“I,” my voice came out as barely a whisper. “My car. I crashed.”
“I know. I heard the skid before I saw it.” He moved closer, and I could see the snowflakes caught in his fur, the way his breath misted in the air. “Can you walk? We need to get you somewhere warm.”
That voice. God, that voice. I’d heard it a thousand times through my headset, laughing at my jokes, calling out enemy positions, talking me through bad days and celebrating good ones.
“YetiBeGood?” The name fell from my lips before I could stop it.
The Yeti went still. Even through the snow and the panic and the surreal impossibility of the moment, I saw the recognition in his eyes. The shock. The fear.
“Maya?” He breathed my name like a prayer and a question all at once.
At that moment, my legs decided they were done, and I felt myself falling forward. Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground. His arms could probably crush me without effortbut held me with infinite care. The warmth of his body was incredible, cutting through the cold like I'd stepped in front of a furnace.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, and I felt the rumble of his voice through his chest. “I’ve got you, Maya. You’re safe now.”
As he lifted me against him and started moving through the storm, my last coherent thought before shock and cold claimed me was that I’d been so worried about what to say when we finally met.
I’d never once imagined saying hello like this.
Chapter 2
Maya
Ifloatedinahaze of warmth and unreality. I was moving faster than I could walk. It took a few moments before I realized I was being carried, and the softness that surrounded me felt like the world’s most luxurious blanket. Something was very wrong with that thought, but my brain felt like it was wading through honey.
“Stay with me.” The voice spoke again, rumbling through whatever I was pressed against. “We’re almost there. Just stay awake, okay?”
“I’m cold,” I mumbled, though actually I wasn’t anymore. The warmth was seeping into my bones, intense to the point of pain against my frozen skin.
“I know. I’ve got you.”
I should probably be more concerned about being carried through a blizzard by someone, or something, I’d only ever known through a gaming headset. But the cold had sapped my ability to panic, and besides, this was YetiBeGood. He’d never let me die to a stupid boss mechanic because I’d mistimed a dodge roll. He certainly wouldn’t let me freeze to death on a mountain.
He shifted my weight, and my cheek pressed against fur that was impossibly soft. Not coarse like I’d expected, but thick and downy, with longer guard hairs on top. Even through my daze, I noticed he smelled like pine and snow and something else. He smelled warm and comforting, and I recognized it as safe.
“Okay, here we go,” he said, and the quality of the sound changed. The howling wind cut off abruptly, replaced by a sudden hush. Indoors, I realized. We were indoors.
I forced my eyes open. We were in a garage. YetiBeGood had a real garage, not some cave, with concrete floors and walls and a huge pickup truck that looked like it could drive through a building. He carried me past the truck with quick, purposeful strides, shouldering through an interior door. I guessed I still harbored some stereotypes of Yeti.
Warmth hit me like a wave. His home had central heating. I groaned.
“Too much?” He adjusted his hold on me, concern threading through his voice. “The temperature change can be rough. I’m going to set you down, okay?”
He lowered me onto the softest couch I’d ever felt. It was brown leather, worn in all the right places, deep enough that I sank into the cushions. My eyes struggled to focus on my surroundings. Wood-paneled walls. A massive stone fireplace with embers still glowing. Windows that showed nothing but the white fury of the storm outside.
And standing in front of me, looking somehow even bigger indoors, was a Yeti.
My Yeti.
No, not my Yeti. This was YetiBeGood. Geoff, maybe? Had he ever mentioned his real name? My thoughts were still sluggish.
He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Worry, for certain, but something else underneath. Uncertainty? Fear?
“I’m going to get you some dry clothes and blankets,” he said, backing toward a doorway. “Don’t move, okay? Sit tight.”
Then he was gone, moving silently with a speed that seemed impossible for something his size.
I sat on the couch, dripping melted snow onto the leather, and tried to process what was happening. I’d crashed my car. Been rescued by a Yeti. But not just any Yeti. YetiBeGood. Who I’d been planning to meet at a gaming convention this weekend, where I’d been working up the courage to maybe, possibly, if I didn’t chicken out, tell him I had feelings for him.
