The cave entrance has vanished. And I am alone.
Every second that passes, I hope that the Migoi will come to find me. But as the time ticks by, suddenly I’m not so sure. At least physically, I had felt a connection with him. And I thought there was something beyond even that, but perhaps he did this with all the women he rescued from avalanches?
Frowning, it dawns on me that I don’t even know his name to call out for him. Well, shit. I walk a little further, determined to find the entrance, when a noise breaks the stillness of the night. I freeze, hoping I can somehow escape whatever is out there.
I turn towards the noise and see the beautiful twilight has exchanged its dusty purple hue for a shadowy grey and black landscape as the light fades behind the mountains. The forest noises which were soothing just minutes take on a sinister quality.
My heartbeat quickens as my primitive brain urges me to run. But where? A low growl has me sprinting into action, racing towards where I started and where I think the cave’s entrance must lie. I can’t help but look back over my shoulder, wondering how much time I have to escape whatever is after me.
While my head is turned, I slam into a solid wall of heat and dense fur. The snow and pine scent of my Yeti surrounds me as a large arm sweeps me behind him to safety. He turns and lunges at the creature chasing me. I lean to the side, brave enough in his presence to see just what he is protecting me from.
A large wolf with raised hackles, gnashing teeth, and dripping saliva strains and snaps on a leash. I frown at such a ferocious thing being owned. Following the long leather lead, I trace it back to its owner standing at the tree line, heavily cloaked and hooded.
The Yeti lets out a fierce roar, echoing through the forest. The wolf tucks its tail and runs back to its owner, clearlyknowing it is not the alpha here. Despite the distance and the dim lighting, the man’s face transforms, sheer terror overtaking him as he falls to his knees in supplication at seeing the mythical guardian of the mountains.
At the low growling that continues to emanate from my savior, the man gets his feet under him, backing away while still bowed. He unties a sack at his waist and tosses it towards us. Within seconds the woods swallow him, and I can hear the frantic crashing sounds of his running away.
The Yeti spins around to face me, and I’m confronted with the sight of just how fearsome he is. He appears larger than I’ve ever seen him, muscles rippling with each heaving breath. His normally luminescent eyes are almost completely black in the darkness of the night, and his pointed teeth also appear larger.
I should probably be stumbling backwards, away from this creature that is more beast than man in this moment. But I’ve had enough of doing what I should. Of shrinking myself down, listening to others, being practical, sensical. I want some damnnonsense. I want to be hedonistic and chase down my desires. It’s time for me to be Dahlia fuckingWilde.
So instead of running away, I race forward and launch myself into the air, trusting his strong arms will catch me. And they do, a split second before our mouths crash into each other. I swallow his snarl with a moan as the sharp edge of his teeth drags over my lips and tongue, the tang of copper blooming on my tastebuds.
Burying my hands in his thick white hair, I angle my head to kiss him deeper. I’m so lost in the claim of his mouth that I barely notice the impact of the stone wall behind my back as he slams me back against the mountain.
A groan escapes me as he trails kisses down my neck, nipping at my pulse point. Rough hands rip open my flannel shirt, sending the buttons flying. His claw-tipped fingers grazingmy flesh have me tipping my head back, a loud cry echoing into the night air.
Above us, the full moon stares down from a velvet sky, a million stars scattered like distant embers. Now that I have stepped beyond the world I once knew, embraced something wilder, freer, how will I ever return to living in captivity?
The thought unravels as his mouth finds my breast—hot, demanding, insistent. A gasp slips from my lips, my fingers tangling in his hair as reason melts away.
Despite having shrunk back to his merely large size, looking more man than beast once again, I still marvel at the differences between us. His thick white hair, coarser than a human’s yet soft as silk, slides through my fingers. The smooth velvet of his skin is pure indulgence beneath my touch, a stark contrast to the sharp teeth that graze my nipple—a reminder that he is still, in part, the beast.
A curse slips from my lips as his tongue follows, swirling soothing heat over the sting. My hands fist in his hair, my body arching into his mouth, torn between craving his bite and the way he soothes it after.
One shove, and my pants are down. He drops to his knees, and his mouth finds my dripping core, dragging a strangled curse from my lips between panting breaths. The rapidly fading, rational part of my brain catalogs one last, glorious difference between us—that fucking tongue.
Even with my legs tangled in my pants, he manages one impossibly long lick, tracing from the seam of my ass to my aching clit, sending a full-body shudder through me. My thighs tremble as he presses the firm base of his tongue against my sensitive flesh while the wicked, flexible tip works its way inside, curling and teasing. Filling me with pulsing heat.
A choked moan rips from me, my need spilling down my thighs as the realization slams into me—this is something nohuman man could ever do. This is something Ben never even wanted to do.
Not that I’m thinking about him now. Not when my body is wound so impossibly tight, my pleasure shimmering just out of reach. I try to shift, to throw my legs over his shoulders and ride his face properly, but my trapped ankles keep me from moving the way I need.
I let out a groan of frustration.
His response? A sharp nip to the soft flesh of my inner thigh. A warning. A promise.
I yelp in response, but he looks up at me, face shining with my arousal, and says, “What do you need,Sruhnar?”
I repeat the name back to him, tasting it on my tongue. “Sruhnar?”
The word hums between us, carrying something I don’t yet understand but somehow it feels—right.
He chuckles against me as he gently corrects my pronunciation, rolling the R softly. He translates, “Sruhnar—my Winter Star.”
I hold his face in my hands, staring down into his eyes, which reflect the night sky above us. I marvel at their beauty and feel pride overflowing my heart that he would compare me to the heavens above.
I say, “And what do I call you?”
