Page 10 of Yasmin and the Yeti (Alien Abduction #25)

CHAPTER TEN

O nce more Yasmin woke up cocooned in warm furs, but this time she was alone. No huge body radiated comforting warmth from behind her. She opened her eyes, scanning the space. Rhaal was gone.

The silence pressed against her ears, no longer peaceful but strangely lonely.

The absence of his massive presence left the cave feeling cavernous and cold despite the crackling fire.

She pulled the furs tighter around herself, surprised by the jolt of vulnerability that came with his absence.

It made no sense—she’d been terrified of him—but she’d feel safer with him here.

Clutching one of the furs to her chest, she sat up and took a proper look around the cave for the first time.

In her panic and exhaustion, she hadn’t noticed the details the day before.

The stone walls were rough and uneven, but they’d been meticulously whitewashed, giving the space a clean, almost ethereal quality.

Thick pink moss covered the raised sleeping platform where she sat, as well as several seating areas around the fireplace.

The fireplace itself was a simple but efficient construction, with a narrow chimney that drew the smoke upward and out through some hidden vent.

Small clusters of glowing crystals were embedded in the walls at regular intervals, revolving slowly as they emitted a soft, ambient light that complemented the fire’s warm glow.

This wasn’t a temporary shelter. This was a home.

She was contemplating this realization when a whisper of cold air announced Rhaal’s return.

He entered silently, a flurry of snow melting in his thick white fur.

He carried a freshly killed animal—something like a large rabbit with extra-long ears—which he brought to a stone preparation area near the fire.

He looked over at her as he did, and something in his eyes made her heart skip a beat, but then his face shuttered as he turned away to skin his kill.

She had to look away as he began. She’d never seen an animal butchered before and even though she recognized the necessity—it wasn’t as if there was a supermarket down the road—her stomach churned at the prospect.

When she gathered the courage to look back, he was neatly chopping the carcass into sections, his huge hands surprisingly dexterous. Although he didn’t look directly at her, she knew he was aware of her gaze. The air between them was charged with an odd kind of tension.

After preparing the meat, he placed some it in a pot of water over the fire, adding what looked like dried herbs from a small leather pouch. Curious about the cooking process, she started to go and join him, then remembered she was still naked under the furs.

“Umm, Rhaal?” He looked up when she spoke, his eyes glowing. “What happened to my, er, dress?”

The white shift might have been minimal, but it was better than being naked.

He tilted his head, clearly not understanding her, and she sighed. She supposed it had been too much to hope that he had a translator.

“You know, clothing? My dress?”

She tried to mimic holding up the garment and almost lost the fur she was clutching in the process. A brief flash of amusement crossed his face, and he suddenly nodded, crossing the cave and pulling something from a pile of neatly folded hides.

He held the white shift out to her, but it was so torn and tattered that it was barely recognizable.

She stared at it in dismay, then sighed again.

She had run away wearing it, fallen in the snow with it, and spent the night freezing in it.

It was hardly surprising that it had disintegrated, but that meant…

“I’m stuck naked, aren’t I?”

Her cheeks heated, and she clutched the fur even tighter. He looked from her to the remains of the shift, then picked up one of the folded hides. The bone knife flashed as he bent over it. Next he retrieved something that looked like cord from a nearby basket and brought the hide over to her.

“I don’t understand…”

He dropped the hide gently over her head and she realized he’d created an opening in the center of the hide. He hesitated for a moment, then showed her the small holes on either side, careful not to touch her, and handed her the thin rope.

“Oh, I get it. It’s a belt, isn’t it?”

She beamed up at him and his eyes flashed with that strange glow once more. She pulled the rope through the holes and tied it in a loose knot at her waist.

The makeshift tunic fell to just above her knees, but it was so big that it felt more like a dress.

It was longer than the shift but even more open along the sides, but at least she was no longer naked.

She climbed carefully out from under the furs, doing her best not to flash him and went over to the fireplace.

A rich aroma drifted up from the simmering pot and her stomach growled.

“That smells wonderful. What is it?”

She pointed at the pot and gave him a questioning look.

“Pikka,” he said slowly.

“Pikka is the meat?” She pointed at the remains of the animal and he nodded.

“Pikka,” she said again, committing the word to memory as he bent over the pot again.

She perched on one of the ledges covered with the thick pink moss and watched as he ladled some broth into a beautifully carved stone bowl. He turned back to her, moving with deliberate slowness, as if afraid to startle her, and held out the bowl.

As she reached out to take it, their fingers brushed.

The contact sent a spark of electricity shooting up her arm and through her chest, leaving her momentarily breathless.

He flinched as if burned, pulling his hand back sharply.

Blue fire glowed in his eyes for a split second before his stoic mask slammed back into place.

He took a half-step backward, his entire body rigid with tension.

“I… I’m sorry,” she stammered, unsure what she had done to cause such a strong reaction. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she didn’t know how. “Rhaal?”

He didn’t respond, only shook his head sharply before handing her an eating utensil with a shallow bowl, careful not to touch her. Instead of pulling away as he clearly expected, she reached out and deliberately put her hand over his, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” she said softly. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her eyes locked with his, hoping he understood her message. She wasn’t afraid of him.

His eyes searched hers, looking for the fear he expected to find. When he didn’t see it, something shifted in his expression—a barely perceptible softening around his eyes, a slight easing of the tension in his massive shoulders before he gave a quick jerky nod.

The soup was amazing—rich and savory with a hearty, gamey taste—and the hot broth warmed her from the inside out.

She was suddenly aware of how little she had eaten since her abduction and she finished the bowl eagerly.

When she gestured at the pot and raised her eyebrows, he grunted approvingly and refilled her bowl.

“It’s delicious,” she told him, rubbing her stomach. “Pikka is good.”

“Good,” he repeated, and his fangs flashed as something approaching a smile crossed his face.

She smiled back. Food, clothing, and now communication. Things were finally looking up.