Page 27 of Yasmin and the Yeti
He didn’t move, although he extended his hand to her. He kept his eyes locked on Broc in silent challenge.
When she reached him, she pressed herself against his side, her small hand clutching his fur. The contact sent a wave of fierce protectiveness through him, but still he held himself in check.
“She fears you,” Broc said, but there was doubt in his voice now.
“No,” he said steadily. “She fears being taken from me.”
To prove his point, he deliberately placed one huge hand on her shoulder and she immediately leaned into the touch, her body relaxing against his.
Broc watched this with growing confusion. “The scouts said… they said you claimed her as your mate.”
“I did.”
“She is not of our kind.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Broc’s gaze traveled between them, taking in Yasmin’s protective stance, the way she pressed closer to Rhaal with each passing moment. His certainty visibly wavered.
“Ayla would not have wanted this,” Broc said, but the conviction had drained from his voice.
“Ayla would have wanted me to protect what is mine,” he countered, the words flowing with a certainty he hadn’t felt in years. “As I tried to protect her.”
A shadow of old pain crossed Broc’s face. He shifted his weight, leaning heavily on his staff, the permanent reminder of the cave-in that had taken Ayla and nearly claimed him too.
“You pulled me free,” he said quietly. “Not her.”
“I couldn’t reach her.” The admission still burned like acid in his throat. “The rocks… they fell between us. I tried, Broc. Until my claws broke and my hands bled, I tried.”
Something in his voice—the raw honesty, perhaps—made Broc pause. For the first time, doubt crept into his expression.
“You never told me that.”
“You never let me speak.” There was no accusation in his voice, only a deep, weary truth. “You needed someone to blame. I needed to be blamed.”
Yasmin made a small sound, reaching up to touch his face. Though she couldn’t understand their words, she sensed the weight of them. Her touch anchored him, kept the old grief from dragging him under.
Broc watched this interaction with growing uncertainty. The anger that had sustained him for so long seemed to falter in the face of this unexpected tenderness.
“The clan believes you are a danger,” Broc said finally. “That you’ve taken this female against her will.”
“The clan is wrong. She stays with me by choice.”
As if to confirm his words, she pressed closer to his side, tucking her small body against his much larger one. Her eyes, fixed on Broc, held no fear—only determination.
The stalemate stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Then, almost imperceptibly, Broc’s stance shifted. His grip on his staff loosened. The aggressive angle of his shoulders softened.
“You truly believe you can protect her?” Broc asked, his voice barely audible.
He looked down at Yasmin, at her upturned face and the trust shining in her eyes. Something deep and powerful moved through him—something warm and steady.
“With my life.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Yasmin stood frozen between the two massive males, her heart hammering against her ribs. The tension in the air was almost visible, like heat rising from stone. She couldn’t understand most of their words—the guttural sounds flowing between them were still largely foreign to her—but she understood everything else.
Pain. It radiated from both of them.
