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I whirl around and see the orcress lounging against a tree. She is flipping one of her knives in her hand, the picture of blasé carelessness. But somehow I know she is angry. Maybe even a little disappointed? I can’t be sure, but I know, somehow, that she has no intention of letting me leave.
“How did you find me?” I ask, slowly backing away. I need to find an opportunity to run again, hopefully while she is distracted..
“I’ve been following you since you left. After all the work I put into saving you, it would be a waste if you got yourself killed in the woods.”
Alright, so definitely angry. Despite her effort to sound unaffected, she speaks with clipped and curt words. And there is something off about her. Her eyes look darker than normal, but perhaps it is just the shadows of the night. I keep moving backward and find myself at the other end of the clearing.
“Why leave?” she asks. “Though you are feeling better, you are still healing. You will be back to full strength in just a few weeks if youwould just continue to rest. Is it me? Do you not like my company?”
The words are sarcastic and biting, but there is a hint of insecurity in those words and something about that bothers me more than I care to admit.
“I have no quarrel with you!” I proclaim loudly from the other side of the clearing, eyeing the orcress warily. Realizing that increasing my volume in the Deep Wood is not wise, I modulate my voice. “I have no quarrel with you,” I repeat. “You saved my life. I owe you a debt.”
These words do not seem to mollify my pursuer. Her face hardens under the moonlight. “You have no quarrel with me . . . but you do with someone else, don’t you?”
Damn, she is perceptive. I grimace. My eyes dart back toward the trees, considering just running again, but weakened after my long injury like I am, I am sure that she will catch me quickly. I need her to stop chasing me. But if I admit why I snuck away, I am sure that she will never let me leave.
But she doesn’t wait for my reply. “Let me guess. You want revenge . . . not for your king. You don’t seem to care about him.”
I grimace again. She picked up on that? I always thought I was hard to read. I have been told so for my whole life. But this orcress is no ordinary observer.
She continues, “If not for your king, then . . . your sister. You want revenge for your Queen Adalind, and the only way to do that is to killmyking.” Her eyes narrow, the shadows on her face making the expression menacing. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You deserted!” I argue. “What happens to your king is no longer your concern!”
That is the wrong thing to say. The orcress suddenly sprints at me, bounding across the clearing and then pounces. I lunge to get out of the way, but I am no match for her speed. I find myself flat on my back, the air knocked out of me, with the orcress straddled on my waist, holding my arms down above my head. Her face is close to mine, close enough to kiss.Where did that thought comefrom?I wonder. The orcress is my enemy. I should hate her, I really should. Maybe I do. But I also can’t deny that her emerald eyes and high cheekbones mesmerize me, that her slightly plump lips call to my own.
The orcress stares back at me and I don’t know what she reads in my normally stoic face because she makes a noise. Something like a melodic purr, a sound that appears to be coming from deep in her chest. Unexpectedly, a bolt of lust shoots through me, startlingly strong. My manhood hardens and my breathing quickens. Then, as suddenly as the sound starts, she cuts it off with an angry growl. This close, I can see that her eyes have dilated and her breathing matches mine. She closes her eyes tight and shakes her head.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” she says, in a way that makes me unsure whether she is addressing me or merely talking to herself. “It is the chase . . . your scent . . .”
I am unsure what she is talking about, but I try to control my unruly cock. This is not the time anddefinitelynot the partner to be having such thoughts with. Though she has saved my life, she also is standing in the way of my revenge and I can’t forgive her for that.
We stay for an awkward moment panting and staring at each other, her still straddled over my body, then she rears back and gracefully finds her feet.
“Get up,” she commands, her voice rough. She fiddles with something on her wrist. There’s not much else to do but obey her. I do it with difficulty, as I am still a little hard. When I am standing, the orcress seizes me, pushing me till my back is to her and shoves me up against a tree. Another bolt of lust shoots through me. What in the Nether? Have I gone mad?
I crane my head around and see that she is holding a length of braided leather cord, which she promptly starts using to bind my wrists together.
“What are you doing?” I ask sharply, though I already know.
“I’m giving you what you want, myAsh’ka,” she replies, the lastword dripping with sarcasm. “You wanted to treat me as your enemy and captor, so here we are.”
She knots the leather, tight enough that I can’t move my arms, but somehow not tight enough to dig into my skin.
“There you go,” she continues, “now you are my prisoner.” She leans forward so that her voice is in my ear. “And I willneverlet you go.”
Chapter 6
Dura
Fucking stupidAsh’ka.Trying to leave in the middle of the night when all the predators are out, with no weapon to protect him. He ran through the woods as though he had not a care in the world. While I chased him, scaring away a panther that had started stalking him. I’m sure it could sense his weakness. I thought he would be bright enough to at least stay hidden in the trees, only to catch him in the clearing like a fool. It was almost like he was trying to get himself killed. I would have let him run longer, tire himself out even more, when he suddenly picked up his pace. That slight increase in speed stimulated that predator in me, the need to chase, to hunt, to Claim. Almost like we were doing a traditional Bride Chase. I needed to stop it before it got even more out of hand, before my instincts got me into more of a mess than they already have.
Cursed. I am cursed. I’m convinced that the gods have only given me anAsh’kato torment me and, like an idiot, I fell right into their trap. Now I have saved a man that despises me and wants to kill my beloved cousin in the bargain. The thought rankles and I push a little on Marvik’s back as he walks bound in front of me, his wrists held together with my first dragonhide bracelet. My left wrist already misses its length. I have worn it for over five years, the braided leather wound up my forearm from my wrist to my elbow. A prize leftover from the mighty battle with the dragon Wyrmin, where I fought side by side with my cousin. On that day long ago, Rognar was the one that struck the killing blow, but bestowed the pair of treated leather plaits on me as a show of gratitude for my assistance during the fight. They are supple as normal leather, but tougher than steel. There’s no way that a human could escape from such bonds.
I try not to think of the fact that giving yourAsh’kasomething sentimentally precious is part of elvish courting rituals. This isnotthat. I am notgivingit to him and he is notacceptingit as a sign of my feelings. The only reason he has it is that I had nothing else to tie him with. If anything, it is now a symbol of the animosity that exists between us.
We are almost back at the cave when Marvik breaks our tense silence.
