Page 45 of Yasmin and the Yeti
Something ancient and wounded inside his chest eased slightly at those words. He raised his own hand and placed it on Broc’s shoulder, mirroring the gesture.
“For Ayla,” he agreed, his voice rough with emotion. “And for all our people.”
Njkall rose to his feet. “It is decided, then. We strike at this abomination with all our strength. We will travel to the Valley tomorrow and strike when darkness falls tomorrow night.”
His eyes came to rest on Rhaal and Broc, standing together in the center of the chamber. “You two will lead the assault. Your personal stake in this makes you the most motivated, the most dangerous. Plan your approach. Choose your warriors. Leave none of these defilers alive.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, a cold satisfaction settling in his bones. This was right. This was necessary. This was justice.
“Before we disperse,” Njkall added, his tone softening slightly, “Rhaal, your mate has been asking for you. The Healer says she is stable but weak. The sothiti helps, but…”
The Elder left the sentence unfinished, but he understood. Time was not on their side. Not for Yasmin, not for their unborn cub, not for their people.
“Go to her,” Broc said quietly. “We will begin planning. Join us when you can.”
He nodded, grateful for the understanding. Without another word, he turned and strode from the chamber, following the scent that had been calling to him since he arrived.
As he moved through the tunnels toward the Healer’s cave, he felt a strange sense of completion. For years, he had been fractured—exiled from his clan, estranged from his brother, haunted by his failure. Now, in the face of this new threat, those broken pieces were aligning once more.
He was a warrior of the clan again.
He and Broc stood as brothers once more.
And he had a mate and cub to protect, a purpose that burned brighter than any guilt or grief.
The offworlders who had dared to defile his sister’s resting place and threaten his mate’s life would soon learn what it meant to face the full fury of a Hothian warrior with nothing left to lose and everything to fight for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Yasmin tossed restlessly in the thick furs, her body heavy with exhaustion despite having done nothing more strenuous than sit up occasionally and work on some beads. The Healer had been firm—complete bedrest until they could be certain the sothiti was properly stabilizing her system.
“Your body fights itself,” Cera explained. “It is not just the Winter Womb. The cub is of both worlds, and your blood struggles to nurture what it does not yet fully recognize.”
She placed her hand on her still-flat belly, feeling a fierce protectiveness for the tiny life growing there. Their child—hers and Rhaal’s—a miracle neither of them had expected. She would endure anything to keep it safe.
The sound of soft footsteps drew her attention to the cave entrance. A female Hothian entered, carrying a stack of fresh furs. Her short fur was a slightly warmer shade of white, almost cream-colored in the firelight.
“I am Talvi,” the female said, her voice gentle as she approached. “I am a… friend of Broc.”
She tensed at the mention of Broc, remembering his grip on her arm, the terror of being taken from Rhaal.
Talvi noticed her reaction and made a soft, soothing sound. “Broc regrets frightening you. He thought…” She hesitated. “He has carried much pain since Ayla’s death. We all have. But he is a good male.”
She studied the other female’s face. There was more there than just friendship.
“You care for him, don’t you?”
Talvi nodded. “I do, but he has not yet healed.” Talvi busied herself replacing the furs around Yasmin with fresh ones, her movements efficient but gentle. “It is good that Rhaal has found you. That you chose him.”
“You’re not… bothered by me being human?” she asked, watching Talvi’s face carefully.
Talvi paused, considering. “The gods choose our mates, not us. If they chose you for Rhaal, who are we to question?” She dipped a cloth in cool water and gently placed it on Yasmin’s forehead. “Besides, any female who can bring that stubborn male back to the clan deserves our respect.”
The simple acceptance in Talvi’s words warmed something deep in her chest. She had expected suspicion or at least curiosity, not this matter-of-fact kindness.
As the day progressed, more females came and went. Many of them brought food—broths rich with nutrients that Cera insisted would help with the pregnancy and tiny sweet cakes—and she tried to eat, even though she had little appetite.
While resting between visits, she worked on her beads. The soapstone Rhaal had given her was nearly gone, but one of the females had brought her a small pouch of various stones—some soft enough to carve, others harder and more challenging. Working with her hands gave her purpose, a way to focus her mind away from her weakness and the danger Rhaal might be facing.
