Page 29 of Yasmin and the Yeti
As they entered the narrow passage to the cave, he stopped and turned, taking in the snowy landscape, the towering rocks, the world that had been his prison for so long. He glanced down at her, his eyes blazing.
“Not exile. Home.” He gestured to the cave, then to the rocks, then to the horizon. “Home.”
He seemed to search for the right words, then gave a low, frustrated huff. He pointed to her, then to himself, his gesture encompassing the two of them together. “Yasmin. Rhaal. Home.”
She felt a flutter in her chest at his words. “Yes,” she agreed. “We’re home. Together.”
His mouth curved into a rare, full smile. It transformed his face, the harsh lines softening into an expression of pure, unabashed joy.
“Yasmin,” he repeated, his voice filled with warmth. “Rhaal. Home.”
She returned his smile, feeling a swell of emotion that threatened to burst from her chest. She’d come to this world as a captive, a victim, but now… now she was choosing this. Choosing him.
He bent and pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the cold air. Then he straightened and continued walking, carrying her through the passageway and into the warmth of the cave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Rhaal carried Yasmin into the familiar warmth and quiet of their cave. He placed her carefully on her feet, then quickly built up the fire, aware of her watching him. When he turned, she stood in the center of the space, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
The sight of her—so small, so alien, so impossibly brave—made his chest ache with a feeling he had no name for.
She stepped towards him, slow and deliberate. Her hands came up to rest against his chest, small and warm through his fur. His heart thundered beneath her touch. She had seen it all. His weakness. His shame. The broken parts he’d hidden in the shadows of exile. She had witnessed the raw wound that festered between him and Broc, and had heard his former clan-brother’s judgment.
Shadow-dweller.The word echoed in his mind, sharp as a blade. It was what the clan called those who retreated from life, who allowed grief to consume them until they became mere ghosts of themselves.
“Rhaal,” she said, just his name, nothing more.
But it was everything.
His hands came up to frame her face, his claws carefully retracted. He traced the delicate line of her jaw, the curve of her ear, the sweep of her throat. Memorizing her with his touch as he had with his eyes a hundred times before.
There was no urgency in his movements, none of the desperate hunger that had driven him before. This was something else entirely—a reverence, a worship. Each touch a question, each sigh from her lips an answer.
“Yasmin,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
He lowered his mouth to hers, claiming her with a kiss that held no demands, no expectations—only a request. A request to be let in, to be trusted, to be accepted for everything he was, the broken and the whole.
And she answered him, her lips parting beneath his, her tongue meeting his with a sweetness that made his chest ache. She kissed him back with a ferocity that belied her fragile frame, her arms winding around his neck as she rose onto her toes to meet him.
He lifted her easily, his hands spanning her waist, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. The heat of her core pressed against his abdomen, and he felt the vibration of her moan against his lips. The sound was like music to his ears.
He carried her to the furs, laying her down with a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed. Her hair fanned out beneath her, a dark halo framing her pale skin. She reached for him, pullinghim down to cover her, her limbs tangling with his in a dance of need and desire.
He broke the kiss, looking down at her flushed face. “Yasmin,” he said again, his voice barely a whisper. “Mine.”
She smiled, a smile that was a promise all on its own. “Yours,” she said, the word a vow.
He moved slowly, carefully, aware of her fragility beneath him. Every touch was deliberate, a worshipful exploration of her body. His fingers traced the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the softness of her thighs. He knew her body now, knew it as well as he knew his own, but it was different this time.
He peeled away the layers of clothing that separated them, revealing inch after inch of smooth, pale skin. He pressed his lips to each newly bared patch of skin, tasting, teasing. She shivered under his touch, her breathing becoming ragged, her nails scraping lightly against his fur.
When he finally had her naked beneath him, he paused, drinking in the sight of her. She was a work of art, a masterpiece. He had never seen anything so beautiful, so precious. And she was his.
He bent to kiss her again, claiming her lips with a gentle ferocity. His tongue dipped into her mouth, exploring, tasting, claiming. He felt her body arch beneath him, pressing against him, seeking more.
And he gave it to her, his hands roaming over her body, touching, stroking, caressing. He knew the sensitive area on the curve of her neck, the spot behind her ear that made her gasp. He knew the feel of her nipples hardening under his palms and the way her legs parted when he trailed his hand down her stomach.
He broke the kiss to look at her again, to see the need in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks. She was ready, he could smell it, the sweet musk of her arousal filling the air. He gently parted her thighs, exposing the glistening pink of her core.
