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No, Gorlag will not approve. Yet he will obey; he always does.
I square my shoulders, pushing these thoughts aside for now. First, I need to get through this meal with Sloane. One step at a time, I remind myself. One careful step at a time.
When the guard unlocks the door, I stride into the room without knocking, the servants at my heels. My eyes immediately land on Sloane standing in front of the open window dressed in a traditional female orc robe. The fabric clings to her slight curves in ways that make my spikes throb with renewed urgency.
It takes every bit of willpower I possess not to cross the room in long strides, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her off to my quarters. The urge to consummate our bond, to claim her as mine, is almost overwhelming.
“The view is stunning, is it not?” I ask.
She turns toward me, her expression unreadable. “It’s okay.”
The air is thick with tension and pheromones, a heady mix of anger and need. Does she want me as much as I want her? Perhaps. The possibility makes my spikes pulse more intently.
When the servants complete their task of arranging the food and drink on a side table they brought, they file out of the suite, leaving us alone.
“Are you hungry, Sloane?”
The dual meaning of my words hangs in the air between us. Her face is a mask, giving nothing away. Yet her scent tells me everything I need to know.
Chapter 11
Dexari
Sloane licksher ruby lips with her small, pink tongue, and the sight nearly brings me to my knees. My spikes throb painfully, and I stifle a groan.
“I’m starved,” she says.
I hold out a chair for her. “Then, sit. Please.”
She walks across the room and takes a seat, and my fingers brush against her arms as she scoots the chair closer to the table. Even that brief contact sends shockwaves through my body.
I busy myself filling our plates. This gives me time to regain some semblance of composure. When I am done, I sit across from her. “It pleases me to see you wearing a robe.”
“It's not like you gave me much choice,” she retorts.
Her spirit, her defiance is delightful. I laugh, a deep, rumbling sound that seems to throw her off balance. Her irritation at my amusement is clear, an adorable furrow appearing between her brows.
I watch Sloane as she eats, admiring the way she savors each bite. She is guarded, yet there is a strength in her that impresses me. She is a fighter who refuses to be broken. Traits that are both admirable and dangerous.
“What's the point of all this?” she asks once she has had her fill. “Is this my last meal before being executed or something?”
Her directness catches me off guard. I respond to her question with one of my own. “Why did you kill my guard?”
The look she gives me is one of utter disbelief. “Do orcs not fight back when attacked?”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. “You were attacked by my guards?”
Sloane hesitates, seeming to reconsider her words. “Well, maybe ‘attacked’ is too strong a word,” she admits. “But they wanted to capture me, and I wasn't going to let that happen without a fight.”
I lean back in my chair, processing this information. The scenario I had constructed in my mind based on Gorlag’s report begins to crumble. I had assumed she was the aggressor when my guards found her.
“Tell me more,” I say, my voice low and intense. “How did you end up here, and what exactly happened with my guards?”
She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “After I escaped from the slavers’ ship in the spaceport, I hid out in the forest. That’s where I stumbled over your guards. They surrounded me, and I fought back.”
“Did you not consider that my guards may have been trying to save your life?” I ask, leaning forward slightly.
Sloane's eyes flash with irritation. “They had their weapons drawn. That doesn’t exactly scream rescue to me.”
