Snowbound with the Santas (Forbidden Fantasies)

5. Rayne

5

RAYNE

— T HUNK—THUNK—THUNK ? —

My head hurts.

Sleep pulls at me, trying to drag me back down into the comforting darkness, and the strong temptation to give in is distracted by that strange sound.

— THUNK—THUNK—THUNK ? —

It continues, almost rhythmically, and yet there’s something not quite right about it. It’s not steady enough to be the ticking of a clock, and far too loud to be something like my own heartbeat. And yet it sounds distant, like it’s not as close to me as I first thought.

Fuck. What the hell happened?

Groggily, I open my eyes and immediately close them as the light burns at my eyes. It’s too bright.

Is it all the snow? The headlights of my car? Maybe the thunking is the windshield wipers still trying to clear the snow for me.

My next breath is surprisingly easy. My bodice must have broken in the fall, and I’m not entirely disappointed.

After a few breaths, I open my eyes again, and my heart immediately lurches at what’s above me.

Wood.

A wooden ceiling made of planks stretches above me from one side of the room to the other. As I stare up at them, I finally register the soft scents of wood and sap mixing with something else. Smoke, maybe?

I ease myself up onto one elbow and blink slowly, taking in my surroundings as calmly as I can.

I’m tucked up in a large bed, nestled under several quilts and blankets. Wooden furniture hugs the walls, a dresser to my left near a large window and a wardrobe to my right tucked into the corner. There’s an ornate wooden dressing table with a copper mirror, and a small, pale version of myself peers back at me when I look into it.

Orange curtains hug the window, and the door opposite is closed.

This… is not my room. In fact, I don’t think I saw any part of the ski lodge that looked like this.

Where am I?

Am I dead?

It feels foolish to contemplate such a thing, but my surroundings are so gentle and unfamiliar, and this bed is so cozy that it’s my only current explanation.

The thunking sound continues and seems to be coming from outside. I push myself up further, and pain consumes me.

My head throbs like a hammer is trying to break out of my skull, and a deep ache pulls painfully across my right thigh. It’s painful enough that nausea immediately floods my gut and my throat twitches. For a few seconds, I fear I’m about to puke.

The sensation passes, but the acidic burn lingers in my gut.

Gripping the covers, I throw them off my body, and my heart leaps up into my dry throat.

I’m mostly naked, aside from a checkered shirt that reaches my knees. My right thigh is covered in thick white bandages, and when I lift one hand to my head, my fingertips skim over tape. Another look in the mirror, and I can just make out a white patch on my forehead.

What the hell happened? Where the hell am I?

The longer I’m awake, the longer a sense of unease builds in my stomach. It takes me a moment to will down the rising urge to puke again. Then I slide to the edge of the bed and hop out. I need to get a better look at things.

However, as soon as I place my feet on the warm wooden floor and stand, pain and weakness pull through my right thigh and I immediately crash down with a squeal.

“Ow,” I gasp, quivering as the pain swells to sickening levels and then, slowly, starts to fade. I must have fucked up my leg in the crash, or when I fell. My thoughts are clouded, and recalling the crash in the snow is hazy at best.

I remember getting out of the car and I remember falling, but anything beyond that is a strange blur.

A chill steals down my spine, turning my arms and legs to gooseflesh as I slowly climb back to my feet. The pain in my right leg forces me to keep all my weight on my left, so reaching the window is challenging.

I’m out of breath by the time I grip the windowsill. Pushing the white netting aside, I peer through a slightly dusty window that shows its age with how the edges of the glass thicken near the wooden frame.

Looking out, the source of the noise makes itself known.

A man is out in a small clearing beyond the building, surrounded by towering fir and pine trees. He stands calf-deep in the snow, wearing dark blue jeans and a red plaid shirt that flaps lightly in a gentle breeze. He lifts his head and slides one large hand through thick brown hair. He squints upward into the sun, then drops his hand to rub through a full brown beard that covers his jaw.

Then he leans back, and a large axe comes into view. My heart skips a beat and I watch, transfixed, as he swings the large axe effortlessly through the air, then brings it down on a thick chunk of wood. The wood cleaves clean in two, and the pieces drown down onto the snow where several other chunks of wood lie.

That’s the sound. He’s cutting wood with an axe so sharp it glints in the sunlight.

“Fuck,” I whisper, fogging the window slightly with my breath. From here, it’s hard to make out any other details, but he looks incredible. He has a thick, hunky build and such strength that the large axe flies between his hands as easily as cutlery.

I’m stunned.

And then it hits me.

I have no idea who that man is.

He continues to chop wood, completely oblivious to me watching him. Then he pauses and turns toward the building.

I dart back from the window as if I’ve been burned and swallow down a moan of pain as my shift in stance flares more pain through my leg. The net curtain drifts too slowly back into place.

Holy shit.

From my glimpse of the surroundings, I’m definitely not near the ski lodge unless this is some kind of cabin that’s tucked behind the building.

Panic rushes through me like static and I hurriedly scan the room. Twinkling catches my eye, and I rush to the dresser where my purse sits.

On my way, any kind of weight on my right leg results in my falling. Each thump of my body hitting the floor in my rush makes me acutely aware of how loud that sound is. What if someone hears me? I have absolutely nothing to defend myself with, but if I can get my phone, maybe I can call for help.

The longer I’m awake, the more I doubt that this place has anything to do with the ski lodge.

Reaching the dresser, I clutch my purse and then spot my dress, folded up neatly on the corner.

Was it that man outside? If it had been a woman, they never would have folded up a dress like this.

I fumble through my purse, relieved to find my phone tucked inside, but my relief is short-lived. Turning it over, the cracked screen causes my heart to sink. After pressing a few buttons, the light flickers across the screen, and my warped home screen blooms to life.

Only for the low battery warning to flash up, followed by the No Service notification that haunted me last night.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck !

What the hell am I supposed to do?

I’m in an unfamiliar place, with a strange man outside and no clue how I got here.

Or who took my dress off.

“Think, Rayne. Think.” I have to be near the ski lodge, right? I don’t remember Mom mentioning anything else being in the mountains, so maybe this is the workers' lodge or some kind of medical facility.

Despite the no signal warning, I tap through my contacts to Nina and attempt to call her. It fails immediately, so I type out a quick text explaining the crash and how I woke up in a strange room. It doesn’t send.

No matter. If some kind of mountain cannibal has kidnapped me, then maybe that text can serve as proof of life until then.

Wait, I haven’t heard the thunk in a while .

Hobbling back to the window with my phone in hand, I peer out through the slightly warped glass and stare down at where I last saw the stranger.

The man is gone.

So is the axe.

My gut clenches, and heat flushes quickly through my system. Fuck. It was scary when I knew where he was. Now that I have no idea, it’s even more terrifying. Using the wall for balance, I hobble slowly toward the door and lightly press my ear against it.

Maybe if I can slip out of here, find a change of clothes or something, then I stand a chance. All I need to do is somehow get out of here and then… what? Run through the snow until I hit civilization?

Steal a car?

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes as my thigh throbs, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat and creating a strange echo of sensations through my body.

Holding my phone against my chest, I clasp the door handle and apply the slightest pressure.

It turns easily—then suddenly, the area outside is filled with distant, heavy, thumping footsteps.

And they grow louder with each step.

Shit!

I throw myself back at the dresser, closing my purse and trying to arrange it back the way it was before I touched it. I hadn’t paid that much attention, and now I can’t remember if the strap was loose or coiled up with the purse.

Louder and louder those deafening steps grow, and I have to give up.

Phone in hand, I haul myself painfully back to the bed and almost fall as I step forward with my right leg in my panic. Luckily, I land on the bed this time and not the floor, softening the blow, and I swallow down the hot pain fighting to escape me.

I scramble under the covers and pull them quickly back over my body, then I screw my eyes closed and fight to steady my breathing.

Come on, Rayne. Pretend to be asleep. Just pretend.

My heart pounds painfully against my ribs, and sweat gleams across my entire body. My thigh is on fire, flaring up like a deep muscle cramp, and it takes all my strength not to double over and fight the pain with gritted teeth.

The heavy footsteps stop right outside the door, and I press my lips together, holding my breath the best I can.

It’s difficult, and a few pants are escaping me.

Then the door clicks and the hinges squeak softly as it swings open. Wood creaks under the weight of the footsteps coming into the room. There’s a clatter of something against wood, and then a deep breath that carries a slightly masculine air.

Is it the man from outside? Have I woken up into some terrifying horror movie and I’m about to be dragged out to the spit and roasted alive to feed his cannibal children?

The steps come closer and then pause once more. Silence falls, and I fight with every instinct I have to open my eyes.

Pretend to be asleep. Pretend!

“I know you’re awake,” comes a deep, gentle voice.