Chapter 17

Seventeen

Two nights later, Lorik returned.

I was doing my nightly chores in the garden, bundled in a thick sweater and fur-lined boots since the frost was coming. My mood was dampened, brooding and somber. I thought it was alarming how quickly I could've grown attached to someone, used to their presence in my small, quiet life. I wondered if it was healthy. Logically, I knew I should be wary, but my heart didn't care.

I wanted Lorik. I missed him. His scent, his mischievous grin, his voice. His kisses, his touches, the way he laid me back on my bed and…

I sighed, ignoring the sudden throb between my thighs. My bed smelled like him, which had led to interesting dreams.

More than that, I worried about him. This mysterious job he had…and who he answered to. He was only just recovered from the poisoned arrow. What if something happened to him? What if he never came back?

As if he'd heard that very last thought as I watered the roots of a wrathweed bundle in the bed, I heard his voice, just as I heard Peek's warning hiss.

"Thinking of me, little witch?"

I gasped, whirling, half of the water can spilling outside the bed. But when I saw Lorik standing on the boundary of my property line, just beyond the witch's spell, the can tumbled from my grip and I grinned.

I rushed toward him, and he caught me with a grunt when I accidentally slammed into him a little harder than anticipated.

He felt solid and warm in my arms. I buried my face in his chest, noticing he wore a dark blue vest with subtle silver embroidery and dark pants. In his embrace, I felt a rush of relief so bright that it nearly brought tears springing to my eyes. Then I felt silly, keeping my face pressed to his clothes so he wouldn't see.

"I missed you too, Marion," Lorik murmured, his lips brushing the tip of my ear, his breath hot with the words. He ducked his head, tucking me close.

And I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so happy.

"We should get out of bed," I whispered to Lorik two mornings later.

"Mmm, no," he replied, keeping me tucked into his body. His front was pressed to my back in my tiny bed, and the heat of him banished the morning chill. "Let's stay here all day. I demand it."

"Demand it?" I asked, smiling, shifting. A small twinge of soreness bloomed between my legs, and there was a fresh bite mark on my neck. Last night—or rather in the early hours of morning—he'd growled that he wouldn't heal it, that he wanted to see his mark on me the next day, that nothing would make him more delighted.

Ever since he'd returned, we'd been ravenous for each other. One would think we'd been separated for months, not mere days.

"I suppose I could be enticed to rise," Lorik murmured, his tone slightly suggestive.

I turned in his arms and propped myself up on my elbow, quirking a brow down at him. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes," he murmured, his eyes strayed down my naked front. My breath hitched when he reached forward to rub a calloused thumb over my pebbled nipple. "What would you entice me with?"

"I know exactly what you want," I said, tone husky from sleep.

Lorik grinned.

"You want those scones I baked yesterday, don't you? Fresh and hot with red riverberry jam spread on top."

"Gods, yes," Lorik groaned. "See? You know me so well already, my love. Let's go."

My laugh was cut off with a brisk kiss, and before I knew it, I was flung up from bed, completely naked. Lorik was up too before I could blink, rummaging through my tiny wardrobe, and I watched as he pulled out a thick sweater and soft green pants.

He had my head through the sweater as the material muffled my giggle.

"Been thinking of those damn scones all night," he grumbled. "You've ruined me, Marion."

He even stooped in front of me to help me put on my pants, sliding his hands up my legs in a thorough way that had me biting my lip. I finished threading my arms through the sleeves of the sweater just as he stood to lace up the pants.

"Now, get in that kitchen, my little witch," he teased against my lips, nipping at the bottom one with his fang. "Or else it's back in bed for you, and I promise you I'll be hungry in other ways that have nothing to do with your scones."

"Hmm, the kitchen or the bed for me? One would think we're back in the Graydom era."

He barked out a sharp laugh. "Believe me, I know how risky this is to tempt your wrath. I'll make it up to you. But the scones are worth it."

I shook my head, fighting my smile, and went into the kitchen. Behind me, I heard him dressing. One thing I'd learned about Lorik over the last two days was his charmingly voracious appetite for food and the shameless lengths he went to get it. At this rate, we'd have to go to the market to get more provisions because he'd already eaten through half of my underground cellar.

But I didn't mind it. Not one bit. The cottage felt vibrant with him here. It felt brighter, despite the winter approaching.

A Kylorr-Allavari male, I realized, must need to eat a lot.

"Tea?" he murmured, coming up behind me as I stood at my small prep counter. He pressed a kiss to my temple, and my belly erupted in flutters.

"All right," I responded, ducking my head when a huge grin threatened to erupt.

I wasn't used to be taken care of. But Lorik had taken care of me the last couple days. In more ways than one. He helped me from the moment we woke until we closed our eyes to sleep. From small things like chores to making my tea in the mornings and evenings to helping in the garden. To larger things like completely fixing two of my back windows and clearing out a clogged pipe from the well.

And then at nights—or really anytime the mood struck—he took care of me in other, more satisfying ways. He was an unselfish lover. Last night, he'd murmured into my ear that it turned him on more watching me come apart with his touch.

It felt comfortable between us. Strangely so. Like we'd known each other for years, had lived together for years, had been making love to one another for years…

After Lorik got the kettle on over the hearth, the fire of which he'd stoked with the pile of wood he'd chopped yesterday, he returned to me, leaning against the prep counter, keeping his wings tucked so they didn't get in my way as I mixed the dough.

He watched me. He was dressed in a soft linen tunic, with long sleeves that went to his wrists and dark brown pants, the leather soft and supple with time. He'd cheekily brought a small bag of spare clothes with him on his return. From where? I didn't know. And as the days passed, it got both easier and harder to not ask questions. It was a strange tumultuous feeling bubbling up inside me.

But all I knew was that the inside of his wrist was smooth—no magical marking in sight, calling him away. I'd been checking it the last two nights, even in the middle of the night if I woke and Lorik was sleeping.

"What are you thinking about?" he wanted to know now.

"You," I told him truthfully.

He smiled. He liked that. I could tell.

"I really like you, Marion," he told me softly. I paused in mixing the dough when he reached forward to tuck back a strand of my hair. For a brief moment, I saw his lips pinch down. "One might even say too much."

"Even though we barely know each other?" I asked quietly.

He nodded. He swallowed. Hard.

"Sometimes…I wonder if the Kylorr's deities have been watching over Allavar all this time," he admitted quietly.

I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling my belly warm with the meaning. Fear sprung up too…but only because this felt real. This felt meaningful and unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

He was wondering if fated mates were still possible, when he'd told me once he didn't believe in them. He was wondering if I was his. Bound in blood. Picked for one another by a higher power, one that we didn't even understand.

"Oh, Lorik," I breathed.

"Too soon?" he murmured, quirking his lips in a self-deprecating expression. "Maybe. But I don't want to hide what I feel for you, Marion. Because of what? Fear? No, I don't believe in that."

To banish the sudden vulnerability I spied in his eyes, I leaned forward quickly, going up to my tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. He grunted against me, his hand reaching out to circle my waist. Even though my hands were covered in dough, I cupped his cheek in my grip when I leaned back.

"I really like you too, Lorik," I told him, feeling my throat tighten with fear—but also relief—as I spoke the words. His gaze warmed, molten and soft. "So let's just see where this goes, all right?"

For a long while, Lorik looked like he wanted to say something. I could see the debate in his eyes, the words held on the very tip of his tongue.

But whatever it was died, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment.

He looked down between us, his eyes going to the floor, and when he met my gaze again, he gave me a warm smile.

"That sounds perfect," he said.