my face. I pull my stocking hat further down to protect myself from the hay and the cold as I lay my head down on the straw and pull the horse blanket up to my neck.
My mate will find me. That is my last thought before my eyes slip closed and blissful darkness envelopes me.
2
Darren
As I slowly walk my lands tonight, my thoughts turn nostalgic. This slice of heaven was passed down to me from my father, whose father passed it on to him, just as has happened for generations now. Our roots here are deep and full of life. Yet my wolf and I feel unsettled. For weeks now, I’ve found myself roaming the forests beyond my home, weaving in and out of the tall pine trees, sniffing the air, searching for something or someone. Tonight, the feeling intensified beyond all bearing, and I couldn’t stay in bed if I wanted.
When my father died, I lost touch with that special connection to the land. But as the years go by, I feel a growing pull back to the place where I was raised, where my ancestors before me raised their pups and lived their lives. But tonight, my wolf is going absolutely crazy, and nothing I do calms him. After hours of walking through the pine trees at the far end of my land, I’m exhausted, but my wolf wants out. Sighing, I realize I don’t have a choice. Stopping to strip out of my clothes because I really don’t want to have to replace another pair of boots this season, I find one of my caches in a nearby pine tree. The temperature is far too cold for my human side, but my wolf pushes at me hard, so I strip as quickly as possible, shoving my clothes and boots into the hollow of the tree before stepping back and shifting.
There. As my wolf paws hit the cold ground, a scent slams into me, nearly knocking me over. Candy canes. No. Mate! I shake out my fur and step quickly in the direction of the scent. Surprisingly, it leads me back toward the interior of my land. This is why my wolf clawed at me so desperately. I have circled past this area at least three times tonight, completely bypassing the old horse barn on the edge of the property. No one has been out here since my father died and I gave the last of his horses away to my best friend, Eddie.
My wolf picks up the pace, and I settle back, letting my wolf’s instincts take over. I know exactly where he is leading us and have absolutely no reason to doubt my animal nature. My wolf knows exactly what he is doing, and now, finally, I do, too. We are hunting down our mate. As we run, dashing through the trees, jumping over fallen branches, and reveling in the cold night air, I wonder what my mate could possibly be doing outside,
in the middle of the first chill of the season, the night before Thanksgiving no less. Does he have no family? A pang resounds in my chest. I may have been a full-grown man when my father died, but it devastated me nonetheless. I hope my mate hasn’t been so lonely. My wolf slows along the edge of an old fence, and I’m shocked at the sight that greets me. A crashed sleigh.
Not just any sleigh, either. This one looks like paintings of Santa’s sleigh, except it is splintered apart, part of it dangling from the twisted lines of the barbed wire fence. My mate’s scent, peppermint candy canes, tickles my nose, and I inhale deeply. Curious now, I carefully step my way up to the edge of the rubble and use my nose to nudge the abandoned woolen blanket lying on the ground. There. This is my mate’s blanket. I pick up notes of other animals and people, maybe even shifters. Horse? I sniff again. No, it smells like deer. Odd. But my mate isn’t the deer. Human, I think. Maybe. The scent is complex, and . . . my wolf’s ears prick up, listening.
There is it. A small noise, almost like crying. My mate is crying! I must find him! Putting my nose to the ground, I track his scent. This way, down the lane of pine trees. I force my wolf to go slow, though I agree with his impatience. My mate’s scent lingers at each tree. By the fourth one, I pick up a new smell: blood. My heart freezes. My mate is hurt, badly. I pick up my pace and run down the lane toward the old barn. The door stands wide open, and I dash inside. The smell of my injured mate intensifies, easy to pick up over the scent of old hay.
There is no sound in the barn. Wait—I hear labored breathing coming from the horse stall on the right. Slowly, I edge my way toward the open stall door. Sticking my head around the corner, I find him. Beneath an old horse blanket, a tiny figure huddles, shivering. I pause, unsure if I should approach him as my wolf or if the sight of a naked man would scare him more. My mate whimpers, and his breathing sounds pained. My need to tend to my mate’s wounds outweighs the desire not to frighten him. I shift back to human form and find myself crouched next to his sleeping form. At least, I think he is sleeping. He could have lost consciousness.
The only part of him outside of the blanket and visible is his head, which is partially covered with an old-fashioned stocking hat, similar to the kind you see on the people playing elves in Santa’s Village during the Christmas festival. It is green with white fur trim and a fluffy white pom at the end. Leaning closer, I can see bruises along his cheek and a large goose egg on the side of his forehead. Damn it. My EMT training tells me I need to wake him now. No one should sleep with an unchecked head wound.
Gently, I place a hand on his thin shoulder and shake him lightly. His eyes snap open, and his crystal-clear blue eyes blaze at me, seemingly in recognition.
“Mate,” he whispers, and my heart clenches at the word and the surprisingly deep sound of his voice.
“Yes, mate,” I reply. “You’re injured. Your forehead has a huge knot. Was that your sleigh I saw crashed against my fence?”
He nods, wincing as the movement clearly causes him pain.
“Be careful,” I admonish, suddenly concerned with my nudity. “Sorry to greet you naked, but I just shifted. You lie still while I find some clothes. Then I will take you out of here.”
My tiny mate nods his head again, his almost white blond hair sparkling in the moonlight drifting in through the cracks between the wooden slats of the stall wall. More self-conscious than usual about my nudity post-shift, I turn before standing and walking out of the stall. My dad used to keep some spare clothing here, in case of emergency or, in the case of my teenaged self, accidental shifts. I find the closet near the back of the barn, still full of our clothes. Mine are too small now, but I locate a pair of my father’s jeans, some boots, and a white-and-green plaid shirt. There is even a coat, for which I am very grateful. Everything smells of my father, and, in this moment, I wish he were here with me. I pull on the clothes and make my way back to my mate as quickly as possible.
He has fallen back into sleep, and I kneel down to scoop him up, old horse blanket and all. He is even smaller than I thought at first glance, tiny, really. Standing on his tiptoes, his head will likely barely reach my collarbone. My heart clenches in worry. Striding out of the barn, I carry my mate as fast as I can toward my house and my Jeep.
Walking briskly, I make it to my house in record time. The barn is over a mile away, and I’m glad we haven’t had snow yet. I don’t want to think about what could have happened to my mate if he had crashed in the snow. My tiny one does not stir in my arms, and my fears over the severity of his head wound increase with each step. I must get him to the emergency room and fast. When I reach my Jeep, I carefully place him in the passenger seat and secure his seatbelt around his blanket wrapped body. He moans, and I watch him closely for a moment, but he does not wake up. After closing the door securely, I run around and slide into the driver’s side. I buckle myself up for safety’s sake while I curse the fact that my cell phone and keys are still in my pants pocket inside a pine tree knot in the woods. No matter, as I find the spare key beneath the front seat where I always have it. Starting her up, I put the Jeep in gear and race to the hospital as quickly as I can without endangering my newly found mate.
Arriving at the emergency room a quick ten minutes later, I park as close as possible before scooping up my unconscious mate in my arms and running through the open doors of the ER.
“That ankle is close to shattered. Did he walk on it?” Dr. Loomis’ voice is kind as he asks me question after question I do not have answers to. I sigh and drop my head into my hands a moment before looking up at my mate’s doctor.
“I’m sorry, Doc. I just found him and brought him to the hospital immediately. He must have walked on it as I found him in my dad’s old horse barn. The site of the crash was not too far off.”
Dr. Loomis frowns and pulls up a chair next to mine in the tiny examination room the nurses led me to after they took my mate from my arms. As soon as I carried my unconscious mate into the Vale Valley ER, nurses and doctors scooped him up and whisked him away from me. I wanted to follow, but instead I’ve been stuck fielding questions.
“It’s important, Darren. How far do you think he walked? I am trying to determine if he needs surgery. The X-rays will tell me more, but it will be a few more minutes before the radiologist finishes taking them. I would like to be prepared for whatever the tests show.”
I cringe internally, and I'm sure that it shows on my face. “It's a half mile from where his sled crashed and my old horse barn.”
Loomis makes a note on the metal clipboard I can only guess holds the beginnings of my mate’s medical file. “Do you have any idea how long he was out there?”
I shake my head. “No. I was taking a walk through my forest when my wolf scented him.” My agitation grows as the minutes separated from my mate tick by.
“You called him your mate when you came in. I take it you just found him?”
My wolf takes this opportunity to growl, and I find myself baring my teeth at the doctor I know is a fellow wolf.
Loomis tries to hide his smile but fails. Holding up his hands, he speaks softly to me, clearly comfortable with handling sudden aggression from mates. “Easy there, Darren. Just so you know, I’m very happily mated. I’m just doing my job here, which happens to be taking care of your mate.”
Embarrassment floods me. I tip my head back and close my eyes for a moment. “I don’t even know his name. My wolf was agitated tonight, and as soon as I shifted, I caught his scent and followed it through the woods. I found his crashed sleigh first, then let his scent lead me to him. How bad are his injuries, doc?”
Loomis makes another note on the clipboard chart before snapping his pen shut and slipping it into the pocket of his white doctor’s coat. “I haven’t had the chance to examine him closely, but on just the quick visual inspection I did before sending him for images, he likely has a concussion, the broken ankle, and possibly some broken ribs. They are doing the X-rays and a CT scan while we speak. I will know m
ore once those come back and I’ve had a chance to read them. For the moment, your mate is being cleaned up and evaluated.”
A tall, dark-haired man walks into the room and hands Dr. Loomis a file, which he opens. “Okay, Darren, it looks like that ankle is going to require surgery.” He stands, and I follow suit.
“Can I see him before you take him back?”
Dr. Loomis nods. “He’s still unconscious, but because mates can sense one another, I think it would be an excellent idea for you to see him before he goes into the OR.”
I follow Loomis out of the exam room and down the hall. My mate lies unconscious on a gurney in the hallway, surrounded by nurses, with an IV running into his arm. One of the nurses looks up at me and smiles warmly.
“Come over here, honey, and talk to your mate. We’re taking him back now, but I’ll give you a moment.”
I can barely breathe as I step forward and look down at the tiny, battered man lying on the hospital gurney. He looks even smaller than before, his stocking Christmas hat gone and his white blond hair matted with blood from the wound to his forehead. Hesitantly, I raise my hand and gently run a finger down the uninjured side of his face. He sighs, and my heart clenches in wonder and fear. Leaning forward, I whisper into his ear, “I’ll be waiting for you.” Carefully, I place a chaste kiss to his uninjured cheek and stand up, wiping the sudden tears from my eyes.
The nurse catches my eye with a kind expression. “Don’t worry, Mr. Williams, we will take good care of him. Here’s his hat. It has blood on it, but it seems like something he wouldn’t want to lose.” She hands me his strange hat, and I step away from the bed, clutching that solid scrap of clothing in my fists. It is the only piece of him I can hold on to while the doctors take care of his injuries. My wolf raises his head inside me and howls as the doctors and nurses wheel my mate through the OR doors and away from me.
