Page 3 of Yasmin and the Yeti (Alien Abduction #25)
CHAPTER THREE
T he skarn’s tracks were fresh—no more than an hour old.
Rhaal moved like a ghost across the pristine white landscape as he followed the tracks.
The wind carried the animal’s musk to him in teasing bursts, and his nostrils flared as he processed the information—male, young, healthy, and unaware it was being hunted.
Perfect prey.
He adjusted his course slightly, angling towards where the ridge dropped away into a narrow valley. The skarn would be stalking the pikka that gathered there at dusk. If he timed it right, he could intercept the predator before it reached its own hunting grounds.
His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since the previous day, and even then, it had been only dried meat from his stores. Fresh meat would be welcome, the warm blood a comfort against the bitter cold that had descended as a prelude to the coming storm.
The sky above was heavy with clouds, the light flat and gray. He could smell the storm on the wind, taste the ice crystals forming in the air. Two, maybe three hours before it hit. Plenty of time to make his kill and return to his?—
The world exploded.
The sky tore open with a sound like the mountains themselves splitting apart. A blinding flash of light seared across the clouds, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The shockwave hit a moment later, sending a tremor through the snow beneath his feet.
He dropped into a crouch, digging the claws on one hand into the snow for stability, reaching instinctively for the bone knife at his belt with the other.
His lips pulled back from his fangs in a silent snarl as he watched the burning object carve a path through the sky, trailing black smoke and debris.
It disappeared behind the eastern ridge with a final, thunderous impact that sent snow cascading down the mountainside in a miniature avalanche.
The skarn forgotten, he rose to his full height, scenting the wind.
The air had changed, filled with an acrid, chemical stench that made his nose burn and roused his territorial instincts.
It was the smell of offworld technology—of fuel and scorched metal and artificial materials never meant to exist in his isolated wilderness.
What was the ship doing here? Offworld ships were only allowed to land at Port Eyeja. Was the explosion simply a mechanical malfunction or the sign of something worse?
For a long moment, he stood motionless, torn between the instinct to retreat deeper into his territory and the need to investigate the threat. Finally, he growled and headed towards the crash site. Better to know what had invaded his domain than to wait for it to find him.
He moved swiftly across the snow, his white fur rendering him nearly invisible. Several smaller explosions followed the crash but they died away. The only sound was the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet and the distant howl of the wind as it picked up strength.
The wreckage came into view as he crested the ridge. It lay in a smoking furrow carved through the snow, the white ground blackened and melted around it. There was no sign of life, just a fading column of black smoke against the pale sky.
He approached cautiously, staying downwind.
The ship had broken into several pieces but enough remained that he could see it was a trading vessel, undoubtedly bound for Port Eyeja and most probably not a threat.
If any offworlders had survived the crash, they wouldn’t last long, especially with the approaching storm.
The stench of the crash was overwhelming this close. His sensitive nose could pick out dozens of chemical compounds, most toxic, all wrong. He growled with disgust, tempted to leave, but circled the wreckage instead, scanning for movement, for any sign that someone had survived.
As he completed his circuit, a new scent caught his attention—faint beneath the chemical reek but distinctly organic. Alive. His nostrils flared as he analyzed it. The acrid scent of fear.
But there was something else there too, something he couldn’t immediately identify.
Something that distracted him from his anger at the way the wreck had despoiled the land and roused his curiosity instead.
He followed the scent away from the wreckage, his hunter’s instincts fully engaged.
The wind was picking up, already beginning to erase traces from the snow, but he had been tracking game for most of his life and he caught what others would miss—a depression here, a slight disturbance there.
Finally he found actual footprints in the valley at the bottom of the ridge—shallow impressions in the snow, already half-filled by the wind.
He crouched beside one, his massive hand dwarfing the mark.
The stride was short and uneven, the pattern showing a stumbling gait.
Whoever had left these tracks was small, weak, and likely injured.
He straightened, lifting his gaze to follow the trail as it disappeared into the gathering gloom. The coming storm would erase these tracks completely within hours. Whoever had left them would not survive the night—not in the temperatures that would come with the darkness.
His first instinct was to turn away. Offworlders brought nothing but trouble. Their ways were not his ways, their problems not his concern.
But the thought of a small creature, alone and afraid, freezing to death in his territory made him hesitate. The sweet undertone to the scent tugged at something deep within him, something he had thought long dead.
His sister’s face flashed before his eyes—her smile, her trust, her absolute faith that her big brother would always protect her. The memory brought the familiar crushing weight of guilt, the knowledge of his failure.
He had failed her. But perhaps…
With a growl of frustration at his own weakness, he turned away from the wreck. The tracks led northeast, toward the broken lands where the mountains gave way to a maze of ice canyons. The worst possible direction in a storm.
He began to follow, his clawed feet making no sound as he took up the hunt once more—though what he would do when he found his quarry, he didn’t know.
The light was fading fast, the temperature dropping with it. The wind carried the first heavy flakes of the coming storm, and the scent of the offworlder grew fainter with each passing minute.
He quickened his pace. He had to find her before the full force of the storm hit.