Willa's Beast: Icehome - Book 3

by Dixon, Ruby

  But she does not weep like the other females did. She wiggles against me and touches me, petting my fur, and her hands are all over my body, as if she wants more of my touch. Her smile is radiant, and she reassures me with our pitiful language that she liked my touch. And because I cannot help myself, I take her again.

  It is only during the third round when she puts my hand on her teat that I realize she has not climaxed, either. Then, I make it my goal to see her come, and she goes wild when I rub the small, pinkish-brown bud atop her teat and I lick at her mouth. When she comes, her cunt tightens around my cock so fiercely that it spurs another fierce climax through me, more pleasurable than the ones before.

  As she sleeps, I think about all this. I must remember these things for the next time that I claim her as my victory spoils. I have fought no arena battle, so this feels a bit like cheating an unseen opponent, but I do not care. Willa is mine.

  I think about the touches she liked, because I will need to do them again. She liked her teats played with. She liked it when I licked her mouth, and she shivered when I ran my hands over her skin. I wonder if she is sensitive in other spots as well? Next time, I will explore all of her, I decide. I want to see her clench all over again, the startled expression on her face and the little cry she made.

  I loved that little cry. Just thinking about it now makes my sac tighten, as if it is full of seed once more.

  I rub my chest, my heart still racing and throbbing. I notice Willa's is making the same strange sound, a bit like a low, muffled drumbeat. I do not know what is causing it, but I wonder if that is why I lost control. Willa did not lose control, though. I continue to rub my chest, curious. I will ask her about it when she awakens, but right now, she needs to sleep. I do not like the hollows under her eyes.

  I want to take care of her, and now that I am not dying, I will. Already I feel the strength flooding back into me, as if I have been pumped full of stims. Perhaps that is why my heart races…but that does not explain why Willa's does. It is curious and I have not experienced this before. I inhale sharply, and the scents of the others linger in the cave. I attune to the sounds in the cave, and beyond the drumming of my chest, Willa's chest, her breathing, and the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance…there are other sounds. Two people, also sleeping.

  The healer and her mate. They are still here, across the cave from us.

  They heard us mating, I think. Especially the male. Even in scattered memories, I remember him moving around the cave, helping Willa with the fire as I drifted back to sleep. He will have heard me claiming Willa.

  I bare my teeth at the ceiling in feral pleasure. Good. Let him hear me claim her. Let my audience know that I have won my mate, and I will be keeping her.

  Because Willa is my mate. I do not care what anyone else thinks, only that I will never let her go again. I hold her close, but I am unable to sleep, my mind alert. I listen to the sounds in the cave, picking through the myriad scents here. They seem stronger than before, and I suspect my senses were dulled by the fever when we arrived. The scent of leather is overwhelming. It was the scent I followed to bring Willa here, because I knew where there would be leather, there would be safety. The scent of food is here, too—supplies—and my mouth waters. Perhaps I will eat something while Willa sleeps.

  I carefully detangle myself from my clinging, lovely female, and I feel a surge of pleasure in my chest when she makes a sleepy protest, reaching for me. I notice that her thighs gleam wet with my release, and a vision of her tenderly bathing me flashes through my mind.

  I can tend to her like she has to me.

  I skulk around the cave, avoiding the other male and his mate, and find a waterskin hanging from an outcropping on the cave wall. I take it and grab a bit of leather and wet it, returning to Willa's side. She sleeps peacefully, her cheek resting on one hand, and I hesitate to touch her. The last time I tried to touch her cunt with snow, she shrieked her unhappiness. I crouch next to her head, thinking, and then reach down to caress my mate's soft cheek.

  She shivers but doesn't awaken, snuggling further down into the furs as if seeking their warmth.

  Ah. Perhaps it is the cold that bothers her, then. I think for a moment, then hold the waterskin under one arm, using my body heat to warm the contents. As I wait for it to warm, I watch Willa sleep. I could watch her forever and not grow bored, I think. I imagine her waking up and smiling at me, her small, soft human hand reaching out for my claws, and the thrumming in my chest grows louder, as if pleased.

  Is that coincidence or something else?

  When the water is no longer ice cold, I wet the fur and gently push Willa's thighs apart. She sighs and rolls onto her back, looking up at me sleepily. "Gren?"

  "Willa," I murmur, then show her the towel. I have no word for bath, so I reach down and gently stroke the wet cloth down one thigh to show her what I intend.

  "Mmm. Danku," she mumbles, her eyes sliding shut again. She spreads her legs for me and it almost seems as if she is drowsing back to sleep, full of trust that I will take care of her. Humbled, I carefully tend to my mate, cleaning my seed from her slippery thighs. I freeze when I see a hint of blood. Did I hurt her with my enthusiasm? I panic at the thought…

  And then I remember her smile and welcoming arms. Perhaps a spot of blood—and there is not much—is normal for human females. I will trust Willa’s reactions, though my spirit shrivels at the thought of harming her without realizing it. I clean her gently, carefully noting her female parts as I do. She has pink folds here, some large and some small, framing the opening of her cunt. I want to touch her there, because she still looks wet and inviting no matter how many times I towel her, but I do not. She must sleep, I remind my aching, stiff cock. Her folds are appealing, I decide, as are the dark curls that top them, and they have the most enticing scent of her musk. Tucked between her folds is a button of flesh, and I remember touching it. I want to see her reaction when I caress it like I did the nub on her teat.

  Now I really want to wake her.

  Scowling at my own impatience, I move away from her, wet the towel, and scrub my own aching cock with fierce, angry motions that somehow still feel good.

  It will be a long wait until she awakens, but she is worth it. A noise comes from the far side of the cave, of furs rustling as if in sleep, and I consider the other male still in the cave. Should I chase him out? Declare this territory as mine? But his mate still slumbers, and I wonder if she made herself sick healing me.

  I decide they can stay, as long as they do not stop me from touching my Willa.

  I consider the waterskin and think of Willa trudging out of the lean-to over and over again to fill it with snow while I lay on the ground, sick with infected bites. I can fill this for her. I head to the front of the cave, intending to refill it with snow, and when I go outside, I pick up new scents on the air. Two other males wait below—mesakkah males—and I smell fire. They are camping below.

  Is it because they intend on taking Willa from me? I growl low in my throat at the thought, crouching so I will not be seen in the shadows.

  I will not let them take her. Not now, not ever.

  18

  WILLA

  I am having the best damn dream. I'm in a pizza parlor, shoving a big slice of sloppy pizza into a tub of ranch and then eating the white-coated tip. There's Dr. Pepper in my frosty mug, and country music plays on a jukebox in the corner. Across from me, Gren sits, scarfing down his own pizza and giving me heated looks from his side of the booth. My pussy aches just looking at him, because he's so big and sexy. The waitress comes over and hits on him—because who wouldn't?—but he pushes her away and reaches for my hand. I squeeze my thighs tight, and then he's on my side of the booth, his hand slipping between my thighs. "Willa," he murmurs. "Come."

  "Oh boy, do I ever want to come." I rub up against his hand, and the jukebox goes silent, just as a marching band starts to pour in through the pizza palace's doors. The drummer sets down his kit and starts t
o beat in his drum right in front of our table, but I don't care, because Gren locks one arm around my shoulders, hugging me close even as his hand plays between my thighs. The drumming gets louder and louder, and I decide I'm going to tell them to fuck off…

  Just as soon as Gren pulls his hand away.

  "Come," he tells me again in that gruff voice of his, and I do. I come, my pussy squeezing hard over nothing at all, just the thought of him touching me again. He growls low with pleasure, and then just keeps growling—

  I wake up, gasping, as the sound of his growling continues. I sit up, dizzy and disoriented. My hair is a tangled mop in my damn face, and I push it out of my eyes, squinting at the two figures by the fire.

  Ashtar faces Gren, both men stiff with anger, and it looks as if a fight is about to break out.

  "Is everything okay?" I ask, hesitant.

  Gren's bristling stance shifts. He swiftly moves to my side, crouches low in front of me, and puts a hand behind him, as if shielding me from the other man. His growling continues, and I can't tell if he's saying something or issuing a warning. I put a hand on his lower back, reassuring him.

  "I need water and food for Veronica," Ashtar says, his voice flat with cocky disapproval. "That one is very territorial. I would hate to destroy him with my claws, but if he blocks me from feeding my mate, I will do so."

  I shake the last of the fuzziness from my head, pulling the blankets to my naked body and tugging on Gren's arm. "No one's going to destroy anyone. He's just being protective."

  "As am I." Ashtar crosses his arms over his chest, and for the first time, I notice he's buck naked. Then again, so is Gren. I can't take my eyes off him, though, whereas Ashtar, I could care less about.

  "Well, let me get you some food and water. Gren will calm down once he realizes that's all you want." I tug on Gren's arm again. "Gren, sugar, he needs to use this cave, too."

  "Blessurhart," he manages around his fangs, and it turns into a hiss.

  I will not laugh. I will not laugh. Instead, I just tuck the blankets around my body like a dress—since he tore apart my tunic—and get to my feet. Gren makes a displeased sound, but I lean over to give him a kiss of greeting on the cheek. "Food for friends." I say, and can't resist running my knuckles lightly along his fuzzy jaw. "Friends."

  The drumming in my dream returns, and I realize it's coming from his chest. It sounds louder than ever—and mine is almost as loud, to boot. "Friends," he grits out, as if the word offends him. When I move forward, he remains at my side, his hand on my arm—not stopping me, just touching me, as if he needs to use me to keep himself sane.

  "See? All better," I reassure Ashtar. One of the baskets of trail mix looks like it's been eaten down to the scraps, but there's a fresh one behind it in the corner, and I offer it to him. "Do you need the fire for melting some water? I guess we're hogging it."

  The golden guy snorts, all arrogance. "Of course not."

  "Sorry I asked," I murmur.

  Ashtar tucks the basket under his arm, gives Gren a dismissive look, and then growls something that makes Gren jump to his feet. My guy snarls something back, and then Ashtar just laughs, saying more of the snarling words that sound ridiculous coming from his too-human mouth.

  Gren doesn’t look pleased. He steps in front of me again, and his cootie is thrumming up a storm.

  “What is it?” I ask, surprised. “What are you two saying? You can speak his language?”

  Ashtar gives me another arrogant look. “Of course. I have a translator. Praxiian’s not common on this end of the galaxy, but I have run in their circles before. They do love their gladiators.”

  The word—Praxiian—sounds like it’s half choked in his throat. “Is that his language? What did you say to him?”

  Ashtar smirks. “I told him I am tired of listening to him covering you.”

  I gasp. “That is extremely rude, sir.”

  He shrugs. “Veronica may be able to sleep through it all, but I cannot.”

  “You’re welcome to leave any time you like,” I tell the big golden man stiffly. “Go join the others by the fire at the base of the cliff.”

  “And leave my mate up here alone?” He shakes his head. “Just pretend we are not here, human. So far you two have been good at that.”

  I blush, because he’s not wrong. Ashtar was the least of my worries last night as we, ahem, slept together several times. I rub my face again, trying to compose myself. Sharing a cave with such close quarters—in such a sensitive timeframe—isn’t my favorite, but we owe Veronica and Ashtar. It’s just bad timing.

  Actually, I don’t even mind the timing. I just mind him reminding us that he’s there.

  Gren spits a few growled words after Ashtar, who just laughs, retreating to the far end of the cave and disappearing into the shadows again. Then, he looks at me, his eyes still narrowed. He pulls me against him, his big arms going around my body, and he nuzzles at my throat.

  My cootie goes wild. So does my pussy. Heat floods between my legs and I moan, shocked at how strong the sensation is. I thought resonance faded? Right now it feels even stronger than before. “Whoa,” I tell him, even as he licks at the cords of my neck and makes my body pulse with need. “I need to eat before we start again. Food, Gren.”

  “Food,” he admits grudgingly, and then murmurs, “Gren food Willa.” And then he licks my throat.

  I hope that means he’s telling me he likes my taste. I caress his bushy jaw, plant a kiss on that mouth of his, and then go digging in the food supplies.

  There are plenty of roots and herbs, and they all smell great and would probably make a fantastic stew, but that would take time. I’m not interested in a slow-simmered meal. I’m interested in crawling back under the furs with Gren, because the need for him feels overwhelming. “Hope you’re ready for round two, Ashtar,” I murmur under my breath. “Because your ears are about to be destroyed.”

  I manage a few handfuls of the meaty trail-mix, and Gren eats twice as much as I do. It occurs to me we’re plowing through the supplies in this cave at a rapid pace, but Gren still needs to heal, and well, I need to rub on Gren. My cootie’s singing so loud that my entire chest feels as if it’s vibrating, and it makes it hard to concentrate on anything except reaching over and touching my man.

  I eat, messily. I choke down some water, too, because I’m feeling pretty dehydrated after last night’s intense cardio. My cheeks get hot at the thought, and I notice Gren’s drinking a fair amount of water, too, his gaze locked on me. We’re probably thinking the same thing, and that makes me get all hot and bothered. Shoot, right now, everything gets me hot and bothered. It’s like I could think about the unsexiest things ever—like, say, cooties, and survivalism—and I’d get wet between the thighs because I’d think about Gren.

  After food is done, I wash my hands, take a few more swigs of water, and then consider our sleeping arrangements. We’re right by the fire, which means we’re practically shining a spotlight on our nocturnal activities. With that in mind, I eye the supplies stacked against the wall, then begin to drag some of the largest baskets over to the far side of our bedding. Gren watches me, puzzled, but when I finish the first basket and grab another, he pushes my hands aside and does it for me. After that, I point at objects and he moves them, until we have a little fort to give us a bit of privacy while we lie down.

  And I do want Gren to lie down. I’m not entirely convinced he’s at a hundred percent. It seems too soon, and he was far too close to death. He didn’t get much rest last night, either. Not like I did. I have vague memories of him cleaning me between my thighs, and I guess I was too tired or crashed out to be shy. I’m shy now, though. I wonder if he realizes I was a virgin? There wasn’t time to discuss it, and things didn’t hurt like I thought they would. There were a few uncomfortable moments, but nothing worth screaming over.

  I loved all of it, even the fumbling.

  As if my cootie has decided to broadcast to the world that I’m still thinking about
sex, it begins to hum even louder, and I feel the singing vibration all the way down to my thighs. Gren’s gaze grows heated as he watches me, and I blush. “I guess there’s no hiding what I’m thinking.”

  He touches his chest and says something, then reaches out to point at mine, a question in his eyes.

  No one ever told him about resonance, did they? He has no idea what’s going on, and I want to shake every single well-meaning person in that blue-skinned tribe for being so woefully clueless.

  “It’s normal,” I tell him, keeping my expression encouraging. “Actually, it’s not all that normal. It’s something special for you and me.” My voice drops and I scoot a little closer to him on the blankets. “Willa and Gren.”

  “Willa and Gren,” he echoes, and then reaches out and caresses my jaw, his gaze devouring me.

  I shiver at that delicate touch, unable to take my eyes off of him. I love how he is so massive, so strong and dangerous, but he’s never been anything but gentle to me. “I love you,” I whisper to him. “I don’t know how we managed to find each other in all this mess, but I’m glad we did.”

  “Willa,” he murmurs, and traces his claw down the column of my neck. I shiver again, and it occurs to me that I’m naked under this blanket because he ripped all of my clothing. I don’t mind, though, because his claw keeps traveling lower, until it hits the edge of the fur blanket that I’m clutching to my breasts. He looks up at me, heat in his eyes, and then pulls it away, tossing it aside.