Page 4 of A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving

Diane brushed her hair out of her face, surprised at how tangled it was. It felt like a bird had settled on her head and nested there for a month. She needed a comb badly, but that could wait until she figured out where she was.

It was somebody’s home. It was sparsely furnished, but there was a fur rug. It was some sort of cabin, except she didn’t know how she’d gotten here.

She searched her memory—and then the details came rushing back to her like a tidal wave. She’d been flying and then falling. Yes. She’d been aboard Flight 18, fighting off the dreadful thoughts that tore at her and wishing the plane would touch down soon. That guy, Tom, had tried to hit on her. And then everything had turned upside down.

The plane had come apart in midair. It lost its wings, and the next thing she knew, she’d been plummeting toward certain death.

Except here she was. Alive.

Had it all been a dream? It had to have been. But it had seemed so terrifyingly real. Besides, how else had she wound up in this cabin?

“How could I have survived?” she asked herself.

She should have crashed into the mountain, which shouldn’t even have been there if they’d been flying over Nebraska. The details didn’t add up, especially the part where she was snatched out of the sky by a… by a…

It’s impossible,Diane,she told herself.

She got to her feet. She had no injuries at all, confirming the fact that she hadn’t crashed into the mountain after all. She surveyed the room. It was a living room of some sort. She looked down. Whoever lived here had given her a change of clothes. Instead of the pink shirt and blue skirt she’d had on when she boarded the flight, she now wore jeans and a yellow sweater. Her sandals were nowhere to be seen.

Diane had tried writing mystery romances a couple of times, and although the books were never published, she’d learned a few things. One of them was that if you ended up in a roomwithout knowing how you got there, you were probably in mortal peril.

She knew she wasn’t safe here. She hadn’t been safe since she got on that flight.

But she was on land now at least. It was small consolation after everything she’d been through. How long had it been since she got sucked out of the plane? How long had she been unconscious? Her mind swirled with a million questions, but she didn’t have any answers.

Someone did. Whoever lived here should be able to tell her everything she needed to know. If they weren’t trying to kidnap or kill her.

She quickly decided that escaping from this cabin was the smartest option. If she was still on the mountain, she’d make her way downhill and look for help. She made for the nearest door, hoping it led outside, but had only taken a couple of steps when the door swung open, giving her a momentary glimpse of the snow outside before someone stepped into the room.

Diane froze in her tracks, holding her breath.

The man was rather tall, at least a head taller than she was. But that wasn’t the only feature that caught her attention. He was surprisingly muscular, his bulging arms sticking out of the sleeveless blue hooded jacket he had on. His chest and abs were visible through his clothes, too, almost golden in the firelight.

“Hello,” she muttered.

He said nothing. Instead, he pulled back his hood, and Diane barely managed to suppress a gasp. The man looked to be a few years older than her—maybe fifty or fifty-one. He had salt-and-pepper hair and his eyes were as blue as his sweater. Between his piercing gaze and chiseled jaw, Diane found herself struggling to find something to say.

The man regarded her for a moment, stroking his trimmed beard, and although Diane was fully clothed, she’d never felt so naked. Finally, he spoke, his deep voice filling the room.

“You’re awake,” he said.

He didn’t sound displeased by that, Diane noted. That was a good sign. Maybe he wasn’t going to try to kill her.

“I am,” she replied, finally finding her voice. “Where am I? I… who… who are you? Did you save my life? Thank you—I mean, if you did, but—”

“I’m Sylvester,” he cut in, taking a step closer. “Sylvester Stormbringer.”

It took Diane a couple of seconds to process his response. She frowned. “Stormbringer? Never heard that name before, but—well, my name’s Diane. Diane Garrick—”

“I saved your life,” he told her, cutting her short yet again. “And now, you will be my wife.”

Chapter Two

“Become My Wife… Or You Can Be My Prisoner.”

Sylvester Stormbringer registered the different emotions that flickered across the woman’s face at his words—shock, confusion, disbelief. As if subconsciously, she brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, her gaze flicking between him and the door behind him as though she was considering her next move.

He almost smirked. Almost.

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