by Layla Harper
“We can always camp in the forest,” I suggest.
Rogar tenses behind me. “The temperature is dropping. The forest is not suitable for repose.”
Or my human ass. The amulet around my neck might make me appear fae, but I’m still 100 percent human, which makes me susceptible to frailties the fae don’t have to worry about. Like below-freezing temperatures.
Lorien guides his horse to the forefront and moves toward the town. Rogar brings us to a stop at the town’s perimeter. Gauron and Sersha flank us while Aelinor, Rowena, and Ilearis redirect their horses directly behind the line we form.
The village has four main buildings, with five or six smaller structures lining either side of a dirt area closer to the center of the town. At the first building, Lorien dismounts and begins climbing the wooden steps leading to a covered porch. The door opens before he can raise his arm. A tall man emerges from the store, elvish-looking with brown hair plaited in thick braids. Dark leather pants wrap around muscular legs, matching the apron tied at his waist. He slants his head at Lorien.
The elf captain stays at the top of the steps and gives the fae male a slight bow. A few seconds later, the male glances in our direction. His gaze jumps from the norns to Rogar, Gauron, Aelinor, and then me. His mouth moves. He glances in our direction one more time, then takes a step back into the room.
Another dead end.
Rogar dismounts.
Lorien gives the fae male a stiff nod and descends the stairs. He grabs his horse’s reins and makes his way back to us, taking long strides over the dusty road.
“They’ve rooms,” he says when he reaches Rogar. “The cost is far more than what they’re worth.”
“Pay it,” Rogar answers.
“As you wish.” Lorien leads us back into the village.
A few heads poke from windows and doors. I have no sense of time, but from the lack of activity, I’m assuming it’s late. He takes us past the first building to a larger one three doors down on our left. A wooden sign above our heads creaks on rusty hinges. The Ole Slugs and Ale Tavern.
My stomach riots. “We’re eating here?”
The doors swing open and a body flies down the stairs, landing with a thud on the dirt.
“I’ve told you once,” a voice bellows from the doorway. Light filters around a body that has to be Rogar’s size. “I’ve told you twice. Your mouth is not welcome here.”
The body on the ground crawls to its knees, sways, and then shuffles to its feet. The male, a stocky, green-skinned dwarf, stabs—or attempts to stab—a finger in the air that I’m assuming he meant to point at the door, but instead his hand wavers in front of his face. He mumbles something I can’t understand.
“Go home, Zed. That’s where you belong. Not here harassing my mate.” The bellowing male takes note of our party and steps onto the landing, letting the door swing closed behind him. Gray skinned and powerfully built, he lifts his hands to his hips. His hair has been shaved from his head, revealing a pattern of scars on his scalp, and pointy ears I can’t miss.
He’s an orc.
Rogar doesn’t move, but Gauron comes from behind to stand beside his king.
The male descends the stairs and stops. His eyes widen in shock, and then he drops to a knee and bows his head. “My king.”
Rogar walks over to the orc. “Rise, Yurag of the White Wolf clan. It gives me great pleasure to see you alive and well.”
Yurag stands and then is tackled to the ground by Gauron. The males roll around the dirt, hooting and hollering, laughter competing with the controlled swing of their fists. Gauron is the first to get to his feet. He extends a hand and helps the other orc up, then claps the male on the back forcefully.
“That is a typical orc greeting among warrior males.” Rowena slides to my side. “Dominance runs in their blood, even among friends.”
The three orcs fall into a spirited conversation as we enter the tavern. And contrary to what I’d thought I’d find inside, the place is clean, and busy. Every table is filled with half-fae, mostly families, others friends gathering for an evening meal.
Yurag waves a server over and seats us at a table by a large fire. Before I sit, Rogar removes his cloak and positions it over my shoulders, adjusting the fabric so my body is completely enveloped in the weight of the fur-lined mantle. I inhale, sucking in the scent of leather and the heady musk of a male orc in his prime.
A server brings over pitchers and trays of bread, cheese, and roasted meats. A hush consumes the room as the patrons take notice of Yurag’s special attention. I fist a hand over the amulet. Rowena shakes her head, but I can’t ease the fear surging in my blood.
Rogar leans over. “Your fear will amplify your scent.”
Great.
He braces an arm around my chair. “Yurag served with me in the queen’s army. You are safe here. He is preparing a room and will have our meal delivered there shortly.”
“Okay.”
The tall fae with the leather apron who’d spoken to Lorien weaves around tables and chairs to the end of a massive bar lining the opposite side of the room. He and Rogar’s orc friend fall into a spirited conversation, periodically glancing to our table.
Rogar watches the men while pouring the pitcher’s contents into my glass. He juts his chin at the wine, encouraging me to drink.
I raise the cup to my mouth and swallow. The liquid is cool and sweet, like a merlot without the bite. Rogar fills my plate with bread, fruit, and several pieces of the cheese I’d enjoyed eating in Lithyr. I’m touched he remembers.
Aelinor sits between Rogar and Rowena, which forced Ilearis and Sersha to sit opposite Rogar and me. Lorien remains by the door, and Gauron is seated to my right.
“Eat, female.”
I shove a piece of cheese in my mouth and chew. No one’s saying much of anything. Eyes and ears continuously rove around the room, which spikes my paranoia about being discovered to a new level. The cheese sticks to my throat, thick and dry. I gulp my drink.
Rogar refills my glass with more wine.
Leather-apron dude leaves. Yurag returns with a large tureen he sets in the center of the table. A female orc with dark hair braided in cornrows clasped in a high ponytail accompanies him and places triangular-shaped spoons beside the serving bowl. She’s my height but carries twice the muscle I hold. Large hoops hang from her pointy ears.
“King Rogar,” Yurag says in a low voice. “My wife, Rogmesh.”
The female orc nods at her husband’s introduction. “Your room is ready. I will show you, yes?”
Rogmesh escorts us through the busy tavern to a flight of stairs leading to the second floor. Our room is at the end of the hall. She opens the door and waits until we enter. A wooden tub with steaming water is on one side, a small bed on the other. A table with a ladle, utensils, and another tureen is near the wall adjacent to the door. A window gives a glimpse to the back side of the tavern and the Forest of Night beyond.
“Will you be needing anything else?” she asks.
“No. My thanks to you and Yurag.”
Rogmesh smiles and leaves, closing the door quietly behind her in the face of the awkward tension building between Rogar and me.
“The bath looks—”
“I will wait outside,” Rogar says.
I’ve been in his arms nonstop for hours. He gave me the most amazing orgasm the night before. I’ve been thinking about ripping off his clothes and repeating the experience all day. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so shy around him.
“No, you’ve…” I can’t seem to say “seen me naked.” My face flushes hot. I remove his cloak and lay it gently on the bed, then begin loosening the ties to mine. “Should I go first?”
Rogar clears his throat and nods. It appears I’m not the only one struggling to act normal in this tiny room.
With my cloak off, I begin undoing the buttons to my tunic. I sit on the bed and take off my boots, placing them neatly to the side so we’re not tripping over them in the
middle of the night. I hesitate on removing the leather pants I’d worn. Rogar is at the table, his back to me, examining the contents inside the tureen. The aroma reminds me of beef stew. My stomach rumbles.
Keeping his face directed away from me, Rogar removes his weapons, laying them within range on the floor, then lowers his big body into the chair at the table. The flickering candlelight highlights his profile. Even tense, the guy is beautiful.
I make quick work of my clothes and step into the tub, swallowing the moan the hot water elicits. Washing quickly, I scrub the rough, scented soap across my skin and hair, working the lather to remove the day’s grime. I rinse quickly, careful to wash as much of the soap out of my hair without sloshing gallons of water onto the wood floor.
Drying off will be tricky since I neglected to bring the towels folded on the end of the bed closer to the tub. I can tiptoe across the floor butt naked, splattering water all over the place, or I can ask for assistance.
“Um…”
Rogar turns his head. His fiery gaze lands on my face, then slides to the arm covering my breasts.
I tilt my head to the foot of the bed and point with the hand not smooshing my boobs against my chest. “Could you hand me one of those?”
With the feline grace of a tiger, he rises from his chair, takes three steps to cross the room, and retrieves the towel. Our eyes meet. The restraint I see in his face causes my core to clench.
“Thanks,” I manage to choke out.
He turns and heads back to the table while I quickly dry off. I throw the tunic over my head and slide my damp arms into the sleeves. The tunic falls midthigh, and I debate about whether or not I should put my pants back on to sleep. My lady parts want no part of the leather. Nope. They’re fixated on the orc who’s pretending to ignore my every move.
I opt to remain pantless, knowing full well I’m playing with fire.
Using the towel to squeeze water from my hair, I say, “All yours.”
Rogar sets the piece of bread in his hands down. He’s slow to stand, but when he does, the air in the room evaporates. We exchange places, our bodies nearly touching when we do. I grab my pants and fold them neatly while he begins stripping off his clothes. I feel the heat of his stare on me the whole time he disrobes.
I walk back to the table and occupy the chair he’d vacated. Somehow he fits his massive body into the small tub, his back to me. I’m too engrossed in watching the play of muscle across those broad shoulders to eat. Which is a shame. The food smells really good.
Rogar washes efficiently, and when he emerges from the tub, water sluicing over his well-defined back, chiseled ass, and monster thighs, I look away. He joins me moments later, his hair damp, his scent reaching across the table to tease my resolve, and ladles the rich stew into a bowl he hands me. We eat in silence, the sound of our strange spoons scraping against the bowl as we force fuel down our throats. I sip the sweet wine, hoping for an alcohol buzz that never arrives because my senses are too hyperaware of the gorgeous male sitting inches away to be fooled into complacency.
“Are you tired?”
I lift my eyes from the pattern I’d been studying on the tureen. “A little, yeah.”
“You should sleep,” he tells me. “We will not stay long. Yurag and Lorien will serve as first watch.”
“Okay.” I chew the inside of my mouth. “You should sleep too.”
He stares at the bed, and I wonder what he’s thinking about to bring the sadness back in his eyes.
“Do we leave this here?” I stand and point to the leftover food.
“Yes.”
I take another sip of wine and then make my way to the bed, choosing the side nearest the wall. I crawl under the blanket and fold his side down in invitation.
He hesitates but then lies down beside me.
I turn onto my side to face him. We’re inches apart. His intense eyes roam over my face, each pass lingering more than the last, speeding the beating of my heart. He reaches for my face, his touch a featherlike sweep of my skin. “I have never wished until you.” He smiles, faint lines fanning out from the edges of his eyes. “If our laws allowed free reign between our realms, would you be here?”
“With you?”
His smile deepens. “Is there another orc you would prefer to lie with?”
I laugh. “Smartass.”
He arches a brow. “Is that a yes?”
I’m enjoying the banter too much to make it easy for him. “Is the orc king asking me if I’d date him if our situations were different? Didn’t you already ask me this question before?”
“Female,” he growls.
“What?” I shrug. “I’m just making sure I understand so I answer properly.”
He brushes his lips over mine. “My little human tease. Two can play this game,” he says against my mouth.
Oh Mylanta. He can so play the game.
His smile changes from playful to wicked.
My body responds. I want to stop talking and throw myself on top of that hard, sexy body and do what mine has been begging me to do since the day we met. But something in his eyes gives me pause. A sadness that reaches deep into my soul and squeezes tight.
I cup the side of his face.
He closes his eyes briefly, then covers my hand with his larger one.
“Yeah, if the doorway were open, if I were free to come and go, I’d choose to be here with you.” It’s the truth, I realize.
And there’s more.
Rogar watches me intently, like the words I’ll speak next hold power over him.
I swallow. I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings. I’ve spent a lifetime hiding and holding everything inside because I can’t afford to break. And now this male, this kind and sexy and brave male, holds my hand hostage against his cheek with eyes that tunnel into my soul, crumbling my defenses.
“You make me want things I’ve run from my whole life.”
His lips are gentle against mine, the kiss bringing more than desire to the surface. He plants a tiny kiss on the tip of my nose. “What things?”
Words pop into my head. Love. Trust. Acceptance. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
Is that what I want?
What I really want?
Since when? My whole life, I’ve been building toward financial freedom. Yeah, I may have envied people with families and healthy relationships, but I’d never craved it the way I do now. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t have a relationship with Rogar. It would mean one of us would have to give up his or her world to be with the other. I could never ask him to walk away from his people, so the someone would have to be me.
What happens when he tires of me?
I’d have sacrificed my whole life—my independence—for a fairy tale. And we all know fairy tales aren’t real.
I turn away, but Rogar embraces me before I can escape. He kisses the top of my head and holds me tight.
“It doesn’t matter anyway.” The hollow pain in my chest expands. “We humans always want things we can’t have. It’s too bad you can’t visit Earth. I’d lend you my amulet to hide your appearance.” I laugh imagining Rogar as a seven-foot-tall female elf.
He snorts and gives me a gentle shake. “Glamour does not work on orcs, female.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. Most fae, yes, but orcs are resistant to magic.”
“Hmm… too bad. I might have paid good money to see you in disguise, and even more to hear someone call you ‘female.’” Another round of giggles escapes.
Rogar growls and flips me on my back. “Naughty, naughty human. Insulting a king?” He brings my hands over my head, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Do you know who I am?”
“Hmm… not sure. Princess Fiona, maybe?” I say in between snorts.
Rogar looks down at me with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen on a male. Gone is the worry and tension that invariably accompanies his hard profile. His face has a youthful jubilance I haven’t seen befor
e. There’s warmth and mirth in his eyes. A warmth and mirth that is quickly replaced by heat, stealing my breath.
He surveys my body like the predator he is.
My nipples harden.
His lips brush against mine. Softly at first, then hardening as the kiss deepens. He takes his time exploring my mouth, stealing my sanity. When he raises his head, he nips my lower lip with a fang, then traces soft kisses along my jaw, nipping here and there.
At my ear, he whispers something I don’t understand. His warm breath sends shudders racing down my body.
“Does my touch repel you?”
Hell no. “You know it doesn’t.”
He chuckles and sucks my lower lip hard.
I’m putty in his hands, and honestly, I don’t care. I want him. I want him with a passion that blazes through my veins. I want to take while there’s still time to take. Experience everything with him that I’ve denied myself in the past.
Arching off the mattress, I kiss him, my body zinging with anticipation. When I’m with him like this, my insecurities fall away, and I’m not afraid to go after what I want. And what I want is him.
Naked.
I want his powerful body at my mercy, trembling beneath my mouth.
My hands are still locked over my head. My chest heaves with short, shallow breaths I don’t try to control. I want him to see what he does to me. How he drives me crazy. How I’m wet and needy, waiting for his next move.
He’s not moving fast enough.
I lick my lips, drawing his attention to my mouth. “Hey. You made me a promise.”
He cocks his head. “Did I?”
I drag my eyes from lips I want to devour to hungry eyes that make my nerve ends shiver. “Yeah. You did.”
Rogar lowers his head and runs his rough tongue down the side of my neck, sucking my nape. I let out a moan. His glorious tongue backtracks, then takes my earlobe into his mouth. I’m nearing the point where I can’t think straight.
“What exactly did I promise, female?” The low baritone of his voice against my ear raises goose bumps along my flesh. When I don’t answer, he tugs on my hair and lowers his whole body on top of mine, his weight settling in all the right places. His hands move to the side of my face, cradling my head. A too-sexy grin lifts those kissable lips into a playful smirk.
