Page 4 of Yasmin and the Yeti (Alien Abduction #25)
CHAPTER FOUR
T he cold was a living thing, gnawing at Yasmin’s skin.
She pulled the cloak tighter, trying to keep the icy wind out, but there were gaps at the neck and around her legs and the wind found its way inside, blowing across her bare skin and leaving her shivering.
She had never felt cold like this, never known that the wind could cut through clothing and skin, leaving her feeling as if her very bones were frozen.
She’d fallen as soon as she left the ship, slipping on the ice that had formed when the crash had melted the snow, only to have it turn to ice again, and tumbled down the hill.
Shivering, she climbed to her feet. The fall hadn’t hurt her—the deep snow had cushioned her landing—and after she brushed off the snow she was surprised to find she wasn’t as cold as she expected.
Despite its thin material, the cloak provided a surprising degree of warmth.
She looked back up the hill. The wreck was a dark gash against the white landscape, a plume of black smoke rising over it.
She thought she could still hear faint yelling from inside, but she wasn’t sure.
For a moment she hesitated, but the memory of the captain’s face strengthened her resolve and she started walking away.
She had no idea where she was going—she just knew she had to get away from the ship.
She decided to follow the narrow valley she had fallen into, putting as much distance as she could between herself and her captors.
Each step was a battle against the deepening snow.
Despite the boots, her feet soon went numb.
She moved them mechanically, by memory rather than sensation.
The light began to fail, and the snow started to fall more heavily. Soon, she could barely see more than a few feet in front of her. The wreck, her only landmark, was completely obscured by the swirling clouds of snow.
Her thoughts drifted as she walked. She remembered her apartment—the warm glow of the lamp beside her couch, the familiar scent of the sandalwood candles she always burned while working on her jewelry designs.
She saw her workbench, and her latest project—a spiderweb of delicate silver wire accented with tiny gems.
That life felt impossibly distant now, as if it had happened to someone else entirely. A character in a book she’d once read, perhaps. Not her.
The wind shifted suddenly, driving snow directly into her face. She turned away from it instinctively, changing course without realizing. It didn’t matter. There was no destination, no plan beyond simple survival. And even that goal was beginning to seem like a fantasy.
“Keep moving,” she whispered to herself, the words immediately torn away by the wind. “Just keep moving.”
Her legs grew heavier with each step. The snow seemed deeper here, or perhaps her strength was simply failing.
The cold had worked its way into her bones, a deep, penetrating ache that made every movement an exercise in willpower.
The wind sliced through every gap in the cloak, every opening of the flimsy white shift beneath.
Each gust stole her breath away, replacing it with air so cold it burned her lungs.
She stumbled, her foot catching on something hidden beneath the snow, and fell forward, hands outstretched to break her fall. The impact drove what little breath remained from her lungs. For a moment, she lay there, face pressed into the cold, her body a distant, unresponsive thing.
“Get up,” she told herself. “You have to get up.”
It took a monumental effort to push herself to her knees. Her arms trembled with the strain, and when she finally regained her feet, the world swam before her eyes. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision.
The cloak had come loose in her fall. Now crusted with ice and snow, it hung from her shoulders like a slab of concrete as she struggled to pull it back around her body with numb, clumsy fingers.
Frost had formed on her eyelashes, tiny crystals that blurred her vision. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, but they reformed almost immediately. Her hair, once loose around her shoulders, had become a frozen mass against her neck.
She took another step, then another. Each one seemed to require more energy than the last. The simple act of lifting her foot and setting it down again became her entire world, a task requiring complete concentration.
When she fell again, the impact barely registered. The snow cushioned her, almost gentle in its embrace. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the swirling white clouds.
It would be so easy to just lie here. To rest, just for a little while. The cold didn’t hurt anymore. In fact, a strange warmth had begun to spread through her limbs, a pleasant heaviness that urged her to close her eyes. Deep inside, a voice whispered how tired she was. So very tired.
The storm seemed to quiet around her, the howling wind fading to a gentle murmur. The snowflakes, which had been driving horizontally just moments before, now drifted down lazily, almost peaceful in their descent.
It wouldn’t be so bad to just sleep here, in this quiet white place. To let go of the fear and the pain and the desperate struggle to survive. Just to rest, finally.
Her eyelids grew heavy. She didn’t fight it. There was a certain beauty to this end, she thought distantly. Clean and quiet and pure.
As her eyes started to drift closed, the falling snow before her seemed to thicken, to gather and coalesce into a shape. At first, she thought it was just another trick of her failing mind, a hallucination born of cold and exhaustion.
But the shape solidified and grew more distinct.
As white as the snow around it, yet somehow separate.
Vaguely man-shaped, but broader, more massive than any human could be.
It was huge, towering over her as it approached with a predator’s silent grace, impossibly light-footed for its size.
The wind died completely as it approached, as if even the elements feared to disturb its progress.
She stared up at it, unable to move, unable even to feel fear anymore.
The creature loomed over her, blocking out what little light remained.
Its face was shadowed, but she could see its eyes—luminous, electric blue eyes that seemed to glow from within.
They narrowed as they fixed on her, intelligent and calculating.
Death had come to claim her, she thought dreamily, wearing a face she’d never imagined. A magnificent snow demon, terrible in his power and beauty. A spirit of this frozen world, come to collect another victim of its merciless landscape.
Those glowing eyes were the last thing she saw as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision, gradually narrowing her world to a single point of brilliant blue.
Then even that faded, and she knew no more.