Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Idrift in and out of consciousness, sometimes awakened by the howl of wind, sometimes by the pins and needles of returning circulation. But each time, I’m rocked back to sleep by the steady, rhythmic stride of my walking, heated fur blanket.
I can only hope we’re headed back to Migdhari, and that Sita somehow made it home.
But we’re going up when I think we should be heading back down. I can feel it in the change of the air, the way the creature’s muscles flex against me and my weight shifts as we climb. My mother’s voice echoes in my memory, soft and certain. Sometimes the only way left to go is up, honey.
Disoriented, I bury my face deeper into the Migoi’s soft fur, craving the warmth after my icy brush with death. A low growl vibrates against my cheek. I freeze, worried I’ve upset him, but then an enormous hand cups the back of my head, as if encouraging me to repeat the motion.
I nuzzle the creature again, and the deep, appreciative sound that follows is unmistakably male.
Curious, I slip off my gloves and sink my fingers into the dense fur, finding the source of the heat—his skin, smooth like velvet under the dense fur. A moan escapes me at the decadent heat, and his arms flex, pulling me tighter.
And suddenly, I’m burning.
It’s wrong—this is a mythical creature, not a man—but my body doesn’t seem to care. I blame the adrenaline, the trauma, the comfort of warm, strong arms after nearly dying for the hunger pooling between my thighs.
I squeeze my legs together, ashamed, but the pressure only stokes the need. My cheeks flush. The heat, the safety, the primal power of the being holding me—it’s overwhelming.
A deep rumble beneath my cheek freezes me. He knows. Oh, no, somehow he knows. I force myself to stay still, scarcely daring to breathe, but eventually, as nothing else happens, the steady cadence of his stride lulls me under once more.
A creeping chill wakes me some time later. I sit up slowly. The biting wind is gone, replaced by thick, mineral-rich air. Steam rises from a raised formation in ethereal wisps, curling toward a high ceiling where stalactites hang like frozen chandeliers in this hidden cathedral of stone and mist.
I stand with a groan and make my way over to the source of the steam, a pool with bioluminescence dancing across its surface.
When I dip a finger in, heat and light shimmer in its wake. I swirl my hand through the warm water, surprised by the faint glowing trail it leaves behind.
Where am I?
A shape emerges from the shadows and coalesces into myth made flesh. Unsure what to do, I flutter my fingers in a little half-wave, then kick myself for making such a silly gesture at the legendary guardian of the mountains and forest.
The Migoi steps into the soft light, and I suck in an audible breath.
He is as ruggedly handsome as the harsh terrain he calls home.
Still otherworldly, yes, but undeniably male.
Tall, broad, carved from shadow and ice, every inch of him honed and hardened.
High cheekbones, a straight nose, and a shock of white hair frames silver eyes that glow like moonlight over the snow-covered mountains.
He stands beside the rocky edge of the pool and dips a hand into the water, the steam curling around his skin.
As he slicks his hair back with it, I find myself drifting forward.
I don’t realize my hand is outstretched until it makes contact with the hot, velvety plane of his abdomen, mere fuzz where before there was fur.
Running my fingers over the rippling muscles, I mutter, “The abdominal snowman.”
Embarrassed by my boldness, I snatch my hand back and stare at the floor, but he gently lifts my chin.
He regards me with inscrutable intensity, and maybe a faint touch of amusement, brushing a calloused thumb over my bottom lip.
My breath catches at the feeling of his thickened skin on my lips and the mystery in his eyes. For being lost somewhere in the Himalayan mountains, I have never felt more found.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my lips and warm, reigniting the earlier desire that pooled in my belly. He’s looking at me like I’m his next meal, and despite my brain screaming at me to run, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be devoured by him.
The warm safety of the cave is a sharp contrast to my fall, the suffocating snow, and my close brush with death. I reach up and lay my hand against his arm. “You saved me.”
He shoots me a very human smile as we stand with the steam curling up from the pool and filling the air between us. I’m not sure which is more surreal—this hidden oasis in the midst of the mountain's snowstorm, or this creature. But now I owe him my life.
I shiver, but not from the cold. Noticing, he gently tugs my hand and leads me up a path to the top of the pool. I follow, dazed, admiring the strength in his back, the curve of his spine, the frankly perfect ass that should not belong to a myth.
“That ass though,” I mutter.
He stops abruptly, and I’m so focused on the view that I crash into him with a yelp and topple over.