Page 15 of Betrothed to the Yeti

I’m not the only one who trusts Pabu implicitly. Surrounded by the snarls and squeals of the battle on the other side of the door, she rolls toward the wall and presents her rump. I guess our one-sided conversation is over. A smart girl would go to the bathing pool where she could clean herself in safety and with privacy. A sweet girl would cuddle Ku Huang, checking for injuries more thoroughly, and soothe the snoring goat. I’m neither one. To appease my perverse desire to watch Pabu the Beast, I climb the stairs to the upstairs window. If he can watch me grow food in a garden, I can watch him kill a tiger to rescue me.

What’s good enough for him…and all that.

“At least I wasn’t tempted to return to the garden to back him up.” Not tempted to fight…but my interest dampens the apex of my thighs for a different physical activity. I praise myself for walking away from the front door. With each step, my scratchy dress brushes my erect nipples. The tiny stings do nothing to cool my boiling libido. My body’s reaction must be analyzed before I fall asleep tonight. Why does the thought of Pabu tearing apart tigers set me ablaze?

I stand on tiptoes atop a wooden chest to look out of the round window—the same window Pabu used to spy on me. I’m grateful I don’t have to climb a moldy bed this time. My breath hitches. A second tiger has joined the battle, but the first struggles to stay alive as it bleeds out. Claw marks stripe Pabu’s back. Is he okay? With his hunched posture, I can’t assess his condition.

As if my scent has alerted him to my presence, he leers over his shoulder. I connect with his eerie, illuminated eyes. Did he straighten his back and flex his biceps, or was that my imagination? The evil sneer he wears sends a shiver down my spine. Never mind the blood that drips from his chin like last night’s stew. Pabu isn’t a man to mess with, as Nima would back in Alpha, nor a benevolent God who will love me with fatherly intentions.

I’m married to a beast.

I must never lose sight of what he is and let my temper get the best of me. He could decide one day my waspish tongue is too much and end me. Pabu reaches for the struggling tiger and snags it by the tail. He swings the animal into the air and catches its neck with his opposite hand. The tiger twists and rolls his spine to break free. The healthier tiger hesitates, as if warned by his intuition about his impending death or Pabu’s mental state. Pabu’s madness radiates around him. Still wearing the maniacal grin, he rips the tiger into two pieces. Blood sprays down his front like a champion’s robe as he lifts the two pieces over his head with a roar. The second tiger takes advantage of his posturing and crouches for a pounce onto his back.

“Pabu, look out!” My scream is garbled as it sails out the window. I extend my finger toward the horizon in hopes he can interpret the combined signals. Fear squeezes my throat and I tug the collar of my dress for air. Time slows as my gaze remains fixed on the window.

The tiger leaps.

But not before Pabu drops his prize and reaches behind his head.

Blast my angle! Did the offending tiger sink his claws into Pabu before he flipped the tiger on his back? Now they face me! The tiger’s legs kick and fight for purchase. More blood drips from where Pabu holds him by the scruff of the neck, like how Ku Huang would carry an errant lamb. The tiger switches tactics and stretches for the ground, with futile jabs of his hind claws. His forepaws claw at the air as if he climbs an invisible ladder.

Scavengers will dig up my garden looking for the blood source tonight. Will I have to replant it tomorrow or do I continue with the plan of staggering crops to have a continual harvest? Shame spreads over me like a blanket at my wandering thoughts as a creature’s life hangs in the balance. If I plead for the tiger’s life, the Pabu who played in the seeds with me would spare him. What about this savage Pabu?

It doesn’t matter because my lips won’t form the words.

Self-awareness floods my mind. I want to watch Pabu rip the attacker apart. I want a mate who would kill anything who dared to attack me. In a civilized world where my needs are always last, I wish for someone who will put me above all else—even human decency. I want a beast. Pabu’s evil smile returns as he dangles the tiger to entertain me like a ram preening his horns for a female. Applause is the best response I can give from this distance. He can’t see my aroused state, but perhaps he can smell it. When the life drains from the second tiger, Pabu lifts the carcass over his head with the same evil smile.

This time I’m cheering with him…

Chapter 9

Pabu

No, no, no, no.This can’t be happening. The darkness inside me has ruined my little human companion. I’m ready to reassure her I was not the beast who tore apart the tigers to save her. Shock nearly stopped my heart when I saw her smiling and clapping in the bedroom window. Even now, she quietly butchers the animals into choice cuts. Blood soaking into the knees of her ‘house dress’ and coating her arms up to the elbows, she hums as she works. Where is her revulsion?

I’m terrified of my darkness. Why isn’t she?

One thing is for certain, Jaya doesn’t fit with the singing humans of the paintings upstairs. My eyes cast a violet glow over her pale skin, as if casting a light on her sinister disposition. She wears the coy smile of the portraits, but I doubt those women were hacking carcasses to bits as they posed. Am I right to be disappointed?

When I asked the Seer for a companion, I wanted the blissful frolic I associated with the humans. I have yet to see Jaya frolic. In fact, this is the closest to self-initiated happiness that I have seen written across her features—all while slaughtering her enemies. When she spoke fondly of the butcher, I assumed it was because of his charity…but did she wish to marry him to fill her days with blood? Does she hide darkness too?

I shake the thought from my head. There’s no way humans can be as evil as what lives deep in my heart. Jaya tried to convince me otherwise with her awful tales of Alpha. Are her experiences accurate or tainted by her dark side? How can one settlement be as evil as her depiction of Alpha when the other two villages overflow with joy and laughter? Should I have been more specific and asked for a companion from Gamma or Delta? I trusted the Seer who selected Jaya, but what were the selection criteria? Shame and despair bubble from my belly as I contemplate replacing my human—wife as she calls herself.

What am I missing?

Yes! That’s it! She’s trying to win my favor! She’s making friends with my dark side because she knows he will share her home for the rest of her life. Her compassion melts some of my suspicions away. I scared myself. She’s subtly sweet like the butter she makes. My darkness must be poisoning me against her. He’s threatened by her ability to fill our temple with light and laughter.

Ourtemple.

The glow of contentment returns to my heart. The darkness retreats to its place in the shadows. Jaya balances my darkness in her own way. Gloomy, dreary, and morose, the regular words I’d use to describe Jaya don’t fit her demeanor today. The longer she stays with me, the more I hope she will heal. She will forgive those who wronged her or forget them completely. The bliss of humanity will shine from within her…if my darkness doesn’t corrupt her first.

“What? You have the funniest look on your face,” Jaya says with a self-conscious giggle. She stops her sorting of tiger muscle and folds her hands in her soiled lap.

“I question why this makes you happy and whether or not I need to address my behavior outside,” I reply sheepishly. “I’m not proud of my violent outbursts—”

“You mean when you saved me from being eaten by not one but two tigers? Or when you provided meat for weeks of meals? I couldn’t be prouder to be your wife,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. Her praise shouldn’t lodge a rock in my chest, nor should the words plant a kernel of fear in my belly. Jaya calling herself my wife is what I want, but did it have to be a common need for violence to bring us together?

Am I being too picky? My thoughts swirl as I follow Jaya into the kitchen. Are my dreams, inspired by decades of making up stories about my paintings, too specific? In that case, the problem is me. Instead of chasing some utopian female, I should appreciate the one willing to give me a chance. Jaya is the picture of domestic bliss—if you ignore the blood staining her hands. The pile of the smallest pieces is for tonight’s stew. She drops them into a pot boiling over a large fusion crystal.

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