Page 9 of Yasmin and the Yeti
“Rhaal,” she repeated softly, more to herself than to him. The name rolled off her tongue with a strange familiarity, as though some part of her had always known it. As though it had been waiting within her all this time, simply waiting for its bearer to arrive.
He watched her closely, those blue eyes seeming to look straight through her, but the sense of threat had faded. Instead, she felt oddly… safe.
The fire popped again, sending up a shower of sparks, and the spell was broken. He rose, turning his attention to the fireplace. He stoked it carefully, and she realized he wasn’t adding wood but large rectangular pellets, coaxing the flames back to a healthy blaze.
Despite the warmth of the fire, another tremor swept through her body, and she was suddenly aware of the cold wall behind her. He noticed of course, and pointed to the pile of furs she’d left behind in her desperate scramble to escape. They made up what was obviously a bed, and she hesitated. He pointed again, rumbling something that was clearly a command.
She crawled back under the pile of furs, grateful for their warmth even though she was still trembling, and not just from the cold. Her body ached, her muscles felt sore and tender, and every movement seemed to take enormous effort. Her teeth started to chatter.
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her and her vision blurred. She closed her eyes as he rumbled something else, his voice seeming to come from a great distance. The room spun around her and she fought down a surge of nausea. She heard him move, felt him draw closer. She opened her eyes again just as he started to remove his harness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rhaal watched his female—watched Yasmin—with growing concern. He’d hoped that her shivering would stop once she was under the furs, but despite the weight of the furs and the heat of the fire, her body continued its violent rebellion against the cold. Her small teeth clacked together in rapid succession as another tremor swept over her.
He’d seen this dangerous state before in younglings of the clan when their small bodies were exposed to the cold for too long. Surface warmth from furs and fires wasn’t enough once the deep cold had settled into their cores. Without intervention, her organs would slow, then stop.
His nostrils flared, taking in her scent. The sweet fragrance that had first drawn him to her trail was now tainted with the sour edge of illness. She’s dying, he thought, then immediately rejected that outcome.
Mine. Protect.
There was one solution—he could share his body heat with her, warming her from the core. His massive hands clenched intofists, claws digging into his palms. The thought of getting under those furs with her small, fragile form sent conflicting signals through his body. Part protective instinct, part something else—something he’d suppressed for years in his solitude.
She shuddered violently, and her lips had taken on a bluish tint again. His sister’s face flashed before him—her broken body, her blood on his claws. The memory burned like acid.
There was no choice. He would not watch another die when he could prevent it.
Keeping his movements slow and careful, he reached for the heavy leather harness that crossed his chest. Her eyes widened and he caught the scent of her fear again, but he kept going. He found the metal clasps, unfastening them one by one until the harness loosened. He removed it, setting the leather and its attached pouches aside with a soft thud.
It was a warrior’s harness, designed to carry weapons and tools. Removing it was a signal that he was not approaching her as a hunter or fighter, but as something else. Something gentler.
She watched him uncertainly, confusion mixing with the fear in her expression as he moved slowly towards her. He sank to his haunches beside the pile of furs, still an arm’s length away. His chest vibrated with a low, soothing rumble as he gestured to the furs, then to himself, then back to her. He mimed shivering, then stillness, hoping to convey the fact that he could help her with the cold.
She didn’t understand. Or perhaps she understood too well. Her eyes were wide and scared, her breathing shallow and rapid, but her shivering had increased and there was no more time to explain.
He slid carefully beneath the furs behind her. She gasped—a small, strangled sound of pure terror that pierced him more effectively than any blade. He froze instantly, his body rigid behind hers, not touching her anywhere.
The heat of his body radiated outward. His core temperature ran far hotter than hers, an adaptation to Hothrest’s brutal climate. He was a living furnace, and he could feel the temperature beneath the furs rising already.
Minutes stretched in tense silence. He remained perfectly still, barely breathing, fighting against every instinct that urged him to wrap around her, to envelop her in protective warmth. He gritted his fangs instead, focusing his will on stillness. On control.
Gradually, almost imperceptibly, her violent shivers began to subside. The harsh chattering of her teeth softened to occasional clicks. Her breathing deepened, and became more regular. And then—so subtly he might have imagined it—her body shifted backwards, an unconscious movement toward the source of life-giving heat.
A purr rumbled unbidden from his chest at this sign of acceptance. The sound vibrated through the small space between them, a deep, resonant hum of approval and reassurance.
She tensed at the sound, then, surprisingly, relaxed again. Despite her fear, her body recognized that he meant safety, not harm.
Carefully, with agonizing slowness, he extended one arm. He held it above her for a long moment, giving her time to sense the movement, to prepare. Then, with infinite gentleness, helowered it to drape loosely over her torso, creating a cocoon of warmth rather than a trap.
Her breathing hitched, then steadied.
He remained in control, but it took a fierce, internal battle. His instincts urged him to pull her closer, to tuck her small form against his chest where nothing could harm her. His body responded to her proximity in ways he hadn’t experienced in years, awakening dormant instincts and desires.
But louder than these urges was his fear—fear of his strength, but also fear that his strength would not be enough. It hadn’t been enough to save what he loved most before. He could not risk it again.
So he remained in that careful position, his arm a loose circle of protection, his body a wall of heat behind her. His muscles trembled with the effort of such precise control, but he didn’t move. He would hold this position for hours if necessary, until her core temperature stabilized.
Her scent changed subtly as warmth returned to her body. The sour note of sickness faded, replaced by something sweeter, more vital, and beneath it was that compelling fragrance that had first caught his attention at the wreck—a scent unlike any he’d encountered before.
