Page 14 of Yasmin and the Yeti
She swept her arm around in a wide gesture, encompassing the cave and the land beyond.
“Ayla?” she asked softly, the name a gentle whisper that somehow hurt less coming from her lips.
He managed to shake his head, unable to speak past the sudden thickness in his throat. The pendant felt heavy against his chest, a physical reminder of his failure, his shame.
“I’m sorry.”
She reached across the space between them and gently, so gently he barely felt it, placed her small hand over his much larger one where it still clutched the pendant.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The simple touch said everything.I see your pain. I honor it. I am here.
He froze, caught between the instinct to pull away and the desperate need to lean into that touch, that understanding. His heart ached as if it could expand enough to encompass her compassion.
He swallowed hard, fighting back the rush of emotions, and she seemed to understand his struggle because she didn’t push him, didn’t try to speak. She simply sat there, her hand over his, letting the moment hold them together. When he felt ready, he turned his hand, interlacing their fingers. His hand dwarfed hers but she didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. Instead, she tightened her grip on him, a silent affirmation that she was with him.
“Rhaal,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl.
She repeated his name, her pronunciation almost perfect, and then added, “Ayla,” nodding towards the bracelet again. “Sister.”
“I… failed,” he admitted after a long pause, knowing that she wouldn’t understand.
She squeezed his hand once more, a silent reassurance that allowed him to continue.
“My sister. Ayla. I failed her.” He shook his head, trying to clear the memories, but they came rushing back. “I was strong, but not strong enough. When she needed me, I… wasn’t enough.”
She tilted her head to one side, clearly not comprehending, but the act of speaking the words aloud had loosened something inside him.
“Broc,” he added after a moment, gesturing to the pendant and then making a motion like walking with a limp. “Friend. Brother.”
He didn’t have the words to explain more—how Broc had been his closest friend, how they had both loved Ayla, how her death had destroyed them both in different ways. How Broc blamed him still, and rightly so.
But somehow, looking at Yasmin’s face, he thought perhaps she understood anyway.
She repeated the names softly, “Ayla, Broc,” committing them to memory as if they were precious things to be safeguarded rather than painful reminders of his greatest failure. Her eyes held only sympathy and a deep understanding of his pain.
The urge to tell her more was almost overwhelming—to share the full story with someone for the first time since it happened. To speak of his regrets, his sorrow, his guilt. But even if she had been able to understand him, he couldn’t bear to add her condemnation to the weight on his shoulders, so he closed his mouth.
She looked up at him, her gaze still warm and soft. Inviting. His gaze traveled over her slender body, now covered in the makeshift garment he had made for her. He was struck once more by how small she was, how fragile. She looked even smaller now than she had last night—like something he could break without even trying.
The thought of hurting her made him feel sick, but the desire she awoke in him was just as terrifying. He’d never felt such intense, primal urges before, and the depth of his need scared him. How could he trust himself not to harm her? How could he live with himself if he did?
He was still struggling with his conflicting impulses when she suddenly yawned, her small hand covering her mouth.
“Tired?” he asked, already rising from his seat.
He didn’t want to leave her, but he couldn’t trust himself to stay either. The longer he spent in her presence, the more his desire grew.
“I’ll return soon,” he promised. He pointed to the bed furs. “Rest now.”
She made a faint protesting noise but he could tell she was exhausted and guilt immediately swept over him. He shouldn’t have kept her up so long. She needed to regain her strength.
“Rest,” he repeated firmly.
She sighed but she was already moving over to the bed platform. As she settled under the furs she looked over at him, her expression uncertain.
“Rhaal?” she said hesitantly, lifting the edge of the furs. “Stay?”
His chest tightened, but he shook his head and left the cave before he could change his mind. Outside, the cold wind cleared his head but did nothing to soothe the burning ache in his loins.
