Page 6 of Betrothed to the Yeti

“My provisions? To have provisions, I would need a home, someone to care for me, a supply of food with enough to spare for me, a vocation to trade for food, or perhaps the land to grow my own. If I had any of those things, do you honestly think I would be standing here as a virgin sacrifice? At least you don’t have to worry about a family coming to my rescue…”

Pabu

White hot anger stings my heart like frostbite.

The happy humans, with their songs, banter, and laughter, have rejected this little one. What has she done? Physically, she looks to have the strength to work. Why wouldn’t they let her? My assumptions about the people who won my heart shatter. The pieces of my love for the little colonies fall to the floor with her tears. How could a species so happy on the outside be evil on the inside? But this female has no reason to lie to me. She doesn’t know I’ve studied her species for generations or my delight in having her address me. She wrongly assumes she is my food.

“You must eat,” I shout with misdirected anger.

“How do you expect me—” Her eyes shine like gold as they drip with sorrow for herself.

I must get out of here. If I stay a moment longer, watching her heart crumble, I’ll tear the temple apart. The need to hunt, to run, to kill, to provide for her blinds me. I can’t destroy her surroundings and then blame her when she cowers in fear. I finally have a human to ask all my questions…to teach me their songs…to brighten my dark existence with laughter… My temper will not scare her away.

“Fine, don’t eat the gifts,” I yell and drop the junk from the Seer. Jaya gasps and jumps back as round vegetables scatter like rodents.

The tiny feminine sound awakens a darker side of me. I don’t have a moment to spare if I’m to escape without scaring her…or worse. A foreign hunger unfurls in my belly and reaches for her. My muscles tighten from head to toe.

I’m losing control.

I grab her arm and spin her into my embrace. She whimpers as I bury my nose in her hair. There’s the scent of her goat, but beneath it is a petal-soft fragrance, sweeter than the lichens buried beneath the ice. Her feet kick my shins like thorny branches. My other arm presses her softness against my torso, which causes my eyes to roll back in bliss. With a shameful brush of my furred cheek against her face, I transfer my marking scent. No other Yeti will touch her.

Now to protect her from everything else…including me.

My steps thunder through the living room and up the stairs. I hesitate on the landing at my three choices. The dark voice newly awakened begs to put her in my room, where her scent will coat my furs. I push her into the second room where a large bed, dusty with disuse, has sat for decades. She stumbles and falls to the floor, limbs splayed like a star…or a submitting partner. With a shake of my head to clear it, I slam the door shut and grab the key from above the frame.

The twist of the key in the lock is like a switch. The female screams “Ku Huang” repeatedly while beating the floor with her feet or fists. Maybe she will tire herself out as I run off my abundance of unwelcome feelings. Will she hurt herself first?

“Ku Huang, Ku Huang, Ku Huang!”

I skip down the stairs to put some distance between us and almost trip over her goat. The dumb animal twists its long neck to study me at varying angles.

Does no one fear me?

I bare my teeth and growl.

The stupid herbivore bleats in response, rekindling the fusion blaze within my brain. I scoop the goat in my arms and stomp back upstairs. Pebbles skitter down the sides as the stairs protest my rough treatment. Better them than my guests who aren’t as sturdy. I jam the key above the door frame into the lock, fling the door open, and toss the goat inside the room before my next exhale.

“You can eat your goat if you are so intent on refusing what I offer!” I punctuate my abuse with the slamming of the door. The key breaks in the lock, but not before I secure the latch.

That will hold her until I calm my temper.

I burst into the Enceladus night and roar to the heavens. How can the arrangement I thought provided for the species I love—protection for trinkets—be what’s starving Alpha? The other villages aren’t starving—not that I know of. I traded my clan, my home, and my life for the safety of the humans. Was that sacrifice in vain? So smart, so happy, and yet dying for what? Their stories sound magical, but to die because you follow the teachings of a distant world is idiotic. Were they better off without my interference or would the tigers have eaten them generations ago?

Most disturbingly, why do I care more about how my hostage female thinks of me than the actual damage? Why didn’t I throw her out instead of leaving my own temple?

Chapter 4

Jaya

“Well, Ku Huang, that went better than expected,” I say, while inspecting her for injuries. “We are alive, together, and not sitting in an oven.” Panic seizes my chest. After clamoring to my feet, I pat the door to verify we aren’t sitting in a giant cooking pot over a town-sized fire. Laughable considering how precious plant material is on Enceladus, but being married to a monster was ridiculous when I went to sleep last night.

I predicted annoying him, but not his walking away. Isn’t he hungry? Am I not appetizing? Is his plan to fatten me up in this room like in a fairytale? Or was the Seer telling the truth when she called me his bride? That role might be worse than a meal! I’m not waiting around to find out.

Not only could his return mean ‘dinner time’ but also we will turn from Saturn’s bright silhouette. Our planet has two states, dark and pitch black. My human eyes, made for a sunlit paradise, don’t stand a chance against the inky darkness. As tired as my legs feel, my best option for survival is to find a way outside now. I must find a sleeping spot between boulders if I am to hide from the predators, hiding in the snow.

The round room is either an abandoned attempt at a guest room or storage. A fungus-speckled mattress sags to my right with a stack of folded furs at one end. Between the mattress and the wall, pieces of a four-poster bed frame stand at attention. The pile smells of mold, or maybe the stench rises from the kitchen. My fingers search for hidden doors, buttons, or switches as I travel the perimeter. Two metal trunks adorned with a thick layer of dust and heavy locks also sit against the wall. To my surprise, they are light, and I roll onto my butt when I stoop to lift them.

Paintings are propped to the left of the one door. I pull the cloth hanging over the first picture. Yikes! I jump back as if it’s infested with mites. Is that Nima’s or Mother’s face staring back at me? Eyes sparkling with fire and a shining smile cut through the aged condition of the painting. Who painted this tribute? I’ve never seen Father paint. No one in Alpha has the supplies to create art. We work the hours Saturn’s light grants us, but never seem to carve a life for ourselves. The extra time is spent praying, performing rituals like the horrendous wedding, or satisfying our basic needs…at the kitchen table or the brothel.

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