Chapter Four
Chapter Four
S he thinks I meant a beast on the ice. What would she think if she knew I meant a literal beast? Not a human.
A beast who thinks in terms of mates first and human marriages second, a wild, feral thing who would stretch her to her limits and pound her like a wild animal.
I swallow repeatedly as we walk into the hotel and ride up to my room. My attempts at small talk die in my throat.
Stop being the Uncomfortable Snowman! “What are your plans after Puck Con?” I croak.
“Oh, here and there. I’m going to go home to Brazil in time for Carnival.” Fia’s face lifts to mine, joyous, then dark.
“Going home isn’t good?” I venture.
“Going home is great. My relatives are just a little upset each time I return without a ring on my finger. I was going to be married to a local celebrity, a sports figure, like you.”
“Ah. But?” But she’s here, and she isn’t wearing a ring. Clearly not thinking about him if she’s having dinner with me—and giving off a scent that makes it hard to walk.
“I shouldn’t say he’s like you. Oh, he was talented on the field like you are on the ice.” Her voice turns breathy and she clears her throat, a hand ruffling absently through her curls, sending new waves of her unique scent spiraling at me like a guided missile. “Unlike you, he hated my job and my desire to travel, and he had a nasty, jealous streak.”
“Well,” I say, lifting my hand to give her a supportive pat on the back and then letting my hand fall without ever touching her, “he must never have seen your work, or he’d be a huge fan, like me. I understand what you mean about the traveling, though. You hear about women who break up with professional players all the time because they can’t stand the idea of their mate—I mean, their man—traveling. During the season, I’m away for half the month, off and on.” Which would make her an ideal mate. She could travel with me if she wanted. I could travel with her in the off-season. Even if we were separated a lot of the time, the homecomings would be so sweet.
So satisfying.
I float off the elevator and open my hotel room door in a fog. Fia follows me, nodding as she passes through the door I hold open for her with the little chivalry I’m able to hold onto.
“I pointed out that he would expect me to support him when he traveled for his career, but no. He did see my work and called it a hobby. I mean, it’s true that most of the money comes from weddings and newborn photoshoots, but I like those, too. To a lot of my clients, that moment of promising eternal love or that moment of looking at a new life is their redwood forest or their sunset over Niagara Falls. It marks the achievement of their greatest goal, bigger than any safari or trek along the Great Wall. The little gigs pay the bills, but they aren’t truly little. They make life worth living. ”
I nod so hard my fur flops over my eyes. “Yes! You know, it’s the same with being in a minor league team. Some people can’t understand why a player would be content to stay in the minors, and not push for the majors. They don’t understand that for some of us, the joy of the game is enough, or the love of being part of one big thing in a little town, for really knowing the people who cheer for you, for being someone’s local hero just by doing your favorite thing… you get it.”
“I get it.”
Fia could not be any more perfect.
She seems to sense that our level of connection is beyond superficial, too. Her hand finds mine, even though we’re now safely in the room. Her fingers knead my hand, then climb up my arm, under my jersey. Her hand is in my fur, slowly threading her fingers through it.
I should jump back. Run. Stop her from touching me.
“What is so different about you?” she whispers, her accent becoming more pronounced and, to me, all the more enticing and charming. Her scent seems to thicken, too, a cloying blend of spice and heat, honey, cinnamon, and a hint of something like cayenne and chocolate.
“A bunch of things,” I whisper. “Are you hungry?” I make a last-ditch effort to save myself from doing something stupid.
“Tell me one. Tell me about why you look like a Viking who just crawled out from under the snow,” she steps in front of me, hands boldly landing on either side of my neck as she stands on tiptoe.
I could push her hands off. Stop her.
Instead, I bend, almost purring as her hands massage the fur that coats my skin and move up to the shaggy mane that no amount of styling gel ever fully transforms into a “human” haircut.
“The camera doesn’t lie,” she mutters, roving eyes studying my mouth, my hair, the tint of my skin under her deep tan fingertips.
I can’t help but smile. My mate is caressing me. Smiling up at me in wonder. I wait for the look of curiosity to turn to horror as I remember too late that my teeth look quite predatory up close, with long, fangy canines.
“You’re a very unusual man, aren’t you?” Fia lets her hands fall.
I smother a moan of loss with an effort. “That’s one way to put it.”
“What’s another way? Werewolf? Mutant? Something like that?” she asks, one finger returning to trace my lower lip.
“No one will believe you. Most people can’t see it.”
“I’m not sure what I see. That’s upsetting for a woman known for her good eye, for getting the perfect shot,” she teases. “As for no one believing me… You walk around in the open, Mr. Frobisher,” her tongue twirls and rolls the name, and my insides are caught in the whirlpool, wishing that tongue was tangled with mine. “Whatever is so unbelievable about you can’t be seen by most people—is that right?”
“You’re so beautiful. So talented. So smart,” I grunt, grinding my knuckles against my hip to keep from grabbing her.
“So I’m right?”
“Yes,” I hiss, the confession pulled from me without any torture save the sweet mischief in her eyes.
“Shall we play a little truth or dare?” Fia’s eyes sparkle with excitement in the dim light of my spacious room with its king-size bed. “If you tell me the truth, I’ll accept a dare.”
My hands uncurl and splay, fingers rigid as the fire in me floods to one spot. Yetis have superheated blood meant to keep us warm and ready for our mates when we’re using up a lot of energy just to survive in the frozen mountains. I can be a gentleman. I’ll ask for a truth instead. “Can’t I pick truth?” I challenge, surprised to hear how low and gritty my voice has become.
Fia doesn’t seem to mind. She nods, then licks her lips. (Is everything she does meant to tempt me?) “What are you, really?”
“You call us yetis,” I whisper.
There’s no screaming. No running. She just looks at me expectantly.
“Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” she asks.
“Oh! Yes. Um. Why… Why did you come back to my room tonight? Was it just for a meal?” That’s half-gentlemanly, at least. I’m still waiting for her to come out of her shock, throw the hotel’s complimentary chocolate sampler at me, and run.
“Because I felt… something. Almost a physical pull.” She pulls empty air with her fist, bringing her hand back to thump squarely between her breasts as her hips push forward.
“I felt it, too. I felt it the second I saw your picture all those years ago.”
She beams at me, showing she still has one deep dimple, a little perfectly imperfect dot on her flawless body. “That’s funny. Even just a photograph, hm?”
“I guess. I’ve never heard of someone falling in love with a photograph before, but then again… My kind is ancient. Photographs are recent in comparison.”
“Falling in love?” Her eyebrows shoot into two surprised curves, and I feel the shock in her voice like a physical blow.
“Oh, just an expression, I guess.” I start to lie, then remember we’re supposed to be telling the truth.
I guess that’s how I look at it,” I mumble. “My people don’t usually date. They match. Hard and fast.” Match sounds a little better than mate.
Fia nods. “It’s my turn, isn’t it?”
“If we’re still playing?”
“Maybe a few more rounds.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Do you believe in fate? Or destiny?”
“Not in all things, just the big ones. Sometimes fate can make you lazy. I believe in hard work.” I want to show Fia exactly how hard I can work—starting with pleasing her.
“Your go,” she whispers, swallowing hard enough that I can hear the soft click of her throat muscles.
“Why aren’t you freaking out and running away? Or calling me a hairy ugly monster?” I steel myself for her answer. Curiosity. Wanting to get photographs of a new “specimen.” I can’t believe she’d act like that, but I can’t believe what my heart is hinting at, either.
That she could be my mate.
“I have been all over the world. I’ve seen things that I cannot explain, especially in the deserts and the mountains, the woods and caves. One thing that I have always thought was interesting is how there are myths about certain creatures all over the world. Nearly every culture has something like a yeti, or a werewolf, or a vampire. My grandmother is very religious, very superstitious. She taught me to believe in angels and demons. Why not other beings that aren’t human?” Fia steps closer to me, bringing the dainty little toes of her sneakers up to my massive gunboats. “And what do you mean, ugly?” She wrinkles her nose and jabs her fingers into my chest, four of them pointed out over her thumb as if an irate duck is poking me. “Why do you think I took pictures of you all night? Ay? I could show you my shots of the exhibition game. Every other picture is of you. With that handsome smile, one minute so deadly, one minute so cute and sweet! And the way you slice through the opposing players…. Those shoulders.” Her voice fades. The scent coming from her is stronger than ever, and there is no mistaking it now.
“I could never hope to have a mate as beautiful as you,” I whisper, clasping her hand as it rests on my torso. “I know that—and you don’t realize it, but yetis don’t hook up for one night. If I have you once—I’m going to want you forever, over and over. So…” I allow myself to grip her shoulders.
She’s so soft. So soft, but she doesn’t squish in my hands like my worst nightmares tease. She stays there, warm and wide- eyed, looking up at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence. “So, I dare you to leave unless you want to wind up with a huge, non-human hockey player madly in love with you.”
My world stops spinning for a minute as she stays there, silent and still in my grasp.
Then the world crashes and burns, pulling my heart into the flames as she nods and walks away, heading to the door of my hotel room.
Bryce, you idiot. Why? Why did you say something so big, so permanent sounding? I hope I can hold back the tears until she’s out of the room.
Click. Beep.
My head jerks up, and I turn to see what’s happening.
Fia pats the deadbolt that she’s just slid into place. The small electronic card reader is still flashing red from its one tiny bulb, showing the door is locked.
“You stayed!” I cry, forgetting that I should take it slow. I rush to her, picking her up in my arms as she squeals, burying my face against her ribcage as she flails and giggles, arms wrapping around my head.
“I did! Sounds as if I might be here for a while.” She plants a soft kiss on top of my head. “Shall we get comfortable?”