Page 28 of Yasmin and the Yeti
Rhaal stood unnaturally still, his massive body rigid with restraint. This wasn’t the protective rage she’d seen at the market. This was different—a tormented stillness, as if he feared that any movement might shatter something fragile.
And Broc. His eyes held a grief so raw it transcended language. His body told its own story—the pronounced limp, the white-knuckled grip on his staff, the way his shoulders hunched slightly forward as if perpetually bracing against pain.
This confrontation wasn’t about her. She was merely the catalyst for something much older, much deeper—a wound that had festered between them for years.
She caught fragments of their exchange. One word stood out, repeated with reverence and anguish. “Ayla.” The name Rhaal had taught her, connected to the pendant he wore with such care. Sister. The missing piece clicked into place. Broc had loved her too.
These two weren’t enemies—they were survivors of the same tragedy, each carrying their share of the same unbearable grief.
Broc’s certainty visibly wavered as he watched the interaction between her and Rhaal. Finally, he took a small step back.
In return she took two steps away from Rhaal and turned to face Broc. She looked at him—really looked—taking in the lines etched into his face, the dullness in his eyes that spoke of years spent drowning in grief. Her expression softened with genuine, profound empathy.
“Broc,” she said softly.
His eyes widened slightly, surprise breaking through his mask of pain.
She pressed her hand to her heart, then bowed her head—not reaching, just acknowledging.I see your pain. I understand your loss.
Broc stared at her, confusion evident on his face. He had clearly expected fear, perhaps even hatred because of his attempt to steal her—not this quiet compassion.
Then, she deliberately turned back to Rhaal. The snow crunched beneath her boots as she crossed the distance between them. Without hesitation, she pressed her face into the thick fur of his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist as far as they would go.
She felt the tension in his body, the tremor that ran through him at her touch. Slowly, his massive arms enfolded her, careful yet possessive. His scent enveloped her—snow and smoke and his own wild, musky scent. She closed her eyes, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath her cheek.
Her choice was silent, public, and absolute.
But it wasn’t enough. Something inside her knew there was more to be done.
Without breaking contact with Rhaal, she turned slightly in his embrace. One arm remained around him, her hand clutching the thick fur of his back. With the other, she reached toward Broc, palm up, open.
An offering. A bridge.
Rhaal’s body tensed again, a low rumble building in his chest. Not a growl of warning, but something questioning, uncertain. She felt his gaze on her face, searching, but she kept her hand extended, steady. Her eyes met Broc’s, trying to convey what she did not have the words to say.There is room for healing here. For both of you.
The moment stretched, fragile as thin ice. Broc stared at her outstretched hand, then at Rhaal’s protective embrace. Something shifted in his expression—a crack in the armor of grief he’d worn for so long.
He didn’t take her hand. Perhaps it was too much, too soon. Instead, he gave a short, jerky nod—acknowledgment, if not acceptance. Then he turned, leaning heavily on his staff, and limped back into the rocks. The snow-covered landscape swallowed him quickly, leaving only the uneven tracks of his passage.
She slowly let her hand fall. She hadn’t expected an immediate reconciliation—wounds that deep didn’t heal in a single moment. But a door had been opened. A possibility had been acknowledged.
Rhaal’s arms tightened around her, drawing her fully against him. A deep, resonant rumble vibrated through his chest—a sound she’d come to recognize as relief, as contentment. He bent his head, pressing his face into her hair, inhaling deeply.
“Yasmin,” he murmured, and she tilted her face up to his, reaching up to touch his cheek. His glowing blue eyes met hers, and she saw something new in them—not just desire or protectiveness, but a profound gratitude. Wonder, even.
“My Yasmin,” he repeated softly, as if testing the words, tasting them on his tongue. His voice carried layers of meaning she couldn’t fully decipher but understood nonetheless. She was more than just his mate now. She was something else—something precious and rare.
She leaned up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was gentle, reverent, speaking the language their words couldn’t yet convey. He returned the kiss with aching tenderness, his claws gently cupping the back of her neck. They stood there, entwined, letting the moment stretch into something timeless, healing.
“Home,” he said, one of the few words they shared. His voice was rough with emotion.
She nodded, understanding perfectly. Home wasn’t the cave, or even this snow-covered world. Home was this—the space between them, the trust they’d built, the choice they’d made.
Then he bent, sweeping one powerful arm behind her knees. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he beganwalking back towards the cave. Her arms automatically wrapped around his neck, her cheek resting against the soft fur of his shoulder.
The snow began to fall again, soft flakes catching in her hair and on her eyelashes. He pulled her closer, shielding her from the cold, and she leaned into him.
Behind them, Broc’s tracks were already beginning to fill with fresh snow, but the memory of the encounter remained. Something had shifted today—not just between Rhaal and Broc, but within Rhaal himself. She had glimpsed a new vulnerability in him, a willingness to face his past rather than flee from it.
