Page 4

Ivy

I have the steering wheel in a death grip as the snow flies around my car. The narrow mountain road twists and turns, each bend more treacherous than the last. My podcast research suddenly feels trivial compared to the very real danger I've driven myself into.

The blizzard hit without warning. A total whiteout. One minute I'm squinting at the road ahead, the next I'm engulfed in a world of white. The wind howls, battering my little car. I lean forward, desperately trying to see through the windshield.

"Shit, shit, shit, Ivy. How could you be so stupid?" I mutter, easing my foot off the gas. I'm not prepared for this. What the hell was I thinking, coming up here alone?

I feel the tires lose traction, and then the car starts to veer towards the side of the road. I turn the wheel, overcorrect, and suddenly I'm sliding, careening towards the edge of the road and the steep drop-off beside it.

Time slows. The world spins. I scream, squeezing my eyes shut, bracing for impact, waiting for the crunch of metal against a tree.

It doesn't come. Nothing.

The car stops, teetering on the edge of the road. I sit there, frozen, my hands shaking, gripped tightly around the steering wheel. I let out a ragged breath, forcing my eyes open.

My breath catches when I see a shadow looming in the blizzard outside my car window. I squint, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. But no, there's definitely someone out there.

A gloved hand raps on my window. I jump, then fumble for the button to roll it down.

"Are you alright?" A deep voice cuts through the howling wind. I can barely make out the man's features, but he's tall, broad-shouldered, a dark silhouette against the swirling white.

I nod, my teeth chattering from the brutal cold whipping through the open window. "I think so. God, I can't believe how fast this storm came in."

"Mountain weather is unpredictable. You're lucky I was out checking the fence line." He leans down so he can see into my window, assessing me with his gorgeous dark eyes. Damn, he has better lashes than I do.

"I'm Kris, and you must be the podcaster staying down at my rental property."

"Yes, I am. I'm Ivy Anderson."

"Well, Ivy Anderson, it's not safe for you to stay here. Come on, I'll get you somewhere warm before this storm gets worse." Kris opens my door. "My cabin's just up the hill. We can wait it out there."

I hesitate for a split second, weighing my options. Stay in a freezing car teetering on the side of a mountain, or trust this stranger?

"But my car…"

"It will be fine. I'm the only person who drives this road. There will be no one passing by to mess with it. I'll pull your car out tomorrow. The storm should pass by then and I'll have daylight to see."

That sounds reasonable and not stabby. So that's something. Right?

I grab my bag and climb out of my car. Immediately I'm hit by a strong, icy wind gust. Kris reaches out for me with a strong grip on my arms, only releasing me once I'm steady on my feet.

"My cabin isn't far, we're almost there." He guides me through the blizzard, one hand on my elbow. I stumble, the snow blinding me, but Kris keeps me upright. After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, a dark shape emerges from the white– a cabin.

Kris ushers me inside, slamming the door against the wind. Warmth envelops me as soon as I'm through the door of the cabin, and I sag with relief.

"Welcome, make yourself at home." Kris says, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. "Looks like you picked one hell of a day for a drive."

I gratefully toe off my boots, feeling the chill in my socks as I step onto the plush rug. Kris takes my coat, his fingers brushing my arm, and I try not to shiver at his touch. He hangs it up neatly beside his, then turns to me with a warm smile.

"You look like you're freezing. Come, sit by the fire." He gestures to the couch, and I sink down into the soft cushions. Kris reaches over me to pull two blankets down that were neatly folded over the back of the couch. He wraps one around my shoulders and drapes the other across my lap. The fire crackles, chasing away the bitter cold that had seeped into my bones .

"Thank you Kris. I really appreciate everything you are doing for me."

"It's no problem, Ivy. I'm happy to help." Kris adds a few more logs, then disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he's carrying two glasses.

"I have bourbon and water. I didn't think you would want the cold water. I hope you like bourbon." He offers me a glass.

"It's perfect, thank you."

Kris settles into the chair across from me, his gaze intent, watching as I move the glass to my lips.

"Mr. Hastings called after he left you at the cabin today," he says. "He mentioned you might be stopping by to investigate the old Huntsman lore."

I nod, shifting slightly under the weight of his stare. "Yes, that's right. He said your family has a connection to the Huntsman legend."

Kris laughs, a low, rumbling sound. "That old rumor again. My family has owned this land for almost two centuries, and we know the local tales that have been passed down through the generations."

I take another sip of bourbon, savoring the warmth that spreads through me. "So, you must know a lot about the Huntsman, then."

"I know a thing or two."

This is exactly the kind of information I need for my podcast. "I'd love to hear about what you know, if you're willing to share."

"I'm sure you know the story of Santa Claus. He has his lists of the naughty and nice children. That story has been used to keep children in line and behaving for years."

Kris's lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. "The Hemlock Hollow Huntsman is a much darker one." Kris' voice is low. "The Huntsman was a figure of fear in these parts. He was known for his strict adherence to tradition and his harsh punishments for those who misbehaved. The Huntsman doesn't punish children, and he only has one list. The names on that list will either be taught a lesson so harsh they will make damn sure their names never appear on that list again, or they will be dead before the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Day."

I shift forward on the couch, hanging on Kris' every word.

"The Huntsman is known for his distinctive appearance. He always wore a hooded leather mask, hiding his true identity. They say his eyes were dark and piercing, and his hair fell in wild tangles around his face touching the tops of his shoulders."

"I can't help but wonder why he kept his identity hidden."

Kris' gaze shifts to me as I ask the question, and I feel its intensity like a physical touch. "Some say he was ashamed of the deeds he felt compelled to do, that he hid his face to separate himself from his brutal acts. The people here were superstitious and believed he had an almost supernatural ability to know when someone had earned a spot on his list. He would appear out of nowhere, like a dark spirit, to administer his unique brand of punishment."

"That's so eerie. What kind of punishments are we talking about here? And what kind of behavior would earn someone a spot on the Huntsman's list?"

Kris' eyes darken, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. "People believed he could sense things. He hates thieves and liars, abusers of children and animals. But it was the ones who spoke out against the Huntsman, or showed any disrespect that wouldn't live to see another Christmas season. He would appear and demand a confession. If the person refused, the Huntsman would use his whip to punish them until they screamed their sins. He also loved gathering switches from the trees and using those to strike those who he deemed… disobedient. Their skin would be welted with angry red stripes across their asses."

"Oh my God." I can't help but be both horrified and thrilled by the gruesome tale. "That's intense."

I tighten my grip on the glass in my hand. Part of me is captivated by the sinister legend, while another part is increasingly drawn to Kris himself. His rugged good looks and the way the firelight dances in his dark eyes are undeniably attractive. His broad shoulders and lean, muscular build only add to his appeal.

As I sneak glances at him, I notice the way his dark hair falls just past his chin, framing his face. There's something about his strong jaw and the slight stubble along his cheeks that exudes a wild, untamed charm. His voice is low and gravelly, and I can't help but imagine what it would be like to have his hands on me, or how that stubble would feel against my inner thighs.

When he looks at me, I feel like he was listening to my thoughts, and I find myself wishing he had. I want him to know the effect he's having on me. I shift slightly, pushing my thighs together, suddenly aware of my body's reaction to him.

What the hell, Ivy? Get it together. This is only because I haven't had sex in over a year.

I clear my throat, attempting to sound casual. "That's... quite a legend. So, do you celebrate Christmas up here? You know, with all the traditional folklore and all."

Kris sits back, the intensity of a moment ago dissipating. "Oh yes, the holidays are a big deal in Hemlock Hollow, especially Christmas Eve. That's the last night the Huntsman will deal out punishments until the next Christmas season. Christmas eve was always reserved for who the Huntsman believed deserved the most punishment. Christmas Eve is the night he kills."

"So, then there is a connection between the Huntsman and the missing women?"

"No, those are just rumors spread by the locals. Bored people with big imaginations and too much time on their hands."

"I'd love to go into town and get a feel for what it's like here. Maybe meet some of the residents and interview them."

Kris studies me for a moment. "Sure, I can take you into town. There is a Christmas carnival every year also. It draws in a lot of tourists. I'll take you if you'd like. I'm sure you would love it."