Tamed by the Yeti Page 2

  I’ll need shoes, too, I realized. I couldn’t go walking around in the snow in bare feet. I’ll have to find some way to make a needle and thread.

  The smell of cooking meat interrupted my train of thought. My stomach growled with approval. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious, but I certainly felt like I hadn’t eaten in days. My lips were cracked, and my throat was dry, too. Overcoming my initial reluctance, I forced myself to drink some of the water from the top of the stream in my cupped hands. It tasted like melted snow. At least the most pressing of my needs seemed to be taken care of.

  I walked back down the hall to the firelit cave. The abominable snowman was hunched over the fire pit, a full-sized deer on a spit. Based on the blood trail, I could now see that the creature had been working on removing the animal’s skin in a shadowy corner of the room when I’d first wandered in. Its eyes were obviously much better-suited to the darkness than mine were.

  I looked around for a loose rock large enough to use as a weapon should I need to defend myself but everything appeared to be of one piece. I circled wide around the yeti and cautiously approached the fire from the opposite side, careful to avoid stepping in the puddle of my own urine. A large, broken thigh bone resting just inside the pit looked like my best option.

  I crouched down and picked up the bone, keeping my eye on the yeti. It watched me with curiosity, but made no move to stop me. I tightened my grip on the bone and clutched it against my chest. I wasn’t foolish enough to attack the creature; that would clearly be suicide — the beast probably weighed at least five or six hundred pounds — but holding the bone made me feel better. I sat at the edge of the fire pit, dangling my bare feet in the pit a couple of feet away from the flames, the bone club held protectively against my body.

  The warmth of the flames felt miraculous, and the aroma of cooked venison gave me an odd feeling of hope. If it was smart enough to clean and cook its food, to save my life by taking me out of the water and removing my wet clothes and keeping me warm under blankets, to show me where to dispose of my waste, it was possible that it was smart enough to reason with. I might be able to convince it to let me go.

  We sat in silence across the fire from one another for a long time. Occasionally, the man-ape would rotate the deer, propping it up in different positions by using fire-hardened prongs on the spit — the stumps of branches that had been broken from the main branch. It moved deftly, with great skill and economy of movement. Between adjustments, it regarded me almost solemnly, as if it were giving the matter of my existence great thought. It’s big dark eyes flashed in the dim light of the cave, reflecting the firelight.

  I noticed that it’s features were not quite so bestial as I’d first imagined. The face was more human than ape-like, though still menacing. The angular cheeks and wide jaw and heavy brow gave the creature a brutish look, but it wasn’t precisely ugly, merely unfamiliar.

  When the meat was well cooked, the yeti ripped one of the front legs from the body with a shudder-inducing crack and shambled around the fire. It stopped about four feet away from me and slowly extended the drumstick.

  I rested the bone club against my breast and tentatively reached out and took the still steaming meat from his hand. It was so hot it was hard to hold onto.

  “Thank you,” I said out of habit.

  The creature made a soft grunting noise in the back of its throat and wandered back around the fire to its original location.

  It suddenly occurred to me that I might not be in any danger at all, that this beast, who appeared to be so fearsome, might be every bit as gentle as the Neanderthals were purported to be.

  I tried to squash this hope quickly.

  You need to be on your guard if I want to stay alive.

  It made sense to treat the yeti like any other wild animal: completely unpredictable and prone to sudden outbursts of violence.

  I took a tentative bite of the deer leg. The moment the succulent meat touched my tongue I became ravenous. I bit into it like a lioness and devoured the leg until I couldn’t eat any more. The remainder I propped on a stony outcrop.

  The yeti appeared to be gorging himself on the soft interior organs of the animal. The fact that it had been able to hunt down and kill a full-grown deer with its bare hands was intimidating. It had to be stealthy and fast and powerful. I was sitting across from a creature as dangerous as a lion and as smart as a human. The thought made me shiver.

  Soon, the yeti finished its meal. We sat and stared at each other for a time and then it got up, making me start. It searched around on the cave floor for a moment and then picked something up. The object flashed in the creature’s hand, reflecting the firelight.

  The yeti ambled over and then tossed what it was holding into my lap. I looked down, completely bewildered, and saw that the creature had given me my father’s lighter.

  I didn’t know what to make of this act. Did the creature understand the concept of owning possessions? If so, I had seriously underestimated it.

  I seized the lighter in my hand, drawing strength from the memory of my father and closed my eyes, trying to use the darkness to shut out my fear and formulate a plan. Would the yeti allow me to follow it outside, or did it plan on keeping me here as a prisoner? It appeared to be alone, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others nearby. And what did it think of me? Did it consider me a pet? Livestock? Or did it consider me like itself, an intelligent humanoid that could be reasoned with? Without any kind of shared language, all I had to go on were its actions, which were somewhat ambiguous. About the only thing I could say for sure was that it didn’t seem to consider me a threat.

  I thought about my friends and family, about how they would respond when they received news of the avalanche, about the agony they would endure as they waited for details, about the desperation that would set in when they discovered that my body was missing. Would they send out a search party for me? How long would it take for them to arrange it? To begin searching the desolate wastelands of the Himalayas? It could be days or weeks. Chances are, they wouldn’t find me at all. And if they did? What would happen when they entered the cave and were confronted by the beast? Would it go on a killing rampage?

  I set the lighter down on a little stone by my knee and pulled the cloak tighter around my shoulders, casting a wary eye in the direction of the yeti. It was picking scraps of flesh from a bone, turning the deer leg around in its hand and examining it in a very human fashion. I would have to try to find some way to escape it, but first I needed to wait for it to fall asleep.

  I sat staring at the fire, surreptitiously watching the yeti through the flames.

  Why won’t it go to sleep? Why isn’t it getting tired?

  My head nodded down to my chest and I snapped it back up to wake myself. I was so exhausted, so comfortably warm and strangely unafraid. The yeti, as fearsome as it appeared, no longer seemed any more dangerous to me than a strange dog. I knew complacency could be as fatal as an avalanche, but I was too tired to care.

  My eyes lowered and my head sank. I felt my own breathing, deep and steady, and then I must have fallen asleep.

  A tug on my cloak woke me instantly.

  My head jerked up and my eyes flashed open in startlement. The beast was crouching beside me, his massive form casting me in shadow. It’s eyes glowed orange in the darkness. The flames had died down to embers and the air in the cave had grown colder.

  There was another tug. It was pinching the edge of the cloak between its finger and thumb. It seemed for all the world like it was trying to gently wake me.

  It let go of the cloak and grunted, gesturing with its hand. It was trying to tell me to get up.

  I slowly forced myself to stand, watching the beast warily. This close to it, I became acutely aware how easy it would have been for it to fling me across the cave or tear my arm from its socket. My makeshift bone club had fallen out of my hands back into the fire pit while I slept, but it seemed pointless to retrieve it. The lighter was stil
l sitting on the little stone, gently gleaming.

  The yeti stepped back and motioned with its hand, pointing in the direction of the bed.

  I felt a cold block of fear coalesce in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly its intentions seemed suspect.

  Be careful, Joanna.

  I’d already discovered that it was more intelligent than I’d initially given it credit for; was it more human than I expected in other ways as well? I couldn’t be sure that it was male from the absence of obvious nipples, but everything about the creature oozed masculine power and confidence. Even its musk was disturbingly male, a heady, pungent odor that hung in a cloud around the yeti like airborne testosterone.

  It grunted and gestured again, taking half a step in the direction of the fur mattress. I hesitated, biting my lip indecisively. It took two more steps and then stopped and turned, watching me patiently like a parent waiting for its child.

  I took one tremulous step forward and then another. I was shaking from head to foot, but I was too frightened to do anything but obey. If I resisted, I ran the risk of angering it, and who knew what it would do.

  It shuffled back and forth on its feet, waiting for me to catch up. When I finally came abreast of it, it placed its hand lightly on my shoulder and applied gentle pressure, urging me along.

  A few hundred racing heartbeats later, we were standing by the bed. There wasn’t enough light to see, but I could feel the pile of furs with my toes and recognized the familiar, animal odor.

  The yeti reached down and grabbed the topmost furs and lifted them up. It pushed me down gently under the blankets but did not try to remove my cloak. I climbed into the bed obediently and curled up into a ball. I could feel, rather than see, the wall of stone on the far side of the bed. The yeti climbed into bed after me, trapping me between his huge, powerful body and a solid wall of rock. It put its huge arm over top of me, pinning me to the mattress, and, a few minutes later, it was fast asleep.

  I lay in bed, listening to the creature’s gentle snoring. Its fur was surprisingly soft and fluffy, and if it hadn’t been attached to a monster I would have run my hands over it obsessively. The yeti’s body was generating heat like a furnace and I found I had to unwrap the cloak and loosen the furs surrounding me to prevent myself from overheating.

  I was perplexed by the yeti’s behavior. It was clearly trying to care for me, but I couldn’t understand its motivation for doing so.

  After about twenty minutes, it became restless. It’s limbs twitched and it made a series of muffled grunts and snorts. It was dreaming.

  It gripped me tighter, almost crushing me, and pressed its pelvis against my thigh. A hard lump pushed into my leg.

  For a moment, I found the sensation merely puzzling, and then I realized with a shock of horror that the rigid, silky smooth shaft could only be one thing.

  My heart raced in my chest, my stomach churning with apprehension. I was afraid to move and afraid to lay still. The yeti still seemed to be dreaming, its arousal brought on by whatever was happening in its dream and not necessarily by my presence. Hopefully it would pass without incident and wasn’t a prelude to something infinitely worse.

  The creature shifted and its penis slid up my leg to rest on top of my thigh, leaving a sticky trail behind it.

  I tried to ignore it, but — warm and throbbing against my bare skin — the beast’s erection was driving me to distraction.

  I couldn’t help but notice every detail, and the more I tried to ignore it, the more it became the focus of my attention. It seemed to be perfectly in proportion with its body, larger by far than any human organ I’d had the pleasure of experiencing, and of approximately the same shape and texture. It’s pulsating presence made me feel uncomfortably warm and sensitive and I became acutely aware of the space — a mere handful of inches — between the tip and my vulnerable entrance.

  The yeti snorted in its sleep and rocked its hips, rubbing its cock over my thigh. I wanted to crawl away, to dissolve into the rock wall, but the beast’s heavy arm prevented me from moving. If nothing changed, I’d spend the rest of the night obsessing about it and I’d be too exhausted to make my escape the next day. The only thing I could do was try to push it away.

  Hand trembling with fear, I slowly closed my fingers around the ape-man’s thick, rigid shaft and tried to lift it. It felt feverishly hot and I could feel the blood pulsing inside of it. In response to my touch, the yeti pushed its hips forward and I felt the hard flesh sliding under the soft skin.

  I let go, cringing. I couldn’t bear to touch it for one more second: it was too weird and creepily human and the warmth and dampness spreading through my loins made me feel sick to my stomach.

  The beast grumbled and rolled away, pinning me to the wall with his great, furry back.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and immediately felt a great weariness creep over me. With the threat averted, I fell into a fitful sleep.

  I never expected to see my friends again, so when I saw Pierre and Alison and Claude sitting beside the fire pit I knew something was wrong.

  I smelled something delicious, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. As I approached, I saw that they were roasting marshmallows.

  Pierre looked up as I approached and smiled softly. He looked sad. Alison turned and looked over her shoulder and gave me a weak grin.

  “You’re awake,” she said. “I thought you were going to sleep forever.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the pit. “I’m just so exhausted.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said. “You’ve had a long day.” She handed me a wire hanger with a row of marshmallows attached, crisped on one side.

  I took the wire from her and rotated it and dangled it over the fire.

  “So what do you think?” said Alison, pushing marshmallows onto an empty coat hanger.

  “About what?” I said, slowly turning the wire.

  “You know,” she said coyly, nudging my shoulder with hers.

  “She doesn’t know,” said Pierre, grimacing sardonically.

  “What are you guys talking about?” I said, genuinely perplexed.

  “The great adventurer,” said Claude, mocking me. “Weren’t you the one who said that life wasn’t worth living if it wasn’t an adventure?”

  “What are you getting at?” I said, suddenly irritable. I didn’t understand why Claude was acting like such a jerk.

  “Leave her alone. She doesn’t know,” said Alison. She turned and gave me a big grin. “You’re going to find out soon. It’ll be a surprise.”

  “Seriously, guys. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’ll say,” said Pierre, laughing. “A big surprise!”

  “I can’t wait,” said Alison. “I think it’s going to be wonderful.”

  This is a dream, I realized. Alison and Pierre and Claude are all dead. They died in the avalanche.

  “You’re dead,” I said. “All of you. What are you doing here?”

  “We came to congratulate you,” said Pierre.

  Alison nodded. “Don’t worry, honey. You’re going to like it. It’s the best thing anyone’s ever given you.”

  A noise behind me made me jump. The abominable snowman was charging straight toward me. I felt my heart skip a beat, and then realized that he’d gotten very small. He wasn’t any bigger than a chimp. He wrapped his long arms around my legs and gave me a hug.

  “I’m glad we got to see you again,” said Alison.

  Pierre nodded. “Try to remember: it’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.”

  It was the dog that woke me up. He was putting his nose in where it didn’t belong.

  I tried to push him away and he growled.

  I opened my eyes, heart racing and stomach lurching. Everything was dark and the air was musky and close, thick enough to choke.

  That’s not a dog. I don’t own a dog anymore. And I’m not at home.

  I felt the beast’s fingers tighten around m
y hips as it pulled me closer. Its long, rough tongue scraped against my inner thigh, leaving a slippery trail of saliva behind it.

  I gasped with alarm and dug my fingers into its scalp, trying to push it away as I squirmed.

  It growled a second time and gripped my hips even tighter, digging its fingers into my muscles. The memory of its savage canines terrified me and I froze, afraid it would bite me.

  It pressed its wet, rubbery tongue against my labia and stroked them, licking up the juices that had begun to flow in my sleep. I realized with a shock that I was aroused, though whether my arousal stemmed from the beast’s licking or was, perhaps, responsible for the creature’s attentions, I didn’t know. Somehow, at some point in my sleep, it had decided to start licking my cunt.

  I wanted to stop it; at least the rational part of my brain did. I knew that what it was doing was wrong, that any kind of sexual contact between us was — for lack of a better word — abominable, but my body didn’t seem to know any better. My body was responding to the beast’s tongue, secreting moisture which the yeti hungrily lapped up. As much as the creature’s actions repulsed me, I couldn’t ignore the stimulation its tongue was producing any more than I could have ignored being burned or electrocuted.

  As its tongue stroked my labia, waves of heat radiated out from my core, spreading down my thighs and up through my belly. Sweat began to accumulate at the small of my back, my breathing became deeper and stronger, and my nipples grew hard, aching to be touched. I resolutely refused to surrender to the impulse.