Page 49 of Yasmin and the Yeti
In less than ten minutes, it was over. The lab was silent except for the heavy breathing of the warriors and the hiss of damaged equipment. Bodies lay sprawled across workstations and floors, their blood a stark contrast to the sterile white surfaces.
“Gather everything,” he ordered, his voice steady despite the carnage. “All samples, all data storage, all equipment. Nothing remains.”
The warriors moved efficiently, collecting the bodies and the contents of the lab. They worked in silence, their movements precise and respectful despite their grim task. This was not a place for celebration or battle cries. This was sacred ground, defiled and now being cleansed.
They carried their burdens through the tunnels to the Dead Cave, a natural chamber far from the underground river and the burial grounds. It was a fitting place for the remains of those who had shown such disrespect for the dead—a cold, lightless hole where nothing grew and no water flowed.
When the lab had been stripped bare, he led the warriors back toward the entrance. As they passed through the burial section, he and Broc paused near Ayla’s niche. The others continued on, giving them a moment of privacy.
He placed his palm against the stone, feeling the faint warmth that always seemed to emanate from this place. Beside him, Broc did the same, his head bowed.
“We have protected your rest, sister,” he said quietly. “No more strangers will pass this way.”
“Sleep well, my mate,” Broc added, his voice thick with emotion.
They stood in silence for a moment longer, then turned away. The past was at peace. It was time to secure the future.
Outside, the night air was bitter cold, a welcome relief after the sterile warmth of the lab. Njkall and his team were waiting, their mission complete. The plateau above was now a chaos of broken rock and snow, the landing field and ships buried beneath tons of debris.
“It is done,” Njkall declared. “One final task remains.”
At his signal, a warrior pressed a trigger. Deep within the lab entrance, a muffled explosion rumbled. The mountainside shuddered, and then the entrance collapsed in on itself, sealing the tunnel permanently. To any observers, it would appear that a natural rockslide had claimed both the landing field and the lab entrance.
“Our ancestors will sleep undisturbed,” Njkall said with satisfaction. “And our waters will run clean again.”
The warriors began the journey back to the clan caves, moving swiftly through the night. The battle-tension was draining from them, replaced by a quiet pride. They had done what was necessary to protect their people, their resources, and their sacred traditions.
He found himself walking beside Broc, their pace matched despite Broc’s limp. There was a new ease between them, a comfortable silence that spoke of reconciliation more eloquently than words.
“Your mate is strong,” Broc said suddenly. “Stronger than she appears.”
He nodded, thinking of Yasmin’s quiet resilience, her unwavering acceptance of him despite his past, his differences, his flaws. “Yes.”
“Ayla would have liked her,” Broc continued, his voice soft with memory. “She always said you needed someone who could see past your growling.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, surprising him. It had been years since he had laughed about anything related to Ayla. “She did say that.”
They walked in silence for a while longer, the snow crunching beneath their feet, the stars cold and brilliant overhead.
“I am going to ask Talvi to be my mate,” Broc said suddenly. “She has been… kind to me.”
“I’m glad,” he said sincerely.
“When you are ready, you should bring your mate to our hearth. Talvi would welcome her. And… I would welcome you, brother.”
The word hung in the air between them, more precious than any formal declaration of forgiveness.
His throat tightened. “We would be honored,” he managed.
As the lights of the clan caves appeared in the distance, he felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. He had protected his people. He had avenged his sister. He had regained his brother. And now he was returning to his mate, to the future they would build together.
For the first time in years, he was coming home not as an exile, but as a warrior, a brother, a mate.
He was coming home whole.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The clan’s communal spaces, usually bustling with activity, had fallen into an eerie quiet. The females moved about their tasks with hushed voices and tense expressions. The younglings, sensing the adults’ unease, were subdued. Everyone was waiting, listening for the sound of returning footsteps, for news of victory or defeat.
