Page 14

Mr. Fuzzy Terror over here is training me as if I’m his goddamn pet.

But at this moment, I don’t care. I snatch it from his clawed hand and eye the crystal-clear water.

With trembling fingers, I raise it to my lips and drink, gulping it down so fast it spills over my chin.

Cold as hell frozen over, crisp, with a light mineral taste, it’s strikingly fresh and clean, soothing the burning in my throat.

When I lower the vase, he’s still watching me.

There’s something in his expression—pride, maybe?

Like I’ve just passed some weird test. Whatever it is, it pisses me off.

I glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Or to give a fuck. Instead, he fills the vase again and hands it back like I’m some fucking houseplant he’s watering.

After the third refill, though, a creeping realization dawns on me—I have to pee.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

He tilts his head, like he’s curious, as I start pacing the tiny cage. There’s nowhere to go. Rookie captive mistake. Now I’ve got to pantomime my way out of this one.

I stop and look at him. “I need… you know… relieve myself.” I point at my crotch, then cross my legs like I’m explaining this to a toddler.

He stares back at me blankly, scratching his head with one massive claw.

I squat slightly, gesturing at myself, then at the floor. “Bathroom? Pee? Please tell me you understand basic human needs.”

Nothing. Just a wall of fur and muscle.

“Are you kidding me?” I throw up my hands. “Your dumb ass is going to make me play fucking charades for this? Great. Just great.”

I squat more dramatically this time, pointing again at the floor. “I need to go!”

His expression doesn’t change, but after a moment, he glances at the corner of the cage as if I’m the stupid one. My stomach drops when I realize what he’s suggesting.

“Oh, hell no.” I shake my head violently. “No way. That’s not happening. I’m not pissing in your cage like a dog!” I wave toward the tunnel. “ Outside . I need to go outside.”

He growls low in his throat, and I freeze, suddenly aware—once again—of how small I am compared to him. But I don’t back down. “Listen, you furry bastard, I won’t be stuck here with a urine puddle right next to me. The bones are enough attraction for me. You better open that door.”

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Finally, with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like exasperation, he moves to unlock the cage door. As he approaches me, I lift my outstretched arms so he can take care of the shackles.

Yeti doesn’t do keys. He uses his claws, sliding one into the lock mechanism and twisting until it pops open like a cheap movie prop. I watch him carefully, noting how easily he does it. If only I had something sharp enough…

Never in my life have I picked a lock, but then again, I’ve also never given a blow job to a mute psycho-killer Yeti before. First time for everything, I guess .

I rub my wrists as the heavy metal comes off, wincing at the red, raw skin.

He doesn’t give me long to recover. With a quick motion, he pulls me out of the cage and points toward the pile of trophies from his past victims. It’s morbid, sure, but at least I won’t be naked anymore.

I sift through the clothes, trying not to think about where they came from, and settle on a huge jacket that swallows me whole and hits my knees.

The snow boots are two sizes too big, but beggars can’t be choosers.

He doesn’t wait for me to get comfortable. Grabbing my arm, he leads me past the firepit and into a tunnel that snakes through the cave. His grip is firm but not painful. His extended claws grazing my flesh through the jacket, however, are a constant reminder that escape isn’t an option.

The further we go, the brighter and colder it gets.

The walls glisten with glacier ice, jagged and sharp, reflecting the faint light from outside.

Massive icicles hang from the ceiling like deadly chandeliers, threatening to impale anyone foolish enough to linger.

It’s beautiful, in a morbid kind of way.

When we finally emerge into the open, the cold air hits me like a slap.

The snow is blindingly white, stretching endlessly in every direction.

The sun is behind a thick layer of clouds, and judging by its position, it’s early afternoon.

I have no idea how long I’ve been here. A day?

Two? Long enough for someone to notice we’re missing yet?

He gestures toward the ground, pleased with himself, clearly expecting me to go here.

I frown, then move and find a perfect spot a few steps away—if you ignore the giant furball standing watch. He’s staring at me, completely unbothered by the awkwardness of the situation.

“Can you not?” I snap, waving for him to turn around. “Seriously, don’t you know how privacy works?”

For a second, I swear he rolls his eyes. Then he lets out a guttural grunt that sounds like an annoyance and turns around, his broad back to me.

Squatting down, I do my business, wincing as the freezing air hits places it shouldn’t. I hate every second of it, but nature doesn’t wait for comfort. Or dignity.

When I’m done, I realize that toilet paper isn’t provided in the wilderness, either. Snow? No way. I dig under the frozen surface and find a patch of moss. It’s soft enough to do the job. As I wipe, I mutter under my breath, “Please, God, don’t let me get a UTI or frostbite on my cooch.”

Taking advantage of the moment, I also look for something sharp under the snow that could act as a key. Or a tool to slash his throat with. When suddenly, a howl pierces the air, low and eerie, coming from somewhere deep in the forest. I jump up, every hair on my body standing on end.

Yeti tenses, too. His head tilts, ears twitching as he listens with a warning growl rumbling low in his chest. Then he moves forward, his attention is no longer on me.

My survival instinct immediately kicks in.

This is it. My chance.

I understand I risk throwing myself to the starved wolves, but it may be the only one I get. Anything is better than being his sex slave, right?

I take a step back, then another, each feels like a gamble. No matter how slow and careful I try to be, my clunky boots crunch against the snow. I freeze, cringing at how loud it seems.

He doesn’t notice, too occupied scanning the surroundings.

I swallow hard, sucking in a shaky breath. And then I leap.

With adrenaline flooding my veins, I pour everything I have into it, sprinting toward the trees.

The wind bites at my face, thick branches scrape at my arms, tearing through the jacket, and the oversized boots make each movement clumsy, but I push on.

I don’t care where I’m going. I just know I need to get away.

I know it won’t last. I know he’ll notice any second now. And yet, for a brief, glorious moment, I cling to the illusion of freedom.

Then I hear it.

His deafening roar, ripping through the forest behind me.