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“What was that sound you made back in the clearing? Before you tied me up?”
He is obviously asking about thrumming, something that makes my black mood even more foul. I’m still embarrassed that my instincts drove me to use mysibilance. The position we were in caused an involuntary reaction. There is no way in the seven rings of the Nether that I am telling him that chasing and pouncing on himarousedme.
“It was nothing you need to worry about,” I answer tersely. He stops moving and I push impatiently on his back. I can almost feel eyes on me, this wood filled with dangerous things. I am, of course, the most dangerous of them all, but I would rather not have to fight and protect Marvik at the same time. Still, even with my push, he doesn’t move. I know how weak he is after convalescing for so long, so I’m almost impressed, even though I am mostly annoyed.
“What was it?” he asks stubbornly. “What did you do to me?”
He was affected by that short burst ofsibilance? To have a reaction from so little means that he is already attracted to me. I should be pleased with that information. It gives me a little edge over my captive, knowing something that I am sure he would not want me to know, maybe something he doesn’t even realize yet, but again, I am annoyed.
“Why should I tell you?” I demand. “I owe you nothing. Less than nothing after tonight. It won’t happen again, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
He turns to look at me and though my embarrassment bids me to look away, I instead meet his eyes, letting him see my fire and exasperation instead. He keeps my gaze and I stare back into his serious face. I suddenly realize, and become even more annoyed, that he is handsome. His golden hair looks silver in the mysterious light of the thin moon, framing a square, stubbled jaw in strands wet from sweat. A strong, prominent nose bisects his face, large without being beakish, and his dark blue eyes are deep set under good thick eyebrows. His lips, set in that perpetual calculating frown, are generous, more generous than a male’s should be. My mind suddenly wonders at what it would be like to feel those lips caressing my skin.
Base instinct, nothing more, I censure myself. Of course I am attracted to myAsh’ka. The Recognition would make sure of that, as well as my woken Mating Instinct. The urge to push down and fuck the pretty human man, to slake my lust, is strong, but I will endure it, giving nothing away.
I narrow my eyes further, letting all my rage at my current circumstances stare him down. After a moment, he looks away and starts walking again.
“You right,” he remarks, voice steady as always, “You owe me nothing. My mistake.”
Is he trying to make me feelguiltyabout my answer? I could almost laugh if that is his ploy. That would never work in a million years. Itshouldn’twork. But my Mating Instinct whimpers inside me, wanting to give my mate what he wants. It doesn’t understand that we’re at odds, it just wants its mate.Fucking curse it all.
“It’s called thrumming,” I grudgingly offer. “Orcs do it with their mates.” There, that should be enough to soothe his curiosity and my Mating Instinct.
“You know, before I met you, I didn’t know that orcs had mates. I thought they just sired children with other races, since they cannot within their own, and then took the children and left.”
A hot flash of anger courses through me at his assumptions.Orcs certainlydohave mates. My father sacrificed everything to be with my mother, they . . . I will never see them again. The thought interrupts my line of thinking so quickly and unexpectedly, the pain of it so intense, that I stop walking. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but it is true. I willneversee my family again. Perhaps I have been in denial about it, but as that realization dawns on me, grief beyond even what I have felt before spears me. I will never listen to my father’s boisterous laughter or hear my mother sing the remembrance chants, the songs that detail our ancestors, by the fire. I will never hear her gentle chiding as I steal one of her sweetlevasloaves before they have finished cooling or listen to her hum while drinking herzikiblossom tea. I’ll never spar with my father and hear his outrageous excuses for why he lostthis time. All of that is gone. Gone because I deserted the Horde to save the hide of my ungratefulAsh’ka.
At that moment, I hate my mate. Hate everything about him, and I wish, gods how I wish, that I had left him to die. He has brought me nothing but loss and anguish.
Marvik realizes that I have stopped behind him and turns. He sees what is on my face and for the first time I see something other than wariness or calculation. Something almost like concern.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
I gulp, and find my throat thick with unshed tears. I am horrified that they are in my eyes as well. Scuffing my arm over my eyes, I step forward, grabbing his arm and turning him away so that he can’t see me, pushing so that he walks again. I want to get back to the cave before sunrise.
“I’m fine,” I lie, my voice a little huskier than normal. “And some have mates. Not all, but some.”More now that it is no longer illegal, I silently add. But I do not want to get into that now with the human warrior. Orik’s history is its own, as is mine. He doesn’t deserve to hear it. Not when he will just file it away as a weapon to use later. A tool to aid his inevitable next escape attempt.
We reach the cave and I put my hand on his head, roughlypushing him into a duck so that he can fit back through the small entrance and into the cave. Once we are in, I command, “Sit down,” and gesture at the bedroll. Marvik silently obeys and when he is situated, I pull at my second dragonhide bracelet from my right arm, unwinding the beautifully braided leather. When it is rope in my hand, I deftly kneel and begin tying his legs tight enough that it would be a struggle to stand, let alone walk.
“What if I need to relieve myself?” the object of all my hate and longing asks me.
“Then wake me and I will untie you and bring you out,” I reply coldly. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. I do not know what to do next. Sleep, I suppose. Sleep and then look at things with fresh eyes in the morning. Maybe things will not seem so bad and hopeless then. I take one last look at myAsh’kaand find him staring at me with curious eyes. Let him wonder what I am thinking, for I will not share my thoughts with him.
I stand and walk to the other side of the cave, sitting and leaning back on the wall, as I have been doing for more than a month, and close my eyes. I hear the crinkle of leaves as Marvik lays down on his bedroll, knowing there’s no way for him to escape now. His breath is still too quick for him to be asleep, but I don’t care anymore. Fatigue rolls over me like a heavy blanket, and with that, I am asleep.
Chapter 7
Marvik
Ihatebeing tied up. Everything is harder with my hands and feet bound. Even sleep is difficult, as I often wake with my limbs painfully numb and tingling after I have held them in strange contortions all night. And there is very little compassion from my jailer. This is my fault, however. After the first few days of untying my feet to let me relieve myself, I tried to run, hands bound, through the trees. She caught me easily and now, for the past few weeks, my feet are always bound, just a little looser, so that I am hobbled at all times. At least she tired of feeding me rather quickly, so now my hands are tied in front, rather than behind my back.
Presently, she is gone hunting and I am doing what I normally do: trying to cut myself free. A while ago, I found a sharp edge on one stalagmite in the cave and I carefully shuffle over to it, and begin rubbing the cord back and forth on the stone. I don’t really know why I bother. Whatever she has tied me with is not normal leather, or I would have cut through it weeks ago. But it is better than doing nothing, sitting on my bedroll and waiting like a good little prisoner for the orcress to come back.
I work on my bonds for what I judge to be around a half an hour. Stopping and examining them, I see I haven’t even scuffed the shine off the braid. No matter, I have come to expect it. The act is more of a quiet rebellion, anyway. My wrists feeling a bit raw, I stand and head back to my bedroll and begin running through what exercises I can while bound. I need to stay fit for my next escape. There is a medium-sized rock in one corner that I have been using for weight and I lift it in my bound hands, curling my biceps while I hold it for as many repetitions as I can. Then I do a series ofweighted squats. Normally, before the war and my captivity, I would train extensively and spar often to keep up my strength and agility, my body honed into a weapon in its own right. The weakness that comes from idleness is new to me and I dislike it. I still have muscles, but they are softening from inactivity and I have been working to remedy that.
I have moved through my routine and am on my last set of push-ups, my shoulders straining from having to keep my arms so close together when the orcress returns, a brace of rabbits in her hands. I stop my exercise to look at her. Her hair is a little wild from the wind and there is a slight flush to her cheeks, as if she hurried back as soon as she checked her traps. A light sheen of sweat glistens on her bright green skin, even though the air has become cooler of late, supporting my theory. She looks at me too and her nose twitches. I wonder for a moment if I smell as bad to her nose as I do to my own, then dismiss it. What do I care if my stench offends her? It is her fault that I haven’t had more than a rag bath in two months.
Pushing myself out of the exercise, I gingerly find my feet, no simple task while hobbled.
