Chapter 37

37

H akon saw red.

The cry of his mate in pain seared his very soul, burning away all thought and reason. He charged forward, through the insignificant bodies of men and horses that blocked his way.

Get to her. Protect her. Mate.

His hammer and knife were extensions of his arm. It didn't matter that he was less of a fighter than Orek or Allarion or Aodhan—his very heart lay in that meadow, and he would get to her. No matter what.

The ground was slick beneath his feet, and horses and mercenaries screamed as they met the blunt face of his hammer. He swung it high above his head, clearing a path as he charged. On his left, Bellarand galloped, gleefully skewering humans on his wicked horn, as Allarion's sword cut through flesh. On his right, the dozen halflings charged, battering the mercenaries with sheer force.

He broke through the circle of bodies ringing Aislinn, her brother, and the mercenary leader.

The smell of fresh blood invaded his senses, and he saw it. Her blood, running down her leg from a wide slash.

Hakon howled .

His hammer swung wide and smashed into the head of the male stupid enough to hurt his mate . Brain and blood and skull splattered the ground, satisfying his bloodlust.

The beast inside was all Hakon knew—he was instinct only, the will to defend his mate his only care. He stood over her, protecting her with his very body.

He could hardly discern the writhing mass of bodies that circled them. They jabbed and thrust, trying for an opening. Hakon gave them none.

He treated each that dared to his hammer. Necks cracked, faces split, and blood watered the ground around them. Still they came, one after the other or two-by-two, all eager, apparently, to die.

His mind separated from his body, and he couldn't feel the agony of his abused muscles. He was her shield, the dam holding back the river, and he would not break. They crashed against him, trying to overwhelm him with their numbers, but he would not submit.

They were nothing—and he protected everything.

The mercenaries shouted to one another, the worried cries of prey in flight. Hakon heard but didn't understand, the beast uncaring of language. It knew only instinct and fight and protect .

More gathered and tried to rush him again. Their wave crashed against him, but he was the cliffside and would not give. He met every thrust, every strike.

A grunt of pain escaped him when a slash carved across his chest. The hot gush of blood merely made him angrier.

With a resounding roar, he swung his hammer again, uncaring if it opened him to attack. He felt the crack of bone against his hammer, and a big human went down, his neck broken.

Another blade found his side in a glancing blow, the sting of it making him snarl with outrage.

But something had changed. He smelled it on the humans still dancing around them.

His mate's small hand grasped his calf, and he felt her moving beneath him. He pushed her back with his heel.

Stay. Mine. Mate.

Another came for him, and Hakon caught the attack with his knife, sending the human away with a shove before another took their place.

More came. More shouted. More died.

Hakon felt nothing but his rage, his mind gone to the swing of his hammer. He smelled only blood, heard only screams. Somewhere, deep down, beneath the beast and instinct and fear for Aislinn, his heart shuddered.

The bodies began to thin.

The ranks of the attackers broke.

Shouts rang out, a voice he recognized. It made the mercenaries hesitate, turn back, retreat.

Hakon roared at their fleeing forms, daring them to try.

Fight me! Fear me!

He would kill all of them, every single one for threatening his mate and their home. The offense could not stand; they had to pay for their insolence with their blood.

Hakon felt his mate moving beneath him, and he flexed his feet, tightening his hold on her.

He wouldn't let her go. She was his, his to protect and feed and fuck. He'd defeat every male here if he must, for she was his mate. His .

Bodies gathered round them again, though they kept further back this time. He might have recognized the voices now, but nothing penetrated the red haze that encrusted his mind.

Hakon bared his tusks and raised his hammer.

Aislinn.

They said his mate's name.

Aislinn.

Her hands moved over his calves, and he felt her wriggling out from under him. Despite trying to keep her low to the ground, she gained her feet, forcing him to watch both her and their enemies.

Growling in frustration, he crushed her to his chest with the arm of his knife-wielding hand. She groaned under the pressure, but for a moment he didn't care. She wasn't allowed to leave him. He'd hold onto her unto death.

Her hands searched his chest, and a noise of despair left her throat.

She spoke to him, her face turned up to his. He recognized the pleading in her voice, that she said his name.

The rage shuddered but did not give.

There were still enemies about. He could smell other male orcs and the blood. He needed their blood to make his mate safe.

He shook, and for the first time, he was aware of the agony in his body. His arms trembled with the effort of holding his weapons aloft. His wounds stung as blood seeped from the sliced skin.

"Hakon, please."

Her voice called to him, and with a quaking breath, his gaze finally fell to hers.

She reached up to take his face in her hands. Although she wore gloves, he could feel her softness. She exuded it, her eyes wide and luminous and desperate.

"It's all right," she crooned. "We're safe. We've done it."

Hakon shook his head.

The males—the blood—

"I'm safe," she whispered to him. She rose to her toes to kiss his chin. "You kept me safe."

Of course he did. She was his mate, his vinya. He would give his life to her, in battle, in service, in all ways.

He'd promised her as much.

Tears slid down her face, something he couldn't abide. Never.

"Come back to me. Please don't leave me alone."

The words reached deep inside him to wrench at his heart. The organ lurched within his chest, a painful pang that reminded him—

He was Hakon Green-Fist, betrothed to Lady Aislinn Darrow. He went nowhere without her.

"Aislinn."

She smiled through her weeping. "That's right. Hakon. Hakon."

The red seeped from his vision, a world of green and blue and the brilliant gold of his mate's hair coming into focus.

Hakon blinked, peering over her head to see their friends and allies gathered round them, looking on with worry. Whatever mercenaries remained were dead, the meadow strewn with their corpses.

It's done. It's over.

His arms gave, weapons falling away. He wrapped them around her, breathing her scent.

She's safe.

"I'll never leave you, vinya, " he promised her.

Aislinn nodded and collapsed into his arms. Hakon bore them to the ground, his legs giving out. On his knees, he held his mate, not quite believing but so damn grateful.