"They weren't looking for forever, only for the moments that made their hearts race."

Freya

A thousand thoughts and burning feelings swirled within her, but only one managed to escape:

"I guess we'll end it all today. Let's finish the bet."

Seth stayed silent. His eyes carried the weight of everything he didn't say, and somehow, she understood. Truly. The unspoken words broke her heart into pieces. They were more alike than she had ever wanted to admit, and yet, none of it changed the reality staring back at them.

It didn't change the facts.

They were never meant to be.

And she couldn't accept that. How could she?

For the first time in her life, someone had come crashing into her world, threatening to dismantle everything she thought she knew. But instead of hate, she fell. She fell for the man who showed her what it meant to truly feel alive—who gave her adrenaline, passion, and safety. Yet, at the same time, he was danger.

It was a fairytale that didn't belong in reality, only in her dreams.

Maybe she wasn't meant to explore love. Maybe love was something reserved for lives that weren't hers—for dreams that were never meant to come true.

"Fine. Let's decide today," he said at last, his voice low and heavy. The words shattered her soul, more than she thought possible, because he agreed.

"Do you... want to go first, or...?" she asked, instantly regretting it. The question felt too casual for something so devastating.

His gaze lingered somewhere distant, as if searching for an answer in the space between them. His fingers twisted together, a rare betrayal of his usually steady confidence. "Yeah, I can go first."

She nodded, silent, her eyes fixed on anything but his face. She couldn't look at him—not into the eyes of the person who might destroy her. Or worse, the person she might destroy.
She nodded again, barely aware of the movement. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts spiraling in every direction, impossible to contain.

The bet was always supposed to matter. It was supposed to save her life, save everything she cared about. But now, it meant something else, too. It meant they'd destroyed each other in the process.

She kept her gaze low, unable to face him. She didn't want to see the look in his eyes—the determination, or worse, the hurt. If she saw it, she might break completely.

This was it. The end of everything. And no matter who won, they'd already lost.

~*~*~*~*~

Nova stood patiently by her side, his quiet presence steady against the chaos swirling inside her. The riding arena was cleared, empty except for them. It was afternoon, but it felt like the pitch-black night had left its mark, settling over them with its cold, suffocating silence.

But the silence wasn't real—not for her. Her nerves burned, her muscles wound tight.

Adrenaline flooded her veins, her head spinning with thoughts she couldn't hold on to.

If someone had asked her weeks ago how she'd feel in this moment, she would've been sure of her answer: she wanted him to fail.

But now... now, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Her attention shifted behind her as Seth entered the riding arena. He was dressed in his riding clothes, and somehow, he didn't look as ridiculous as he had in the beginning. Not anymore.

His face was unreadable, his expression distant—like he was here, but at the same time, somewhere far away.

"Nervous?" she asked as he stepped closer.

He stopped in front of her, his body towering over hers. Their eyes locked, his beautiful gaze fixed on her, seeing straight through her walls. A faint smile flickered across his lips as he reached out, his hand landing gently on her shoulder. He gave a soft squeeze, as if to tell her everything would be fine.

But she wasn't sure she could believe that.

"I am nervous," he said quietly, his voice low and raw. He leaned closer, their gaze still tangled, unbroken. "But not for the reason I thought it would be."

Seth leaned in further, his head lowering toward her as she tilted her face up, stretching to meet him. Their lips brushed, a careful, delicate touch that grew deeper as his warmth surrounded her—warmth laced with sorrow and hurt. His tongue swirled with hers, their lips tasting, exploring, until she felt the unmistakable sting of salt.

Tears.

She pulled back slightly, blinking as the taste of her tears mixed with his on her lips. But when her eyes met his again, she realized they weren't hers alone.

"Okay... let's begin," she said, brushing away the burning sting in her eyes.

He nodded quietly in confirmation and stepped toward Nova. The horse shifted his head between them, his dark, intelligent eyes studying them both, almost as if he understood what was about to happen.

Freya shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She was certain now—her soulmate saw more, understood more, than she could ever truly grasp.

Seth started slow, guiding Nova into a walk, circling around her. His movements were cautious, calculated, but there was a steadiness to him that Freya couldn't ignore. She folded her arms across her chest, pretending to focus on Nova, but her eyes kept drifting back to Seth.

He was riding alone. No help, no guidance. Just him and the horse. And he was doing it with a surprising grace.

Nova responded to him effortlessly, his ears flicking back to catch Seth's cues. Freya didn't even think Nova had ever listened to anyone else like that before.

It was as if the two had finally found some kind of unspoken understanding.

When Seth transitioned to a trot, her breath caught. He bounced slightly in the saddle, his position a little stiff, but he adjusted quickly. He wasn't perfect—his seat wasn't as smooth as someone experienced—but he was controlling the rhythm. Steering, keeping the tempo.

"Good," she muttered under her breath, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

Nova moved into the faster pace with ease, his hooves drumming lightly against the sand. Seth's hands stayed steady on the reins, and he leaned forward slightly, his focus sharp. Freya could see the determination etched into his face, the same fire she'd seen when he raced his bike.

And then came the final challenge: the gallop.

She swallowed, her heart racing as Seth brought Nova up into a controlled, slow gallop. The sound of hooves hitting the ground echoed through the empty arena, and Freya couldn't tear her eyes away.

His posture wavered slightly, his seat a touch off-center as Nova surged forward, but he held on. He adjusted, finding his balance, and it wasn't long before the rhythm between rider and horse became almost seamless.

Freya's chest tightened as she watched him. He wasn't just riding Nova—he was riding her horse, the one who meant more to her than anything in the world. And he was doing it.

When Seth brought Nova back to a smooth walk and circled back toward her, the arena fell silent again. He looked at her, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

She didn't know what she was supposed to feel—pride, disbelief, maybe even a flicker of regret—but all she could manage was a soft, "You did it."

And he had. Against all odds, Seth had done it.

Seth swung his leg over and landed on the ground, his chest still rising and falling from the effort. A smile tugged at his lips—proud, unrestrained, and impossible to hide. Freya felt it slip over to her as well, softening the weight in her chest. Even as her heart felt heavier, it also, inexplicably, felt lighter.

She was glad for him. She couldn't deny that. He deserved this as much as she did. But it didn't change the reality.

It was still a messed-up situation.

"So, is it approved?" he asked, handing her Nova's reins.

"It indeed was," she replied, her voice steady, though her heart stuttered when their fingers brushed. It was fleeting, but it left her skin tingling.

"And how do we decide if you manage the bike?" he asked, the confidence in his tone faltering slightly. His brows furrowed just enough for her to notice, the nervousness creeping through. It hit her then how frustrating this would be if they both succeeded—if neither truly won.

"Well, I... actually have no idea," she admitted before a ridiculous laugh escaped her, uncontrollable and uncontainable. She hadn't even thought about it. She'd been so sure he wouldn't make it, so sure of her win, that the possibility of a tie had never crossed her mind.

Seth raised an eyebrow, watching her with a mix of amusement and confusion.

"I guess if I manage your round on the bike, we'll need to settle the bet tomorrow," she said once she finally managed to stop laughing.

He nodded, his lips quirking into a smile. "I don't want you to fail," he said, his voice quieter now. "Even though I don't want to fail either. But... a part of me hopes you do. Just so I have an excuse to spend more time with you tomorrow."

The words hit her like a sudden gust of wind, leaving her momentarily breathless. She hadn't expected that.

"Well," she said, trying to keep her tone light, "I think it'll be easier for both of us if we manage to clear the bet today, to be honest."

He hesitated for a moment, his smile fading slightly as something sad flickered through his expression. "Yeah... I guess you're right," he murmured, his voice distant.

Before she could say anything more, he turned away, his shoulders stiff as he walked back toward the edge of the arena, leaving her alone with Nova.

Freya stared after him, the warmth of his words still lingering in the air, tangled with the cold silence of everything they weren't saying.

~*~*~*~*~

Seth

Adrenaline had always saved him. Every goddamn time. It had been his constant companion, pulling him through even when the will to live had lost its thrill.

But now, the adrenaline surging through him wasn't the kind he welcomed.

Freya sat on her bike in front of him, her frame stiff, her grip on the handlebars too tight. Their radios were synced through their helmets, his voice ready to reach her, because he knew how scared she was. He didn't need to see her face to know—her entire body gave it away.

The night had fallen, swallowing the world in darkness. It made everything harder, sharper. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: maybe he should ask her if she wanted to wait until tomorrow, to ride in the daylight instead.

But his heart stopped him.

There was no point. He could feel it in the air, in the way she sat on the bike like she was bracing for something final. She wanted to end it today.

End the bet. End them.

And he knew he should agree. Why drag out something that wouldn't be fixed anyway?

Seth drew in as much oxygen as he could, but it still felt like his lungs refused to expand. He had never been this nervous for a ride before.

Suddenly, the bike beneath him felt unfamiliar, like it wasn't his at all—a stranger.

"Are you ready?" he murmured. He saw her helmet tilt slightly, just enough to catch the sound of his voice through the radio.

"Yes," she murmured back, barely above a whisper. "I'm ready."

"And remember," he said, his grip tightening on the handlebars, "stop if you need to. I'm right behind you the whole way."

The sound of her engine roared ahead of him, cutting through the stillness of the night like a scream. Seth's eyes were locked on her figure, her body tense as she leaned slightly forward on the bike. Even with the distance between them, he could read every ounce of fear radiating off her.

His own bike hummed beneath him, steady, familiar. But for the first time, it felt like a spectator rather than a tool—like it didn't belong in this moment. All that mattered was the person riding in front of him.

"Easy," he murmured into the radio, his voice calm, though his pulse hammered in his ears. "Keep it steady."

He saw her helmet nod slightly, a flicker of acknowledgment, but her movements were stiff. She was gripping the bike too hard; he could see the tension in her shoulders, in the way she clung to it as if letting go would shatter everything.

Seth felt his chest tighten. This wasn't supposed to be so hard. It was just a ride—a ride she could stop anytime she needed to. But it wasn't just about the bike. It was about her, about him, about everything that had been building between them.

She picked up speed, and his heart lurched. The bike wobbled slightly under her as she adjusted, and he couldn't stop the surge of panic that clawed at his throat.

"Freya, slow down a bit," he said, sharper than he intended.

Her voice crackled through the radio, quiet and trembling. "I've got it."

And she did—she steadied herself, her body finding the rhythm, the bike responding to her touch. But it didn't stop the ache in his chest, the need to reach out and grab her, to stop this before it went too far.

She took the next curve carefully, and Seth stayed close, matching her movements exactly. Every second felt like a lifetime as he watched her navigate the road. The dark surrounded them, the faint beams of their headlights slicing through it, but it didn't feel like enough. He felt blind, helpless.

"You're doing good," he said, forcing the words out. "Just keep breathing. You're almost there."

She didn't respond this time, but he didn't need her to. He could see it—the way her body started to relax, the way the bike moved with her now instead of fighting against her.

And just as relief began to creep in, his stomach dropped.

The bike skidded slightly on the loose gravel of the next turn, and he watched her foot instinctively jerk down to catch herself. His heart stopped.

"Freya!"

But she recovered, pulling the bike upright with a sharp movement. Her breathing came through the radio, fast and shallow, but she didn't stop.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice shaky. "I'm okay."

Seth swallowed hard, his grip on the handlebars tightening. He wanted to tell her to stop, to call it off, but he knew her too well. She wouldn't quit—not now. Not when they were this close.

So he stayed behind her, watching every move, every wobble, every inch of progress she made. And with every turn, every stretch of road, a part of him that he didn't want to admit to softened.

Because no matter how much this terrified him, she was proving something—not just to herself, but to him, to both of them.

She wasn't just finishing the bet. She was reclaiming her strength, her courage, and the part of herself that fear had taken away.

"You know today is the last day we have together," he murmured, even though he knew she was already painfully aware.

"Yeah..." Her voice came through the radio, softer than before. "It's going to be weird not seeing your stupid face every day."

Her words made him smile, even as his chest ached.

"I like you, Freya Lynn," he said, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them.

"I like you too, Seth Harlow," she replied, her tone laced with something he couldn't quite name—something bittersweet.

They continued down the road, the darkness wrapping around them like a shroud. Her speed held steady at an impressive 80 km/h, her control smooth and unwavering. It sent a strange flutter through his stomach—not of fear, but pride.

She was incredible. Her fiery, untamed spirit refused to falter, no matter what was thrown in her path. Every twist, every challenge, she faced it head-on, and all he could do was watch, in awe of her determination.

And then it happened.

It happened faster than his brain could process—one second, the road stretched clear in front of them, and the next, chaos erupted.

The massive shadow loomed in Freya's headlights, a hulking beast that seemed to rise from the ground itself. The moose stood frozen in the beam, its glowing eyes locked on them, unblinking, indifferent to the oncoming threat.

"Freya!" Seth roared into the radio, his voice cracking with raw panic.

But it was too late.

Her brake lights flared, the high-pitched scream of tires slicing through the night, but the bike refused to listen. It wobbled violently, jerking to the side, and Seth's chest seized as he watched the handlebars tear from her grip.

The world shattered.

Metal met flesh with a sickening thud, the bike flipping on impact. Freya was thrown, her body cutting through the darkness like a broken doll, weightless and terrifyingly fragile. The sound of the crash exploded in his ears—splintering glass, groaning metal, the sickening scrape of the bike skidding across the asphalt.

"Freya!" he yelled again, his voice breaking, but it was drowned out by the violent symphony of destruction.

His own brakes screamed as he slammed them down, his bike skidding and jerking beneath him. He barely managed to steady it before flinging it to the ground and running, his legs moving before his brain caught up.

The moose was gone, its massive body vanishing into the trees as if it had never been there. His focus was locked on her—on the small, crumpled figure lying still on the road.

His heart thudded painfully, every beat a cruel reminder that he wasn't fast enough. Her helmet was askew, her body twisted at an unnatural angle, motionless against the harsh glare of the headlights.

"Freya," he whispered this time, his voice trembling as his feet stumbled forward. His breath came in shallow gasps, his chest burning, his lungs screaming for air that didn't seem to come.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening.

He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over her but refusing to touch, terrified of what he might feel.

"Freya," he said again, his voice breaking into a sob.

She didn't move. She didn't flinch.

Seth's hands shook as he grabbed the zipper of her jacket, pulling it down in a rush. The fabric stuck slightly, and he cursed under his breath before finally wrenching it open. He lifted her sweater, and his stomach dropped.

Blood.

It pooled from her stomach, dark and slick, staining everything around it. His mind screamed for answers, but none came. What the hell was happening? His thoughts spun wildly, and yet everything felt eerily still—like the world had frozen except for her.

And then he saw it. A long, jagged wound slicing across her stomach. The antler. The goddamn moose's antler must have gutted her.

The bleeding wouldn't stop.

"Shit," he muttered, his voice trembling as panic clawed at his chest. His instincts kicked in, and he shot his hands toward the wound, pressing down hard. Warm, sticky blood seeped through his fingers, and a wave of helplessness crashed over him.

It wasn't enough.

"Freya, stay with me," he said, his voice cracking as he ripped off his jacket, then his sweater in one frantic motion. He pressed the sweater against her stomach, pushing down with everything he had, praying it would be enough to stop the bleeding.

But the blood kept coming.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps as he looked down at her pale face, her lips slightly parted. "Come on, Freya," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not doing this."

He pressed harder, his hands trembling under the weight of the blood-soaked fabric. Each second stretched endlessly, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"Seth..." Her weak voice cracked through the air, barely audible. His head snapped toward her, his eyes locking on her pale, blood-drained face. Her eyes were half-closed, unfocused, and her skin looked ghostly under the harsh glow of the headlights. It was a sight that made his soul shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces.

"I'm here, Freya," he said, his voice trembling with panic as he reached for her face, brushing the blood-matted hair from her cheek. "I'm right here. I'll call for help, okay? Just—just hold on." His free hand fumbled for his phone, his fingers shaking so violently he almost dropped it.

"Seth..." she whispered again, her lips barely moving.

"Hey—hey, Freya—listen to me," he said, desperation thick in his voice as tears streamed freely down his face. "You won, alright? You win the stable. It's yours. Do you hear me? It's yours, Freya."

Her eyes fluttered, her breaths shallow as she tried to process his words. "I... I won?" she mumbled, her voice slurred, her head tilting to the side like she couldn't hold it up anymore.

"Yes! Yes, of course you did. It's always been yours," he choked out, his voice breaking. "I see that now. But, Freya, if you're going to get it, you need to stay the fuck awake. Do you hear me? You need to stay awake!" His voice rose, desperate and raw, as if sheer force could keep her alive.

Her lips trembled into a faint, broken smile.

"Seth... this... us..." Her voice faltered, cracking under the weight of her labored breaths.

"It's been... a hell of a ride."

"Don't," he begged, his voice barely recognizable through the sobs racking his chest.

Her eyes blinked sluggishly, fighting against the pull of unconsciousness. "This... time... with you... thank you. Thank you... for making me feel... again..." Her words came slower now, her voice fading with every syllable.

"Freya, no—don't you do this," he cried, his tears falling onto her pale skin. "Keep your eyes on me, okay? Don't close them. Freya, please."

Her eyes fluttered shut.

"No!" His voice broke into a scream. "No, Freya, you need to live. You hear me? You need to live! Stay the hell with me!" He pressed harder against her wound, his blood-covered hands shaking violently as his breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts.

"Come on, Freya. You're not done yet," he choked, his voice breaking into sobs. "You're not done... You can't be done..."

But she didn't respond. Her body was still, her breath barely there, and the silence of the night seemed to swallow them both whole.

Headlights appeared in the distance, flooding the scene in harsh light as a car screeched to a stop. A man jumped out, his panicked gaze locking on the wreckage and the crumpled figure in Seth's arms.

"Call an ambulance!" Seth bellowed, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. "And get over here—help me!"

The man fumbled for his phone, shouting something Seth couldn't process. All Seth could hear was the sound of his own frantic breathing as he looked down at Freya.

That's when he saw it—her chest.

It wasn't moving.

The realization hit him like a crash, his heart slamming against his ribs. "She's not breathing," he choked out, his voice shaking as the words left his lips. He barely registered the man running toward them as he tilted Freya's head back, his blood-covered fingers trembling against her pale skin.

"Come on, Freya," he muttered, his voice low, desperate. "You're not doing this to me."

He sealed his lips over hers and blew into her mouth, his breath shaky, uneven. Her chest rose slightly under his effort, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough.

His hands shot to her chest, placing them over her sternum. His fingers pressed hard, his entire body moving with the force of each compression.

"Breathe," he growled through gritted teeth. "Come on, Freya. Breathe!"

The rhythm of his movements was frantic, the blood-soaked sweater beneath his hands making everything slippery, harder. Tears blurred his vision, spilling freely down his face, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

"You're not leaving me!" he yelled, his voice cracking as he pumped harder, his arms burning from the effort. "Do you hear me? You're not allowed to fucking leave me!"

The stranger clutched his phone tightly in one hand. "The ambulance is on its way!" he shouted, but Seth barely heard him.

"Come on, Freya," Seth sobbed, his voice breaking with every word. "Please—please—don't do this to me. You can't do this. You can't leave me like this."

He bent down, pressing his lips to hers again, blowing life into her as his chest ached from the weight of his own sobs. Her lips were cold, unmoving, and it felt like his entire world was crumbling beneath him.

He pulled back, his voice trembling as he whispered, "Breathe, Freya. Please. Just breathe... You're going to live. And you're going to feel. Feel with me."

And when there was still no movement, no sound, no sign of life, he screamed into the night—raw, broken, and desperate—before his hands fell back onto her chest, pressing again, pleading for her to come back to him.

But she didn't.

His hands trembled violently, hovering over her still body, drenched in blood he couldn't stop. The world around him blurred, the sounds of the night fading into nothing, leaving only the crushing silence.

"Freya," he whispered, his voice breaking as he leaned closer, his forehead pressing gently against hers. Tears streamed down his face, dripping onto her pale, lifeless skin.

"No, no, no," he choked, his words tangled with sobs. "You're supposed to fight. You always fight. Please—don't do this to me. Don't leave me."

The silence pressed in, suffocating and cruel, offering no comfort, no reprieve.

His hands fell to his sides, his chest heaving as he stared at her face. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed, and the warmth that had always surrounded her was slipping away, leaving only cold.

A hollow ache filled him, tearing through his chest, making it hard to breathe.

She was gone.

His body gave out, collapsing beside hers. His trembling fingers found her hand, clutching it tightly as if sheer force could pull her back. But there was no resistance, no response. Just the unbearable stillness.

And for the first time in his life, Seth Harlow felt a loneliness so profound it ripped through him, stealing the very air from his lungs. It wasn't just the absence of her—it was the absence of everything.

His world, his purpose, his heart... all gone, lying lifeless beside him.

A/N — This is it—the final chapter before the epilogue. I just want to take a moment to thank every single one of you who has read and supported The Dark Ride. Exploring Seth and Freya's story has been such a meaningful and unforgettable journey, and sharing it with you has made it even more special.

Writing this story—my very first—has been exciting, challenging, and heartwarming in so many ways. Your comments, encouragement, and love for these characters have truly kept me inspired.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of this journey with me.

With all my love,
Kenna.