by Layla Harper
“No.” I squeeze her hand. “Not crazy. Never be afraid to share your thoughts with me, female. I value your opinion. But norns… Norns are skilled at manipulating our minds. Be wary of what you see and feel when one is nearby.”
“I know.” Kyra forces air out of her lips. “I know. And despite her stunt in the woods, I can’t shake the feeling. She’s mysterious. She has an agenda. She’s dangerous. She’s all of those things and more, yet I don’t have the same sense of dread in her presence like I did with the drows. Or the vampires. But you’re right, we have to watch out for her. I just thought you should know.”
I caress her cheek, reveling in any opportunity to touch my mate. “Thank you, female. You honor me with your insight.”
Kyra inhales sharply. “Um, yeah. We… we should probably move the door.”
I step closer, our bodies inches apart. My hand tangles in her wet hair. “Yes, we should.”
Her gaze drops to my lips.
The sweet scent of her arousal perfumes the air, heating my blood. My fingers tighten around her silky strands. “I want to taste you. I have dreamed of nothing else since the night we kissed.”
A breathy whisper escapes her. “I-I wouldn’t be opposed to… tasting.”
I bring my lips to her ear and inhale. “And if I want to do more than taste?” Her scent drives me wild.
“Oh God. You should really follow through with that impulse.”
I smile against her face and bring my lips to hers. “I plan to.”
A voice barks, echoing into the room and ripping us apart. Kyra jerks at the sound, her back banging against the battered door.
I swear to Ulda, I will kill the male on the other side of this wall.
Stretching a hand over Kyra’s head, I catch the door, preventing the blasted thing from toppling onto my mate.
“I can walk on my own, you vile creature.”
Gauron.
“Oh, you’re walking?” a female replies. “For a minute, I thought you were demonstrating the clumsy gait of a terrestrial chelonian. Silly me.” Derision laces her dulcet tone. “Proceed.”
Gauron’s reply is an angry growl.
I sigh and gesture to the left. Kyra moves away from the blocked doorway. I lift the splintered wood and set it to the right of the frame.
Chest heaving, my second stands on the other side of the threshold, his left arm casually held against his torso.
“My king.” He nods. His gaze darts to Kyra and back, settling heavily on my face. “About time you arrived.”
“The room is warded.” The voice belongs to a white-haired norn standing behind him. “You won’t be able to cross the threshold. Of course, if you don’t believe me”—she flips a hand at the door—“then by all means, see for yourself.”
This female is a member of the triad who overtook us in the woods. She is the one who dared to press her blade to my mate’s neck.
A growl reverberates through the room. This time, mine.
Gauron glances over his shoulder. “Be gone, norn, before I lose my temper and let my king rip you apart. A job I should have completed this morning. With delight.”
The female laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself, orc. I’d have cut you at the knees before you could free your sword from its sheath.”
My second’s smirk is deadly. “Pick the time and place, norn. I am more than happy to oblige.”
“Silly male.” The norn shakes her head and lifts her eerie pale eyes to Kyra. “Human, only you can grant permission to those of us wishing to cross this threshold. But be forewarned: once access is granted, it cannot be revoked. Will you allow both me and this stubborn male to pass?”
“Gauron, yes,” Kyra says, waving him over. “I’m not so sure about you.”
The corner of my mouth lifts, pride swelling in my chest at my mate’s boldness.
While the norn watches on, Gauron strides confidently into the chamber, unaffected by the ward’s magic. The linen bandages wrapped around his torso are the last vestige of the Baobhan Sith attack that nearly killed him. He appears healthy, but if the subtle twitch of his upper lip is any indication, my friend is in more pain than he’s letting on.
A grunt from the hall draws our attention back to the doorway. Coming into view from beside the norn, another female peers inside the room. Her dark stare sweeps across the chamber. Black swirls mar the left side of her neck in a coiled pattern reaching her jaw.
Rowena’s wizard.
Finger’s splayed, she lifts her arms.
The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. I jump in front of Kyra, dagger gripped tightly.
The wizard’s hands move, her small fingers forming patterns in the air.
The white-haired norm studies the movements. “Very well.” She pauses. “Yes, yes,” she groans. “Soon.”
The dark-eyed girl shakes her head and points a finger to the floor.
Rolling her eyes, the norn says, “You are no fun, Ilearis.”
Ilearis shrugs but points again. Both she and the norn glance at Kyra.
My hackles rise.
“When have I gone back on my word?” the norn tells the girl. “Hmm?”
The wizard nods. She pins Kyra with another long stare.
The skin on my arms pebbles.
Magic.
Kyra grips my bicep. “It’s so hot in here. Why is it so hot in here?”
I block my mate from the wizard’s view. I will kill anyone who threatens her life. “You are not welcome here.”
Wearing an eerily blank expression, the girl lifts her brown gaze to mine and assesses me with a lethal intensity that leaves me cold.
“Rowena has prepared a room where you can discuss your options,” the white-haired norn announces. “Her words, not mine. She also asks that you reconsider her request. And don’t be a dick about it, orc.” She pivots, giving me her back, and threads her arm through the wizard’s. “Now those are my words, not hers.” She throws a smile over her shoulder and saunters out of view, taking the wizard with her.
“I hate norns,” Gauron growls. “That one especially.”
I grunt in agreement.
Kyra’s grip against my arm goes lax. “Not feeling so good.”
I spin around in time to catch my mate before her body hits the floor.
Chapter Six
Kyra
What is that amazing smell?
Inhaling deeply, I press my nose closer to the source.
Mmhmm.
Better than fresh baked cookies.
Or apple pie.
I want to immerse myself completely in the scent with the zest of a dog rolling around on a newly cut lawn.
A voice murmurs, the sound distant, originating from somewhere to my left. As if in response, a growl resonates, reverberating against my skin. And then that awesome smell intensifies, cocooning my body in a perfumed mist.
Sighing in pleasure, I snuggle against my scented pillow.
No, not a pillow.
A body. A hard and hot body pressed firmly against my side.
Rogar?
Holy shit. Rogar.
My eyelids snap open. At the sight of him, heat inflames my cheeks.
“I passed out, didn’t I?”
What the hell?
I rarely get sick, and I’ve never—in nearly twenty-two years—lost consciousness before. Okay, maybe a few times due to exhaustion thanks to a long shift at the bar. But in those instances, I’d driven home, walked to my dorm, and then collapsed onto my bed. I’ve never passed out because I’d become faint, excessively hot, or nauseous.
And yet, since crossing into Alfhemir, it’s happened twice.
Twice!
The inferno that had seeped beneath my skin earlier is completely gone. In its place is another kind of heat. One totally related to the orc whose body is doing all kinds of crazy things to my libido.
“Um, you can put me down.” I try to ignore the throaty wobble I hear in my voice.
Rogar doesn’t m
ove, completely focused on something stationed on the other side of the chamber.
I turn my head and find Gauron staring, his face pinched, and his injured body coiled in… anticipation?
Anticipation of what?
Despite the distance, there is no mistaking the tension emanating from his body. All of it directed at…
Me?
I suddenly feel like the poor sap who happens to stop before a suspicious package left in front of a municipal building at the exact moment a group of bystanders round the street corner and gasp.
“Ah, so what did I miss?” When neither male responds, I attempt to wiggle out of Rogar’s hold. Which turns to glue. I let out a frustrated breath. “Will you knock it off?”
Rogar’s gaze shifts from Gauron to me. His eyes are blazing, literally glowing, and for a second, fear slams into my throat. I don’t see the Rogar I’ve gotten to know and really, really, like. In his place is a creature ruled by instinct and aggression.
I forget to breathe.
He blinks and slowly shakes his head. The haze clears from his eyes, the hard, animalistic expression morphing into one of confusion.
And… fear?
Did my swoon trigger a fae reaction to perceived danger? Is that why Gauron’s acting all weird as well?
I squeeze Rogar’s arm. “Hey, I’m not sure why I lost consciousness, but I’m fine now. See?” I smile. Or attempt to smile. My lips stick to my dry gums. “See? I’m good.”
With a clipped nod, Rogar grunts and gently lowers me to the ground. Once he’s sure I’m not going to fall on my face, he releases my hips.
Meanwhile, his second remains unmoving, but the tension seems to ease from his body. Not the hard amber stare though. Nope. Those odd nonhuman orbs are completely fixated on me.
“Well,” I begin, “that was really weird. Never happened to me before, except for that one time in the woods when we were overtaken by the norns, but I just assumed they used magic to knock us out. They did, didn’t they?”
Gauron’s stare jumps to Rogar. “Magic?”
Rogar shakes his head. “The wizard. I felt her magic release into the chamber.” He glances at Gauron, then looks away, his face reddening.
He’s blushing?
That can’t be right. I’ve got to be imagining things.
“The female with the dark marks on her neck is a wizard?” Gauron asks. By the tone of his voice, you would think Rogar just told him I’m the queen of faerie and he’s nothing but a lowly peasant.
Rogar grunts what sounds like a “Yes.”
Shaking off the strange occurrence, I cross my arms and disagree. “I started feeling feverish before the girl appeared at the door. Yes, it worsened with her here, but…”
His attention roams, landing everywhere but on me or his friend.
“That female was standing near this door when I arrived.” Gauron thumbs the fractured wood, then takes cautious steps forward, halting several feet before me. The bruises on his face have healed to discolored patches of skin in various shades of yellow. “Neither female looked surprised to find the other loitering in the hallway outside this room.”
Behind me, I sense Rogar’s body tense.
“You think…” I pause and try to sort through my dealings with Ilearis. True, I’d been zapped by a strange jolt of energy when she’d accompanied me to this room, but I don’t remember feeling hot or nauseous then, nor did I when she’d unleashed her magic at Aelinor. Of course, at the time I’d been too out of my mind with fear to feel anything but shock and terror. “You think I suffered a physical response to her magic? Did either of you feel anything?”
Gauron shrugs. Rogar doesn’t respond, and worse, he continues to avoid direct eye contact, which only revs my curiosity further.
“So… about that elephant in the room. Which one of you is going to explain the tension I’m feeling? You?” I clock Gauron, then Rogar, with my “don’t mess with me” glare.
It lands flat without gaining its intended result.
Okaay. Scrap the badass stare. It doesn’t seem to have the same effect here as it does back home. Which should tell me something about my chances of surviving Alfhemir alone.
I decide to worry about getting to the portal after I deal with whatever Rogar’s hiding. “Seriously? You’re both going to stand there and pretend there’s nothing going on? I know it pertains to me, so talk.”
“Rowena’s spies live within the mortar of these walls.” Rogar’s tone is smooth and casual with barely a hint of emotion which is in complete contrast to the rolling turbulence radiating from his body. “Now is not the time, female.”
He’s got a point, yet it didn’t stop him from asking about the norn’s defenses ten minutes ago. Swinging his attention to Gauron, he forges a chunk of that blazing aggression into a look of steel. “We free Aelinor. Now.”
The “Now” is said loud enough to inform those mortar spies of his intentions.
“Agreed,” Gauron says stiffly. “What of Rowena’s request for an audience?”
Rogar’s lips curl into a snarl. “The witch will receive her due.”
And then some, the ensuing silence telegraphs.
“Okeydokey. I’m getting dizzy from all this testosterone.” I head to the door. “Aelinor is this way.”
“No.” Rogar grabs my hand. His fingers curl around my wrist, gentle but firm in their possession. “I will lead.”
His gaze drops to my feet.
My very bare feet.
Those red orbs travel up my body, the path agonizingly slow, triggering my heart to swan dive to my naked toesies.
A throat clears behind me.
I come to my senses. “Shoes. Right. I need shoes.”
Sprinting across the floor, I spot my discarded boots, one lying on its side near the foot of the tub and the other poking out from between the chair’s legs. Dropping onto the cushion, I clutch the leather shaft and shove my foot inside, lacing the ties with clumsy fingers.
The second boot goes on with less effort. Soft fur tickles the pad of my foot, making me wish I had socks. I mean, who in their right mind wears boots without socks? Feet sweat, right? It’s almost as bad as wearing socks with sandals in the summer. Gross. But hey, when in Faerie, a girl must adapt.
Back at the door, Rogar throws the musty cloak over my shoulders, taking meticulous care with the clasp. At this proximity, I’m overwhelmed by his sheer size. His scent. The latent power hidden beneath his gentle hands. Everything about this male excites me and steals my senses.
I coax my lungs to work, keeping my eyes level with his collarbone, trying my damnedest to not ogle the bronze flesh exposed by the opening of his shirt.
I fail miserably.
My mind flicks to the other night. The night I’d had my brazen hands all over his bare chest. The night I’d felt those sexy muscles rippling, responding to my touch. My kiss. My body. And if the messenger owl hadn’t arrived when it did…
Rogar’s hands freeze over the clasp. His gaze falls to my face, hot and heavy and loaded with promise. A rumble purrs from his throat.
Did he just… growl?
And then it hits me. My lady parts are gleefully diffusing my loose pheromones into the air in the vicinity of beings with superhero-style olfactory functioning.
How embarrassing.
I train my eyes on his collar and try to avoid my snickering conscience. Now who’s avoiding eye contact, missy?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shoot me.
Who knew a little orc skin could scramble my brain?
Rogar meticulously resumes his task, and once satisfied I’m properly secured, he moves his hands to my shoulders and repositions my body behind him so I’m caught between his back and Gauron, who’d taken up the rear of our little three-person parade.
I let out a breath, grateful for the reprieve from the heat in his eyes but also slightly frustrated. Yeah, I’m human. So what? That doesn’t make me incapable of escorting two brawny warriors down a freaking hallway.
On principle alone, I’m tempted to step to the front of the line and take charge.
But then that would be my pride talking.
I’m smarter than that.
The ward’s magic stings my skin as we cross the threshold, avoiding the neat pile of clothes Rowena left at the door. “Just so you know, neither of you would survive a day in my world,” I grumble.
As if on cue, both males snort in unison.
I laugh. “Ah, so now you bury the hatchet. At my expense. Thanks, guys.”
I get no reaction from the orc king, but his second’s chuckle more than makes up for his lack of reaction.
Stone walls crowd us on each side of the long hall, the space far narrower than I recall. I peer around Rogar’s left arm because I can’t see over his shoulder. “Aelinor’s room is the last door on the right.”
Several feet before the door, Rogar raises a fist in the air, signaling our halt. He motions for me to stay where I am and moves to the door. Jiggling the door handle wields no luck. He shoves his shoulder against the wood. Once. Twice. Three times.
“It’s warded. Brute force will get you nowhere, Rogar, king of the orcs.” Rowena stands near what I’m assuming is the manor’s exit. Gerd, the troll, looms behind her.
Before I can register movement, Rogar is at her side, hand around her neck, snarling and pressing her body against the stone wall.
“No.” Rowena snaps out her hand in time to stop the troll from breaking Rogar’s neck.
The creature jerks back, stepping into the shadows of the vestibule, his gray irises slithering from Rogar to Gauron as he pulls his lips back to bare sharp teeth in warning.
Rogar swings his head to Gauron. “Take her. Now.”
“And where would you have me go?” I ask. This place is probably flooded with fae who’d love nothing more than to hand me over to the Wild Hunt. Besides, I’m not leaving him with Rowena in his current state.
“Don’t argue,” Gauron whispers behind me. “He won’t risk your safety. Best if you listen. Let him do what he needs to do.”
“Your human is safe here,” the norn croaks.
