Chapter 1

Inga drew in a deep breath and then slowly released it again, savoring the fresh, oak- and pine-scented air. This was already proving to be one of the most wonderful forays into the American wilderness that she'd ever had, and she intended to enjoy every subsequent moment of it. She was glad she had chosen the Colorado Rockies as her current plunge into the unpopulated reaches of the country of her mother's birth. So far she had experienced extreme weather, exciting wildlife, and the most beautiful landscapes she'd ever found in the mainland United States. The Rockies were wonderful.

Although she was technically an American citizen by birth, Inga spent much of her time in Switzerland, which was the homeland of her father, Sven Bjorgson. Her mother, Molly Richards, had encountered her father on a mountaineering expedition in the Swiss Alps, and the two had fallen like lead weights for one other. They'd decided to get married, and not long after they had moved to the states to get her mother's affairs in order, Inga had been born. Sven and Molly had decided that they would expose their daughter to the best their two countries could offer, and she spent a wonderful youth prowling the Swiss wilderness and struggling her way through the American public school system. Although the children were quick to tease her about her odd accent, they couldn't deny the fact that they were fascinated by Inga's stories of the wonders of her second home. She had regaled them with stories of fjords, alpine mountains, and lands teeming with so much wildlife that sometimes it was easy to forget you were even human. Her outgoing, plucky nature awarded her many friends, and Inga led a fun, exciting life, at least in her own opinion. Her parents were strict about certain parts of her upbringing, but they were very kind, and they indulged her innate love of hiking and wilderness often, as they themselves shared the same passions. By the time Inga had matured into an adult herself, she had already seen and experienced more nature than most people did throughout their entire lifetimes.

Despite her proclivity to attract friends, Inga's life had been surprisingly devoid of romantic encounters. She often had to explain this to her parents and friends, who all found it quite hard to believe that such a vivacious, shapely young girl could manage to live her entire life so far without "hooking so much as one measly boyfriend," and Inga had soon grown quite tired of explaining herself. The simple truth of the matter in her own mind was that she had absolutely no interest in chasing after boys, and most boys weren't really able to keep up with her anyway. She preferred to chase after mountain streams and sights of elusive animals more, armed only with a camera and a knife. Although this is what she believed and told others, the reality was that she passively avoided contact with all people, spending so much of her time in unpopulated areas. It wasn't as though she disliked others of her species; it was just that she found other species so much more fascinating.

It really was a pity, too. Inga was what most males of her species would have considered "prime mate material." She was lithe and characteristically tall and fair-haired, bearing traits of nearly everyone in her father's family. Her eyes were as blue as aquamarines, and when they focused on the cold stillness of a mountain lake, you got the feeling that they were satellite pools of it themselves. Her face was symmetrical and jolly, rendering it both lovely and fun to look at, especially when she smiled or laughed (which happened very often indeed). Although her friends and family often complimented her on her beauty, Inga paid them little heed. If she had been born hideous but more able to sneak up on the animals of the regions where she hiked, she'd have preferred that much more. As it was, how she looked really didn't factor in to what interested Inga most, so such compliments usually fell on deaf ears.

She had been popular at college so far too, but she usually spent her collegiate career in a rush of waiting, eagerly longing for the holidays, when she might immerse herself in yet another hike or climb. Now it was the height of the summer holidays of her junior year, and Inga intended to spend nearly every moment of it wrapped up in the solitude and grandeur of the Rocky Mountains. She had been hiking and camping now for nearly a week, and although some of the terrain was harsh and formidable, around every bend she found new wonders and exciting scenes, wholly different from what she'd already experienced. She was in her element, and she knew she couldn't be happier.

After skirting the base of a smaller peak, Inga climbed a gentle slope for a bit, keeping a keen eye on the shadows of the trees and the gently waning sunlight. She would have to make camp soon. Gutsy though she was, she knew better than to tramp around in the wilds of Colorado in the darkness. After another quarter hour or so of hiking, she found herself looking up at the spring-fed, mirror-like surface of a large, mountain lake. Beaming in satisfaction, Inga knew that she had found her campsite. After pitching her tent and stowing all her perishables on a line thrown up into a tree — so as to dissuade bears from trashing her camp and gobbling up her supplies — Inga stripped down to her underwear and skipped off to the edge of the lake. She was well aware that she was near several game trails, so the likelihood of this watering hole's being deserted was next to nothing. However, she didn't really worry about swimming in front of a few curious onlookers. They weren't going to be human, after all, and she wouldn't mind the company, if she'd be lucky enough to see it.

The water was crisp and cold - its water originating from an underground glacier-fed spring deep inside the mountain - but it was the height of summer, and so far the weather had been fair today. That could change in an instant in the Rockies, but Inga was willing to take the chance. She hadn't had a good dip in nearly a week, and she was just aching to wash some of the grime off her skin. She loved the outdoors, but she wasn't always keen on taking part of it into her sleeping bag with her. She let out a few stifled gasps of delight as she waded out into the water up to her thighs, feeling the bite of its chill on her skin and relishing the abrupt sensation. Deciding to get it over with quickly, she leaped into the water, submerging herself entirely, but promptly shooting back up again to gasp and squeal at the shock and rush of cold that met her sensitive skin. Maybe she'd make this a quick bath.

As Inga paddled around and vigorously scrubbed her skin with her hands, she was unaware that she was indeed being watched. In fact, she had been under this same scrutiny for nearly two hours already, but her follower had been so stealthy and secretive that she never would have known it. He lived his life in secrecy, having learned long ago that if it didn't bleat like an elk or flee from him like a rabbit, it was something to be feared. However, although he held a certain healthy degree of fear for this creature, he couldn't help feeling curious. So far, she hadn't done anything truly frightening, save for shedding her skin, which reminded him of the snakes he took such great pains to avoid. Still, she didn't have a rattling tail like the vicious serpent that had killed his already feeble mother all those seasons ago, and she certainly didn't behave like a snake, either. She made strange noises, but they never seemed menacing or harsh, like his own warning cries were. They were more like the coos of an innocuous bird, and whenever she encountered another beast, she ceased them altogether, and stood as still as the very pines until it had passed. It was as though she had lived here forever, and she wanted nothing more than to coexist as peacefully as she could. He wondered whether it was all just an act to lure in prey, but so much prey had crossed her path already and left unharmed that he rather doubted it.

He was at least certain that she was female. Something about her scent reminded him of the scent of the females of his own kind, and it might also have explained the similar shape of her chest. When she had shed her skin before entering the water, he had held his breath, because he had seen through the remaining undershirt that there were tiny bumps poking into the softness — bumps which reminded him of the provocative teats of the females of his own species. It gave him a funny feeling — like a warm glow deep inside a part of him he'd never known existed, and it made him all the more furiously curious about this creature. Just what was she? If he dared show himself to her, would she attack him? If she did, would she be able to injure him? It was a serious thought to consider, especially since he himself had no claws like the bears, and no poison like the snakes. He had only his own cunning and strength, and even that was not enough to keep one alive if one made a foolish enough mistake.

Cautiously, and very slowly at first, he crept out of the cover of the tree line and into openness of her campsite. He had to investigate the place where she had just been. He knew that the items she had left behind would smell even more like her than the trail she had left on random bushes and twigs through the woods leading to this place, and he longed to study her scent even more closely. This would be safer than studying her directly, so long as she didn't return while he was here. Once he was sure that she was too busy splashing and squealing in the water to pay him any heed, he began digging around through her tent, sniffing and poking at every fold of fabric inside, nearly giddy with excitement and curiosity. She smelled so soft and inviting; her musk was entirely different from the smells he was used to, and although such a thing would normally alarm him, in her case it only aroused his curiosity even more. He stood upright, easily ripping the tent fabric away from the tent spikes, but causing the large expanse of material to flop down against his sides as it covered him. Alarmed and startled, he let out a grunt and flailed his arms, succeeding in flinging the cheeky canvas away from him.

Realizing that it was only some kind of skin and was not alive, he turned his attention away from the tent and looked down at the creature's own skin — which she had just shed only moments ago. He knew that of all the strange objects in this clearing, it would smell like her the most, so he eagerly walked over to it and lifted one of the pieces to his nose. Eagerly drinking in the intoxicating aroma of her scent, he looked up to find that she had silently emerged from the water, and she was now standing before him, eyes wide and body quivering from either the chill of the lake water, or in preparation for some malevolent intention that she might now be entertaining for the intruder in her midst.

Frightened and startled by her sudden closeness, he leaped to his feet and stood tall and erect, using the tried and true method his kind used for warding off threats to their safety. He made himself as tall and formidable as he knew how, and he uttered a harsh grunt at her, as if to say that if she came any closer, he'd kill her in an instant.

Inga, of course, had absolutely no intention of coming any closer. The creature was nearly eight feet tall, covered from head to foot with dark grayish fur, and his dark, nearly furless face was making a most terribly menacing, grimacing expression at her. She decided he must be male, as she thought she could see what appeared to be a penis mostly hidden by a thick patch of fur between his legs. With his squashed-in nose and sharply sloping brow, he looked very much like some kind of gorilla or ape, but he was so tall and so at ease on his enormous feet that it was obvious he was more of a biped than most apes were. Inga had never seen an animal like this, but she knew at once what it was. She had heard tales from her own father about the Yeti of the Himalayas and the Sasquatch of North America. When he had told to her the outrageous tales of these supposed missing links, the stories had been only just that — stories meant to make her snuggle under the covers and giggle nervously in her bed. However, there was no Papa here to tickle her and make her feel safe again, and the warmth and comfort of her own bed was the farthest thing from her current situation. She was alone, unarmed, and entirely vulnerable, and if this creature took it in his mind to attack her, there'd be little she could do to stop him.

It was always a rare thing indeed for Inga to feel fear. Oh, she might become nervous and maybe even apprehensive from time to time, but pure, mind-numbing terror for her own safety did not normally occur in her. She had stared down bears, mountain lions, and even crocodiles, and never before had they evoked in her mind the kind of sensations that this eight-foot tall, monstrously powerful-looking ape did now. The real cause of her terror was that she had absolutely no idea what she was really up against. Until now, she had always assumed that his kind were only fairy tales. She knew nothing about how to intimidate such a creature, or even successfully flee from him, at the very least. She was entirely at his mercy, and she knew it.

The sasquatch eyed Inga warily. She had made no move toward him, so either she had heeded his warning cry, or she was still debating the idea that he might be edible. Deciding to drive his point even further, he took a few menacing, stiff-legged steps toward her, keeping a close eye on her every limb, lest she change tack as well and lunge at him. However, the opposite occurred. With a frightened squeak, she stepped backward, stumbling a little on a loose branch, but never once removing her widened eyes from his face. It seemed as though he had intimidated her after all. He allowed himself to relax, even if only slightly, and his next grunt was less harsh, but no less serious. He took his opportunity to study her visually, as he hadn't been this close to her until now. She seemed entirely bald all over her body, save a long patch of straw-colored fur atop her head. She was breathing quickly, as though she had been running for a long time, and although he wasn't sure of it, he thought her skin had become even lighter in color than before. He watched with keen interest as she backed herself into the trunk of a tree, and with a frightened yelp, she clutched backwards at it with her shaking hands and steadied herself on trembling legs. She appeared to be entertaining no ideas of lunging at him, so he decided to see just how close she'd let him get to her before she fled. Cornered, frightened animals were often quite fierce when they felt threatened, but as he could see no claws on her hands or feet, and no sharp fangs peeked out from behind her slightly open, pink lips, he thought it would be safe enough to take the chance. If worst came to worst, he could always smack her with one of his fists. It looked as though even the mildest of blows would be able to dissuade such a slender and delicate-looking thing from trying to do him harm.

Inga's despair surged within her as the sasquatch began advancing cautiously upon her. Either he was curious and wanted to figure out what she was, or he had decided she looked good to eat, and he was creeping up on her to kill her. Either way, she knew she didn't want him coming any nearer to her. Those gigantic hands of his with their thick, sausage-like fingers looked as though they could easily crush her head like an egg, and the thick, sinewy muscles she could see even through his thick fur told her that he had a strength she could only dream of. She wondered if the large muscles in his legs lent swiftness to his run as well. If she tried to run away from him, would she be able to outrun legs like those? If she tried making any sudden moves like that, would he simply strike her to the ground and be done with it? She was so conflicted and so afraid that she could only remain rooted in place and whimper at him as he came up to within mere feet of her, now able to reach out his thick arm and touch her. She trembled violently as he slowly extended a cautious arm toward her chest, and upon giving her a soft poke on one of her breasts, he quickly snapped his arm away again, as though he expected her to bite at it. Instead, she had only yelped involuntarily, and tears of fright began blurring her vision as he cocked his head to one side and grunted at her.

He was indeed trying to figure her out. She hadn't struck at him when he'd touched her, so he steeled his nerve and did it again, this time gripping her tiny teat in one hand for a couple of seconds before withdrawing his arm. Again, she let out a frightened cry, and she shut her eyes as trickles of water dripped from them down the sides of her face. He studied the saline drops in wonder. Never before had he encountered another creature in these woods which shed tears as his people did. He couldn't help himself. He reached a tentative arm forward and gingerly traced one of the watery lines with his finger. She shuddered and let out a sob, but she didn't try to bite him or scratch him, and he found himself even more eager to touch her as a result. He pressed his dampened finger to his nostrils and snuffled at the familiar-smelling moisture. They were definitely tears. She was crying.

Softly and carefully, he padded even more closely to the trembling creature, and he dipped his head down toward her face until the two were level with each other. Inga opened her eyes just long enough to see how very near to her he was, and she promptly closed them again as she gripped the tree trunk even more tightly. Her breath came to her in shallow gasps, and her chest was heaving forcefully in response. Just be silent and passive, she told herself. Eventually he'll get bored and go away.

Again she made no move to attack. The sasquatch decided that she must be a harmless creature after all. Eager to satisfy his urge to examine her more closely, he took in a few long, deep breaths, becoming nearly drunk with excitement at the fresh and exciting mixture of scents coming from her. She smelled strongly of the lake water, but beneath that smell was a much clearer sample of her scent than even her recently shed skin had contained. Forgetting himself for a moment, he dropped to his hands and knees so as to move his explorations farther south, snuffling eagerly at her midsection where the flimsy fabric of her undershirt hid her belly button. His nose was pressed firmly against the wet fabric, and had she not been so frozen in terror, Inga might have likened him to a dog investigating the smell of another animal on its human owner.

Realizing that there were even more interesting smells farther down, the sasquatch followed his sensitive nose farther south, until he had reached the place where Inga's legs connected with her torso. Sucking in the air from between her legs like a furry vacuum, he unconsciously gripped her thighs with his fingers and tugged at them so as to part her legs and offer him better access to this exciting new scent. Inga cried aloud at this invasion of her most private area, and without thinking, she let go of the tree and gave the creature's head a shove, shrieking at him both in fear and shame.

Startled out of his reveries, the Sasquatch grunted again and scrambled backwards, worried that she was about to attack him. However, she made no move to follow, and she went back to clutching at the tree and trembling as she clamped her legs together much more tightly than they had been before. Relaxing again, he realized that he must have spooked her, so he uttered some soft, reassuring grunts as he again advanced on her.

Although she was still frightened nearly beyond all reason, Inga had begun to conclude that he was not thinking of eating her. She still didn't want him so close to her, but she now knew that it was only curiosity that led him there, and that if she was careful, he most likely wouldn't intentionally hurt her. Still, it wasn't a very comforting thought, considering the fact that with such powerful limbs as his, he could easily hurt her without meaning to. The only way she could be ensured of safety would be for him to go away, but how could she get him to do that without having him attack her out of fear? He'd already shown through his cautious advances that he wasn't too sure that she wasn't a threat, so if she tried to shoo him away he might retaliate in a way that wouldn't be good for her health. Again, despair crept into her mind as she knew that she was entirely at this creature's mercy. She could only hope that he would lose interest eventually and go away. She would just have to do her best to appear as passive and non-threatening as possible.

"Oh God," she moaned as he again crouched in front of her and began snuffling against her crotch. "Please stop..."

Either he didn't understand, he didn't care, or it was both, because he didn't stop. Instead, he lifted one of her legs with his meaty hand and began sniffing along the pale skin, seemingly enthralled by the smells he found on her. He pressed his nostrils against her toes and grunted excitedly as they wiggled in response. He let out a strange, almost laughing kind of growl as he poked at her foot and she shrieked at the ticklish sensation and tried to yank it out of his hand. Gripping her leg behind the knee, he lifted it away from the other and again turned his attention to her wet panties. He seemed to be interested in the smells he found there more than the ones he found anywhere else. Inga stifled a gasp as he eagerly pressed his face against the puckering folds of flesh, separated from him only by a flimsy stretch of cotton fabric. He began rubbing his nose against the moistened cotton, and Inga let out a whimpering, plaintive cry. She wished he'd get tired of this and go away. Her face had become flushed and warm, even though she knew that he was only an animal, and it wasn't as though he was a man poking around down there. However, she took little comfort in the thought when he made a wriggling, tentative lap at her with his firm, red tongue.

"No!" she shrieked, unable to resist her urge to flee any longer. "Stop it! Go away!" She shoved at his head with her hands, and as he let out an alarmed grunt and lurched backward, she stole her opportunity to escape. Screaming in fright, she darted away from him and plunged into the thickly grown darkness of the woods. She knew that she was running away from her camp - and away from her knife - but right now her only desire was to get as far away from that thing as she could, and she figured that he would be less able to follow her if she was in amongst the bushes and closely-set trees of the forest at the mountain's base. Unfortunately, running through such overgrown conditions was all but impossible in her bare feet, and she didn't get far at all before they had become scratched and bruised so painfully that she was forced to slow down. She kept running into brambles and scrub, and it wasn't long before her scant clothing had become torn and her skin painfully scratched. She'd never had to run so desperately through wilderness before, and she couldn't help wondering if this was how a hare felt when the eager jaws of a wolf were only paces behind it.

At first she thought her flight had been successful, but a growing clomping sound behind her soon alerted her to the fact that there was a large animal with large feet swiftly approaching her. Stifling a sob of despair, she could only plod on helplessly, ignoring the throbbing pain in her abused feet and staring about wildly for any trees with limbs low enough for her to climb them. Most of those trees had been at the forest's edge, however; these were all extremely tall and unclimbable, and as her pursuer came swiftly up to her from behind, she knew he was going to win, and she would never be able to outstrip him in his own turf.

Relinquishing all hope of escape, she collapsed onto the leaf-litter on the ground and covered her head with her hands, sobbing bitterly as she curled up into a little ball and waited for the agonizing kick, scratch, or hard-handed blow that was sure to come. The sasquatch ran up alongside her and slid to a halt, grunting and snorting from his exertions, but eying the object of his chase with delight in his dark, remarkably bright eyes. Why, that had been ridiculously easy! Was she truly this helpless? How had such a creature managed to survive to adulthood in the harshness of the woods?

Cautiously and gently - so as to avoid causing her to run away again - he knelt down beside her and placed a soft, warm hand against her shaking shoulder. Inga immediately stiffened, but she made no move to strike at him, or even unbury her face for that matter. She simply trembled and curled her legs underneath her shaking body even more tightly, and she whimpered pitifully at him.

A mixture of strange emotions was swirling inside his head. Something about the way she smelled and looked truly excited him; he had felt the same way about some of the females of his own kind, but had been too young to court them at the time. He was also pleased by her apparent inability to injure him thanks to her frailty and timidity. She was a fragile thing, and judging from the way she trembled and left herself vulnerable to him, he could see that he had frightened her badly enough to leave her just as vulnerable to predatory beasts if he were to leave her as she was. Perhaps instead he ought to take her back with him to his den. Perhaps he could teach her that she would be safe from harm while she was in his possession.

The idea of possessing her gave him an instantaneous thrill - so much so that it actually aroused him. He stared down at her in surprise as he felt his cock stiffen and swell in response to the mere sight of her. So that was it. He now understood why he had found himself so unable to tear his sight away from her. He wanted to take her to be his mate. The idea felt so natural and obvious that all at once his doubts and hesitation melted away. Of course he should take her back with him. Where else would he take his mate?

Letting out an eager growl, he curled one hand around her middle and gently pulled her upwards. Gasping and shrieking in terror, Inga flailed her arms and legs as she suddenly found herself up in the air. The sasquatch only grunted affably at her as he hoisted her over one shoulder, and then he turned and began marching into the forest, leaving her campsite farther and farther behind them as he carried her away. Inga screamed and began to beat at his back with her fists and kick her legs wildly, unable to figure out just why he was carrying her, but knowing beyond all doubt that she had no desire to find out. Her captor's only response to her kicks and punches was that strange, laughing growl of his. It seemed almost as if her antics were amusing him. He picked up his pace a little, and Inga soon forgot about struggling as she instead clung desperately to handfuls of his fur in an effort to keep from being thrown off his shoulder onto the swiftly passing ground below. She continued to yell and scream, but her cries had no more effect on him than her beating and kicking had, and before long her voice fell as still as her struggles, and she could only cling to the soft, shaggy fur of the sasquatch and allow him to carry her to wherever he intended to take her.

After what seemed like hours, they arrived at the entrance of a small, granite cave. It bore its way into the skin of the mountain like some kind of parasitic worm, and the sasquatch seemed well at ease as he picked his way down the steeply sloped ruts and platforms into its darker depths. He was careful to keep from scraping any part of her against the rough surfaces of the rock, but Inga cared little about his gentle handling, considering the fact that she was being dragged here against her will, wherever here was. They soon found themselves in inky blackness, and in the darkness Inga could feel every one of her other senses heighten in alert. She could hear the sounds of his grunts and footsteps as they echoed off the cavern walls and ceiling, and she smelled the pungent musk of his skin and fur even more strongly than she had outside. She felt his callused fingers grip her backside tightly as she lay across his shoulder, and she shuddered and gripped his fur even more tightly. What was he going to do with her here? Was he planning to eat her after all?

All at once, they stepped into an offshoot of the larger cavern, and Inga found herself immersed in an orange, soft, flickering glow. She craned her neck to one side in an effort to see around the back of the sasquatch and deduce the source of this light, but from the smoky smell and crackling sounds, she knew at once that it was a fire. Fire? Was there really an animal other than humans who made use of fire? She got her answer when, after grunting triumphantly, the sasquatch walked around the smoldering remains of what could only be an intentionally-lit fire, and he gently laid his prize down upon a bed of old animal skins and moss. Guessing from the strong musk she could smell on this bed, it belonged to her abductor, and she again shuddered as the smell reminded her all the more of how near to him she was. She watched fearfully and motionlessly as he trotted over to the other side of the room and grabbed an armload of leaves and branches from a large pile of them that had been shoved against the far wall. He brought the dry fuel back to the embers of his centrally-located fireplace, and he dumped it all upon the glowing coals, blanketing out their light and plunging the both of them into total darkness.