“Uh, hi. Thanks. Thank you for saving me,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to enter your territory. I mean you no harm.”
The Migoi blinks slowly. I can’t stop staring at the immense shaggy head, the wild white fur, and those mesmerizing eyes.
I should be terrified, but I’m mostly just… cold. Another shiver overtakes me, my teeth chattering so loudly I can’t control it.
The Migoi’s gaze sharpens. It tilts its head, then with a huff, scoops me up against its massive body.
A yelp escapes me but I collect myself and stammer out, “Thank you.”
It comes out as more of a question than a statement. I think Ihear a grunt in reply as it pulls me closer, so much heat radiating off its body that it permeates through my clothes. My fingers and toes tingle painfully at the return of circulation, but I let out a soft moan at the lifesaving warmth that cushions me against the howling storm around us.
After a particularly brutal gust of wind, the creature pulls me even closer, and its fur somehow seems to grow longer, wrapping around me like the softest blanket. Between its body heat and my unexpected cocoon, I give in to the post near death exhaustion and sleep.
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 weshould 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 ofthe 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.
