by Layla Harper
This does not fit my aunt’s rule. She is methodical, yes, but to isolate herself from the courts without cause? “You are certain?”
“Our spies have not been able to infiltrate the border.” She rises from the table. “I have delivered enough bad news for one briefing. You look tired, King Rogar. Seek your bed. The world will be here tomorrow when you wake.”
She bids me goodbye with a slight tilt of her head, but then stops by my chair. “Know that the Kingdom of Forvarra is indebted to you. We misjudged you. All of us. Your actions, your faith in our honor, have set these prejudices to light. As your ally, we will stand by your efforts to right the wrongs of our ancestors. Whatever the cost.”
Acceptance.
It is what I have worked so hard to attain for Drengskador.
“One final thing. As of late, we have received reports of strange happenings at the palace. The queen has not been sighted in months, and there are rumors the Hunt is no longer led by the venerate Waur, High Chief and Warlord of the United Courts. Instead, we are told the post now lies in the hands of a nameless general of reputed fame hailing from the outer realms. I do not think our chance encounter with two night realm hunters today was a coincidence.”
I press my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets and then release. “Your concerns are duly noted.”
“If you have an alternative plan for returning your human, I would suggest you take it. If our intelligence is accurate, the high queen is no longer your ally.”
I do not hear the door click when she leaves.
Chapter Twelve
Kyra
“Open your mouth.”
I stretch my jaw. “Like this?”
“Wider,” my little violet-eyed companion prompts.
“Ike ich?” Man, it’s hard to enunciate when your lips are pulled tighter than a bow string.
Ara gasps and elbows the dark-skinned boy sitting beside her, who is also gaping into the depths of my mouth. “Haman, it’s pink and not forked like yours.”
As if to confirm that fact, a slim blue tongue extrudes from the boy’s mouth, curling up toward his nose. And sure enough, it’s forked.
The tongue disappears.
“Can you do that?” he asks.
I stick mine out as far as humanly possible, lips peeled back. “Uck ich?”
Haman’s mouth widens. He elbows Ara. “No fangs. Short tongue. What does she eat?”
My cheeks are starting to cramp.
The boy’s question throws Ara into another fit of inspections. “With her blunt teeth,” she says in a very serious voice, “I think plants. Probably fruit. Nuts.”
“Eww.” The boy’s lips curl with disgust. “Like spinacla? I hate spinacla.”
“Me too,” Ara groans.
If spinacla is anything like spinach, then count me three.
The two fall back on their haunches, laughing, heads almost touching.
“Ara, Haman,” Sersha calls. “It’s not polite to analyze the eating habits of others. You know this.”
The children look adorably guilty.
“It’s okay. They’re just curious about me.” I stretch my mouth, then rub my cheeks vigorously. “No harm, no foul. Although, they might be irrevocably scarred by my very small tongue.”
“Did it hurt when they cut them?” Ara asks.
My tongue? “Cut what, honey?”
She touches the pointy tip of her ear.
“Oh. Well, not really. See, we’re born like this.” I use my finger to slightly bend the cartilage of my outer ear, then flick my earlobe. “Except for the piercing. These we normally do at a young age to wear jewelry we call earrings.”
“We know what that is,” she says.
“You’re not very strong, are you?” Haman notes.
“No, I suppose I’m not,” I reply.
They stare at me perplexed, like I’m a mystery they’ve yet to solve.
Sersha taps the tops of their heads. “It’s time for repose. To your beds, you two. Tomorrow you may continue your questions and examinations if”—Ara and Haman’s expressions freeze—“our guest agrees.”
“I do.”
Excitement flares in the children’s faces.
“Very well.” The shadow of a smile hovers over Sersha’s lips. “Find your beds.”
Ara and Haman race to the other side of the room and hop onto a mattress abutting the far wall. The tower’s second floor was converted into a nursery of sorts. Blankets, clothing, or anything resembling bedding were confiscated, cleaned or shaken, and then repurposed into mattresses spread across the room, large enough to fit two, three, maybe four to a bed. And thanks to Princess Daenestra’s war mages, the floors are warm, providing the Lithyrians with another layer of comfort.
After watching the children scramble to yet another mattress, Sersha turns to me. “Young fae are highly manipulative. If they ask for a lock of your hair, say no.”
“Gotcha. No hair or bodily fluids.” I get up from the floor, my knees cracking as my stiff legs straighten. “Oh, and be on guard for mind control. Sounds doable.”
“You jest, or I think you jest. Are all humans this odd?” She swats the thought away with a wave of her hand. “I deceive you not. Those two will grow into formidable fae.” She scans the room, narrows her eye at one particular unruly teen until he returns a leather-looking dome thing to his neighbor, and, when she’s satisfied all is well, returns to our discussion. “The wards have been fortified. We’re safe for tonight. We have winter’s promise to assist us to Drengskador.”
Wow. “That’s great news. I’m so happy to hear it.”
“Now, go.” She motions to the stairwell. “I assume your kind sleep, yes?”
I laugh. “Yeah. We’re silly when we don’t get enough.”
“Ah, that explains a few things. I should warn you. Now that you’ve given Ara and Haman permission to scrutinize your physical form, they’ll attach to you like a parasitic appendage.”
“Is that a thing?” I shudder at the visual.
Ursa—aka the shy norn, since she isn’t as talkative as the other two—interrupts our conversation and pulls Sersha aside.
I take a few steps back to allow them privacy. Except for a few cordial glances here and there, Ursa and I have never spoken. She spent the majority of the drow attack keeping the kids calm in the underground chamber. Afterward, she worked tirelessly tending to the wounded on the first floor. I’m assuming that’s where she was last. Having a bit of healing magic makes her skills invaluable to the Lithyrians. Apparently she’d been the one to heal Gauron’s injuries this morning.
Was it only this morning?
Seems like a lifetime ago.
A whimper silences the chatter in the room. Sersha falls into Ursa’s embrace.
Oh no. Gerd.
My hand rises to my mouth. Grief-stricken, the norns depart, holding on to each other until they reach the stairs. In this moment, death has erased the boundaries between our worlds. To my eyes, they’re no different than two human women grieving over the passing of a loved one.
I hurry up the stairs, squeezing back a sob, the emotions I’d battled all day bubbling to the surface. Horror. Fear. Culpability. Everything I’d foolishly attempted to stuff and swallow and forget.
A short corridor leads to several rooms. Sersha had told me sleeping here, three floors above everyone else, was a precaution. Now it’s a blessing.
I enter the last room on my right. The chamber is small, probably designed to be a closet or a dressing room, although I suppose a dressing room or closet built for a fae queen and her family would be palatial. Maybe at one time these were servant quarters instead.
There’s a pallet on the floor with plush bedding, the material so very different from the worn threads used to cushion the Lithyrians below.
Guilt releases another lash.
I’m so out of my element. If I were home, I’d throw on my sneakers and go for a hard run, letting my feet and lungs beat the anxiety from
my body.
But here?
I’m stuck.
Here, I’m forced to face feelings I don’t want to feel. I knew eventually my screwed-up coping mechanisms would catch up with me. I just figured I’d have a few years before they finally did.
Facing the cold wall, I curl onto my side, squeeze my eyes shut, and ignore the tears sliding down my cheeks.
* * *
I sense Rogar the moment he enters the chamber, an awareness that blankets my body in tense anticipation. I keep my eyes closed, my hands tucked beneath my cheek, but my pulse surges and winds my heart like an old wristwatch.
His movements are quiet. A muted rustle. A soft thud. The pallet creaks and his weight settles into the mattress followed by a tired-sounding sigh.
Then nothing.
Fighting to keep my breaths steady, I inhale through my nose and force the air out of my mouth while the erratic boom boom boom of the organ rattling in my chest raids my ears.
He slides in behind me, his heat filling the space between our bodies.
Another minute ticks by. And then another. His scent washes over me, drowning my senses in its intoxicating allure.
“Female, I know you are awake.”
That voice.
That stupid orc hearing.
I glance over my shoulder, instantly caught in the beam of those all-too-knowing orbs. He looks exhausted. For once, I’m completely out of words. I steel my gaze back to the wall.
He doesn’t say anything. Then I hear him breathe in.
“You have not witnessed war?”
“No.”
“Is there no bloodshed on Earth?”
“There is. Many countries—kingdoms—are war torn. Just not mine.”
The gap between us evaporates. Huge arms wrap around my body, pulling my back flush to his chest. His chin settles against the top of my head. “I am sorry I could not shield you from the carnage.”
I swallow.
“We have much to discuss, but it will wait.”
If I attempt to talk now, all he’ll hear is a jumble of sobs and sniffles.
“Have you eaten?”
I shake my head. After my bath—my second bath—I’d tried, but I’d been too anxious to eat much of anything. There’s an untouched tray of food on the floor against the wall. Someone took the time to arrange berries, nuts, bread, cheese, and a water skin.
Gently, Rogar lifts his arm and brushes a few strands of loose hair off my face. He presses his lips to my head, and the tender kiss he deposits breaks something inside me.
The tears come hard.
He groans. The bed shifts, and the next thing I know, he’s scooping me into his arms, cradling me tightly against his chest.
“Do not cry, my precious càirdeil. Your tears are swords to my heart.” His warm breath fans over my hair. “If I could, I would gladly bear your pain. What can I do? Whatever it is, say it and it is yours.” He rains more kisses on my scalp, stroking my face, my arms, my back.
I cry harder. Big ugly sobs I can’t control.
Geez.
“Shh, female. I will find your portal. You will return home. This promise I make you.”
What’s wrong with me? I’m not a crier. I’m normally a “suck it up, buttercup, tears accomplish nothing” kind of girl. Now I’ve been relegated to this half-wit, sobbing-mess version of me.
God, I’m tired.
When the tears run their course, I expel a ragged breath, swipe my cheek, my nose, Rogar’s tear-soaked shirt, and push off his lap.
He resists.
“You can let me go now. I’m pretty sure I’m no longer possessed.”
His chest shakes, the laugh rumbling softly in the quiet of the chamber. “And what if I like you here, on my lap, curled tightly against my chest where I can keep you out of trouble, eh?”
I think I like it. Maybe too much. “I wouldn’t complain. You’re like a furnace. Who needs blankets with you around?”
This time his laugh is hearty and full of mirth. He tightens his hold around my waist, which effectively kills my escape attempt, and presses his back against the wall. His long hair is loose, slightly damp, and caught behind his shoulders. He cocks his head and fastens those intense eyes on mine. “You may rest easier knowing the Lithyrians are safe. I have offered them asylum.”
“You have?”
“I have.” He lifts his hand and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “The winter court has agreed to assist us. We will formalize plans tomorrow. I will hold true to my word, female. You need not worry.”
I force a nod.
“Now,” he says, moving us both from the wall, “we sleep.”
We?
He releases me.
I quickly crawl off his lap to settle on the left side of the bed. Rogar stretches seven feet of solid orc muscle onto the mattress beside me, scooting down until we’re face-to-face, me flat on my side with hands under my cheek and him with his upper body slightly raised on a brawny elbow, his gorgeous face cradled against his fist.
He reaches for my temple, his touch gentle, branding my skin. The tip of his finger runs a leisurely path down the side of my face, over my cheekbone and jaw until he reaches the erratic pulse beating against my neck. But he doesn’t stop there. He brushes my lips, and the look in his eyes…
Hot.
Ravenous.
Intense.
A look that says, “If I let go, I’ll devour you.”
“I wish to—” Rogar sucks in a breath.
I grab his face between my hands and kiss him, surrendering to his taste, the heat of his mouth, the smooth feel of his lips moving against mine as he meets my ardor.
He takes command, molding me to his will, leading the dance with his tongue, his oh-so-talented tongue that ignites flames in a body that just a few moments ago shivered with cold emptiness and sorrow.
Now every stroke sparks a sensual maelstrom that makes me crave more, leaving me a throbbing jumble of nerves. His to string. His to tune. His to strum. He rolls me onto my back, the hard weight of his body anchoring me in place.
I fold my knees back and let his hips wedge between my legs. Like the wanton I become when he’s around, I grind against him, curling my fingers into his shirt, moaning into his kiss. He brings out the wild in me, the crazy, the primitive part that just wants to touch and feel and taste and bite.
The part that’s arching into his hands when he rubs my breast through the flimsy fabric keeping my naked skin from the heat of his hands. The friction isn’t enough. I want flesh to flesh. I want to feel the smoldering heat that ripples off the planes of his body when he sinks into mine.
My hands shoot for the belt around his waist with every intention of stripping away the barriers keeping me from the hard muscle poking through his leather pants.
He stops me. A sound rumbles from his throat, part chuckle, part growl, before he clasps my wrists and locks them above my head. Abandoning my mouth, those luscious lips travel to my neck, sucking and nipping flesh that suddenly springs a direct link to the pulsing vortex between my legs, and when his scent hits…
Fuck.
I’m writhing uncontrollably. How can one guy smell so freaking irresistible?
He shoves my tunic over my breasts. I rejoice in the fact that I’ve lost my modern underwear, leaving me completely naked under the fae clothing. His calloused palm awakens erogenous zones I didn’t know existed. And when he catches my nipple between the pads of his roughened fingers, a moan rips from my throat.
“I want to touch you.” His breath comes in hard, short blows against my skin. “I want to taste every part of you.”
That last phrase ends in a growl.
So hot.
I fist my hands in his hair and kiss him hard. He tears his mouth away, a hint of fang peeking through his lips, and drops his head to my breast. Wet heat surrounds my nipple. Rogar sucks, teases, and works both sides with his magic tongue while his big hands caress my back, sliding over my hips to squeeze m
y ass, then drop lower, dangerously close to my opening.
My heart races, my brain running to keep up because of where I think—I know—this is heading. Why does it feel so right? Like the orc male worshipping every inch of my body belongs here, with me, like this.
For always.
When his hands shift, moving to my inner thigh, all thought evaporates. Air hitches in my throat, and I tense. Every muscle focuses on the slow trek his hand takes to my folds, slipping inside to find my engorged clit. Then rubbing, stroking, thrusting inside me, the rhythmic friction building and building and building, wrecking me from the inside out until I explode.
He swallows my scream with his mouth, kissing me as my body soars, lost in the stratosphere. I haven’t had loads of sexual experience, but I thought I knew pleasure. I thought wrong. This was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. And it was just his hand between my legs. What if it were his mouth?
Or his cock?
I want him there, now, riding me senseless.
When my heart starts to slow, he lifts his head and affectionately shoves a few damp strands of hair from my face.
“That was… wow.”
A purely predatory glint sparks in those crimson eyes, sending a jolt of desire to my nether regions. I cup his face and kiss him with all the emotion welling up inside me, then whisper, “I want to touch you, Now. It’s my turn to play.”
His eyes go warm, and he holds my gaze for an eternity before a slow smile takes hold. “You will. But not now.”
What?
A quick kiss to the tip of my nose, and then he’s off me, rolling behind me, spooning my back. In this position, there’s no missing the hard bulge pressed against my ass.
“Rogar—”
“Shh, female.” He nips my ear and tucks me tighter against his chest. “Tonight I wish only to give you comfort. No more.” He rubs his nose along the outside of my ear. “Did I succeed?”
My face heats. Boy, did he ever.
“Um, yeah. You get an A-plus for effort. I’ve never been so well comforted in all my life.”
He chuckles, his breath sweeping over my head. “This pleases me, female. This pleases me very much. Now sleep. Your orc king needs his rest, and he will not do so if his lovely càirdeil keeps squirming against his cock.”
