by Layla Harper
Rick’s face flashes into memory, forcing my eyes to snap open.
“What is it?” Rogar abandons his post by the mouth of the cave, his footsteps silent across the dirt floor.
It’s clear the man—no, not man, orc—can’t stand to be near a lowly human, so how much do I tell him? I’m not even sure he’s trustworthy at this point.
I try to shake the vision of Rick’s foul smile from my head. “I think my boss—”
Rogar’s forehead puckers, dragging his brows into a prominent V between those freaky red eyes.
I scramble for a better word. “The person I work for… my boss… I think he’s involved. Rick was standing near the Doras Ring when I blacked out. He was the last person I saw before waking up here.”
Rogar’s gaze falls to the tattoo.
My stomach drops. With all the excitement, I’d momentarily forgotten about the circles etched into my skin. The wound stings. I dump my hand in my lap. “Do all slave marks look like this one?”
“Most.” Crouching before me, Rogar angles his face until we’re eye to eye. “But I have not seen one in many years. The portal spell requires an anchor in your world. In olden times, there were many such rings scattered throughout your lands connecting our realms. It is how slaves were transported from Earth to Alfhemir.”
Oh God. “The ring is part of a traveling exhibit. It’s scheduled to hit a bunch of other college campuses after mine. I can’t be the only human who’s fallen through the portal.” I shake my head. I can’t be. “We have to stop Rick from hurting anyone else.”
Rogar reaches out and touches my face. His eyes are intense, tracing the whisper-soft path his finger takes across the tip of my chin. “We will stop him.”
The gruff demeanor is gone, replaced with an openness I didn’t detect before. Could I have misjudged him earlier?
Dropping his hand, he raises those red-tinged eyes to mine. Voice thick, he says, “He will never hurt you again.”
I can’t look away. There’s something in his expression that pins me to the wall. Something in the tone of his voice that draws me in. Close. Closer. The whisper of a vow interlaced through words he has yet to speak.
A muscle ticks against his cheek. “You are safe with me.”
My eyes sting. I’ve never banked on anyone’s protection but my own. After spending my entire life moving from one home to another, my mistrust is earned. I’ve been let down way too many times to fall for a pipe dream now. But staring into his eyes, I want to believe every damn word he tells me.
A noise outside hauls him to his feet.
Wincing, I stand, my stiff joints protesting each movement. Rogar signals for me to stay where I am. He swaggers to the entrance, massive sword in hand. When he steps outside, his shoulders relax, and he quickly sheathes his weapon. “Gauron has arrived.”
Gauron. The scarred, red-haired warrior I’d met earlier. I’m not sure if I should be relieved or scared. Two orcs and one fragile human. Should this situation get any worse, the odds of survival are totally not in my favor.
I let out a breath and move to the cave’s entrance. Rogar strides outside to meet his second-in-command.
Gauron is not alone. There’s another warrior with him. A female dressed in similar attire—leather pants, red tunic, black cloak, and an obscene amount of weapons—sits atop a bay-colored horse that is bigger than any Clydesdale I’ve ever seen. Her silver-blond hair is intricately braided along the sides of her head, exposing elf-like ears and a slim neck. I’m assuming she’s an orc like Rogar, but her build is lean and lithe like the drows, and where Rogar’s skin is a dark tan, hers is… pale, almost white in appearance, as if completely untouched by the sun or the elements.
Behind her, two riderless horses sigh and sniff.
Gauron dismounts and glances in my direction. “Is all well, my king?”
My king?
My brain snags on the term. Rogar is a king? I think back to our earlier conversation when I’d asked him where I was. He’d answered, “Wyldeland. On the border of my kingdom, Drengskador.” I’d been too stressed out to put two and two together then, but holy crap, I was rescued by an orc king.
The king nods to Gauron, then turns his attention to the female. “Aelinor, I did not expect to see you.”
Holding the reins in her hand, Aelinor swings her right leg over the horse’s hindquarters, gracefully dismounting the massive beast. She’s tall, about my height.
“I was intrigued by Gauron’s report.” Her eyes slide to where I stand. “So it’s true. We’ve a human in our midst?”
Rogar prowls to Gauron’s horse and retrieves a sack belted to the saddle. “We encountered a band of drows.”
“Oh?” Her gaze darts back to me before appraising Rogar. “I see no signs of a physical confrontation. I take it the musk camouflaged her scent?” There is an edge of disbelief to her melodious voice.
Rogar slings the sack over his shoulder. “The wind worked to our advantage.”
Gauron snorts. “That and the fact that no one has smelled a human in over a thousand years.” The scarred orc unhooks a second sack from his saddle and joins his king. “You were right to warn the winter realm.”
Rogar goes still. I can’t see his expression.
“The border was attacked,” Gauron tells him. “And like the strike at the outpost, the sentries were slain before they could sound the alarm.”
Shaking his head, Rogar says, “There should have been time to alert the guard.”
Aelinor glides away from her horse to stand between the men, blocking my view of Rogar’s profile.
I take a step outside to get a better view and rest my shoulder against the side of the cave, straining to hear the rest of their conversation.
“Did they attack Forvarra? Is Drengskador at war with the winter realm?” Rogar asks.
“No,” Gauron says. “Lukk intercepted King Tyerim’s messenger riding toward Silver Hill with news of the attempted breach.”
“Goblins?”
Gauron nods.
“They would have had to skirt Silver Hill to reach the border in time. Two days.” Rogar raises two fingers to emphasize his point. “Two days’ trek through my territory. Around my stronghold. Avoiding my guard. My army.” I can hear the clenching of his teeth all the way from here. “How many?”
Shrugging, Gauron says, “Six. Maybe seven? Tyerim’s messenger wasn’t as forthcoming with the details as we were.”
“Slain how?” The king’s tone is sharp, his anger barely contained.
Rogar’s friends exchange a glance, the kind that has me curling my fingers against the cave’s ragged stone surface.
“Their life force was drained, my lord,” Aelinor says quietly.
My mouth hangs open. Life force drained? I can’t fathom what that means.
The king’s head bows, and he rubs his nape. “Have the families been notified?”
“Yes,” Gauron says. “Khao is en route to deliver the news to the kinfolk stationed outside of Silver Hill. They used magic to blind us, Rogar. There’s nothing you could’ve done differently.”
“It does not change the outcome.” Shifting his stance, Rogar fists his hands at his hips. Pain pinches the curve of his lips. “Good warriors died unnecessarily. Sons. Daughters. Spouses.” He looks away with a shake of his head.
“And what of the mortal?” Aelinor asks. Three sets of eyes glance in my direction. “Are we any closer to understanding how she entered Alfhemir, or who is responsible?”
Rogar rummages through the leather sack now in his grip, then slings it back over his shoulder. “She entered through the ring of Doras. There is a human accomplice targeting learning institutions.” He doesn’t specifically mention Rick, or my belief that my boss is involved in my capture.
“So there must be others,” Aelinor says.
Gauron shakes his head. “How?” He points to me. “She’s the first to trigger the hunt. Had any others crossed, we would’ve known.”
&n
bsp; The orc woman considers his words, her eyes an unnatural caramel color framed by dark lashes. “Perhaps the ring’s magic sought her out. I wonder… what could be so special about this particular human?”
I wave. “I can hear you, you know. I may be human, but my ears work astoundingly well. Go figure.”
The woman’s mouth opens in disbelief.
That’s right, orc girl. I can understand every single word you speak.
Gauron laughs, though it’s quickly squashed by the orc king’s glower.
Rogar leads the trio to where I’m smirking by the cave’s entrance. “Kyra, this is Gauron, my second-in-command.” The red-haired warrior bows gallantly. Rogar’s scowl deepens. He turns to the elegant warrior woman by his side. “Aelinor, my advisor and the clan’s shaman.”
Shaman? Now that is unexpected.
Aelinor acknowledges me with a gentle nod.
“I’m Kyra, the human.”
Gauron’s lips curl. Mischief dances in his amber eyes. I have a feeling I’m going to like this guy.
“Enough talk,” Rogar barks. He hands me the leather sack. “Put these on over your clothing to preserve the musk.”
Great. So he plans on letting me smell like a skunk farm indefinitely.
I take the bag and look inside. A long green shirt similar to the one Aelinor wears. Leather pants. Fur-lined boots. When I look up, Rogar is stripping off his armor. Neither Gauron nor Aelinor are wearing armor either. I notice the crest embroidered into Rogar’s shirt, below his left shoulder—a war hammer and mace crossed over a strangle symbol. An insignia, or maybe his royal crest. He is a king, after all.
“With the advent of these attacks, perhaps the prudent thing is for you to return to the stronghold.” Aelinor packs his discarded armor into an empty bag. “Pacify Tyerim and his winter court. Gauron and I will accompany the human in your stead.”
“No.” I jump at the force of Rogar’s answer.
Gauron frowns. Aelinor’s strange caramel eyes hone in on her king. Rogar’s jaw is set, and the planes of his face look sharp enough to slice an artery.
“No?” Gauron cocks his head. Unlike Rogar, his skin is gray. “As your second-in-command—”
“No,” Rogar says again, but his tone has lost some of the heat from before.
Aelinor touches his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep in a tender grasp. “This is not Nagir.”
The muscles in his back bunch. The air around us thickens, swelling with tension. Aelinor releases her hold on Rogar’s arm. “We can escort the human. Think of your people, my king.”
“I think of nothing else but my people and my duty.” Rogar reaches behind his head and grabs the collar of his tunic, yanking the blue shirt off his body in one tug. He drops the shirt to the ground.
I forget to breathe.
Half naked, with his pants slung low on his narrow hips, he is built like a war god and nothing like the boys I’ve dated back home. Corded muscle twists and turns to form hollows and peaks across his hulking torso. He’s got pectorals that’ll make Mr. Universe cry with envy. And forget about six-pack abs. This guy has a dozen. Maybe more.
“Aelinor’s right, my king. If this is a trap, you leave Drengskador open to our enemies.”
“No.” Rogar stoops and pulls a pair of plain brown pants from the second sack at his feet. Muscles ripple across the broad expanse of his back, his tan skin smooth and tight, free of scars.
Odd. Gauron has faint scars on his forearms in addition to the nasty one on his face, but I see no visible scars on Rogar’s body.
He straightens and drapes the trousers over a beefy shoulder, then begins kicking off his boots. “Queen Menora will see me. Alone, your summons will fall on deaf ears. Fortify our defenses and be ready for anything. I trust you and Khao to keep Drengskador safe while I am gone.”
I’m riveted by the slow path his hands take over the smooth flesh of his flat stomach, dipping to the waistband of his leather pants.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Panic spins my head around.
“What are you doing?” My brain has already been seared by what’s hidden behind those leather trousers. I don’t need to see more. “You can’t strip your clothes off here.”
“Why not?” I feel the heat of Rogar’s gaze on my face.
“Because” is all I manage to retort. And I’m not about to admit to myself—or him—that I’m totally turned on by the sight of his bare chest. Or what I might see again if he drops his pants.
What’s wrong with me?
“Mortals have such strange customs,” Aelinor says in her sweet-sounding voice. “Peasant clothing will keep our king’s identity secret from those who would wish him harm during your travels.”
“I’ll leave you to… whatever.” With my head still turned away, I wave a hand behind me. “I’ll change in there. Alone.” I hurry into the cave, and I know without turning around that Rogar’s red gaze follows me inside.
My hands are shaking when I pull the green shirt from the sack. Any perfectly normal human woman would have reacted to the sight of Rogar’s semi-naked body exactly the way I did, right? After all, he’s a virile man… er, orc. I mean, a male body is a male body, and man oh man does that male orc have one superb body.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Kidnap victim here, remember?
I kick off my sneakers and pull the heavy cotton garment over my head. It falls above my knees. I shove my legs into the leather pants and quickly tie the laces at my waist. If I want to make it back to Earth in one piece, I need to keep my wits—and my libido—in check. I can’t let the sexy orc king distract me from getting back home. Besides, to him, I’m human. A being lower than pond scum on his species rating chart.
“May I enter?” Aelinor asks.
“Sure.” I stoop and remove the boots from the sack.
She makes her way to the center of the cave and stops a few feet away from where I’m struggling to insert my foot into the boot. “We’ll need to disguise your ears.” A fur and feathered band hangs from her wrist. “The headdress of a novice shaman. Warriors and shaman often travel together to the orc ancestral lands, where they commune with the spirits for guidance or to begin the shamanic journey.”
Aelinor sets the headdress on my head, adjusting the sides to cover the rounded tips of my ears. She smiles. “There. Now you look elf. But continue to wear the hood. We wouldn’t want to tempt fate, now would we?”
I’m not sure what to make of her. Friend, foe, or a snake in the grass?
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” I slip into the second boot, then grab Rogar’s cloak off the ground, clutching the garment tightly.
“We have a horse for you.”
“Um… I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
“Then you’ll ride with me. I’m an excellent rider.”
I don’t know why Aelinor’s offer disappoints me. One jaunt through the forest surrounded by three hundred pounds of orc muscle should be more than enough for this human girl.
“Thanks. How about a weapon? Can I have the dagger back?” I can stab a knife. I can’t wield a sword, but I am a pretty decent shot with a bow. Other than running, archery was the only sport I excelled at as a kid.
“We’ll see about the weapon,” Aelinor tells me.
Rogar’s large frame appears at the cave’s entrance. His eyes land on the headdress before sliding down to my face. “It is time to go.”
Aelinor retrieves my sneakers and the empty sack I left on the floor. “I’ll await you outside.” I watch her and Rogar fade from view.
My throat goes tight
I’m not going to make it to my interview. My whole world is slipping through my fingers, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
I blink back tears and march out of the cave, more determined than ever to get my life back.
Chapter Nine
Rogar
We set off with Gauron in the lead while I hold up the rear. Kyra rides between us
, her slender frame girdled by the capable arms of our shaman.
My female braces her hands against the pommel for support, her back rigid like the black spires of Azgagh in the sacred city of Byen Af Guld, our ancestral capital across the Sea of Storms, now a wasteland of charred terrain devoid of life.
My female.
Words I never thought to say. Not in a million suns.
It should be my arms encircling my mate upon her steed, my flesh protecting her from the hidden threats abound in this realm. Not Aelinor.
Not anyone.
But I keep my distance. Despite my body’s traitorous urges, the mate bond is a path I cannot pursue. Duty, honor, righting the wrongs of past leaders, fulfilling the objectives my queen conferred upon me when she crowned me king of the orcs—these are the obligations carving the road to my future. Obligations I have sworn to uphold, no matter how beguiling the distraction.
Clenching the reins, I scan the forest before me, filtering the scents in the air for drow or other potential enemies. Our route to Lithyr, a free city on the coast of Wyldeland, treks east, but my instincts urge a change in course. I gallop by Aelinor, finding the will to keep my focus on Gauron’s back and not on Kyra’s lovely face, and ride to the forefront to notify my second of the change in plan.
I jut my chin ahead and spur my horse on, Gauron behind me. When we are out of earshot, I say, “Follow the mountains.”
Gauron frowns. “That track will force us to cross the Forest of Night.”
I nod. The mountain range stretches in a north-northeastern line, forming a natural border between the winter kingdom, Drengskador, and Wyldeland. To reach the city, we have to cut east… across the woods. A risky option. But if the border ward’s magic interferes with Kyra’s slave mark, throwing off any hunters in our wake, it may buy us the time we desperately need to reach the high queen before we are discovered.
Glancing over his shoulder to our quarry, Gauron shrugs. “It’ll add another two days to the journey.”
“Perhaps more.” One never knows what one will encounter while traveling through the Forest of Night. Legends speak of fearsome creatures, rains that melt flesh, and winds that steal the breath from our lungs. The dark wood is a place even the vilest of our kind avoid. “Keep a wary eye, Gauron.”
