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Her wary smile stretches a little wider, though it does not quite meet her eyes. I am stung with regret. “Warchief Verrick,” she greets in return. “May I present Antony, Duke Strand? His lands encapsulate Aquilar and Kingsbury, the target of most of the attacks.”
Hmm, that’s interesting. Could he be one target of the attacks? Could the Cabal have some issue with him? I give him a stiff nod, the most respect I can force myself to offer, but he seems to take this in stride, nodding his head a little lower, probably in deference to my title as Orc Regent.
“Warchief Verrick. It is good of you to join us. Pellia tells me that you have been investigating the death of one criminal responsible for the fires. Have you found anything?”
I grunt, but politely reply, “Unhappily, not much. The servants around the tent at the time of the death are innocent. So the perpetrator and whoever is ultimately behind the attacks are still hidden.”
The human male frowns. “That is unfortunate newsindeed. What can be done? What can I do to help? I’ve already sent additional guards into all the towns, but after the war with Orik, my forces are thin.”
“This is why we sent the Air and Water mages south and Warchief Verrick has generously brought his orcs. They have been helping where they can and performing their investigations. With their strong senses they have already discovered much that was not known before.” Pellia smiles at me on this last sentence, a little more genuinely, before turning the smile back on Duke Strand. I already miss it and long to sweep her away to our tent, where we can be alone. I want to speak to her. Ineedto speak to her.
“That is great news,” the human male is saying, replying to Pellia and oblivious to my longing thoughts, “I’m sure with the both of you working on it, the problem will soon be solved.”
With that statement, he pushes back from the table and stands, bowing slightly toward Pellia. “Well, it has been lovely catching up with you, Pells, but I must attend to my responsibilities. I must coordinate rebuilding efforts if the people are to be safe. I will leave the investigation efforts in your capable hands.”
With that, he bows again, reaching to take Pellia’s hand and places a reverent kiss on the back. Instantly, all my protective instincts are roused and my Mating Instinct surges. That is not the action of a platonic friend. They have some sort of past together, or at least the damn human carries hope for a deeper relationship with her in his heart.
Barely keeping back the urge to strike the male for putting his hands on my female, I notice he has given me a truncated sort of bow as well, but can only return it with a curt nod, reigning myself in as I am. Instead, I say to Pellia, “We should go as well. I have some things I need to discuss with you in camp.”
Pellia raises a quizzical brow and gives me a befuddled smile, but she rises as well. Without missing a beat, I place my arm out to escort her, a human mannerism. She looks surprised, but takes my arm and I lead her out of the tavern. The beast inmy chest quiets now that I have her hand on me, soothed by her touch. We probably look odd, an orc play-acting a genteel human and escorting a lady, but I don’t care. I just want her close to me.
I lead her through town and straight to our tent. It is in a new spot. Owen’s death lingered in the old location, his blood staining the earth. I did not want to risk the curse remaining and affecting Pellia, so I had ordered it moved while I interviewed the servants.
If Pellia is surprised at the tent’s new location, she makes no mention of it and merely walks inside with me, the flap closing behind us. When we are alone, she pulls her hand from my arm and wraps her arms around her as if to ward off some chill. She looks small and vulnerable as she asks, “You wanted to say something to me?”
Suddenly, I feel tongue-tied. I do have things I want to say to her.Everything. But dare I say them? There will be no returning from this, I know. If I let my Mating Instinct off the leash, it will want to her in all ways. My possessive feelings will only grow.
So, like a coward, I say instead, “You are upset with me.”
“Really?” she asks, quirking a brow, a little of her usual teasing self coming through. “And why would I be upset with you? It’s not as if I offered to be your lover in truth and you rejected me not once, but twice.”
I wince at her gentle admonishment. “I did not mean for them to be rejections.”
At that she laughs, the sound not entirely kind. “Did you not? You told me that being with me was a bad idea and then ran from me like I meant you bodily harm! How are those not rejections?”
“Do not laugh like that, I beg you.”
“Like what? Like what you are saying is not ridiculous? Like I am not embarrassed and more than a little humiliated?”
“I never meant for you to feel that way. It is not you that is broken. I . . .”
“You think I am not broken?” she asks softly. “Just because Ilaugh and smile and flirt? You think I cannot feel pain?”
“I did not mean . . .”
But Pellia’s words are gaining steam and she plows through my attempt at speech. “I know that there may be many who think that I have never experienced hardship, but I did not know you were one of them.”
Disappointment colors her voice.
I am shocked. “I never said . . .”
“You did not need to say so,” she retorts hotly. “I can see how you are treating me. But I smilebecauseI am broken. Because if I cried and whined and gnashed my teeth every time something terrible had happened in my life, I would get nothing done! I would be stuck in those moments forever. So I defy them instead and I laugh and I flirt because Iwantto, and nothing life throws my way will stop me.”
She starts unfastening her dress and I suck in a sharp breath, totally thrown by the unexpected action. But before I can say anything, my eyes grow wide and I see what she is showing me. There, between her perfect breasts, is a gnarled and angry scar; a brand in the shape of the coat of arms.
“This is the brand of House Howser. Yorian’s house. Something he gave me the moment I came of age. He wanted to own me in all ways.” She tells me, a defiant light in her eyes. She stands proud, showing me this old, hurt, looking for all the world like a wounded goddess, beautiful despite her scars.
“I have lived through terrible things,” she tells me, as my jaw clenches tighter the longer I look. “Unimaginable things! I have been hurt and controlled and made to witness all manner of heartache. So do not think me ignorant for enjoying life. I have earned every damned one of my smiles and every tiny moment of happiness. I intend to enjoy every last one of them.”
