Ice Planet Barbarians (Ice Planet Barbarians, #1)(25)

“Cookh?” she asks and points at the kill slung at my belt. “Cookhnao?”

“Cookkh?” I repeat, holding the quilled beast up for her to see. “Is that what you call it? Cookh?”

“Eeeht,” she says and smiles up at me, her small teeth gleaming. She points at the beast, then at the fire. “Cookhden eeht plis.”

Ah. Instructions. I point at the fire. “Cookh?”

“Wellthassfire ifyewont tewget teknikal butyess.” She nods. “Cookh.”

Even though it goes against every instinct I have, I do as she asks. I skin the animal and skewer tasty bits on one of my bone knives, and she holds them up to the fire and then eats one with happy smacking noises. She exclaims over each bite, and by the time the food is gone, her eyes are getting drowsy and content.

I’m content, too. We’ve stopped early, but Georgie is warm and safe and fed.

I explain to her with hand signals that I must collect more wood and set traps for more food. She is to stay in the cave and keep the fire going and rest. She looks uneasy but nods, and I leave her with my bone knife and water skin.

I hurry through the gathering, finding dvisti dung instead of wood. I have no axe with me, and this far up the mountain, the trees are stunted. I set snares for more quilled beasts and the scythe-beak birds. Dvisti are the best eating, but Georgie seems determined to go up the mountain and we cannot carry so much meat. If she were another sa-khui, it would be easy, but my Georgie is delicate and not nearly as strong as our weakest warrior.

I return to the cave near dark to find Georgie sound asleep, curled up in the blankets, knife in hand. The fire is banked to coals, and her hair has dried into shiny, golden-brown curls that are lovely to see.

They’re almost as lovely as the soft smile she gives me when she wakes up. She sits up in the nest of blankets and gives me a sleepy look. “Mountain?”

I shake my head and set down the fire supplies off to one side in the cave. There’s a fierce snowstorm outside, and the drifts we must wade through to go up the mountain are getting deeper by the moment. I pull back the hide door to show her the snow, and she looks crestfallen.

“Tomorrow, we will go to the mountain,” I tell her. I’m not sure why she is desperate to go, but it must mean something to her. I gesture with my hands, trying to explain that we will go when the sun rises again and the storms stop. Eventually, I just settle for soon.

“Soon,” she echoes and gives me a smile. She seems satisfied with my answer.

The day is going to be a long one. The suns would still be high in the sky if they were out, and we are snowed in, tucked away against the bitter cold. Georgie cannot withstand it like I can, and having her with me slows me down. I would not trade her presence for the finest hunting, but I must acknowledge that having my mate with me means I must make different choices than I would if I was alone. Caring for her has now taken priority.

The thought of being with her all day feels like a gift.

She gestures at the fire and says my word for fire.

“Yes, fire.”

“Fire,” she repeats. Then she grabs a handful of the furs she is sitting on and gives me a questioning look.

“Furs.”

“Furs,” she echoes. The words sound funny in her mouth, as if she has a hard time making the rumbling throat noises that I do. But I’m pleased she wants to learn how to communicate with me. For the next while, we name off things that are easily pointed at, and Georgie tries to pronounce them. Then, she goes back and repeats them in different orders each time, trying to learn the words.

Eventually, we run out of things to name in the cave and proceed to bodies. She pats her curly, disheveled locks.

“Hair,” I say automatically, amused that she immediately starts finger-combing her tresses. I will make her a bone comb when we return to my home cave.

“Hair,” she grumbles, giving up on the tangles. Then she leans toward me and pats my mane. “Hair?”

“Hair,” I agree.

Her fingers move to my horns, and she lightly skims one. “Whazzis?”

“Horns,” I tell her. I scarcely dare to breathe as she traces along it. Though my horns do not have much feeling, her breasts are close to my face and the scent of her arouses me, as does her fascinated touch. I long to grab her and pull her against me. Instead, I clench my fists and force myself to remain unmoving.

“Whazzis?” she asks again, and her fingers brush over my forehead, the bony ridges there, and then my nose.

“Face?” I don’t understand what she’s asking. I touch her cheek. “Face, like yours.”

But she gives a small head shake and rubs one of the ridges with a small fingertip. It makes my cock leap to attention, and now I’m fully erect and aching, my pulse pounding directly in my groin. Her fingers touch the ridges along my nose, and then over my brows, and then brush over my heart. “Slikeharmr?”

“It’s just skin,” I tell her. Hers is smooth all over, while mine has texture in certain places. Her funny, flat brow and tiny nose look odd to me, and her comment makes me think that perhaps I look strange to her.

Her fingers trail down my chest a bit more, and she keeps touching me with soft, ticklish brushes of her fingertips. My khui vibrates with need, and I have to close my eyes to brace myself. I’m going to burst across her hand if she reaches any lower, so I grab her hand before she can keep exploring.