Page 12 of Accidental Mate

The ginger tea was cool enough to drink but still warming. Carson added honey to the mug and returned to Amelia. Lifting her so that she rested against him, he lifted the fragrant tea to her lips and encouraged her to sip. When that didn’t work, he poured small amounts into her mouth and let instinct take over. She swallowed and he was able to get some of the fever reducing liquid down her throat.

She was burning up. The dip into the frigid lake and slow descent into hypothermia hadn’t done her any favors, but he’d been able to remove her to dry land and get her out of her cold, wet clothing fairly quickly. With her wrapped in the warm, dry blankets, he’d been able to travois her up to the cabin. But the shivering and fever had quickly taken hold, and she didn’t seem to be getting better.

What was more worrying was the rattle coming from her chest when she breathed. Her skin seemed too flushed. Pneumonia, more than likely, which meant he was going to need antibiotics. She had yet to start coughing heavily or having real trouble breathing, but Carson feared they were heading that way in the not-too-distant future.

He could use the shortwave radio and call for help once he located it. He could radio for a medical extraction from the landing strip. All he’d need to do was load her onto the sled and drag her back down to the landing strip. The problem that presented itself was the weather. The snow had set in and although the cabin was warm and secure, his concern was that his mate needed more care than he could provide to her.

Once she was resting easy again, he went into the bath to get a cold compress for her forehead. As he entered the bath, he stared at the locked door. What the hell did Mason have in there? Who exactly was it locked against? It wasn’t like he needed to worry about drop-in visitors or even burglars. He and Amelia were completely alone. The idea that there might be antibiotics in there seemed ludicrous and Carson wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know what secrets Mason was keeping.

Settling the cold compress on her fevered brow, Carson moved back to the kitchen to stir the simmering venison and vegetables. He added a dash of seasonings and tasted. Good. It would be nourishing and tasty when it was done.

He needed to find that radio. He moved around the cabin, bending over to test planks of flooring that didn’t seem as secure as others. Finally, under the bed, he discovered several shorter, loose ones that easily slid back to reveal a hole. He couldn’t see into the hole very well, but he could feel some kind of protective bag around something solid. Lying on his belly, he retrieved the bag, held his breath and removed the item from the bag.

It wasn’t a radio. Instead, it was a locked metal box. What the hell was up with Mason and all his locks? Picking up the box and checking to see if Amelia was all right for the moment, he went into the kitchen, picked up the meat tenderizing tool, which was shaped like some kind of weird hammer, and brought it down on the lock. The little lock didn’t stand a chance against the hammer and Carson’s growing sense of frustration and concern.

The contents of the box weren’t what he was expecting, either. He’d hoped for a small radio or some kind of communication device. Instead, he found several passports from different countries under different names, other identification documentation and cash—lots and lots of cash. Other than very expensive fuel with which to start a fire, none of it was helpful or even germane to the situation in which he found himself and his mate.

He gazed out the window above the kitchen sink, grasping the countertops and growling slowly in frustration and anger. The sky looked grim. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the already white landscape with even more white. They seemed to be shrouded in the stuff—blocking out the world so that it felt like they were all alone. He turned to look at Amelia. His mate. She coughed and the rattle from her chest was more pronounced. He was beginning to understand that just as her survival had depended on him pulling her from her plane and certain death in the icy lake, so now did it depend on him to do whatever he needed to in order to ensure she lived.

Turn her.He shook his head to dispel the notion. The turning of a human was never done lightly and rarely done without her informed consent.

Turn her.Even if she was awake, there was no way she was well enough or that her fevered brain could process all the risks and consequences of abandoning her humanity to become a snow leopard-shifter. But what other alternative did he have?

Turn her.

One of the miraculous things about turning a human to a shifter of any kind was that the creature DNA—for it held true among all shifters—would cure whatever human ailment existed in the one being turned.Turn her. What if he did turn her without her consent? Would she accept the gift? Would she hate him for all eternity for robbing her of her humanity? Would she even survive the transition?

If he turned her, and if she survived, she would be furious and might never forgive him. Was he willing to force a pair bond on her—something which would plague both of them until their death? Was the only alternative to keep her as his captive mate until she accepted the inevitability of her fate? There was nothing to recommend any of these outcomes. However, it was beginning to become clear that it was either turn her or watch her succumb to the ravages of the pneumonia that was beginning to wrap the icy fingers of death around her.Turn her.

Shaking his head to try and clear it of his morose and troubling thoughts, he went outside to bring in more wood so that if the snow got worse, they would have enough at the ready inside. But the cold, stark air did nothing to lift his thoughts or spirits. The weather outside was grim and showed no signs of letting up. He loaded wood onto the sled and ferried it back to the cabin, where he took it inside and stacked it in the cellar. It would be out of the way, but still easily accessible.

Once that was done, Carson checked on Amelia, who seemed no worse, but none the better either. He wanted to do a quick perimeter check and that was best done as a snow leopard. After all, it’s what his shifted form was designed for. Removing his boots and clothes, Carson called forth his inner beast. The great cat leapt forward, as if to say, ‘about time.’ The roiling mist of color and lightning swirled around him. He craned his neck and shook all over before disappearing through the craftily engineered escape door incorporated into the kitchen cupboards. Unless you knew it was there, it was virtually impossible to detect.

Once outside, the air temperature and deep snow no longer bothered him. Breaking into a gallop, he bounded out and away from the cabin in ever expanding concentric circles, widening the distance between himself and the cabin. It occurred to him as he thought about the security of their position and protecting Amelia that having one of the sleds down in the cellar, loaded with supplies, a rifle and a spot he could make safe and warm for her might not be a bad idea. He decided he would bring one of the sleds inside on his return. He’d make sure it was one that could be easily attached to some kind of motorized vehicle—snowmobile or ATV—in case he was able to get to one. Once he had it inside the cellar where it could dry, he would take down the things he’d need. He’d put it all together if they had time, but at least he was better prepared than he had been.

As he charged through the virgin snow, he noted that there were no prints and no sign of anything anywhere near the cabin. They were as safe and as isolated as he had hoped they’d be. They were also completely snowed in.

Turn her. At least if he turned her now, she might have time to transition and they could leave the cabin as snow leopards, which would make traveling much easier and safer.

Once Carson was convinced their position was secure, he returned to the cabin, re-entering through what he thought of as the shifter door, and he shifted back into his human form. Once dressed, he walked to the bed and gazed down at his mate. She was beautiful and getting sicker by the minute. Her sleep was fitful, and her fever appeared to be skyrocketing. He was coming to that fork in the road where he either chose to turn her without her consent or allowed her to die.Turn her.

He snapped his head around to look at the bathroom. The locked door. Maybe there was something in there he could use to help Amelia—medical supplies, some way to communicate with the outside world. Something. Fuck Mason and his secrets. Carson spun on his heel and stalked to the bath. He confronted the door. The padlock could be easily dealt with—not so much the deadbolt lock. Where might Mason keep the key?

Carson was fairly sure it would be handy and easily accessible if one knew where to look. He examined the shower and found nothing. He lifted the lid of the toilet tank and again there was nothing. He placed the lid back on the tank and turned toward the sink. He halted. Or was there? Had his eye caught something in the flushing mechanism that his brain was only now processing?

He returned to the toilet and removed the lid from the tank. There, attached to the chain of the flapper at the bottom of the tank was a clear line—what appeared to be a clear fishing line. Carefully, Carson lifted the flapper and began to draw the fishing line out, grinning as the steel head of a key revealed itself. Once he had it in hand, he put the toilet back together and returned to the door. As he’d hoped, the key fit the deadbolt lock and easily opened it. The same key opened the small padlock.Clever, Mason.

The room was nothing at all like what he’d imagined. An automatic motion-detected fixture flooded the room with light from overhead. There was a rack of guns and more ammo and explosive ordinance than he’d ever seen outside of a military armory. No medical supplies that he could see, but several polar expedition suits, snowshoes and a trap door, which Carson suspected led down to the tunnel. More than that, there was a long desk with several computer monitors, laptops, and desktop CPUs, as well as printers and some electronic gear Carson didn’t even recognize. He toggled on what looked to be the main switch and lights started blinking and the soft whirring of electronic gear coming to life could be heard.

He wanted to dive into it to see if there was some kind of communication device, but a rasping cough from the other room drew his attention and beckoned him back to her side. He stared down at her. He could tell her condition was worsening. Even if there was a mainline to a medical evac unit in there, Carson didn’t believe they could arrive in time to save her.Turn her.

The time had come—he either turned her, regardless of the outcome, or he held her and tried to give her comfort while she died. Not much of a choice at all. Removing his clothes, he crawled naked into bed with her, spooning his front to her back and leaning her so that she was angled so he could access her neck. Pushing her hair out of the way, he trailed kisses along the nape of her neck and she moaned in response. Allowing his fangs to elongate, Carson lowered his mouth, took her neck in a claiming bite, and sank his teeth into her.

Turn her. At destiny’s prodding, he did just that.

CHAPTER8

AMELIA

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