Page 1 of The Storm Within

Chapter One

“This is unreal.” The snow fell in thick, relentless bands, swallowing the world in a monochrome nightmare. It was the kind of snow that silenced everything, making the world around Ryker seem like a void.

Crunching snow under the tires and the rhythmic slapping of the wipers were the only noises breaking the eerie quiet. The harder it snowed, the more he wondered if traveling an hour to buy his three-year-old nephew the “perfect” Christmas gift was worth it.

The damn thing better light up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree and sing carols in seven languages for all this trouble.

Squinting, Ryker peered out the windshield as he tried to distinguish road from ditch. Everything from the trees to the signs to the entire stretch of the back road had vanished beneath layers of white powder. He tapped the brakes to keep the SUV crawling forward, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the backend fishtailed. The tires slipped, and the rear swung out, causing him to grit his teeth.

“Don’t you dare,” Ryker muttered, easing his foot off the gas in an attempt to steady the SUV. The back wheels once again spun, unable to find purchase, as a low curse left his lips.

It hadn’t been forecasted to snow like this. Just a few flurries, they’d said on the radio. Flurries my ass. He hadn’t seen a damn flake on the drive out, but now, on the way home, a whiteout had descended like a cruel prank of nature.

Ryker just wanted to make Ethan’s Christmas magical. Instead, he found himself stuck somewhere between Frostbite Boulevard and I-Should’ve-Stayed-Home Avenue, trapped in an unexpected snowstorm.

Up ahead, a flickering light cut through the blanket of white, and Ryker felt a spark of hope. A sign, its bright red letters bleeding through the storm, announcing, “Vacancy.” It swayed in the wind, the neon buzz audible even from this distance, like an old bug zapper that refused to die.

A motel. There was salvation after all.

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there,” Ryker urged, coaxing the vehicle like a stubborn mule. The entrance to the parking lot was an indistinct shadow under mounds of fresh snow. Ryker nudged the steering wheel to make the turn, the back tires groaning in protest while the front end slid as if the damn thing had a mind of its own. He jerked the wheel to correct it, only for the back tires to spin aimlessly.

“You’re killing me,” he growled.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of praying to whoever would listen, the tires caught enough traction to drag the SUV into the motel’s parking lot. Ryker gently tapped the brakes, bringing the beast to a jerky halt.

With an exhale, he felt the stiffness in his shoulders ease just a fraction.

“This is what you get for waiting last minute to pick up the damn gift,” he grumbled, wishing he’d made the trip a day sooner. “Where in the hell have I ended up?”

The “Open” sign above the office door blinked in and out of existence, barely holding on to life, much like the building it clung to. That was how Ryker felt at the moment—adrift in a world where everyone had found their anchor except him. Happiness for his family mingled with an unrelenting ache, a stark reminder of how utterly alone he was.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” He stared at the building—if the structure could even be called that—and decided the motel looked like it had been pulled from a 1950s postcard. The kind you found at a flea market, crumpled in the corner of a bin marked “free.”

With its dingy brick walls and broken shutters framing dirty windows, the entire facade looked as though it had been dipped in a jaundiced yellow. A single porch light illuminated the entrance, barely enough to cast away the shadows clustering around the door.

The motel looked as desolate as Ryker felt.

When he swung the SUV door open and got out, snow immediately worked its way inside his collar, the cold bite making him hiss. “Son of a bitch.”

He tossed his go-bag over his shoulder and fumbled with his keys, shoving them into his pocket before trudging through knee-deep snow toward the office. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, and his boots crunched with every labored lift of his feet. The wind whipped against him, flinging ice crystals into Ryker’s face with malicious intent, forcing him to duck his head to protect his eyes.

A jangle sounded above the door when he shoved it open, the tiny bell announcing his arrival. After stomping his feet to shake off the snow, Ryker glanced around.

The inside was worse than the outside—dingy linoleum flooring, the walls covered in yellowing wallpaper adorned with faded floral patterns, and a rug that looked as if it had been hauled out of a dumpster.

A worn wooden counter stood to his left, complete with a brass bell that looked like it had seen better decades. Behind the counter was an old man, or maybe just a guy who’d lived too hard. His skin was etched with deep lines, and his dark hair stuck up at odd angles.

“Evenin’.” The stranger’s voice was a raspy wheeze as if each word had to climb its way out of a gravel pit. He gave Ryker a long, considering look, like the old man was trying to decide if he was a paying customer or just some idiot who’d wandered in from the storm.

Or both.

“Hey,” Ryker breathed out, wiping his gloves against his coat, and noticing a once-white plastic nametag on the guy’s shirt. Otis. “I need a room until this storm passes and the roads are cleared.” Hopefully it wouldn’t take long. Christmas was three days away, and Ryker was determined to get home before then.

In his 250 years, he’d never missed a holiday with his family, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Otis didn’t answer right away, his gaze darting to the window where the snow raged outside. Then he let out a long sigh, the kind of sigh that had seen too much of life.

“Lucky for you, we got vacancies.” His lips curled up into something that might’ve been a smile, but Ryker couldn’t be sure. “How ya wanna pay?”

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