Willa's Beast: Icehome - Book 3

by Dixon, Ruby

  My heart aches so fiercely that I feel like crying all over again. "Oh, sugar. We're not slaves." I lean in and press my cheek against his, not caring that his big teeth graze my skin. "We're free. They're giving us the ability to talk out of the kindness of their hearts."

  "No one is kind," he says. "Everyone wants something."

  He might not be wrong, but for now, I'm going to assume we are being treated like every other person in the tribe. "We're not slaves," I reassure him. "You'll never be a slave again. I promise." When the look on his face remains openly skeptical, I continue. "Do you trust me?"

  Gren nods. Once.

  "Then trust me that I will never, ever let anyone do that to you. Ever."

  "You are so fierce in your defense of me," he growls low. "You always have been. Why?"

  "Because you're a person like anyone else."

  "Not like anyone else." His expression grows shuttered.

  Because he looks different from the rest of the people pulled from the pods? My poor Gren. "You're right," I say quickly. "Better than everyone else."

  He makes a low hiss that I realize is amusement, and my heart squeezes all over again. I didn't think it was possible to be more in love with the guy than I already am, but just the sound of his laughter feels like the best thing ever.

  "I love you so much," I tell him fervently, pressing kisses to his face, over and over again. I kiss his huge canines, his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, everywhere I can. "And I am going to talk your ear off when we're alone."

  "I will hear better if you leave my ear on," he says, even as his hand slides under my tunic and runs along my buttock, squeezing lightly. "And your chest is making its rattling noise again." He leans in, his nose rubbing against mine as he whispers. "And I can smell your sweetness between your thighs."

  Oh, mercy. My face feels hot. "That's called resonance—the noise—and it's yet another thing no one ever bothered to explain to you." I bite back my irritation, because Mardok has helped us, and it won't do any good for me to rage at him.

  "No one speaks to a battle slave unless they must," he says simply, and I hurt for him all over again.

  "You're a person," I tell him. "No one's slave."

  Gren's expression remains neutral, and I can see he doesn't believe me. "If they ask," he continues softly, "Tell them I will fight like I have never fought before if they let me keep you."

  He's killing me. He really is. Fiercely, I hold his face fur with my hands and give his mouth a ferocious, heated lick. "You're mine, too," I tell him, not caring how loud I am or if Farli and Mardok can hear me. "We're together in this."

  His hand slides between my legs, a knuckle rubbing between my slick folds and finding my clit. "Together," he agrees, and our cooties are so loud that it sounds as if an entire hive of bees is droning between us.

  "I think that is everything," Farli calls out, her voice deliberately bright and overloud. "You should have enough supplies to fulfill your resonance without anyone bothering you again. Is that not right, my mate?"

  "Right," Mardok says, and his voice is full of amusement, as if he's tickled at how bad Farli's acting is.

  I glance over, and they are on the far side of the cave, back where Ashtar and Veronica slept for so many days. They approach us by the fire again, and I realize belatedly that I'm sprawled in Gren's lap with his hand under my tunic and between my thighs. We're resonating so loud that they can probably hear us three planets away. I should probably squirm out from under his grip—this isn't seemly in the slightest—but I find that I don't care. If I push Gren's hand away while they're in front of us, what will he think?

  That's more important to me than what they think, so I let it stay, and do my best not to squirm when he lightly rubs his knuckle against the side of my clit in the lightest of caresses and grazes his mouth against the column of my neck.

  "Thanks for the stuff," I manage. "We're…ah, having a bit of trouble getting out and hunting right now."

  Farli casts a dreamy look at Mardok, her hands going to his arm and she presses her cheek there. "It was not so long ago that this one and I resonated. It is a good time. Enjoy it."

  Mardok just gives her the most tender look, and if I hadn't already made up my mind to dislike all of the blue guys, I might like these two. As it is, I'm conflicted.

  And distracted, because Gren isn't stopping with the touching. I clench my thighs tightly together and he nips at my throat, goosebumps rising on my skin. "Oh, we will," I promise. And then, because I've been wondering, I ask, "So how long does resonance last? A few weeks? More?"

  She laughs. "Only if you are doing it wrong."

  "A few weeks? Kef me," Mardok says, and mock-staggers. "I wouldn't be able to walk."

  I half-laugh, but I'm no longer amused. Gren and I have been resonating—and screwing—for almost a week straight now. We…must be done soon, right? At least, that's my hope. Not because I'm tired of him touching me, but I want this achy, needy edge taken off of things. "Right. Well, thanks."

  "So once you two are done here, you'll be rejoining the tribe?" Mardok asks, discreetly straightening the pack on Chompy's back as the ugly pony-thing happily takes another shit on our floor. Farli grimaces and immediately cleans up after him again.

  "Rejoining the tribe?" I echo, my brain having a hard time processing his words as Gren continues to touch me. "No, I don't think we'll be doing that."

  Both Farli and Mardok give us a surprised look. "Why not?" Farli asks.

  Why not? Are they kidding? I hold tightly to Gren, doing my best not to frown at them. I know they're trying to help. I know they are. But their cluelessness about why I'm mad grates on my nerves. "When we got here, Gren was treated like an animal. No one tried to talk to him, or reason with his fears. No one tried to understand him. They just tied him up and treated him like garbage. No one told him what was going on, or that we weren't slaves." Anger surges through me again. "No one even told him about resonance. If he's frightened and attacking strangers, whose fault is that? His for being scared? Or everyone else's for treating him like a rabid dog?"

  I notice that Gren's gone very still against me, but he doesn't speak up. That's all right. He doesn't need to—I've got plenty to say for the both of us.

  Farli's mouth is pressed into an unhappy line, and Mardok shakes his head. "It was a confusing time for everyone. Vektal tries to make the best decisions he can, but he can't be everywhere at once, and the good of the group has to outweigh the needs of individuals."

  "No one even tried to talk to him," I emphasize. "They just treated him like he was an animal."

  "No one spoke Praxiian," Mardok explains. "It's not the most common of languages in this end of the galaxy—"

  "You do, or at least you understand it. So what's your excuse?" I lift my chin, defiant.

  Mardok has the grace to look embarrassed. His expression changes to one of sadness. "That was my ship. I flew on it for many years before other pirates took it over. All of my friends who were on that vessel were killed. Then I found out that Vektal wanted to scrap my ship—my old home—for the safety of the people here. I know it was the right thing to do, but it was a lot for me to take in at once. I was…distracted."

  Farli puts a hand on Mardok's neck and kisses his cheek, her eyes full of understanding.

  And okay, I have the grace to realize that I'm being an asshole. I didn't think that it might be difficult for Mardok, and while I'm trying to understand why they treated Gren the way they did, I still can't get past the mental image of him in ropes, snarling and full of fear. "I'm sorry," I say to Mardok. "I'm sorry for your loss, and I understand why you didn't speak to him…but that doesn't mean I can trust everyone to treat him like a normal person if we went back."

  It's Farli that speaks up. "He is different, but that does not mean he will not be welcome. Mardok was not an easy fit when he first arrived, either. He was very strange to many of us." Her smile is gentle. "But we can learn from each other. And you do not have to
rejoin. There is safety in the tribe, and companionship, but it is not slavery. You are free to come and go as you please. We hope that you will come back, but if you do not, we will understand."

  I nod at her, twining my fingers in the short, soft fur at Gren's nape. "We'll think about it."

  Her smile grows broader. "Then we will leave you alone to finish your resonance." Farli's expression grows impish and she nips at Mardok's shoulder. "And perhaps revisit ours after visiting you."

  "Kef me," Mardok murmurs, but he plants a kiss on one of Farli's black, curling horns and gives her a heated look. "I knew I should have come alone."

  "But you will be glad you did not," she teases, and he just grins back. She glances in our direction, then taps her pony-thing on the butt and it goes trotting out of the cave, bleating with indignation. "If you step outside of the cave and look to the direction that the suns come up, you will see the beach. We are still there and it is less than a full day's walk. If you need help or have questions, come and visit. You will be welcome. Both of you."

  "Thank you," I tell her, and then nothing else is said as Mardok and Farli link arms around each other's waists and leave us alone.

  I remain perched in Gren’s lap, utterly silent, waiting until I hear the crunch of footsteps on the gravelly path outside. I wait a few moments more, the only movement my curls as Gren’s breath makes them flutter. Then, when I feel like it’s safe, I pull back and look at my handsome beast-alien. “Hi again,” I say shyly.

  “You choose me over the others. Over safety,” he murmurs, the low growling and snarling of his strange, bestial language somehow more pleasing to my ears the more often I hear it. “Why? Why not be with the others of your kind if it’s your choice?”

  “Because I choose to be with you.” I cup his face in my hands. “Just because you’re different doesn’t mean that you’re not worth it.” I smile at him, and my smile grows broader with every moment that passes.

  “What?” he asks, wary.

  “I’m just excited to think we can finally talk to each other, really, really talk. I want to learn everything about you. Who you are and how you came here.”

  For some reason, this makes his expression harden. “You wish to know who I am? I am a killer.”

  21

  GREN

  I wait for disappointment to change her expression, for sadness to take over her smiles. She can speak to me now, so she will know the truth of who I am.

  She wishes to know who Gren is? I am a killer, a destroyer, a creature unleashed upon the arena to maim and kill others. I have but one goal in life—to win the next battle. If I do not, I will end up sold—or worse. There is no more to me than that.

  But Willa's beautiful smile does not change. She touches my face and shakes her head. "That's not who you are. You were a gladiator, right? You fought in arenas? Like the other males?"

  I grunt, because I suppose there is truth in that. "We are all killers."

  "Did you choose to become a killer?" she asks. When I shake my head, she continues. "Do you want to kill me?"

  "I would die before I let anything harm you," I tell her fiercely.

  "Do you want to kill Mardok?" Willa continues. "The one who gave you the ability to hear me? And for me to hear you?"

  "The mesakkah? No. He can live."

  She wrinkles her nose slightly at my words. "Muh-sackuh?"

  "His people."

  "Oh." She strokes her hands down my chest, full of touches and pettings, always touching me, my Willa. "So let me get this straight. You think you're a killer, but I haven't seen you kill anyone on this planet. Nor do you want to at the moment. So I feel like it's less about killing people and more about surviving."

  "If I am put into an arena with the others, I would not hesitate to kill them," I warn her. I do not want her to paint a pretty picture of me when I am nothing but a monster.

  "You're never going to be in an arena again," Willa says stubbornly, scratching lightly at my chest, under the thick mat of my fur. "I know no one told you what's going on, but the spaceship that had us? It was hijacked by pirates. The pirates came here to this ice planet and were killed by the natives. The ship was destroyed right about when you and I left. There's no 'going back.' There's no leaving this planet. We are here for good, and there are no arenas, no cities, no nothing. There's a couple of tribes and that's it."

  I am not sure I believe her. It sounds too good to be true. "Which ones are the slavemasters?"

  "There are no slavemasters, Gren! You are free. I'm free. Everyone is free." She leans in and nibbles on my lower lip, teasing it. "We are free to do whatever we want. We can leave these people behind and no one will stop us. It can be just you and me…forever."

  My hand—the one slung around her hips to hold her close—tightens against her body. "I do not trust it, Willa."

  Her expression is sad. "I know. Maybe in time you will."

  I do not like her sadness, either. I prefer her pretty face contorted in one of the expressions she makes when I am buried deep inside her. My other hand is still between her thighs, so I rub my knuckle lightly along the little bump that makes her wild with lust, and I can feel her clench and quiver. "I trust what I can touch. I trust what is in front of me." I move closer to her, breathing in her scent as she pants and clings to me. "And I trust you, my Willa."

  "Oh Gren, I love you," she moans, her eyes closing as she leans into my touch. "I need you so much."

  "I need you, too. My hunger for you is unending." I wrap my arms around her, rolling our bodies to the floor and to the furs. A moment later she is under me, her legs spreading to welcome me. I thrust into her, surprised at how good the wet heat of her feels, and how tightly she grips me. A low groan escapes my throat.

  This is what I trust. This is what I believe in.

  "Gren," she pants with every thrust of my cock into her warmth. "Gren. Gren. Oh god. Remind me to tell you about resonance. Oh god. Right there!" She arches against me, her mouth open in a wordless cry as her cunt tightens around my shaft. I pound into her, clenching her hips tight to hold her against me as I drill into her slick heat. Our matings have grown more frantic as the days have passed, as if our bodies cannot stand prolonged touching without climaxing in a rush of need. The moment I feel her body's release, I allow mine to pour forth, my sac tightening as I flood her with my seed.

  Only after we are panting and sated do I lie down on the blankets next to her, pulling her close to me. After a few days of matings, she carries my scent in her mane and on her skin, and I love knowing that if others were to scent her, she would be marked as mine and mine alone.

  Willa sucks in a few deep breaths, and then nestles her head on my chest, twining her fingers in my fur. "I'm going to tell you everything I know about this place, okay? Because you deserve to know."

  "Then speak." I brace myself for the awful truth of this cold place we have found ourselves. There has to be something wrong with it, some sort of “catch” that will destroy the fragile happiness I have found with her. I know I am not meant to be content, and that I must take everything one day at a time, one battle at a time, as I always have done.

  But she tells me of this place, of the glowing worm called a “khui”—or a “coo-tee” as she calls it—that enables me to survive on this planet. She strokes my chest, as if worried this will upset me, but I have had dozens of modifications to increase my fighting prowess, or to alter my senses. It is just another small change. She tells me of the fact that this khui will choose a mate for me by signaling with “resonance”—the buzzing in my chest and the insistent need to mate until I have made the female it has chosen for me pregnant.

  It chose Willa.

  I am…not upset about this. I hold her close and bury my face in her fragrant mane, which smells like sweat and sex and all the good things in life. "Does this upset you? That you were forced to mate with me?"

  She gasps, shocked at my question, and sits up. "No! How could you think that?"

&n
bsp; "I am ugly, Willa. A beast."

  "You are not." Her hand goes to my chest. "Don't you remember how I'm the one that touched you? I've always wanted you. It doesn't matter to me that you look different. Everyone here looks different. I think you're wonderful." She leans in and presses her mouth to mine, even though they do not fit together well. "I could not be happier, and I want your baby. I want us to be a family."

  A baby. I do not know what I think of that. "I am not certain I am a breeding male," I warn her.

  Her brows furrow together. "What do you mean?"

  "I am a slave constructed for violence, for fights." I flex my claws to show her. "For endurance. For harming my opponents. I am not designed to breed."

  Willa still looks confused. "I don't understand. You're just a person, Gren." She shakes her head. "Just like the rest of your people."

  "What 'rest'?" When she looks even more puzzled, I continue. "There is no 'rest,' Willa. I am a…" I struggle to find the right words. "A beast. I have been altered to perform to my master's precise requests."

  She shakes her head. "But—wait, that doesn't make sense. What about people that look like you?"

  "There are none. I was created."

  My female looks…shocked. "Created? From what?"

  I shrug. "No one has ever told me."

  "But what about your family? Your parents? Kin?" When I shake my head, her words become even more upset. "Anything? What about when you were little?"

  "When I was a youth?" I give her a surprised look. "You do not have arena battles amongst the youth in your world?"

  "No," she cries out. "We don't have any of that…least I hope not." Willa looks distressed, and then her hand slides lower onto my belly as her expression changes. "Wait. Is that why you don't have a belly button?"

  "A what?"

  She says the bouncy words again, spoken in that half-melodic, loud way of hers. "A navel. It's where your umbilical cord attaches to your body from your mother." She gasps as it occurs to her before I can say it. "But you don't have a mother. Oh, Gren, sugar. My heart hurts for you." She moves against me and snuggles low once more. "Who touched you with love before me?"