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Well, if it is time for the humans to awake, then maybe I’ll go wake my human. Perhaps there will even be time to taste my lover before we have to leave. Maybe even to wake her with my head between her thighs. My Mating Instinct likes that thought.
So slowly I make my way back to where Pellia sleeps, a mission in mind.
???
There is no time for tasting. My plan is thwarted when Pellia wakes on her own, and, just as I predicted, is horrified at her appearance. She moves frantically around the room, preparing for the day and fixing her hair. At one point, she pulls out a potion that smells of magic and alchemy and smoothes it into her braids, which are instantly tamed into silky plaits. Then she dresses for the day, concealing her luscious body under layers of fabric.
Later, I determine. Later, when we are alone, I will hold her down and lick her cunt until she comes at least three times on my tongue. That thought makes me smile inwardly, but I keep a stone face as we move out, a wary watchfulness as we move toward Grimblton. Not only could more danger be coming from the woods, but also there is danger ahead of us.
The Cabal. They wait for us in their web, ready to strike. Though we have a plan to counter them, I would be wise to beon the ready, in case they strike when they are not expected, or if they suspect Pellia is not with them and leave her out of their plans. Or target her instead. The thought makes my blood run cold, turning to icy fear in my veins.
Is Friza right? Is Pellia my mate? My protectiveness would seem to indicate yes, but I am unsure. I thought Lucy was my mate before and chose poorly. Maybe Pellia is just meant to be my lover, a temporary dalliance that sates both our lusts and then we pass like ships in the night.
My Mating Instinct doesn’t like the way my thoughts are heading. It growls in my head and gnashes its teeth thinking of Pellia.Mine, it says forcefully.Mine!
I am distracted for the last half of our journey, so it is good that it is uneventful. We arrive at Grimblton, greeted by the now familiar smell of burnt wheat in the air. There are less scorched fields here than there were in Aquilar and Kingsbury, but they are still there, a testament to the depravity of the Cabal.
Pellia turns around in front of me of my warbeast and says, “We can stay at Castle Grimble while we are here. It has been empty since the fall of House Grimble and has the space we need.”
I nod, but am wary. I lean down and whisper, “We suppose it is empty, but it is also the most likely place for the Cabal to be holed up.”
“A fair point. Should we look elsewhere for lodging? Set up our tents again?”
I consider it but then shake my head, “If we go where we are not expected, then it may throw their plans off kilter. Better to head into the belly of the beast and face them than hide somewhere else, like a coward.”
Pellia laughs. “Spoken like a true orc Warchief.”
We come to Castle Grimble and find the gardens a little overrun, after a month of no one tending to them, but other than that the austere structure looms over us, the windows dark. It looks quite abandoned.
But looks can be deceiving.
“We set up camp here!” I order. “Tents in the gardens for the soldiers. The regent and I, as well as the servants, will stay in the castle.”
“You heard the Warchief,” bellows Friza. “Move!”
Pellia slides down off of my warbeast, a little clumsily as it’s not like a horse, and says, “I’ll head into the keep with the servants. We’ll see to dinner and the lodging arrangements.”
I nod and reply, “Go. I’ll find you later.”
She nods and heads into the castle, dark doorways yawning open in front of her like an open mouth. As she disappears into the dark, swallowed by the shadows, I get a foreboding feeling. Like something terrible is going to happen. I couldn’t live with myself if that thing that happened was to Pellia.
I dismount my warbeast and move into the ordered chaos of the camp being set up. I’m looking for one orc in particular. When I find him I call out, “Korovi!”
The other orc jogs over to me, “Warchief?”
Korovi is one of the best fighters and scouts in my entire clan. Loyal, too, almost to a fault. If he weren’t, I think he could challenge me for Warchief and I’m not sure who would survive. He is also one of the few orcs that I confided in about the true purpose of this mission. He is perfect for my purposes.
“A word,” I say, jerking my head to the right, indicating a place away from the rest.
Korovi follows me, and when we are alone, I say in Orikesh. “I need you to protect the regent. We are in the lair of our enemy, and I don’t trust that she’ll be able to stay safe.”
The other orc nods slowly and says, “It would honor me to be the guard of your mate.”
That is the second time today she has been referred to as my mate. “She is not my . . . nevermind. I will need more than your word. I would have your Oath.”
An orc’s Oath is a serious thing. When made to their Warchief, only death or their clan leader can release them from it or they will go to the Nether without honor. Korovi looks surprised, but when he sees how serious I am, he nods, matchingmy mood with his own seriousness.
“My Oath, Warchief. I will see to the regent’s protection, or I will die trying. She will be safe with me.”
