Callie's Catastrophe: Icehome Book 9

by Dixon, Ruby

  “Never mind,” I mutter, taking the bowl from him when he offers it. The soup is thicker than usual, and when I take a tentative bite, I’m surprised at how spicy it is. Most of the food made for the group is rather bland, but this one makes my nose run it’s so fiery. I take another bite, and notice he’s watching me. “What?”

  M’tok rubs the base of his horns. “Did I do well? I have heard you say to others you like spicier food. I tried to make you something you would like.”

  Again, I’m surprised at him, and at the oddly bashful way he holds himself. All of this to please me when all he’s done up until now is shove his demands in my face and yell at me for not accepting resonance? I don’t know what to think. It could be a trap.

  Or maybe now that others aren’t around to make the situation worse, he’s decent? “It’s pretty good,” I say grudgingly. “Next time probably rub the meat with spices before it’s cooked. Maybe marinate it for a few days before we use it in a soup.”

  He nods, eyes thoughtful. “I will remember.”

  I take another bite of the wonderfully hot soup and decide to use this moment to talk with him. “So how do we fix this, M’tok?”

  “Fix what?”

  I gesture between us. “Resonance. What’s the solution?”

  His expression immediately darkens. “The solution is for you to join me in my furs.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Your khui has chosen mine—”

  I knew he would bring that up, and I automatically counter with the first thing I think of. “I can unchoose it. Marisol and T’chai did.”

  M’tok’s lip curls at my argument. “Yes, and they seem so happy now, do they not?”

  I spread my arms, nearly spilling my bowl of soup, and his tail thumps in irritation. “We’re not happy either, motherfucker!”

  His jaw clenches. “I would be happy with you if you would let me.”

  So this is all my fault. I sigh, because it seems we’re back to square one once more. I’m the problem. I’m the holdout. All because I don’t want to have sex with a man I can’t stand and make a baby with him—a man who is just as stubborn and rude as I am. “Just take me home, all right? This little plan of yours isn’t going to work.” I gesture at the cave. “I’m not going to magically fling my legs open now that you’ve gotten me away from the others. It doesn’t matter how many soups you make, understand?” And I set the bowl down and walk away.

  Well, I try to walk away. It’s a small cave and narrow. There’s not many places to go. I head into the back storage area to try and cool off, and hang out there for a while. When I feel like I’m composed enough again, I head back to the main section of the cave and take a seat on the furs.

  “I’m done arguing,” I tell him. “The moment that snow stops, I want you to take me back home. Understand?”

  I expect him to argue. To snarl at me that I’m being unreasonable. To make some shitty comment. Instead, he just narrows his eyes and gives me a tight nod. “Very well.”

  Maybe M’tok can be reasonable after all.

  * * *

  I wake up in the middle of the night for no reason at all. Fighting back a yawn, I strain my ears, trying to determine what it is that woke me up. Howling of the snow outside, maybe? But all is quiet other than the constant thrumming of my cootie.

  Then, I hear it.

  A low, choked gasp. The slide of a hand on flesh. A muffled grunt.

  It's all coming from a few feet away, where M'tok's bed furs are laid out opposite mine.

  Holy shit. He's jerking it.

  He's jerking it and I'm just a few feet away. What the hell?

  I remain perfectly still in bed, both titillated and shocked. As he continues, I hear the sound of his hand shuttling over his cock—it has to be that—and I realize he's not trying to wake me up. He's trying to do this furtively and failing. Now that the snowstorm has quieted, all I can hear are the motions of his body, the slight rustle of his furs, and the sound of his hand moving up and down his thick cock.

  I swallow hard. My body's on fire at that visual image. Thanks to my cootie, everything that deals with M'tok sets my body ablaze. I completely understand his actions; after living with unfulfilled resonance for a month now, sometimes you just have to get relief, even if it's only for a few moments.

  I squeeze my thighs tightly together when his breath catches, and I realize I'm wet between my legs. No, I'm utterly soaked, and my pussy's throbbing with need.

  I don't want him. I don't. I hate the guy. He stole me. Drugged me. Been a dick to me since the day we met. Called me leatherface and squat. If he fell off of a cliff tomorrow I wouldn't be sad. But…I ache for him and I hate that so much. My hand slides down my stomach, under my furs, and into my leggings. I touch myself and bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. The need roaring through me is overwhelming, and my mind fills with thoughts of crossing the small distance between us and just attacking him.

  Just to get this endless hunger sated.

  But I'd hate myself for it. And I'd be stuck with him. So I rub my finger across my clit, letting pleasure ripple through my body. God, that feels so good. I picture him stroking his cock, M'tok biting his lip in his efforts to stay silent, even as his big fist moves up and down—

  "C'lie?" M'tok's breathing is ragged. Harsh. "Are you…awake?"

  I freeze. Inwardly I wince. I must have been breathing too hard. I couldn’t help it. Each slide of my fingertips over my clit made my entire body shudder. I’m utterly still now, though. I force myself to breathe evenly and keep my eyes closed, hoping he’ll get the hint.

  Just sleeping.

  Juuuuuust sleeping, nothing to see here. No hand between the legs, not at all.

  That same weird quiet falls in the cave again, and then M’tok gets back to work on his cock. Quietly.

  And when he’s done and heat is still humming through my body? I take care of myself.

  Quietly.

  11

  CALLIE

  The next day we leave the cave to head home, even though the weather is still nasty. The clouds are thick and dark overhead, but there's no snow falling. Instead, it's thick on the ground, at least a foot deeper than it was before. I can't see the suns through the thick cloud cover, so I have no idea which way is which.

  Luckily, M'tok seems to know. He grabs the pack I try to put on my shoulder and slings it over his arm. "Concentrate on walking," he says gruffly. "Let me know if you cannot keep up."

  "Oh, I'll keep up." I want to sass at him, but I decide against it. He's probably referring to the fact that my legs are short but…my legs ARE short and the snow is deep.

  So we walk.

  It's a little curious to me that we're cutting over the mountains and heading deeper into the stony reaches, but it has to be a shortcut. Maybe this is the way he took here. All I know is that the higher we go, the less thick the snowdrifts are, but the more difficult it is to find my footing. After a few hours of walking—okay, more like stumbling—M'tok slows down and offers me a hand. I don't want to take it, but I'm not stupid. I want to get home more than anything else, so I put my gloved hand in his and use his strength to haul myself through thick drifts and over steep cliffs.

  It's far more exhausting than I ever thought it would be. Some of the cliffs are so sheer as we head into the mountains that it's a wonder anyone wants to go hunting. "You go on these trails often?" I ask him, my breath huffing.

  "Often enough," comes the vague reply.

  When we cross over the next steep cliff and find an even steeper path leading upward, I pause, catching my breath. M'tok waits, watching me, and I'm chagrined to see I'm the only one out of breath. I gesture at the steep peak. "Why does it look like we're going uphill?"

  He shrugs. "Perhaps you are bad at directions?"

  "And you're positive this is the right way?"

  He nods again, then crouches to check my boots. "These are wet," he says reproachfully. "You should have said some
thing."

  "They're leather and I'm wading through snow. Of course they're wet."

  M'tok gives me a cranky look and stops, dropping one pack on the ground. He pulls out a fresh pair of boots—more like socks with leather lacings to keep them tight on your legs—and gestures for me to give him my foot. "Come."

  "You have extra boots?" I park a foot on his knee and watch as he expertly unlaces my soggy boot. My feet are cold, but I ignored it because there's nothing to be done. Focusing on the chill won't make them warmer, so I'm trying not to think of it at all. But when he strips off my boot and exposes my foot to the air, I shiver at how icy the breeze feels.

  "I have extra everything," M'tok says. He places his big hands around my foot, warming it with his strong fingers. "Just in case."

  "Well aren't you a boy scout."

  He gives me a quizzical look.

  "Not a scout that hunts boys," I say before he can ask. "It's just a thing back home. Guys that are always super prepared and stuff."

  "It is good to be prepared." And his hateful, wonderful hands rub lightly on my icy foot again. "Is this better?"

  It's heaven, but I don't want to say that. I keep my voice neutral, because this is a dick that has called me names since he met me and stole me. Oh, and drugged me. "Yup. Thanks."

  He ties the new boot onto my leg and then repeats the process for the other foot, warming it before putting the new shoe on. When he puts my other foot on the ground, I'm actually a little sad. It was nice to get a warm foot massage.

  "How are you holding up?" he asks. "I know this is a hard trail."

  I squint up at him. "You seem to be handling it fine."

  "I am a hard male." He gives me a thin smile.

  "Touché." I give him a finger gun and then shrug. "I'm holding up. Is it like this all the way back to camp?"

  "It might be. Do you want me to carry you?"

  "No." I pull away. I can just imagine how that will look. M'tok, heading back into camp with his female carried like a princess. Yeah, no thanks. I'd never hear the end of it from anyone.

  As we walk, my mind keeps turning over my interactions with M'tok.

  He's a dick…but he's also taken really good care of me. He's fussed over me, brought extra shoes so my feet wouldn't be cold, carries my pack, and does everything he can to ensure I'm comfortable.

  He drugged me, too. I can't forget that. But if it wasn't for that and the kidnapping, I'd say he's being nice. It's a hell of a lot to overlook, though, and given our checkered history, I can't just ignore it, any more than I can overlook him calling me “squat” or saying I had a leathery face.

  Just because he's nice to me right now doesn't mean he's forgiven.

  Even so…I think about last night and how he touched himself because he knew I didn't want him to touch me. And I think about the night before, when I'd been aching and needy and out of my mind on the drugs. He'd avoided looking at my body, tucked the blankets around me, and treated me like I was gold when he could have totally taken advantage of the situation.

  He's sending some seriously mixed messages.

  These thoughts occupy me as we walk, and the trails seem to get steeper and craggier, ice coating the rocks. "It really feels like we're going uphill," I point out to him.

  "We will be there soon," is all he says. "This is the right way."

  "You're sure?"

  "Just over the next cliff," he promises.

  Funny how the next cliff looks a bit more like oh, say, Everest than the craggy-but-shorter cliffs down by the beach. This has to be a shortcut of some kind, though. It makes sense that he'd take one while trying to steal me away. He'd want to get as much distance between us and the others as possible. Something about this journey is bugging me, though. I glance up at the sky again, and notice it's getting even darker. "Is it about to snow again?" I'm a little worried—the last thing I want is to be trapped on the side of an icy mountain as the blizzard kicks back up again.

  "No." He squeezes my gloved hand. "I will keep you safe."

  I have to believe that, because I know he wants to resonate with me. I guess it does him no good if I'm a frozen corpse. With that grim thought in my head, I continue climbing as he does.

  It's when it seems to get even darker still that I realize something.

  It's not going to storm.

  The suns are going down. It's getting colder, and we seem to be higher than ever before. In fact, if I had to guess, we've gone nothing but uphill this day. I pause for a moment and pull my hand from his, concerned.

  M'tok immediately moves to my side and takes one of the layered furs off of his shoulders and tucks it under my chin, making sure I stay warm.

  I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but I look down at the steep trail below us. We're definitely climbing the side of the mountain instead of heading down it. "Are you…sure this is a shortcut?" He hesitates, and I groan. "We're lost, aren't we?"

  "I will take care of you," M'tok promises, his expression utterly stone-faced.

  Fuck. I knew it.

  * * *

  It’s nearly pitch-black out when we find a promising outcropping on the side of the mountain that’s sheltered from the worst of the wind. I’m trembling with cold and M’tok takes all of his furs and wraps them around me, then makes me sit on his pack while he sets up a tent. It doesn’t look like enough to keep out the bitter chill, but I’m aching and tired and just ready for this awful day to end.

  The moment the tent is up, M’tok tugs me inside it and unrolls the sleeping furs. He insists that I get under all of them—both the ones he has for himself and the ones for me—and I shiver and tremble, watching as he makes a fire.

  I want to yell at him for being so clueless that he went the wrong direction. I want to smack him across the mouth for kidnapping me in this dumbass way in the first place. But he’s trying really hard and I’m so damn tired of all this nonsense that I can’t even work up a good temper. Instead, I start thinking about Steph’s advice and five things I’m grateful for.

  I wiggle my toes. I’m grateful for my dry boots. I’m grateful I get to sit under all these furs while M’tok struggles with the fire. I’m grateful he’s taking care of me, because I’m pretty sure if it was left to me, I’d just collapse in the furs and go right to sleep and say fuck it to everything else. I’m grateful that he hasn’t been pushing for sex. I’m grateful he’s been…almost nice.

  Almost. He still drugged me.

  But I keep thinking about the way he smoothed my hair back from my brow as he leaned over me that first night. How good it had felt to be touched. How badly I want more of it, like some sort of psychopath. Even though I hate the guy, I keep thinking about all the quick touches he’s given me and I hate that I want more. Not even sexual touches. Just…fingers brushing mine, or his hand on my foot. Stroking my hair. Small, human touches that make me feel loved and cared for even after all I’ve been through.

  I know he doesn’t love me. I think that’s what makes this whole cootie farce the most bitter situation of all—that I can have touching without affection—that it’s demanded of me—when all along I just want to feel loved and cherished.

  Now I sound like a sap.

  The fire crackles, small and weak, and M’tok immediately sets a tripod up over it. “I will make you tea,” he promises, ever busy. “That will warm your insides.”

  “Thanks,” I say through chattering teeth.

  He studies me, a hint of a frown on his hard face. “I do not like how cold you are, C’lie. Give me your hands and feet and I will warm them with my body.” He moves to sit next to me.

  My cootie immediately fires up at the thought of him touching me, and I shake my head. “No, M’tok, I’m good.”

  The look he gives me has a flash of impatience. His hands dig under the mountain of furs covering me until he finds one of my boots and slides his warm hand into it, brushing against my calf. “Do not be stubborn.”

  “What, like you?”

 
He scowls even as his hands knead my legs, warming them with a touch. “I am not stubborn.”

  You’re right, you’re just an asshole, I want to say, but I bite the words back. He’s trying. He’s trying really hard to make me comfortable…even though he kidnapped me. “I don’t understand you,” I say instead.

  “What is there to understand?” He presses his fingers against my legs and then shakes his head. “Put your hands inside my tunic to warm them. I will tuck your feet between my thighs. You will need to sit in my lap.”

  I protest, but it’s like arguing with an octopus. No matter how much I push at his hands, I’m tired and he’s much stronger than me. Before I know it, he has me parked in his lap and he strips my gloves off my hands, then shoves them under his tunic.

  Annnnd now I’m touching warm, rock-hard pectorals. They’re ever so slightly sweaty, and his skin feels soft for all that he’s covered in muscles. It’s like touching suede, and I deliberately don’t meet his eyes because I don’t want to see his expression.

  He doesn’t tuck my feet under his thighs, though. He puts his big hand on both of them and clasps them, warming them against his palm.

  “What about you?” I mumble as the wind whistles against the mountain and shakes the flaps of the tent.

  “I am warm,” he says, then laughs. “Well, no. My home on the island was warm. This is not warm at all. But it does not bother me nearly as much as it bothers you, so I am fine.” He leans in and nudges another chunk of fuel into the fire with his boot.

  So we’re both from warm places and having to cope with the new icy landscape. I feel that more than I should, and I almost smile. Almost. Instead, I chew my lip and listen to the hum of our needy khuis and the feel of his hard cock pressing against my hip. He’s ignoring them, even though he could overpower me—or drug me again—and I’d be helpless in his arms. But he never does. “I don’t understand you, M’tok. Why are you being nice to me? We hate each other.”

  “I do not hate you.” He sounds so genuinely surprised at my words that I look up and meet his gaze. He’s frowning down at me as if I’ve said something insane. “Why would you think I hate you?”