16. Rok’nhar

SIXTEEN

My mate is a godsdamn goddess,and I'm gonna spend the rest of my days worshipping the ever-loving fuck out of her. Ain't got a choice in the matter, really; haven't since I first laid eyes on her.

Still don't know how in the hells an orc like me got so godsdamn lucky, but I am just about done questioning the why, where, and how of it all, especially when Orlagh's so set on claiming me. Because the way she's looking down at me through those long lashes right now? The heat radiating off of her?

Hells, I ain't even started fucking this sweet little sunbeam of mine yet and I'm already close, closer than I should be. But how the fuck am I supposed to keep myself in check when she's gone and taken the reins like she has? Beats the fuck out of me, especially with the way she's shining down on me now, straddling my hips and grinding that juicy cunt of hers back and forth along the back of my shaft. I groan, more than a little fucking eager to bury my prick to the hilt and empty my balls inside her, pushing up against her just as enthusiastically as she's grinding down on me and running my hands up along the sides of her tight, shimmering body.

"Now... this ain't fair, peaches. Here you are fucking with me," I hiss, cupping those perky little tits I love so fucking much, thumbs rolling over her dusky nipples as I lay back and watch her hips swivel along my shaft, "when I thought you were gonna fuckme?"

That elfin smile creeps across her lips and I growl as I jerk my hips, the tip of my prick bumping into her swollen clit and sending a jolt through us both. Orlagh unleashes a low moan as she leans back, bracing a hand on my hip behind her for balance and gripping the head of my prick with her other one, thighs trembling.

"Well, of course I'm going to fuck you, Rok…" she teases, gazing down at me while she drags my cockhead over her clit; side to side, up and down, hips still. "I had no idea my mate was so impatient…"

There's something in that gaze, something wild and ancient that's got my heart banging in my chest like a war drum and my prick harder than tempered steel, the entire fucking length of me giving a half-hearted y'all come back now to any semblance of rational thought I may have had left before she brought me down here to the floor and started putting on this hot little show, using me like a fucking sex toy and driving me godsdamn wild while she's doing it.

Fuck, but I need to be inside her—now. Needed to be inside her two fucking years ago when I first laid eyes on her, when I first caught her scent and that insatiable desire sparked to life somewhere deep in my chest.

Easy to call it what it is now—my part of our bond, our connection, something caged and carnal and desperate to douse itself in the flames of whatever fire it is she's got blazing behind her lavender eyes now, fixing to devour me—and now that I have a name for it, now that she's my mate, mine? All I want is to pull her up onto her knees and fuck her till she's sobbing and shaking and screaming my name, over and over again, day and night.

"I gotta have you, sunshine, I can't fucking take it," I grunt, taking her by the hip with one hand and fisting my shaft with the other, aiming to lift her up and press into the sweet, silken heat of her at long last. But then my sweet little sunbeam goes and does something that has my tusks hitting the damn floor: she full-on slapsmy fuckingprickaway, and godsdamn if it doesn't feel fucking phenomenal.

Is this how she feels when I spank her ass raw? Cause that bite of pain, that rush of pleasure after, and the blessed little shock to my fucking brain—like someone pushed a godsdamn reset button—sure as hells did something for me that ain't quite been done before, something I'll have to explore more thoroughly in less urgent circumstances, because right now? Right now I need to fuck her, and fuck me if she ain't already smirking while she wiggles herself down my body and well out of my grasp.

"Oh, yes you can, Rok'nhar. You're mine, remember?" she pants, sliding back off my hips and bracing her knees on the tops of my thighs. Her eyes are trained on my prick, all slick and glistening with her juices, and the way she's practically licking her lips as she watches my seed start to pearl and dribble in earnest makes me weak in the knees. "And that? That's mine, too."

"Yes ma'am, that sure fucking is," I mutter, linking my fingers behind my head, happily chastised and mighty keen on leaning back and enjoying this show she's so set on giving me, cause I'll be damned if she ain't claiming me like she's the Warchief and I'm the spoils.

Now, we ain't been fucking long, but we've been fucking a lot—stocking up on coconut water and eating extra protein a lot—and Orlagh's never taken charge like this.

I fucking love it.

That glow is still shimmering across her golden skin as she works her magic, reflecting back on us tenfold. Never even flipped the lights on, no need with her here shining all around and lighting up the space for us; lighting me up. Even for a backstage dressing room that's already half vanity, there are an uncomfortable amount of mirrors in Haf's space—calling it excessive would be generous; ego-affirming would be more accurate.

I take a deep breath, letting that warm vanilla and citrus flood my senses, complimenting the sweet, sharp scent of her cunt while I watch her work.

Orlagh's softer than a summer sunset, that glow all hazy and heady, making me feel damn near as dizzy as the way she's twisting her wrist around me right now does, fisting my cockhead and easing back my foreskin just enough to set my seed to seeping from the tip of my prick until it's spilling over her nimble fingers. She squeezes on her pass back up, hard, hard enough to make my sac tighten and my stomach muscles jump, belly wobbling a bit as they do. That's when I realize that, for maybe the first time in my life, feeling bad about my body hasn't even crossed my mind. That age old shame of mine didn't just get booted out of the arena tonight—turns out it ain't got no business here, either.

Those tangerine locks I love fall into her violet eyes as she gazes down at me through her lashes, a wicked little smile curling in the corner of her sweet lips. I don't think I'll ever not be struck by how godsdamn beautiful she is, how beautiful that golden skin of hers is, or how impossibly lovely she gets when she's flushed like a summer strawberry. That fancy wig looked damn good on her, but I'm mighty glad she stripped it off along with the rest of her clothes—and mine.

Once I'd moved us into the room—kicking the door shut behind me hard enough to rattle one of Haf's signed headshots off the wall—she'd slipped out of my arms and sprang into action, tossing my cloak to the floor and pulling me down along with it, not even bothering with the big ass leather couch; which, come to think of it, might have been a smart choice considering Haf's history of entertaining eager fans after curtain.

I can't even remember all the details of who stripped what off of who, but I do remember a few choice moments in that blur that brought us here: sliding my tongue all over those pretty tits after tearing away the laces of her corset, ripping those tiny black panties clean off after she swished out of her skirts, and stealing one long, lazy lick along her sweet seam before she set her foot down and took me down with it. No clue when the fuck I got my damn boots unlaced, let alone kicked ‘em off. And where the hell'd those brass caps go? Don't recall her fingers or mine prying them off my tusks, but we're both completely divested of all our clothes now and that's all that matters; her, us, this.

"How in the hells did I wind up mated to someone so godsdamn perfect…" I rasp, sucking in a breath when she picks up the pace of her strokes with a sweet little laugh. Those magical fucking hands move over me and I push up onto my elbows, unable to think about anything other than how fucking good those golden fingers feel squeezing around me as she drags them up and down my length like she's churning fucking butter, coating me in the seed pearling from my veins with each pass.

"I could ask you the same thing," she breathes, a strangled sigh rushing out of her when she braces a foot on the ground to lift and swivel her hips, rubbing the weeping head of my prick against her clit once more before notching me at her entrance. "You're perfect, Rok; and so is this fat, green cock of yours."

Orlagh's head drops back as she sinks down onto me, inch by fucking inch, sheathing me in the tight, wet heat of her cunt until her knees slide off my hips and she's nearly swallowed me whole. Her hands go to her tits at the same time as mine, and she laughs as writhes on top of me, hips circling and bucking faster now, devouring my prick with her cunt over and over again. A low rumble sounds off in my chest as I grip onto the bearskin beneath me, lifting my head to watch her ride. I don't know how she's doing it, but those veins running up the length of me are following every twitch and twine of her hips like the pied fucking piper.

"Fuck, but I love you, sunshine…"

She smiles down at me as she falls forward, bracing her hands on my belly, fingers splaying through the coarse hair they find there. "I love you, too. Now shut up and let me fuck my ma?—"

A series of muffled moans overtake her words, followed shortly by several theatrical sobs and the clear sound of something solid hitting the wall behind the couch in a steady, unmistakable rhythm. I turn my head toward the noises, closing my eyes and dropping my head back onto the furs beneath us with an exasperated sigh. I'd hoped those two had already done their thing and headed out, but apparently Orlagh's sharing my box seats to the after show tonight.

The moans get louder, the rhythmic pounding slowing and then speeding up again. Orlagh looks to the wall and then back at me, amused confusion plain on her face, hips dropping to a steady, slow roll. "Those… those are happy noises, right…?"

"Yeah, happy and consensual," I laugh between shaking breaths, because what the hell else am I gonna do? Here I am, finally buried to the hilt in my mate, and now I gotta stop and explain the erotic melodrama going on one dressing room over. "Thandriel, the uh, elf king and his human consort, Hank? Hank likes to…."

I pause a moment, staring up at her as I search for the right words, grabbing up handfuls of that sweet ass to make sure she don't stop riding me the way she is. Fuck, how is she so godsdamn tight, slick as she is? Feel like I'm splitting her in two, feel like she wants me to split her in two.

"No other way to put it, I reckon. Hank likes to fuck King Phandelvedere back to life after a melee show? Thought we'd missed the performance, but…"

"Back… back to life?"

It don't take but a second after we lock eyes again for us both to start laughing so hard that we're shaking, and fuck me if every jolt of laughter don't rock her just a bit harder against my prick. She may not be leading the charge on those veins of mine anymore, but they're writhing inside her like they're fit to bust off my prick and make themselves a tidy new home in her perfect cunt.

"Yeah, he… well, he's got this whole story—which I'm sure he'll talk your ear off about at the next big work event if you wanna go, there's one at the autumn equinox—about how that codpiece goes with the crown, how it's his stones inside that hold the real magic and not the moonstones…"

"Wow," she nods as her hips circle once, twice, and then still, eyes going wide in consideration. "I mean, creative. And I get it, in theory at least. I love a good romance, but… every so often you need at least a dash of something weird in there."

"They add more than a dash," I grunt, rocking into her nice and slow, toes curling at the feel of my foreskin dragging against her tight walls. "Loudly, as you'll find out any minute now."

"I don't know… I think we can get louder." Orlagh brings my hands to her waist, gripping my elbows and pulling me up till I'm sitting, lining up our lips.

"Oh, I know you can. Let's hear it then, peaches. Let's hear you come all over your mate."

I let her guide my hand, taking on her weight and bringing her up and down the length of me, not moving any faster than she's bidding even though I'm ready to rut into her in earnest and fucking explode.

"Every last creature in this theater is going to hear how—oh, goddess yes, keep bringing me back down like that—hear how hard you make me come, Rok. Even that p-pickle vendor way out front is going to know exactly how much I enjoy your fat, green cock inside my tight little cu-u-uhnnn…"

My tusks press into her cheeks as I capture her lips, reckless, filling up her mouth with my tongue until she's crying out in earnest, that familiar sense of urgency building as she gets closer to the edge, moaning low and feral into my mouth.

Orlagh tears herself away, arching back, grabbing at me even as she's pushing my arms back to take over, the noises coming out of that sweet mouth wanton and wild and loud enough to wake the fucking dead.

"Rok, please… I… I n-nee…need…"

I lay back slowly and move my rough fingers down her waist, over the soft fullness of her hips, thumbs pressing down right above her vulva. She chases her own pleasure in earnest then, bringing me untold amounts of my own in the process. Watching her try to take what she needs from me, watching her eyes squeeze shut in concentration and that little drop of sweat roll down the bridge of her pert little nose? I'm damn near losing control again, right here, right now…

"You just say the word, sunshine," I hiss, thumbs grazing the sides of her swollen clit and then she's arching back, hands dropping behind her to brace against my thighs. My face contorts in pleasure at the sight of her flat stomach stretched out, all taut and smooth except for the bulge my prick is making. "Oh, fuck, Orlagh… Tell me to take over and you know I'll take you where you want to go."

"Please, Rok," she moans, throwing herself forward and clawing her way up my chest until she's bracing those golden hands against my shoulders, nothing but the tip of me still inside her. "Take me there."

I grip her waist with a growl and thrust faster, outpacing the speed of her bucking hips as I hold her still and fuck into her, watching her bloom and blossom until she fucking shatters. The sight of her gushing around our joined flesh, of my prick bottoming out again and again has me roaring through clenched teeth until I'm coming too, coming apart at the fucking seams as I fill my mate full of my seed, watch it swell that flat belly of hers before seeping out around my prick with every thrust.

She goes boneless, head lolling to the side with a breathless little laugh. "Did we win?"

"I think so," I sit up, wrapping my arms around her and pressing a kiss to her sweat-soaked hair between heavy, shuddering breaths, "I know I sure fucking did."

The sweet, heady scent of sex lingers in the air around us, reminding me that I'm not fucking done; far from it. My hand finds her lower back as I push up onto my knees, flipping our positions, still buried inside her and still… impossibly fucking hard.

"Why, Warchief Grok'hal," her voice is low, teasing, as she gazes up at me like a golden fucking sex goddess. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to fuck me again."

"You're damn right I am," I mutter, laying her back onto the cloak and bracing an arm beside her head. "Didn't you listen before? I'm gonna breed you peaches, put that IUD of yours to work."

I can feel her clench around me as I grab the back of her thigh, pushing down until one of her hips angles up, changing the depth and rolling my hips against her, still balls deep.

"Rok, what are you… oh…" Orlagh raises onto her elbows as I roll my hips again, a high, keening cry rising in her throat as I set a slow, driving pace, the slap of my sac against her ass keeping time.

It would seem I'm hitting a spot I'm not entirely sure I've hit before, the slick mess of her snug around me, squeezing tight around my writhing veins even as I move again, more of my seed seeping out of her wetness and around the base of my prick, making the steady slap of our skin a truly obscene sound, one that's music to my fucking ears. That golden skin of hers is still glowing, glistening with sweat beneath me, providing the dim light reflecting around the dressing room.

Something buzzes somewhere in the pile of clothes we'd happily abandoned, breaking the spell that has us both mesmerized by the sight of our joined bodies, lost in each other.

"Oh, goddess," she groans, sitting up, "what if it's my sis?—"

My hips snap as I grab her ankle, thrusting into her abruptly and pushing her back down onto the cloak, pulling another high pitched little yip from her rosy lips.

"I don't care if it's the fucking president," I murmur against her ankle, dragging my tusks and tongue along her smooth, sweat-slick skin. "I ain't done with you yet, not by half."

One half-hearted protest is all she manages to get out as my fingers trail down her calf, between her thighs, teasing out a trail of goosebumps as they go. She throws her head back and moans when I find her clit, stretching her arms up behind her head to fist her hands into the soaked furs beneath her.

Her phone goes off again, or maybe it's mine.

"Nope," I say, picking up speed, rolling hips rocking the both of us. "Don't even fucking think about it."

"I can't think at all," she gasps, her own hips bucking, trying to take over the cant of our fucking.

"Oh, no. You had your turn to fuck me, peaches," I growl, hooking my arms under both of her knees and gripping her hips, pulling her with me as I rock up on my knees. I give us both a moment to adjust before bracing my arms on the ground beside her hips, pushing all of my bulk up onto the balls of my feet until she's locked in, pressed between me and the ground, no room to move. There's fire in my blood, a primal heat taking over. "And now? Well… now I'm fucking you."

Orlagh's mouth drops open, that little crinkle between her brows I adore getting crinklier by the second, one breathless wheeze after another wrung out of her lips with every thrust of my hips.

I smile, damn near breathless myself. That tight little cunt of hers is squeezing me so hard she's damn near pushing me out, and if that ain't a sign to keep at it, then I don't know what the hells is. I set a hard, steady rhythm, drinking in the sight of her spread wide, knees all pushed back next to her tits, at the sight of my prick rearranging her fucking guts, pressing up against her belly between us. I pick up speed, on the verge of losing control already myself, wanting to fill her up just so I can fuck her again, and again, and again.

Our phones go off, both of them at once.

This time we both groan, but I don't quit and she sure as hells ain't asking me to. Her nails dig into my shoulders, those wheezes going from alto to soprano as her cunt flutters around me, milking my prick right as my hips jerk of their own accord, balls and body going tight before I let go with a groan of my own, feeling rope after rope pulse into her, the thick, slick combination of our releases squishing out between us.

"Oh, my… you liked that, didn't you, sunshine?" I whisper, keeping myself hilted as I sit back on my ass, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she hugs my sides with her silky thighs.

"Every day," she pants, nails raking down my back as she rests her chin on my belly, violet eyes shining. "I'm gonna need you to do that every day."

We take our time floating back down from those dizzying heights, sat with bodies locked together and limbs entwined, even though our phones are both going off again and again. Eventually we break apart, and I groan as my prick slides out of my mate, wanting nothing more than to bury my face in the mess of her cunt and taste the two of us before fucking her right back into the ground, but clearly something is going on.

I steal a quick kiss before helping her up onto trembling legs, getting to my feet after. My legs are shaky as hell when I stand, and it ain't from muscle fatigue. That was… that was something else.

Orlagh goes through our clothes, eventually finding our phones and handing mine over.

"Was it your sister? Thought it might be Haf since both—oh, godsdamnit…"

This buzzing piece of shit I'm trying to unlock seems intent on being fumbled, which is damn easy to accomplish with clumsy hands that are still all slippery with sweat and sex and seed.

I gotta find my gym bag, get us some towels.

"No," she says, still stark naked with wet trails of my seed running down her gleaming thighs, and needless to say, I fumble my godsdamn phone again, thoroughly distracted. "It… it was Ulrich."

"Ulrich?"

What the hell would he be texting us both about? All the repairs have been scheduled, and it's mighty late for anything official, unless…

Fuck.

"What about you? Was it?—"

I wipe some of the sweat from my brow before grabbing a couple of towels from my gym bag, handing one to her before going back to my phone, because now I'm sure it ain't a bevy of apologetic texts from Haf I'm gonna find waiting there for me.

"…Ulrich, yeah. Shit..."

Turns out he'd messaged her, then me, then started a group chat, warning us that the alarm spell he'd charmed onto Orlagh's doormat last week had gone off. Unfortunately he wasn't on shift, but was sending his goblins over to see what the hell was going on, would get there and try to catch Wolf and his crew in the act, update us as quick as he could.

"I'll tell him we're not there," she breathes, hands shaking. "Do you think we should head there now? No, no, that would be dumb. Very dumb. Super dumb. We'll wait to see what they find? Maybe call the cops first?"

"Well, hells," I sigh and run a hand through my damp mess of hair. "We gotta stop fuckin' and think now, don't we?"

"Ughhh," Orlagh forces out a breath, blowing a sweat-soaked strand of hair out of her eyes as she gathers up her clothes. "Looks like it. Hey… where are my panties?"

Orlagh skipsahead of me down the spiraling iron stairs, that blonde wig back on her head, curls tumbling down her back. I'm still mighty glad she took it off before we got down to business upstairs, but watching the way it bounces now, shining like a halo around her gorgeous face as she looks back at me?

All I can think about is how badly I want to fuck her still, how easy it would be to do it right here, right now since she ain't got a thing on beneath those skirts; seems I quite literally tore her panties off in that mad dash to undress each other.

Would she let me bend her over the cool iron handrail my hand's skimming down? Hells, who am I kidding—she'd be the one flipping up that bundle of damn petticoats herself, feral as she's been. Grabbing me by the prick and guiding me to her slick cunt, demanding more even as I sank deep inside her, bringing my hands to her hair and practically yanking it back herself.

And just like fucking that, I'm half-hard again.

I gotta get myself under control; I can't fuck her right here, even though I could fuck her right here. Probably lose my job, or at the very least make things awkward as hell at the next company soiree, but even those thoughts don't deter my prick. Orlagh is my mate, mine, and I can't get enough of her.

Would've thought I'd be at least partially sated after filling her up like a cream puff—not once, but twice—but seems that ain't the case. All I want to do is slide into her delicious heat over and over again, make those curls and that ass bounce, hear those low, throaty moans…

I'm so lost thinking about clapping her perfect fucking cheeks, breathing her scent in until I can taste it, that I don't notice the damn applause, not at first. My footfalls slow as I take in the scene before us; seems that private little performance of ours gathered quite the crowd.

Orlagh glides down the last few steps of the winding stairs, sinking into a quaint little curtsy before turning and extending her arms toward me graciously.

My mate is all sunshine and summer strawberries as she blushes and beams up at me, joining in with the applause and cheers from the gathered cast and crew with a sheepish shrug—and a cheeky little wink.

My face is on fire, no doubt about that. All that bravado about throwing down big style in front of these folks without a care in the world is nowhere to be found—especially since I'm still dressed as Grok'hal, smeared warpaint and all. Didn't feel right putting on the muddy clothes I had on at bloodball or my dirty kitchen whites when Orlagh was still looking like a tousled little treat, even if we are just planning on popping down the block to grab a bite at the food trucks—anywhere but Pie Cart, she'd grumbled—while we wait to hear back from Ulrich, come up with some kind of plan.

"Well, well," Thandriel mumbles, slowing his claps as he steps toward Orlagh, dark hair long and loose around his pale face. "Outdone not once, but twice by you tonight, peach."

"That's right, we were—well done." Hank smirks from the elf's side, as dark as his partner is light, and wearing a robe so short I can practically see his short and curlies. He drops into a courtly bow, taking Thandriel along with him—miraculously avoiding flashing a bit of his bits—and Orlagh bites back a smile.

"Figured you could use this," Pete says, tossing a bottle of water at me just like he did at bloodball earlier, a true hydro homie. "And you too," he says as he offers one to Orlagh with a gallant dip of his head. "Told Mila we should keep you on, that bit played out brilliant tonight—the, uh, the onstage one."

"Mila?" Hank scoffs, brushing an errant piece of lint off the satin sleeve of his robe, smoothing out the wrinkles after. "As if your sister needs anything else on her plate, Peter. Besides, I already texted Yar'thak all about this little sun elf here, told him how eagerly the audience ate Rok's pretty peach right up."

"You did?" Orlagh laughs, tilting her head to the side in question. "Don't you guys always play to the audience like that?"

"Well, sure we do," Hank lilts, batting at her arm. "But the audience doesn't always play back, peach. You did, though—just like I did way back when."

"Tempting," Orlagh says, raising her eyebrows in consideration as she hooks her arm through mine, pulling me close. After a moment she pats my forearm excitedly, blinking up at me with comically wide eyes. "Oooh! Maybe if Haf has a scheduled night to air his dick out, he won't keep bailing on everybody and putting you in such a shitty position!"

My tusks dig into my cheeks as I burst into laughter, as do Thandriel and Hank and Pete, a couple of other crew members, and… that new server with the terrible fucking perfume. How the hells didn't I smell her from the get? Weird that she's here, seeing as she mainly keeps to herself, but guess she's trying to socialize more.

Orlagh clears her throat, squeezing my arm a little tighter. "Well, stage door is this way, right? We should get going—I'm positively famished, after all."

The smiles and well wishes she offers to my friends as we go are genuine and familiar, but the look she fixes on that server before we head out? It's one I ain't seen before, one that sends a shiver down my fucking spine; pretty sure even a big brash asshole like my granddad would sizzle up like a strip of back bacon under that searing glare, and I know I sure as hell hope to never fuck up so bad that I find myself on the receiving end of one.

Did I… did I miss something when they were chatting earlier, back before we made it upstairs? I know I was lost in my own thoughts—just like I am now.

I shake my head, steering us past the stage wizards repairing the rigging on our sticky scrim, making a mental note to ask Orlagh about that server once we make our way out the stage door and down the alley, hit the pavement proper.

A hand closes around my other arm—small, feminine, human—and my nose knows it's…. Yennifer? I think that's right.

"Sorry, I… I was actually looking for you, Rok."

"Oh, I bet you were," Orlagh mutters under her breath, meeting the human's tight, red-lipped smile with one of her own, dagger-sharp beneath her narrowed violet eyes.

I clear my throat, trying to toe the line between courtesy and coolness, not wanting to get burned by that ire Orlagh's got simmering in her gaze over there.

"Grena needs you in the kitchens," the suddenly subdued server stammers. "But I can show her where the stage door is."

Yennifer shifts from one foot to the other as she eyeballs Orlagh warily, the leather jacket hanging over her arm reeking so strongly of that gods awful perfume that I find myself fighting the urge to take a step back. Does she go through a whole fucking bottle at a time or what?

Orlagh pins the other woman in place with a withering look before turning to me with a sigh, tugging sharply on my chest armor until her lips find mine.

It's a long, lingering kiss she fixes me with then, and one that she don't break eye contact with our uncomfortable looking friend for. I can't help it, though; my heart races as her lips press against mine, her sweet, pointed tongue teasing mine in a way that makes me remember exactly why I was so keen on bending her over that railing earlier.

When we finally break apart, Orlagh raises an eyebrow at Yennifer, almost as if daring her to say something.

Is Orlagh… is Orlagh jealous?

The thought of her feeling the need to act this territorial around a woman whose name I barely know is so foreign to me, so godsdamn ludicrous, and so… sofuckinghot.

Yennifer's face turns bright red as she looks away, muttering something I don't quite catch under her breath. Almost feel bad for the girl, but I know Orlagh, and I don't think she'd be this worked up and cold over nothing.

My mama's voice echoes in my head: it's the bond, baby.

I shake that thought away. Plenty of orcs find their mates all over the damn place, far away from that stoic old stone in the pines. It ain't crazy to think she's crazy enough about me to get a sight jealous, and besides… feeling like an extra special bone she wants to bury has me all worked up, fighting against my prick as I contemplate all the different positions I could be burying a bone of my own in.

Heat's waiting in Orlagh's gaze when she regards me again, a satisfied little smirk on her sweet lips.

"Not that you needed any incentive to hurry back to me, but… hurry back to me? I'll meet you outside."

Ice-cold panic floods my veins at the thought of her heading out into the world without me, the thought of letting her out of my sight again tempering my desires. It… hurts to even think of parting from her again, even if it is just here amongst people I know and generally trust, and that strange panicky pain is even worse than it was yesterday.

It's the bond, baby.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, chest tight. "I don't know, Orlagh. What if…"

"Rok," she sighs, flattening her tone and leveling her gaze on me—no small feat with our full foot and a half height difference. "We know where he is, and it's not here, remember? Go do what you need to do. I'll stick close to my new… friend Yenni here. Outside, though, because I could certainly use some fresh air."

Yenni stiffens, her strained smile faltering as Hank chokes back a laugh behind us.

I do my best not to react, just the hint of a smile tugging at my tusks. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be quick as I can."

Orlagh pulls me down for a quick peck before sauntering off, and I stand where I am for a moment to watch those hips sway, sac already full enough to ache. But, my gods… that waist of hers is just so damn tiny and those fucking hips are so damn wide that she looks like an upturned sword lily, and all I want to do is buzz up under her petals again and again and fucking pollinate.

That desire flooding back helps shake off some of the unease that I'm feeling, as does the friendly jeering from my friends once Orlagh's out of earshot. Hard not to feel on top of the fucking world after the night I've had, even if fate seems intent on having Wolf fuck around with it.

I stay and chat for a few, saying my goodbyes and clapping Pete on the back before taking off for the kitchens with a bit of a spring in my step.

Tonight has been… well, the best damn night of my life, honestly; even with the questions I still have about how this bond between us actually works, the fears I got cropping up.

Orlagh's right about one thing: Wolf ain't hiding behind any backdrops or tangled up in the valence, waiting to jump out at us. We know where he is, and he's at the apartments, probably with his crew. Even though it's fucked as all hells that this is happening again, Ulrich is hopefully gonna be able to pin his ass this time, catch him in the act and help us make a move against him the right way, a way that sticks. I'm sure the security wizard'll be getting back to us by the time I'm done helping Grena with whatever the hell she needs that can't wait.

Cleanup is well underway once I push through the swinging kitchen doors, I'm happy to note. A couple of the new grunts are handling the sweeping and mopping, Balthazar and Yorek are making sure all the stations are set to gleaming under the bright white kitchen lights, and Grena's already made sure the pots and pans are neatly stacked and sparkling clean, ready and waiting for service tomorrow. It's good to know that despite all the bullshit of the evening, the systems and standards I set to maintain the standard of cleanliness needed in this big ass kitchen are followed—even when I ain't in here to enforce ‘em.

I spot Grena in the walk-in, taking stock, and we tap elbows in greeting; hard habit to break inside these kitchens, even when we ain't cooking.

"There he is," the orc says, flashing her tusks in a smile, "heard you gave quite the encore performance tonight."

"From who?" I ask, brows furrowed as I grab up the closest thing to me—a perfectly ripe chayote off the vegetable rack beside me—and tear into it with my tusks. Tough, chewy, and damn delicious.

Grena gives me a look, likely thinking of the hundred plus times I'd given her hell for doing the same damn thing, but I just keep on chewing, flashing my tusks.

"You mistake me, boss. We heard you giving that encore performance all the way back here."

My cheeks have the good sense to burn, at least. I hand over the uneaten half of my squash, momentarily chagrined, and she chomps down on it through a wide, tusky grin.

"Oh, he was giving someone something all right," Yorek snickers from out in the kitchens, raising a brow at me as he passes by the walk-in.

Alright, now I know I've got to be more red than green, because not only was I fucking my mate instead of helping in the kitchens like I usually do after covering for Haf… I'm not a damn teenager, and even when I was I never took part in this kind of locker room talk. Even though I find the thought of being seen and heard mighty fucking exciting, enjoy it in practice… talking about it, especially with folks who may have been amongst those who saw or heard something, folks I work with? Not so much.

"Yeah, well, not gonna comment on that," I cough, shrugging my shoulders. "But it turns out she's my mate, so…"

"Your… godsdamn. Are you serious?" Grena lets out a bark of laughter before clapping me on the back. "Holy hells… congrats, man."

She walks us out of the back and gestures over the other members of our kitchen crew, sharing the news. I rub the back of my neck sheepishly as they all start whistling and clapping again, making me feel even more awkward—and maybe bringing back just a touch of that swagger I got a taste of in the arena tonight, pride rushing through me like I'm some sort of hero returning home from a battle.

"Alright, alright," I laugh, shoving Balthazar off me and catching Grena's eye again. "I want to get back to that mate of mine, if y'all don't mind. So what'd you need help with?"

Grena looks confused. "Help?"

"Yeah, that new server stopped me, said you needed me for something?"

"Oh, you talking about Yenni?" Balthazar says, throwing a rag over his shoulder and crossing his arms over his chest. He clicks his tongue and smiles as he leans back against the counter. "Think she might be sweet on me, that one. Think I got something real sweet for those pouty red lips next time she?—"

"Alright, alright," I say, yanking the rag off his shoulder and throwing it at his face before turning back to Grena. "That's the one, and she said you were looking for me?"

"Nope," Grena says, putting the griddle back on the range after giving it a once over. "Don't think I've ever even talked to that one, not when lover boy here has her cornered every time she pops up."

"Yeah, because it's me she comes to talk to. And she left something for you, over there?" Balthazar points over to the scheduling station, mumbling under his breath. "Not sure why she said to talk to Grena."

"Probably cause she don't even know your name and thought you were Grena, jackass," Yorek teases, and the rest of the crew give Balthazar shit as they fall back into step, everyone eager to finish up and head out for the night.

My phone buzzes and I see that it's a picture from Ulrich, one that has me right confused. It's Orlagh's front door, and not a thing is out of place—except the doormat.

It ain't there.

That unease I'd been feeling turns to stone-cold dread. My legs don't wanna move, but I make ‘em, taking heavy, leaden steps down the line toward the scheduling station, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

A combination of scents hit my nose when I approach, two faint ones in particular standing out above the rest and turning my blood to ice: the musky smell of werewolf, of Wolf, mixed with the soapy, overly sweet scent of Yennifer's gods-awful perfume, triggering a memory.

One of cheap beer and even cheaper perfume wafting off that asshole as he banged on Orlagh's door, one of dragging his ass down the hall about ready to throw him down the godsdamn stairs and my stomach turning as I got another nose full.

My stomach twists now as I see the source, see the familiar lavender pattern of Orlagh's doormat hanging off of the edge of the countertop, and all the pieces fall into place.

Wolf ain't fucking about at our apartments; he's here, Yenni brought him here.

And now Yenni's with…

Orlagh.

I tear through the building,making a beeline for the stage door and not stopping for anything or anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves in my path; I'll make my apologies later. Right now there ain't no damn time to be courteous or calm, no godsdamn time at all—not while Orlagh's out there and I'm in here, not while Yenni and fucking Wolf must have her, while he could be…

A growl rumbles in my chest and then I'm pushing myself even harder, running full-bore until I'm speeding past the stairs where my friends are still hanging about, knocking Thandriel back into Hank and spilling the elf's drink all down his partner's kimono.

"What the hell?!" Hank shrieks, and the part of me that hates being impolite cringes, but I ain't got time to stop and apologize and chat about what the fuck is going on, so I settle for throwing what I hope is an apologetic look over my shoulder. Pete catches my eye, confusion sprouting across his face.

Wait, Pete knows about Wolf, about all of it—maybe he can explain to the others, tell the right people.

"Wolf," I pant, skidding to a halt just long enough to throw open the heavy stage door, yelling over my shoulder at him as I launch myself through it, the sounds of a struggle filtering in around me, spilling backstage. "He's got Orlagh."

I don't wait to see if Pete jumps to it, what anyone else does, not when a scream from my mate erupts from the alley, high and shrill and full of fear and fury. A raspy, barking laugh follows; Wolf.

I'm handling that fucker tonight—one way or another.

The door slams behind me as I break into the alley, chest heaving with the force of my gulping breaths, heart hammering so damn hard that I can feel my pulse in my pores. The full moon is out, big and bright, shedding light on the scene playing out before me, the fucking nightmare: Wolf's claws are digging into Orlagh's arm as she thrashes in his grip, fighting with everything she has against him while he drags her down the alley toward the street, Yennifer close behind the two of them, and two snarling werewolves stalking toward me, blocking my path.

Wolf turns at the sound of the door slamming and we lock eyes, red flooding my vision.

"See you got my gift, lardass." His tongue lolls as he barks out another laugh and howls. The two werewolves stalking toward me stop in their tracks to throw back their shifted heads and join their alpha, seemingly compelled to. They're both massive and muscular with a wild kind of hunger in their yellow eyes, and they're stopped right between me and my path to Orlagh, to Wolf, which is a big fucking mistake on their part. Do these idiots really think I'm just gonna stand around and wait for them to finish howling at the moon? Assholes are even stupider than I fucking thought.

I've never fought a werewolf before, let alone three, but that don't matter.

Nothing—nothing—is gonna keep me from getting to Orlagh, from protecting my mate.

I charge the one closest to me with a roar, slamming into his side while he's still howling away and knocking him off balance, right onto his ass. He slides back into a dumpster, slumping over after his head knocks into the cold, hard metal.

That was… easy.

And it felt really fucking good.

Claws come flying at me while I'm blinking down at the bastard I got temporarily subdued and I lurch back, grabbing out at the dark furred forearm on instinct, just like with those chakrams earlier. And just like with those chakrams earlier, I get my hands around my quarry, catching a familiar scent when I do—Jex.

"You," I snarl, heavy brow furrowing as I yank him closer, bringing my other hand to his wrist. This motherfucker trailed Brix and Orlagh to the Barbarian last night, put one of these filthy fucking hands on my mate and threatened her.

My voice is a low, sharp rasp when I speak again.

"Which hand?"

"Fuck you," Jex spits, trying and failing to twist out of my grasp as he swipes at me again.

I hold fast, ducking back and baring my tusks. "Guess I could break ‘em both."

A warning growl starts low in Jex's throat, but there's a sliver of panic in his yellow eyes—one that gives him away as they dart to the clawed, elongated hand already trapped in my grasp. "Yeah, right. Like you're really gonna get your pussy hands dirty and?—"

His words shatter into a howl when I snap his first fucking wrist, a high, pained whine echoing up into the night. Jex falls to his knees, clutching his hand, and giving me the golden fucking opportunity I was hoping for to break his other one. I take it without hesitation, enjoying the sharp crack and the even sharper whine I'm rewarded with when it does.

"You're lucky I don't tear them clean off and fucking keep them," I snarl, turning back toward Wolf, path clear. I know his lackeys won't be down long, not shifted like they are with the moon shining down on us: they'll heal quick, so I gotta be quicker.

Godsdamn, but I… I am relishing this a bit more than I should be, ain't I?

It's the bond, baby…

By this time Pete must have sprung into action, or maybe some of the crew heard the commotion and came with, because the door bangs open behind me and several coworkers fly into the alley with him. I holler over my shoulder at anyone who's listening to call security, call the cops, get some ropes to restrain these werewolves or some shit because I want them right fucking here to answer for this shit, right fucking here.

That bloodlust may be real, but I still know I gotta get this asshole pinned proper.

One of the stagehands, a troll named Jim, is already on the move toward the two downed wolves with gaff and zip ties, and I'm so grateful I could full-on kiss the big blue bastard—gotta fucking love a stagehand.

Wolf's still dragging Orlagh with him, hardly letting her keep her feet beneath her, orange skirts billowing around her as she thrashes and kicks. Something dark flashes in that asshole's eyes as he snuffs at the air, realization dawning on his face as he looks between the two of us, and if I weren't so fucking terrified that he'd lash out at Orlagh I'd laugh in his dumbstruck face.

We never did manage to find that orb up in the dressing room, after all, planning on taking a long bath once we got home, so I know what's crinkling his snout, that he must be smelling me all over her, and her all over me.

Those claws tighten around her arm, looking like they're a second away from breaking skin, and I don't want to know what this rage is gonna morph into if they do. I'm already shaking with the effort it's taking to restrain myself, wanting nothing more than to wrap my hands around his fucking throat and shake all his godsdamn teeth loose, string ‘em around my neck and complete the effect of this ridiculous godsdamn armor I'm still sporting.

"Let her go," I say as evenly as I can, taking slow steps forward, arms outstretched as if I'm approaching a wild animal because I am. Wolf is a wild fucking animal, and I gotta get him away from my mate and caged; either that or put him down myself.

A couple of tourists or passersby are at the end of the alley, phones out and up, and I see Hank and Thandriel holding the stage door open and doing the same. Good—whatever happens, at least it'll all be on video, and I'd like to see his crooked cop buddies try to sweep that kind of hard evidence and all these eye witnesses under the fucking rug.

"Rok!" Orlagh screams, shrill and sharp, and I whip back around, just in time to see Wolf shove her into Yenni's waiting grasp and stalk toward me.

That red-hot rage that had threatened to take hold when Jex started up washes over me now, because the scent of blood is in the air, coppery sweet and salted like the sea—Orlagh's blood.

"Oh, Fido," I snarl through my tusks, ripping the cloak off my back and throwing it on the ground between us like a fucking gauntlet, "you just keep making one mistake after another, don't you?"

"Me?" His maw may not be moving like his human mouth does, but his voice is just as raspy and clear as it was in his other form. Wolf's shoulders shake as that grating, barking laugh rattles out of him, moving to the left to try and circle around me. "You're the one who stuck your fat fucking nose where it don't belong, asshole, got between me getting what's mine."

"Yours?" The word tastes like ash on my tongue, and I spit on the ground between us before moving to the right, grateful at least to be closing the distance between Orlagh and me a bit. My blood is fucking boiling, nostrils flaring as my breath comes fast and hard again, that leather strap straining against my chest. "My mate ain't never been yours, and you can smell that your damn self."

A flash of hesitation colors his yellow eyes, but Wolf doubles down, back hunching, lowering his haunches and prepping to launch. "Well, aren't you just as fucking dumb as she is? I ain't leaving without getting what I came for. Sure that mate is worth bleeding for, fatass?"

"What a stupid fucking question," I mutter, wishing I could take my eyes off this cur to look at my sweet sunbeam, let that golden light shine through the storm of rage I got swirling inside me.

What was going through my daddy's head all those years ago? Did he ever love my mama the way I love Orlagh? Because honestly… there ain't even a sliver of a question in my mind about how this is gonna go as I take a few more steps, finally between Wolf and my mate, the only thing between them as he moves straight toward me, slow and menacing.

I could kill Wolf right now if I had a mind to, just like my daddy killed my mama's old beau—but I don't.

Part of me is screaming that I should at the very least kick the fucking shit out of him, I'll freely admit that, but I sure as hell ain't being compelled to do it by any mating bond. Frankly, I'm a little ashamed that I even got the capacity to be so damn violent if I had a mind to, that I'd still be able to wake up tomorrow morning and whip up a big old batch of brambleberry compote for Orlagh with a smile on my face like it was any old Saturday.

It strikes me then. That history might repeat itself after all. That even though I'm in control of myself… I still gotta bring this fucking werewolf to heel—one way or another.

I look past him to see Pete and Jim grappling with Jex, the furry brown bastard already up and moving like he's damn near healed. The other one is restrained at least, hogtied with about a thousand zip ties and muzzled with gaff, but where the fuck is security, the cops?

I take a deep breath, rolling my shoulders and widening my stance, narrowing my focus back down to Wolf. No more stalling, waiting for help that may not help at all. Nothing—nothing—is more important than keeping this fucking mongrel away from Orlagh, than getting us both past this bullshit with him to all the joy we got waiting for us on the other side. Gotta act smart and get shit done, be the rock my mate needs, be the one to fix, protect, save.

And that's just what I'm gonna do.