Page 10 of Yasmin and the Yeti
Her breathing deepened further as her body’s small tremors quieted completely. Sleep had claimed her, her body’s desperate need for recovery overriding her fear.
He felt a strange sensation in his chest—a lightening, an easing of a pressure he carried so constantly he barely noticed it anymore. She trusted him enough to sleep. Unconsciously, perhaps, but the trust was there.
He allowed his own muscles to relax slightly, though his vigilance never wavered. His protective arm remained exactly where he’d placed it, neither tightening nor withdrawing. He tracked every subtle change in her breathing, alert for any sign of distress.
Outside the cave, the blizzard howled with renewed fury, rattling the hide coverings he’d hung over the entrance. The sound only intensified his fierce sense of protectiveness. Let the storm rage. In here, she was safe.
As night deepened outside the cave, he maintained his careful watch, his eyes never leaving the small form beside him. For the first time in many cycles, he was not alone in his exile.
The hours stretched on in the darkness. The fire in the small hearth burned lower, its light casting small shadows across the cave walls. His eyes drifted closed, his senses still attuned to her breathing, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Her body was warm and alive beneath his arm, a soft weight against him. She was safe. She was well.
The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was that strange lightness in his chest, as though a tiny crack had formed in the wall around his heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Yasmin woke slowly, a delicious warmth enveloping her. For the first time since the abduction, she felt warm. A deep purring vibration seemed to surround her, and she snuggled deeper into the furs, not wanting to emerge from this comforting cocoon just yet.
As she stirred, the purr deepened, becoming louder, more resonant. It vibrated through her, lulling her back towards sleep, but then her eyes flew open. The storm. The cave.
Rhaal.
He was the source of the purring, his body wrapped around hers. The solid wall of his chest formed a living barrier behind her, and his arm was draped loosely over her torso. His fur tickled the bare skin of her back, impossibly soft against her nakedness. Each breath he took pressed his chest against her, a rhythmic reminder of his sheer size and strength. The bone knife she’d grabbed earlier lay forgotten somewhere outside the furs.
She shifted slightly, trying to edge away without disturbing him, but only succeeded in rubbing her ass against him. Theaction caused an immediate, unmistakable reaction. Something hardened against her backside—something huge and thick.
Oh god, was that his…
A jolt of pure, primal awareness—part fear, part something else—streaked through her body. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized what was happening. She was naked, pressed against a powerful male alien, and her proximity was affecting him in the most basic, universal way.
She had barely been able to process the existence of a huge, white-furred alien yesterday, and now, with his body curled around hers and that strange, rigid length pressing insistently against her, it hit her all at once.
This was real. Not a dream, not a hallucination. She’d survived the crash, been rescued by an alien who looked like a yeti, and was now lying in a bed of furs with him. And he was…aroused? By her?
Her breath grew shallow, her pulse quickening, as the full implications of her situation sank in. She stiffened, her muscles going rigid with tension. The change in her body was immediate and impossible to hide.
His arm, which had been loose around her, tightened for a moment, becoming a cage of muscle that held her firmly against him. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breath caught in her throat as panic raced through her body.
Then, just as quickly as it had tightened, his grip loosened. A low rumble vibrated through his chest—a sound so deep she felt it more than heard it. The noise carried a distinct tone of regret, as though he were angry with himself for frightening her.
He pulled back slightly, creating a small space between their bodies while still remaining under the furs. The message was clear—he wasn’t leaving her to freeze, but he was giving her what space he could in the confined area.
As he settled behind her again, still maintaining that careful distance, one of his massive hands gently traced a line down her spine. His claw retracted as he touched her, leaving only the padded warmth of his fingertip against her skin in a fleeting gesture of comfort.
The gentleness of that single touch was so at odds with his overwhelming strength that it left her feeling confused, breathless, and strangely… safe. He could tear her apart effortlessly, but he was handling her with the delicacy one might use to touch a butterfly’s wing.
Her racing heart began to slow. The panic ebbed, replaced by a wary curiosity. She remained still, unsure how to respond to this unexpected tenderness from someone who looked like he’d stepped out of a horror movie but acted with such careful restraint.
The wind howled outside, a distant reminder of the deadly cold which had nearly taken her life. In here, though, wrapped in furs and warmed by this strange, gentle giant, she was alive. Against all odds, she was safe.
His breathing had changed, becoming more controlled, more deliberate. She could almost feel his determination to remain still and unthreatening despite the reaction of his body. It was a battle he was fighting for her benefit.
That realization—that he was protecting her even from himself—sent an unexpected wave of gratitude through her. Whoever hewas, he had saved her life. Twice now. First from the blizzard, and then from the deadly cold that had nearly claimed her.
The tension in her body gradually eased. She didn’t move closer, but she stopped holding herself so rigidly away. It was a small concession, a tiny acknowledgment of the trust beginning to form.
Behind her, she felt him relax infinitesimally in response, though his careful distance remained. That single, gentle touch did not come again, but the memory of it lingered on her skin like a promise—of safety, of care, of something she couldn’t yet name but desperately needed in this cold, alien world.
She didn’t know how long they lay there in that strange, delicate balance of fear and trust, of closeness and separation. All she knew was that when exhaustion finally dragged her back down into sleep, her last thought was of that fleeting, gentle touch tracing a line of warmth down her spine.
