Page 11 of Yasmin and the Yeti
CHAPTER NINE
Rhaal remained perfectly still, listening to Yasmin breathe as she fell asleep again. Her breathing was slow and even and her shivering had stopped. The practical need for his presence was over. She would survive the night without his heat now.
But his body burned with a fever of need that had nothing to do with survival. His kotra ached, throbbing against his sheath in a demanding rhythm that he did his best to ignore. He slipped silently from beneath the furs, each muscle tensed to prevent disturbing her. The cool air of the cave hit his overheated body, but did nothing to calm the fire raging through him.
He had to get away from her. From her scent—sweet and foreign and impossibly enticing. From the memory of her small, soft body pressed against his. From the treacherous desire that had nearly overwhelmed his control. His claws extended and retracted of their own accord, his body still thrumming with the primal urge to claim what his instincts insisted was his. The wind howled outside, matching the storm raging within him.
Shame burned beneath his fur as he stalked to the cave entrance. He flung back the first heavy hide curtain with more force thannecessary, then pushed aside the outer curtain, letting the frigid night air blast his face and chest. The bitter cold was a welcome punishment, a reminder of what he was—a failure. Cursed with a strength that could damage her delicate body but that had failed him when he needed it most.
The memory surfaced, as sharp and painful as the day it had happened. A simple expedition to gather the tiny tart berries Ayla loved that had gone horribly, terribly wrong. His sister’s face contorted in pain as the cave collapsed around them. His own useless strength, unable to move the massive stones that had trapped her. Ayla’s mate Broc pleading with him to save her, then cursing Rhaal’s name as he pulled Broc’s broken body free instead. He had been strong then, too. And his strength had been worthless.
“I’m sorry,” he had whispered to her as the light faded from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ayla.”
The wind seemed to carry her voice now, an accusation from the past. He had failed his sister. He could not—would not—fail this female by letting himself harm her.
He pressed his forehead against the icy stone of the doorframe, digging his claws into the rock until his knuckles ached, leaving deep gouges in the hard surface. The physical pain was a welcome anchor, a way to leash the primal urge clawing at him from the inside. He focused on it rather than the memory of her soft skin beneath his fingertips.
Behind him, in the warmth of his cave, she slept on, unaware of his struggle. Unaware of how close he had come to losing control. Unaware of the hunger that lurked beneath his careful restraint.
The icy wind carried the crisp scent of mountain snow, cleansing his senses of her intoxicating fragrance. He drew it deep into his lungs, using the familiar smells of his territory to ground himself. His hands relaxed, and the pain receded, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. He would be Yasmin’s guardian, nothing more. He would ensure her comfort until she was well enough to make her own way.
The thought of sending her away sent a fresh wave of possessive fury through him, but he tamped it down ruthlessly. His wants didn’t matter. Her safety did.
The wind howled with matching fury as the storm intensified. Even he would hesitate to venture out tonight. He turned back to the cave, sealing the entrance securely against the weather. Rather than returning to share the warmth of the furs with her, he settled by the embers of the fire instead, prodding it back to life and adding more of the slow-burning sarlag dung.
He would keep the cave warm for her. He would ensure that she came to no harm. In spite of his resolve, he found his gaze drifting to the sleeping form beneath the furs. From this distance, she looked impossibly small, impossibly vulnerable. The sight of her reinforced his determination.
He would protect her from the dangers of this world. Even if the greatest danger was himself.
CHAPTER TEN
Once more Yasmin woke up cocooned in warm furs, but this time she was alone. No huge body radiated comforting warmth from behind her. She opened her eyes, scanning the space. Rhaal was gone.
The silence pressed against her ears, no longer peaceful but strangely lonely. The absence of his massive presence left the cave feeling cavernous and cold despite the crackling fire. She pulled the furs tighter around herself, surprised by the jolt of vulnerability that came with his absence. It made no sense—she’d been terrified of him—but she’d feel safer with him here.
Clutching one of the furs to her chest, she sat up and took a proper look around the cave for the first time. In her panic and exhaustion, she hadn’t noticed the details the day before. The stone walls were rough and uneven, but they’d been meticulously whitewashed, giving the space a clean, almost ethereal quality. Thick pink moss covered the raised sleeping platform where she sat, as well as several seating areas around the fireplace.
The fireplace itself was a simple but efficient construction, with a narrow chimney that drew the smoke upward and out through some hidden vent. Small clusters of glowing crystals were embedded in the walls at regular intervals, revolving slowly as they emitted a soft, ambient light that complemented the fire’s warm glow.
This wasn’t a temporary shelter. This was a home.
She was contemplating this realization when a whisper of cold air announced Rhaal’s return. He entered silently, a flurry of snow melting in his thick white fur. He carried a freshly killed animal—something like a large rabbit with extra-long ears—which he brought to a stone preparation area near the fire.
He looked over at her as he did, and something in his eyes made her heart skip a beat, but then his face shuttered as he turned away to skin his kill. She had to look away as he began. She’d never seen an animal butchered before and even though she recognized the necessity—it wasn’t as if there was a supermarket down the road—her stomach churned at the prospect.
When she gathered the courage to look back, he was neatly chopping the carcass into sections, his huge hands surprisingly dexterous. Although he didn’t look directly at her, she knew he was aware of her gaze. The air between them was charged with an odd kind of tension.
After preparing the meat, he placed some it in a pot of water over the fire, adding what looked like dried herbs from a small leather pouch. Curious about the cooking process, she started to go and join him, then remembered she was still naked under the furs.
“Umm, Rhaal?” He looked up when she spoke, his eyes glowing. “What happened to my, er, dress?”
The white shift might have been minimal, but it was better than being naked.
He tilted his head, clearly not understanding her, and she sighed. She supposed it had been too much to hope that he had a translator.
“You know, clothing? My dress?”
She tried to mimic holding up the garment and almost lost the fur she was clutching in the process. A brief flash of amusement crossed his face, and he suddenly nodded, crossing the cave and pulling something from a pile of neatly folded hides.
