by Dixon, Ruby
Willa's Beast
Icehome - Book 3
Ruby Dixon
www.rubydixon.com
WILLA’S BEAST
Beast. Creature. Monster.
Dangerous.
All of these things have been said about Gren.
Willa doesn’t believe it, though. She knows that monsters can sometimes come in appealing packages. She knows that for all of his snarls and fearsome appearance, he’d never hurt her.
And she knows she has to get Gren away from the Icehome camp, because no one will ever see him as a person, not when he attacks all who come close. Not when he’s tied and treated like an animal.
She’s going to save him…or fall in love. Maybe both. Willa doesn’t mind that he’s a beast, as long as he’s her beast.
Copyright © 2018 by Ruby Dixon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Photo — Sara Eirew Photographer
Cover Design - Kati Wilde
Edits - Aquila Editing
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Author’s Note
The People of Icehome
The Icehome Series
Ruby Dixon Reading List
Want More?
1
GREN
When I wake up from a deep, heavy sleep to unfamiliar people staring down at me, I know what has happened—I have been sold to new masters. It is always the same story, new faces, new lies, new cages, same ending. I know that whatever they promise—food, companionship, freedom—will be taken away. There will be injections and medical tests, whips and shock collars and days where I am not fed so I can be in peak fighting form. They will jab me with shockers through the bars of my cage until I'm snarling with rage, and then dump me into the arena so I can take my anger out on my opponent. Then I will be forcibly hauled back into my cage once more, all for this to start over again.
So when one of the unfamiliar people smiles down at me and utters a greeting, I snarl and lash out with my claws.
They do not hit; the speaker is female and even though I have been called “beast” and “monster” all my life, I will not harm a female. It is only intended to scare, and it works. The female shouts something and suddenly three males pile onto me. I wait to feel the familiar pain of a shock collar around my throat, but my new owners only grab me and try to hold me down to the ground.
I fight.
I always fight. It never works, but someday…someday it might. Someday I might break free.
Or someday they might snap my neck and end this. Either one works.
I snarl viciously at them, ignoring the jabber of their words. It is another language I do not know, even though I recognize that some of the faces that swim before my wild eyes are blue, with horns. Mesakkah. Another body presses onto the pile and I jerk my shoulders, trying to lift from the floor. My snarls fill the cargo bay, drowning out their words, and my slaver drips onto the hand of one who gets far too close to me. Someone barks an order.
Ropes are brought out. I fight harder, because I know what ropes mean—they will hold me down and do things to me. I wear old, scarred brands of former masters on my flanks, underneath my shaggy fur. I have scars from old fights and other times I was not an obedient slave. I hiss and rage at them, and even as I do, even through the stink of their pressed bodies, a newer smell wafts through the ship's hold.
Fresh air.
Cold fresh air.
I am so close to outside. To freedom.
It makes me fight all the harder. I renew my struggles, ignoring the protests of my muscles, the screaming pain in my bones as I am held down by strong hands of people who have been fed regular meals and have never been starved to ensure a certain weight class. It is cruel of these new masters to bring me this close to freedom.
I will die to try to get to it, and I raise my claws, trying to reach for the throat of the nearest blue face. The male gives me a thin-lipped look of disapproval, barks a word, and then something hard and heavy is slammed into my head.
I do not fall unconscious. My head is harder than that. But I'm dazed, and as I stop fighting, I hear the others arguing amongst each other. A lighter voice—female, perhaps? my new owner?—exclaims in irritation at one of the others, who answers with a sharp tone. Perhaps she does not like that her merchandise is damaged. I wait for my wits to return, and as I do, I am flipped onto my belly and my hands are tied behind my back. My feet are lashed together next, and then more ropes are added.
I am trussed like the beast I am.
I open one eye, slowly, and glare at the yellow-haired female that leans over me, frowning. She says something to me, her hands on her knees. She expects an answer.
I will give her one, then. Snarling, I snap my teeth and lunge for her again, only to be pushed aside by a big ugly mesakkah male with warped horns and a scarred visage. He steps between me and the female, glaring, spear butt raised over my head warningly. That must be what hit me before, and he's ready to do it again if I attack once more.
With a feral grin, I launch myself off the floor and at him.
Gren has never turned down a dare.
2
WILLA
I know there are a saying about the kindness of strangers, but as I sit in the hold, naked, clutching a fur to my shivering body as I watch the others subdue the “monster,” I wonder if this is their idea of kindness.
"Jesus Christ, I thought he was going to eat my face." The pregnant blonde woman clutches at her rounded belly and staggers away a few steps dramatically. She's pale, but she looks more annoyed than frightened.
At her side, one of the blue aliens hovers over her. He's the tall, lean one with the hard face and scars, the one that smacked the beast man in the head with his spear. "Liz, this is why I tell you to stay back, my mate. This male cannot be trusted."
"No shit, Sherlock," Liz breathes, and then wraps her arms around his waist and snuggles against his chest as if she didn't just insult him. "Sorry, babe."
The big blue guy just holds her close, but the expression on his face wouldn't butter a damn biscuit.
"What's going on?" someone beside me asks. It's the squinty one, the one without glasses. She peers at her surroundings and then looks to me for the answer. Others turn to watch, curious. I haven't counted heads yet, but I've been observing—one of my skills, I suppose, if a gal has a skill set—and I've heard the word “sixteen” come up several times. That must be how many ladies we have here. Sixteen gals, and now they're freeing up the men in them pods.
"There's a gentleman that woke up," I tell them softly. "And he's right pissed."
"That's not a gentleman," someone else corrects. "I saw that
guy. He's got fangs and red eyes like a werewolf." She shudders dramatically.
"A werewolf? What the hell?" Someone starts crying.
I just keep my observations to myself. Way I see it, the guy was just scared and trying to get himself free. I can't blame him. When I woke up, I freaked out and did the exact same thing, although in a slightly less ornery sort of fashion.
Except no one held me down and hogtied me, I guess because I'm a girl and he's a big guy and all. Still doesn't sit right with me. He looks a little intimidating, yes, but looks shouldn't matter.
"He's got fangs?" someone else whispers. I don't know all their names yet, but I reckon I will soon enough. This whisperer is a blonde.
I want to point out that they all have fangs—all except the womenfolk—but I don't say a peep. I'm observin'. If the angry guy's chompers are a bit bigger than the rest, well, maybe they've got a touch of envy. I watch the fallen guy as he lies on the floor, chest heaving. He's stopped struggling for now, but his eyes are red slits and I can tell he's watching everyone. He's taking in his surroundings, figuring out where he is.
For a moment, his gaze fixes on me, and it’s piercing in its intensity. I'm determined not to show fear, though. So I offer him a faint smile and then break eye contact, just in case he views a staredown like a challenge, kinda like Uncle Dick's pit bulls used to.
Way I see it, he's been tied up and beat because he's scary looking. I did the same song and dance and was handed a blankie and some trail mix by the fire, but he's being treated worse'n a dog. I don't like that. So while these people are nice and they promise that we're safe and everything's fine and dandy, I smile and nod and I tell myself not to get too comfortable.
Oh sure, they're nice now, but Mama was nice when she wanted something. And Mama was the prettiest gal in three counties, so appearances don't count for squat, far as I'm concerned.
Actions are what count.
I reckon I'll have to wait and see what kind of actions these people take over the next few days, and then I'll figure out how I escape.
* * *
"This isn't so bad, is it?" the girl next to me says, her voice a soft whisper of hope. Her name's Tia and she's just a little bit of a thing with big, dark curls and big, dark eyes. She huddles next to me under the furs, sharing body heat, as if I can somehow protect her from this new world we're in.
"Seems all right," I tell her cheerfully, and tuck her closer to me. Okay, so I have a soft spot when it comes to scaredy cats. Sue me. Truth is, I don't know if what I'm speaking is wrong or right. These people do seem nice enough. I think they mean well. They've fed us and kept us warm. They've given us clothing and it looks as if they don't mean to separate me or the other girls from each other. There's been lots and lots of plans discussed, and none of them mention going back to Earth or taking us home.
We're stuck on this frozen planet forever. And while that's not my favorite, I find I can cope with the news better'n some of the others. Some girls have been weepin' and moanin' all afternoon like that's gonna change things. Some, like Lauren, have decided to be leaders, and she's been all supportive and sweet to everyone, doin' the best she can to be someone the others can lean on.
I think that's a real good idea.
Me, I don’t rightly know what I’m going to do with myself just yet. There’s part of me that thinks I should smile and nod and do what I’m told, like a good girl, and see where that leads me.
But I learned early on not to trust, though, and I’m struggling with that idea. I can’t be like Lauren and assume that everything’s going to be just fine all because these strangers told me that. Actions speak louder than words. I sit up in the swaddle of furs on the ground that make up my bed and yawn, stretching my arms as if working the kinks out of my back. A few others glance over at me—the big blue guys are all on high alert and watching us as if they’re worried we’re going to hurt ourselves. I look around at the small band of survivors. There are twenty of us in all that were pulled out of them pod things, and about a dozen or so of our “helpers.” They called themselves sa-cootie or something, but I don’t suppose what they call themselves matters much if they aren’t as nice as they claim to be. I lift one arm over my head and then bend it, pretending to stretch my triceps, and as I do, I look around at my fellow survivors. Most of the girls are huddled together like puppies, but a few sleep alone. Off to one side, I see the red twin brothers sitting by the fire, their bodies uncovered and gleaming in the firelight. Nudists, apparently. In the middle of the group, the big golden guy sleeps between two women. He has his arm around one rather plain-looking girl—I think her name was Veronica. And of course, Tia cuddles up against me. I continue looking around, yawning. Most of the blue guys aren’t sleeping. They hang out by the walls, talking quietly amongst themselves and watching us. The two women—the pregnant ladies that woke us up—are sleeping, though, and I’m guessing that the big guys sleeping next to them are their respective spouses. While I’m not sure about these people as a whole, I do like that the guys seem to be good to their women.
Then, I see him.
In the shadows, a pair of red eyes gleam. I know by the hulking shoulders and the slitted, too-bright-in-the-darkness red eyes that it’s the beast guy. One of the blue aliens watches over him nearby, arms crossed over his chest. The beast guy is still tied up, and he can’t be comfortable. I frown to myself, wondering if I should lie back down and forget I saw anything, or if I need to speak up.
I hesitate, because I’m scared. But…I’ve also been the trapped one before, and I think of all the times I wanted someone to come and rescue me. So I get to my feet and ignore Tia’s murmur of protest, wrapping one of the furs around my new clothes. Even with a few layers on, it still feels too cold. I tiptoe over the sleeping bodies, heading toward the captive and his guard.
“Hi there,” I say with a winning smile on my face as I approach. I glance down at the growling, tied-up red-eyed man (can he be called a man?) and then focus on his guard. “I’m Willa. What’s your name?”
The guard gives me a polite nod. “Hassen. You should go sleep, Wil-lah.”
“I will.” I smile brightly at him. “I just wanted to make sure our friend is warm enough. He doesn’t have a blanket.” And I gesture at the bound man at his feet. “The floor is cold.”
Hassen just gives me a puzzled look. “He is covered in fur. Why would he need a blanket?”
“Bless your heart,” I murmur sweetly. “Because it’s cold and he might not be used to such weather?”
He scratches his chest, thinking. “Perhaps it is best to leave him alone, Wil-lah.”
I look over at the beast guy and he gives a low hiss, but it seems to have less oomph to it than before. He’s either tired…or he doesn’t mean it. So I just keep smiling and ignore it, and decide I need to catch me some flies with honey. “So you’ve lived here all your life, Hassen?” When he nods, I can’t help but ask. “You have a human mate?” I heard the others talking about that—how all the men here were brought because they were already mated and wouldn’t be a problem for us. “Is she not here?”
He puffs up proudly, and a big grin creases his face, making him almost handsome in the darkness. “I do. My Mah-dee. We have a son, Masan. They are back home.”
I hug the blanket to my shoulders and smile at him. “How did you and Mah-dee meet?”
“I stole her sister.” His grin turns wicked, and when I look startled, he laughs and launches into a long story about humans in the snow, one that talks with her hands, and how Mah-dee apparently put the moves on him and won him over. It’s clear he’s madly in love with his wife, and I regret my earlier “bless your heart” comment. He’s just a guy trying to do the right thing for his tribe. I can’t be mad at that. It’s clear from the leathers they wear that this is a very different society than the one back home, and so I need to think differently too.
Hassen continues to talk about his mate, but I admit I’m really not paying attention. I’m smilin
g in all the right places and giving appropriate little chuckles, but I’m really watching the beast guy. He’s gone very still as I stand here and talk to Hassen, and I’m pretty sure his nose is twitching, as if he smells something. I can’t tell if he’s shivering, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to give him a blanket, damn it. So when Hassen finally pauses for a breath, I tilt my head at the beast guy. “You think he has a mate back home?” I ask, turning the conversation towards him.
“Him? No.” Hassen rubs his blue chin. “He is what Mardok says is a glad-hater.”
I try to digest that, repeating it in my head until I realize what he means. “Oh. A gladiator? A fighter?”
Hassen nods. “Mardok spoke of them earlier. They are used for fighting and only fighting. He would not have a mate, Mardok says. He would know since he comes from the sky caves.” And then he nods sagely as if all this is totally logical.
Sky caves. Right. I act as if this makes perfect sense to me. “Ah. So he’s stuck here with the rest of us because he was going to be a slave?”
Hassen nods again.
I bite my lip, because I bet this isn’t beast-guy's first rodeo, judging by how fiercely he fights to get free. “If he’s been a slave in the past, don’t you think it would upset him to be tied up again?”
Hassen narrows his glowing blue eyes at me, his genial expression shifting. “You do not suggest untying him? In a room full of soft, frightened females who have no way of defending themselves?”