Page 19 of Yasmin and the Yeti (Alien Abduction #25)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he scream tore through the air, slicing into Rhaal’s consciousness like a blade of ice. He froze, every muscle locking in place, his blood turning to frost in his veins.

Yasmin.

Her voice carried a terror so raw, so desperate, that it catapulted him back through time. Suddenly he was in the collapsing cave again, dust choking his lungs, rocks falling all around him. Ayla’s scream pierced the chaos, a sound he’d carried in his nightmares for years.

I’m coming. I’m coming.

The words echoed in his mind, the same ones he’d shouted to his sister as he’d clawed through falling rock. Words that had meant nothing in the end.

But this time it was different. This time he wouldn’t be too late.

Primal strength flooded his body as the world sharpened to crystal clarity—scents, sounds, the direction of her call. He dropped the freshly killed pikka and launched himself through the rock canyons

Boulders blurred past. His huge body moved with impossible speed, each powerful stride eating the distance between himself and his mate. Snow sprayed in his wake. His claws extended fully, ready to rend, to kill, to protect what was his.

Her second scream ripped through the air. “RHAAL!”

Closer now. Desperate. Terrified.

A roar tore from his chest, vibrating through the frozen air—a warning, a promise of violence to whoever threatened what was his. The sound echoed off the mountains, silencing every creature for miles.

His heart clenched like a fist. The raw fear in her voice ignited a rage so intense it burned in his blood, and he threw himself forward, faster, harder, the wind roaring in his ears.

He burst through the rocks into a small clearing, his momentum carrying him forward in a blur of white fur and lethal intent. And then he saw them.

Broc. Holding Yasmin by the arm. Trying to drag her away.

He skidded to a stop, snow spraying around him. His breath came in harsh pants, forming clouds in the frigid air. The world narrowed to this single, impossible moment.

Not a random slaver or predator. Broc. His clan-brother. Ayla’s mate.

His past, physically holding his future.

His instincts howled for blood, for vengeance. Old guilt and fresh rage warred within him, threatening to tear him apart, and his chest heaved with the effort of restraining himself.

“Let. Her. Go.” Each word rumbled from his chest, deep and dangerous.

Broc didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, still gripping Yasmin’s arm, though his stance was protective rather than threatening. His eyes held no fear, only a deep, weathered sadness and something harder. Judgment.

“So you can fail her too?” Broc asked roughly. “Like you failed Ayla?”

He staggered back a half-step at the sound of his sister’s name, his roar dying in his throat.

“She was my mate,” Broc said, his grief raw and exposed. “And you left her to die.”

“I tried—” he started, the old defense rising automatically.

“You weren’t strong enough,” Broc cut him off. “And now you’ve taken this small one—this fragile one—into your cave? To what end, Rhaal? So she can die when you fail her too?”

Yasmin struggled against Broc’s grip, her small body twisting as she tried to reach him. Her eyes found his, wide with fear but not of him—for him.

“Ayla would have wanted her to be safe,” Broc said, his voice softer now but no less devastating. “With the clan. With the healer. Not with a broken male who couldn’t even save his own blood.”

The cruel words clawed at his restraint. It would be so easy to charge, to tear Broc’s throat out, to reclaim what was his with fang and claw. His muscles bunched, preparing for the leap.

But in Yasmin’s eyes, he saw something that stopped him cold. Trust. Complete, unwavering trust.

If he attacked now—if he gave in to his instincts—he would prove Broc right. He would be nothing but the monster they all believed him to be.

With a monumental effort, he forced his body to stillness. He straightened to his full height, his massive body becoming not a weapon poised to strike, but a mountain—immovable, certain.

His eyes fixed on Broc, no longer blazing with rage but steady with a deep, unshakable conviction. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His stance said everything. She is mine. I will not fail again.

Broc’s expression shifted, uncertainty creeping in where certainty had been. The Rhaal he remembered—the broken, guilt-ridden shadow who had fled into exile—would have attacked by now, would have given in to his instincts.

This Rhaal was different. Controlled. Present.

“You’ve changed,” Broc said finally, his voice barely audible over the wind.

“Yes.” A single word, heavy with meaning.

Yasmin took advantage of Broc’s distraction to wrench her arm free. She stumbled through the snow towards him, her movements clumsy with cold and fear.

He didn’t move, although he extended his hand to her. He kept his eyes locked on Broc in silent challenge.

When she reached him, she pressed herself against his side, her small hand clutching his fur. The contact sent a wave of fierce protectiveness through him, but still he held himself in check.

“She fears you,” Broc said, but there was doubt in his voice now.

“No,” he said steadily. “She fears being taken from me.”

To prove his point, he deliberately placed one huge hand on her shoulder and she immediately leaned into the touch, her body relaxing against his.

Broc watched this with growing confusion. “The scouts said… they said you claimed her as your mate.”

“I did.”

“She is not of our kind.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Broc’s gaze traveled between them, taking in Yasmin’s protective stance, the way she pressed closer to Rhaal with each passing moment. His certainty visibly wavered.

“Ayla would not have wanted this,” Broc said, but the conviction had drained from his voice.

“Ayla would have wanted me to protect what is mine,” he countered, the words flowing with a certainty he hadn’t felt in years. “As I tried to protect her.”

A shadow of old pain crossed Broc’s face. He shifted his weight, leaning heavily on his staff, the permanent reminder of the cave-in that had taken Ayla and nearly claimed him too.

“You pulled me free,” he said quietly. “Not her.”

“I couldn’t reach her.” The admission still burned like acid in his throat. “The rocks… they fell between us. I tried, Broc. Until my claws broke and my hands bled, I tried.”

Something in his voice—the raw honesty, perhaps—made Broc pause. For the first time, doubt crept into his expression.

“You never told me that.”

“You never let me speak.” There was no accusation in his voice, only a deep, weary truth. “You needed someone to blame. I needed to be blamed.”

Yasmin made a small sound, reaching up to touch his face. Though she couldn’t understand their words, she sensed the weight of them. Her touch anchored him, kept the old grief from dragging him under.

Broc watched this interaction with growing uncertainty. The anger that had sustained him for so long seemed to falter in the face of this unexpected tenderness.

“The clan believes you are a danger,” Broc said finally. “That you’ve taken this female against her will.”

“The clan is wrong. She stays with me by choice.”

As if to confirm his words, she pressed closer to his side, tucking her small body against his much larger one. Her eyes, fixed on Broc, held no fear—only determination.

The stalemate stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Then, almost imperceptibly, Broc’s stance shifted. His grip on his staff loosened. The aggressive angle of his shoulders softened.

“You truly believe you can protect her?” Broc asked, his voice barely audible.

He looked down at Yasmin, at her upturned face and the trust shining in her eyes. Something deep and powerful moved through him—something warm and steady.

“With my life.”