Page 13 of Savage Giant

Gorran bolted through the forest,and I soon realized the big, muscular Sasquatch was heading for the cabin. So much for running away.

My stomach flipped. He wanted to mate with me.

Mate. Such a primitive word.

Why did the idea of getting busy with Gorran make me flush?

My pulse spiked at the mental image of him trying to thrust his Bigfoot-sized appendage inside me. He might like the way I smelled—yeah, maybe I was ovulating right now, oh, lucky me—but I doubted humans and Sasquatches were compatible in the bedroom.

There was a brief second where I panicked as I considered whether he would force himself upon me, but the fear quickly receded as I leaned my face against his chest. I’d been terrified when I’d first spotted him standing outside my cabin, and even more frightened when the other two beasts had appeared. His brothers, apparently. But there was something about Gorran,something I couldn’t quite identify, that told me he truly wouldn’t hurt me.

Chase me down and kidnap me? Sure. But hurt me? No.

Perhaps it was the gentle, hopeful way he’d gazed up at me as I’d stood in the window, followed by the honesty that resonated in his voice as he’d promised never to hurt me.

The words he’d spoken only moments ago echoed in my head.

You have nothing to fear from me—I give you my word that I will never hurt you. In fact, I would maim and slaughter anyone who tries to harm you.

But how would he react the next time I struggled or tried to run?

If I kept trying to escape, would he eventually become angry?

Just two months ago, I’d fled the violence in Portland, fled Salax and his goons, and now I was the captive of a big, hairy beast who seemed very excited that I happened to be ovulating.

Honest to God, would it be too much to ask for a boring life?

Once we reached the cabin, the porch steps creaked under Gorran’s weight. He set me down and reached for the doorknob, keeping one hand securely on my arm. He pushed the door open and ushered me inside. I glanced over my shoulder as he joined me in the cabin. He had to duck low and turn to the side just to squeeze through the door. A smile tugged at my lips, though I was quick to smother it.

“Please come in, why don’t you,” I said with a smirk, “and make yourself at home.” Did Sasquatches understand sarcasm?

He shot me a strange look as he shut the door, though he said nothing. Interest lit in his pale blue eyes as he glanced around the cabin. He looked very out of place, perhaps a tad uncomfortable.

Good. Because I wanted him to leave.

A hollow pang resounded in my chest, taking me aback.

I wanted him to get lost…didn’t I?

Why did the thought of him running off into the trees and leaving me alone fill me with… grief?

His eyes flickered to mine and his expression became heartbreakingly gentle. He couldn’t stand straight without hitting his head on the ceiling, so he remained hunched over as he reached for my gloved hands and squeezed them.

“I have long dreamed of joining you in your living space, Cari.”

I peered at his large hands, marveling at the size of them. His feet were exceedingly huge as well. I tried very hard not to glance at his crotch.Everythingabout him was big and muscular and quite impressive.

“So,” I said in an overly conversational tone, “you’ve been spying on me?”

He nodded. “Yes. Since the day you first arrived.”

“And the items you keep leaving on the porch are gifts that are supposed to encourage me to mate with you?” All the stories my grandfather had told me about Sasquatches kept swirling through my head, though I couldn’t recall any stories about their mating customs. Not that those sorts of tales would’ve been appropriate for a small child to hear.

“Yes, pretty human.” A shadow crossed his face, and I suddenly recalled my daily habit of tossing the contents of the woven baskets over the side of the porch. His grip on my hands loosened, and I knew without a doubt that he shared my thoughts.

The urge to comfort him and explain my behavior—which he likely viewed as a complete rejection of him—surged through me. Never mind that I had every intention of escaping him and getting the hell off this mountain.

Or did I? Each time I entertained the thought of escaping him, my chest panged with loneliness and grief.

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