Page 34 of Primal Snow

Then, a low, guttural growl cuts through the wind, and I stop dead in my tracks, my heart seizing in my chest.

It’s not him.

This sound is different, raspier, heavier. I turn slowly, my eyes scanning the forest, the breath freezing in my lungs as I spot it.

An enormous Alaskan brown bear is charging at me. Its hulking form looms out of the trees, its fur matted and patchy, eyes gleaming with hunger and desperation. It’s too thin for this time of year, its ribs pressing against its hide—awoken too soon from torpor, and now it’s starving.

My body locks up, fear rooting me to the spot. This is it. Not the Yeti, not the pack of wolves, not even the snow itself, but this beast that’s going to maul me to death.

The bear growls again, closing the distance. It rears up on its hind legs, towering over me with its extended claws ready to swing, and I scream. My legs finally move as I scramble backward, tripping over a root and falling hard into the snow. I clench the handle of the ice axe at the height of my face to cover myself, but I know it’s over.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the lethal hit.

But it never comes.

Instead, I hear the familiar roar. A gravelly, bone-rattling sound that vibrates through the entire forest. Thebear freezes, its head whipping around just as a blur of white tears through the trees.

Him.

Yeti crashes into the scene, his massive form dwarfing even the bear. His fur bristles, and his black eyes blaze with feral rage as he cuts between us, covering me with his body. He gives a final warning, but the bear is too high on the prey drive and lunges at him with a snarl.

The fight is brutal and quick. Yeti moves with terrifying speed and precision, his claws slashing through the animal’s side, ripping through flesh and fur. The bear roars in pain, swiping at him with its massive paws, but it’s no match.

I roll out of their way and jump back to my feet. But I don’t get a chance to look away before Yeti’s claws sink deep into the bear’s throat, tearing it open with a sickening, wet crunch.

Blood sprays across the snow, steaming in the frigid air, and the bear collapses in a twitching heap. Yeti stands over it, chest heaving, his fur stained red as he huffs heavily through his nose.

For a moment, he doesn’t move with his eyes fixed on the lifeless body. Then, slowly, his head turns toward me.

“Stay back!” I scream, my voice trembling with a mix of terror and defiance. My breath fogs, and my fingers grip the axe’s shaft so tightly my knuckles turn white. The cold bites at my skin, but I barely notice. All I can feel is the weight of his eyes boring into mine, wild, vicious, and full of dark intent.

He pauses, just for a second, as if my words and the raised weapon have given him reason to reconsider. But then, he moves in a blur of fur and muscle against the stark whiteness of the snow.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I swing blindly, cutting through the air with a loud whistle.

Damn it, I miss.

Another swing—miss.

I’m not fast enough. I can’t even keep up with him.

But then, on the third swing, the axe connects. The impact jars my arms, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

My vision narrows, focusing on the sharp, pointed end embedded in his chest where bright crimson wells up. The wound isn’t nearly deep enough to truly harm him, but it’s something.

With a scream, I drag the pick downward, tearing through flesh and fur, leaving a ragged gash across his torso. Blood spills freely, soaking his fur and staining the snow beneath us. His snarl is deafening, a sound so full of rage and pain that it reverberates in my chest. His furious eyes—those burning, feral eyes—lock onto mine, and I see only betrayal.

I blindsided him. And he’s never going to forgive me. I now wish the bear got me because Yeti’s punishment will be severe.

Not if I kill him first, though.

I swing again, desperate to put distance between us, to do anything to slow him down. But his gigantic hand catches the ice axe mid-air, the force of his grip halting mymovement entirely. His claws curl around the handle, and with a roar, he rips the only protection from my hands as if it were nothing more than a twig.

I stumble backward, my boots crunching in the snow, until my back hits the rough bark of a tree. I’m trapped.

He stalks toward me, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. Blood drips from his chest wound, leaving a trail of red in the snow, but he doesn’t falter. His predatory focus is unbroken, his gaze locked on me as though nothing else exists.

I see the weapon in his hand, and my breath catches in my throat as he swings it in a wide arc. The pick whistles past my face, connecting with the tree trunk just inches from my head. The crack of wood splitting echoes in my ears, and I flinch, making myself as small as possible.

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