Dahlia
“He told you his name?” Sita asks, shocked into speaking.
I glance at her, pulse hammering in my throat. The wind howls through the mountains, whipping loose strands of my hair into my face, but I barely register it.
Sita’s dark eyes search mine, and she whispers, “Migoi only tell their mates their names. They have great power. In all the centuries this Migoi has been here, no one knows his name. Except you.”
Her whispered words hit like a thunderclap. My knees nearly buckle.
Mate.
The word sinks its teeth into my ribs, clamping down so tight I can’t breathe. A roaring fills my ears, but I don’t know if it’s the wind or my own blood, surging like a storm through my veins. My body knows something before my mind does—knows in the way my stomach drops, in the way my fingers tingle with something electric, in the way my heart clenchesso tightly it may burst.
The wind doesn’t howl anymore. The mountain doesn’t exist. There is only this truth.
I am in love with a Yeti.
And he?—
He loved me first.
A terrible, aching clarity settles over me. I think back to the soapberry, placed at the base of the frozen waterfall like an offering. The scrap of lace he left in the snow, a thread of red in the white expanse, a trail meant only for me. The mark he carved into stone, his silent call to me across the mountain.
Eryon didn’t need to leave me clues. But he did because he wanted me to find him.
And that means despite his fury, despite the pain in his voice when he forbade me to say his name—he still wants me here.
I am his mate. I choose Eryon, and the realization steals the breath from my lungs.
He’s furious. I can feel it, thrumming in the air like the coming storm. But beneath the rage, beneath the tension coiled in his massive frame like a wound too deep to close, I feel something else.
Something fragile. Something raw.
I know he witnessed our journey, saw me battle the whispering gorge, watched as I braved the screaming wind and the snow and the mountain. And I know, deep in my bones, that if we had been in true danger, he would have come. But this—this is different. This ismyfight. It is my turn to show him that he is worth saving, too.
I will be the white knight. I’ll save the day, and then I can explain everything—my subterfuge, my deception, my desperation. Then, we can forget the rest of the world.
Even if staying here with him means my death, I’d rather die by his side than live without him. Let it be here in his arms, swallowed by his warmth, buried in his scent, lost in the quiet sanctuary of his cave.
Let me be his.
A shuddering breath escapes me, curling in the frozen air. My heart pounds, steady, insistent. I would finally be living for myself—a life on my terms, driven by my own choices. And if love is the sum of those choices, then so be it.
I deserve Eryon. My heart beats his name like a mantra, fueling me with a fierce determination. My gaze snaps back to him, willing him to understand. Desperately trying to communicate with him by my eyes alone.
I try to piece together a solution, shifting the invisible chessboard in my mind, searching for the elusive strategy that will save us. But the odds are daunting. Ahead of me stands one very enraged Yeti, and behind me looms one very dangerous man. The space between them feels like a no-man's-land, and I am the one caught in the crossfire.
There are no good moves. No safe exits. Someone is going to lose, and I will make sure that it is not going to be Eryon.
A loud click breaks the silence, and I spin back to Ben to see him holding a gun, aimed straight at Eryon. The stakes have just been upped. The fading light glinting wickedly off the metal slams into me like a physical blow.
“I was hoping you would lure him out. I can’t imagine what the payout will be for this monster plus the plant. You won’t be so fierce when you’re locked in a cage,snowman,” Ben sneers.
No.
Not again. Not another loss. Not another wound carved into Eryon’s soul. Not this time.
A sharp inhale cuts through my lungs, too shallow, too tight. I see everything at once—Sita, frozen in horror. Eryon, body coiled, muscles flexing, teeth bared. Ben’s finger tightening on the trigger.
