Page 53 of Yasmin and the Yeti
He withdrew almost completely, the thick head of his kotra just barely inside her, and then plunged back in, filling her to the hilt. She cried out, her nails digging into his fur, urging him on. He set a slow, deliberate pace, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through her veins.
“You are mine,” he growled, his mouth moving to the curve of her neck, his fangs scraping against her skin in a primal show of possession. “Now and forever.”
“Yes,” she breathed, arching into him, offering herself to him completely. “Yours.”
The tension inside her wound tighter with each stroke, their bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as time. She could feel him everywhere—in the heat of his body against hers, in the growl of his voice, in the very air she breathed. They were two halves of a whole, joined in this most ancient of dances.
“Please,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his fur, urging him deeper, harder. “I’m so close.”
He responded with a growl, his hips snapping forward to meet hers, his kotra driving into her with a relentless pace. She could feel the pressure building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within her, until she thought she would burst from the intensity of it.
With a final, powerful thrust, he drove her over the edge, her body arching up into his as she came apart in his arms. Her climax triggered his own, and he buried himself deep inside her, his kotra pulsing as he spilled his seed and his ring expanded, locking them together.
In the aftermath, they lay tangled together, their breathing slowly returning to normal. She could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against her cheek, the rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. She had never felt more safe, more loved, than she did in this moment.
“I love you,” she murmured, the words escaping her without conscious thought. “I think I have since that first night.”
He stilled, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “You are my mate,” he said solemnly. “My heart. My everything.”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away, smiling up at him. “I never thought I’d find happiness on another world. But with you, I have everything I need.”
He lowered his head to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “As long as we are together, we are home.” He paused, his expression growing serious once more. “But you must rest. The sothiti will strengthen you, but it is not a replacement for sleep and food.”
She nodded, her body already feeling the effects of their lovemaking. “Will you stay with me?”
He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping securely around her. “Always.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The sound of ceremonial drums echoed through the central cavern, their deep, resonant thumps vibrating through the stone and into Rhaal’s bones. He stood tall, tense with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Around him, the entire clan had gathered—males, females, and cubs—their white fur a stark contrast against the dark stone walls illuminated by clusters of glow crystals.
He felt exposed here, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t in years. The last time he had stood in this hall, it had been to announce his self-imposed exile. Now he was back, but not as a broken, grief-stricken shadow of himself. He stood as a warrior who had helped save his people, with his mate—his human mate—at his side.
Yasmin’s small hand found his, her fingers twining with his much larger ones. Even through the haze of his discomfort, the simple touch anchored him. He squeezed her hand gently, grateful that she’d recovered her strength enough to accompany him.
The drums fell silent as Njkall stepped into the center of the cavern, his powerful figure commanding everyone’s attention.
“We gather today to honor those who defended our sacred lands, our waters, and our way of life,” Njkall’s voice carried through the hall without effort. “The offworlders who poisoned our rivers and desecrated our burial grounds have been removed.”
A low rumble of approval rolled through the assembled clan.
“But today, we also gather to heal old wounds,” Njkall continued, his gaze finding Rhaal. “To welcome back one who has been absent too long.”
His chest tightened. Yasmin’s fingers tightened around his, but he couldn’t look at her. Not now. Not when the past and present were colliding so violently within him.
Movement from the side of the hall caught his attention. Broc stepped forward, his distinctive limp marking his progress as he made his way to the center. The hall fell utterly silent. Everyone knew the history between them—the cave-in, Ayla’s death, Rhaal’s guilt, Broc’s blame.
Broc stopped beside Njkall, then turned to face Rhaal directly. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze traveling over Rhaal’s face as if searching for something. Then his eyes dropped to where Yasmin stood at his side, her small body pressed close to his much larger one.
“I speak now not just as a clan brother,” Broc began, his voice strong despite the emotion Rhaal could scent on him, “but as one who shared the deepest loss with Rhaal.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with years of unspoken grief.
“When Ayla died, I blamed him.” Broc’s blunt statement caused a ripple of discomfort through the hall. “I believed his strength had failed when it was most needed. I could not see past my own pain to understand his.”
His throat tightened. He had never expected this—not a public acknowledgment, not an absolution.
“I was wrong,” Broc continued, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Rhaal did not fail Ayla. The mountain failed us all. And in my grief, I failed him—my brother in all but blood.”
