Page 11 of Betrothed to the Yeti

We share a small smile of truce.

The vigorous scrubbing drowns out the falls before we finish.

Pabu lifts Ku Huang onto the ledge where the tired mom-to-be drifts to sleep. My heart melts as Pabu smooths her fur and tucks her tail under her rump. With a last scratch between her ears, he leaves the goat to rest. He grabs what is left of his soap—a shard as small as his thumbnail. Our eyes meet as he runs his hand over his chest with the soap tucked into his palm.

His fur turns translucent when wet…

The muscular chest, sculpted arms, and wide shoulders could belong to a human man, but his face is otherworldly. Without dilating pupils for a guide, his glittering eyes hide his emotions. I must learn his body language. The way his eyelids drop when he looks at his body before meeting my gaze asks for my approval. He licks his lips. Is he nervous or treating me to the muscular dexterity of his giant pink tongue?So tall too.I dip below the surface to break the building tension; sure enough, his flat feet hold him against the pool’s bottom. His legs are roped with muscle under more translucent hair.

The white fuzz over his balls is an opaque nest for an imposing cock…at least I think that’s a cock. While I’m not an expert, Pabu’s appendage looks nothing like the rams who mated with Ku Huang. I guess the pole is proportionate to his impressive height, but the head is…not a head. I’m running out of air or I’d study the ruffles waving from the tip. Each flap has tiny points—are they rigid? Will they hurt? Are they supposed to hurt?

Is the quiver of my thighs fear or anticipation?

I’m his wife, but he claims he asked for a companion. Does that mean he won’t push me to fulfill that side of the contract? The way he looks at me is at odds with his words. Could the Yeti be compassionate? He’s moved to my side when I breach the surface and gasp for air. I really must find a better hiding place than underwater. My lungs burn more than my pride.

“Soap?” He asks as I smooth my hair back from my face.

I don’t know who moved first, but my legs tangle around his for leverage. His cock brushes my inner thigh. I retreat as if he’s on fire. His hands raise to frame his head to feign innocence. Our conversation, and my warm swim, will last longer if I’m not treading water until exhaustion. I don’t want to be his wife in all ways, but the friendship he offers calls to my lonely heart. When was the last time I spoke with an equal—not an Elder pontificating, Nima boasting, Dronma whining, or the other villagers taunting us—but a true volley of ideas?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I wanted your soap. When you went under, I thought you were finished washing.”

Instead of answering, I lather the soap between my hands. The soap rock, longer than my hand, drops into his palm and disappears as he clenches his gigantic fist. I spread bubbles over his shoulders, up his neck, and reach around to scrub the back of his head. My fingers burrow within his heavy mane. My pride is disappointed that he’s bug-free while the feminine seductress who has taken over my brain purrs with happiness. The soap-coated strands slide over the backs of my hands and my wrists in a delicious massage. I work downward until my elbows straighten and our noses touch.

“I crept closer than I intended,” I whisper in a husky voice that I’ve never used. “I’m too short to reach the bottom and…I don’t know how to keep my face above the water’s surface.”

“I think you found where you are meant to be,” he replies. “I found we fit when we had dinner together last night. Don’t you agree?”

“What are you asking of me?” I search his face for clues, but his features are too new. Each emotion flits across his features too fast. It’s like traveling to a foreign village where the customs and dialect hold you in a silent, intangible prison.

“Stay,” he pleads. “Be my partner. Let me provide for you. Allow me to learn more about humans from you. Be the center of my world and the object of my endless fascination.”

“You want to learn from me? I know goats, cheese, starvation, and cold…endless cold. How can I repay you? The warmth alone is worth more than what I can teach you.”

“For generations, the human ways have shone brighter than Saturn. You created the language I speak, the carvings adorning my home, the goods I consume, and the customs I long to learn. Please don’t deny me—”

“And the food you eat,” I snap before I can stop myself. It’s not fair. He spouts off about art and leisure when the villagers don’t have time for anything other than survival. My hands rub concentric circles on the sides of my neck to ease my growing agitation.Time to choose.Do I pop his soap bubble fantasies with the truth of Alpha? Do I recite the stories of the first humans which match his idealized version of us? “Do you want the truth or pretty stories?”

“What do you mean?” I take the soap from him and lean back to restore my lather. His hands slowly drift down until they settle on my waist. He could be holding me, so I don’t fight to stay afloat, but my intuition says there’s more. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he responds with a sheepish smile. Maybe not as docile as he pretends—his cock caresses my thigh as it hardens against me.

I ignore his arousal because, frankly, I don’t know what to do with it.

“The humans who painted the pictures upstairs, the ones who cast the gold in the next room, and the ones who currently live in Alpha are three very different groups. I don’t need a timeline to know you got the gold first. No matter where we mine or how deep we dig, there aren’t precious metals like gold on this moon. The citizens of Alpha risk life and limb for the radioactive crystals that you have carelessly strewn about your temple.”

“I had no idea.” The corners of his mouth droop with concern.

“I’m guessing the paintings came next. Complex woody plants to make paper are rare, so the Leaders lock the art and books of Alpha away from commoners like me. We rely on the stories of the Elders which are fading with their memories…” I trail off when his mouth drops open with horror.

“No paper!” His outburst startles Ku Huang so he pauses until she drifts back to sleep. “No paper,” he continues in hushed tones. I shake my head and sigh at the incredulous phrase he repeats. “How do the humans create—I mean what happened to the art, books, music—no music! How did you evolve beyond music? What has taken its place?”

“Fear. That’s what took the place of music. The brothel snatches anyone with an inkling of musical talent to accompany the dancers—even some without talent but enough debt to fake it,” I reply with a snort. Pabu abandons washing himself to massage my shoulders. The gesture is meant to soothe me, but twists my insides into foreign shapes. “Music means being at the mercy of Mr. Rinzen, the brothel owner, so most of Alpha’s residents cower in fear when they hear music.”

“You weren’t…I mean, you were never forced…I guess it doesn’t matter, but…”

“My sisters protected me from being taken into the brothel—” Nima’s plea to enslave me instead of her flashes before my eyes. “I’m sorry, that’s a lie. Nima is in the brothel because she couldn’t barter my virginity for her place. Before the day of the wedding ceremony, Ku Huang kept me from being taken by the brothel.”

“Your goat protected your virginity? Are humans repulsed by the scent of goats, or is it the mites?”

I flush from my hairline to deep beneath the water’s surface. How mortifying to smell like a goat, and be covered with mites? This is how he saw me but fed me and let me sleep in his temple…after I tried to escape and needed his rescue. By the Gods, he offered his bed, knowing I was filthy! I have misjudged and mistreated my husband…badly.

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