Chapter Twenty
Dahlia
Iwake to find the fire banked low, cold seeping through me in the chill of the cave. The furs have slipped off, leaving my flesh rippled with goosebumps. I grope around, seeking my warm, fuzzy companion, but the bed is empty.
I stand and stretch, crossing to where my clothes are neatly stacked. I slip them on, minus the ruined panties, and grab my boots. Sitting down I cobble the laces back together from where he cut them with his claw, a delicious shudder ghosting over me at the memory of what came next.
Looking for my missing Yeti, I venture out to the large pool, but not finding him, spin in a slow circle and take in the expanse of the caves. I know better than to go wandering in the dark alone, risking getting hurt or lost. One end of the cave appears lighter though, so I head towards it.
As I walk and more light filters in, shapes begin to emerge along the walls—paintings. Not crude or primitive, but ancient. Older than the famous cave paintings of France or Argentina, untouched by time yet holding the weight of centuries.
I reach out, fingers skimming just shy of the surface, afraid to disturb something sacred. The paintings tell the story of the Migoi’s world—a world that once held more of his kind. They show glimpses of their lives, their purpose. Guardians, protectors of the forest, just as Sita had said.
The beginning starts with a Yeti and a woman with the moon.
Then, towering figures move through the mountains, their massive forms blending with the snow, nearly indistinguishable from the landscape itself.
In another, two groups appear to come together, perhaps for a joining of families?
My stomach twists as I follow the progression, tracing the changes with my eyes.
Further along, the figures dwindle. What was once a thriving presence slowly fades, replaced by emptier landscapes—mountains bare of their massive shapes, forests that feel hollow. A chill crawls up my spine.
And then, as the light grows brighter, I come across one final image. Larger than the others. A massive Yeti, standing tall. Beside it, another, slightly smaller. And between them, a small, rounded figure covered in thick fur. A baby.
My heart tightens. I step closer, breath shallow.
I don’t know why this painting affects me more than the others.
Maybe it’s the way they stand, their bodies angled inward, protective.
Maybe it’s the simple, aching familiarity of it—two parents, their child between them, their world reduced to this tiny, precious thing. A family. Gone, just like mine.
A lump rises in my throat as I wonder—what became of them? What became of all the Migoi on these walls? And why—why does my chest ache as if I already know the answer?
A breeze pulls my attention, and I turn from the somber story etched into stone and follow the whisper of fresh air. The tunnel widens, opening to the world beyond, and I step out into the fading light of sunset.
The sky is painted in deep violets and fiery reds, the last breath of the sun slipping below the jagged peaks. A few stars blink into existence, pinpricks against the twilight. The air is still, the hush of approaching night settling over the mountains like a blanket.
I exhale, tension bleeding from my limbs as I tilt my face toward the sky. The vastness stretches above me, boundless, a stark contrast to the enclosed cavern walls I have spent so much time within. For the first time in days, I feel small in a way that is not suffocating but freeing.
Wrapping my arms around myself as the temperature plummets with the setting sun, I decide to say put, not wanting to chance wandering away and getting lost in the dense forests surrounding me. As I sit on the ground, the sounds of the forest start to surround me, and I feel at peace.
In fact, this is the happiest I’ve been since I can remember. No frantic research, no Ben, no spiraling thoughts. Just the unique stillness that comes from being enveloped by nature rather than the noise of humanity.
It’s short lived as I feel a subtle shift in the air around me and sit up straighter, my senses sharpening.
Fear ghosts over my skin as I realize how defenseless I am sitting out here alone in the darkening night.
Plus the Migoi might worry if I’m gone too long.
I stand and stretch my arms up to the sky and take a deep breath of the cold, crisp mountain air, then turn back.
But the entrance is gone. A frisson of fear skitters down my spine. I haven’t moved more than a few feet away, yet the opening that I just walked through is nowhere to be seen.
Frowning, I step forward, scanning the rock face, my fingers brushing against the rough stone.
Hadn’t it been right here? I pace back and forth from where I swear I came out, my heart rate spiking as the wind shifts, curling around me like unseen hands.
The mountains seem to stretch taller, the trees standing just a little closer than before.
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, clearly knowing 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 damn nonsense. I want to be hedonistic and chase down my desires.
It’s time for me to be Dahlia fucking Wilde.
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 grazing my 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.