Chapter 13

Dura

M arvik acts strange all day. Though he is more burdened, and therefore slower, than he was in the forest, he tries to make conversation occasionally as we walk. About innocuous things, like the meat pies at the inn or whether I have ever fought with a sword. I give him short, succinct answers, not trusting his new chattiness. But every time I end one topic, within the hour he tries again with a new one. It almost seems like he is trying to get to know me. After a month of him barely saying anything to me, it is disconcerting. Is he just feeling guilty for how he has been treating me, in light of the news about his sister? He shouldn’t; I understand now why he craved vengeance. Not that I didn’t understand the urge before I knew the full story, but now that I do? I just wish that he would leave and be done with it. His new superficial overtures of friendship are almost painful. They are hollow offerings that fall far short of what my Mating Instinct and Recognition really want.

By the time we are in sight of a village called Portia, it is evening. I greatly miss my warbeast. With her gray fur and scales and bright blue eyes, I raised her since she was a pup. If we had Kava we would have already made it to Grimblton. The thought gives me pause. I wonder what will happen to Kava. Usually a warbeast is passed to a warrior’s next nearest kin after they die, but I only have my parents and my cousin, none of whom would need Kava. I hope whoever inherits her takes good care of her and feeds her the fresh rabbit meat she loves.

As we near the village wall, I go to use my amulet again, but then remember that I have already used its power today and it will need to be recharged.

“I can’t become invisible,” I say, hesitating.

Marvik stops, but then looks at the gate into the village. “There doesn’t appear to be an orc here, though you could probably tell better than I could. Your eyes are better in the twilight. Maybe Portia’s too small to have warranted their own orc guard.”

I look where he is indicating, squinting, and see that he is right. The gate to the village is still open, one haggard looking human standing guard with no orc companion. Maybe Marvik is right, and this place is too much of a backwater.

“What will our story be?” I ask. I heard him lie back in Kingsbury, and he seemed quite adept at it.

He considers my question for a time, then says, “Maybe I could be a merchant and you are a mercenary I hired to escort me to Grimblton. That should be believable enough.”

I nod. That makes sense. I know a few orcs that make their living being sell-swords. It’s a simple lie, but perhaps those are best.

“Give me the bow, then. It wouldn’t make sense for a merchant to be armed.”

Marvik does as I say, taking the bow off over his head and then giving me the quiver of precious arrows. I equip them adeptly, no stranger to a bow, though my true strengths lie in hand-to-hand combat.

“Lead the way,” I say, taking a step back, so that I can appear to be protecting him from behind. I was Keeper of the King for many years. I know how to hold myself like a bodyguard.

As we come to the gate, however, the town guard’s face lights up and he says, “Gods, what luck! I’ve been wanting to see one of the War Brides!”

That brings both me and Marvik up short. “War . . . brides . . ?”

The guard looks at us and then blushes. “Sorry. I should say War Groom? War Fella? Something like that. One of the humans that volunteered to marry an orc as part of the treaty. Or get chased by them, or whatever the deal is. One of my sisters headed up to Garden Manor to join. Heard that the War Brides are treated real well and, well, food’s scarce in the south these days, isn’t it? But I heard some men joined up to marry some of the shieldmaidens. Didn’t think I’d get to see it, but here you are.”

The humans have a program where they can volunteer to mate with orcs? Willing mates? It sounds kind of like the traditional Bride Chase, but instead of the general population, orc warriors pick from this pool of volunteers. It’s a genius idea, one that will probably lead to more lasting matings. I wonder how Rognar thought of it.

Marvik doesn’t miss a beat and reaches back to grab my hand. I hastily sheathe my claws to avoid hurting him, as he says, “Yes, I am one of those volunteers. This is my wife, Dura. We are traveling to meet her parents in Orik. Isn’t that right, sweet?”

Hearing him call me “sweet” almost makes me snort in surprise, but I keep my composure and say, “That’s right.”

The guard merely smiles, not suspecting a thing. “Well, isn’t that nice? And you stopped in Portia on your way. If you were just there, did you meet my sister? Mira Fischer?”

Marvik shakes his head. “We must have just missed her. We’ve been on the road awhile, as you can imagine. It’s a long walk from Garden Manor to Orik.”

“Gods, you’re right. But I thought all orcs had one of those wolf-dragon things?”

“Warbeasts,” I supply. “And no, I don’t have one. I was in the infantry.” Again I think of Kava with a pang.

The guard nods sagely. “That makes sense. Well, I shouldn’t keep you out here all night. There’s been some werewolf attacks along this road recently, you know. I should get you both inside and close the gate.”

So this is where the werewolves attacked, like the werewolf Cronin said. I think of the wolf leader, of his easy confidence and calm manner. I wonder why they were so desperate to attack humans and orcs? And did he send the gray wolf to attack us, or was that the action of a renegade?

Marvik offers, “It’s a big gate. Do you need help?”

“That's very kind of you. I wouldn’t say no.”

We step through the gate, and then Marvik helps to slam the heavy door in place. The guard then bars the door with a thick plank.

“The inn’s just down the road,” the guard says helpfully. “You can’t miss it. I can’t wait to tell my wife that I met a proper War Bride! Err, you know what I mean.”

“Thank you, friend,” says Marvik, taking my hand again. “Perhaps we’ll see you tomorrow before we leave.”

The guard merely waves and then heads into the guardhouse that is by the gate. Marvik keeps a hold on my hand and pulls me through the village. Portia is much smaller than Kingsbury, with small houses and a dirt road down its center. It reminds me of the exile village where I grew up. The one that was filled with other orcs that had Claimed their mates. It was poor and resources were scarce, but there was a lot of love and neighborly feeling.

We arrive at the inn, the only one in the village. It is small and obviously old. Nothing compared to The Fox and Thorn, but it is clean and well-kept. Firelight cheerfully winks from inside and I can hear the voices of patrons laughing. We step inside to find a room.

???

After finally extricating ourselves from curious well-wishers downstairs, once again I find myself alone in a room with Marvik with only one bed. The innkeeper even gave us a discount on the room with his compliments on our marriage . Fuck . I can’t risk sleeping in the same bed again. What if what happened this morning happens again? Things are made even more complicated by a tub of steaming water in the middle of the floor, a bath that was ordered by Marvik, costing extra precious coin. He spends like one used to having all the coin in the world.

Fucking pretty little rich boy.

“You can get in first,” Marvik is saying. “You weren’t able to bathe at the pond. I’m sure that you would like to.”

For all my derision at the waste of money, I would like to. I would love to. Though I grew up poor, I was always clean and taken care of. After two months in the woods, I am filthy and hate it. But I also am feeling vulnerable at the thought of being naked in the same room as my Ash’ka .

“Can you step out?”

Marvik just shakes his head. “That would be suspicious. We’re supposed to be married, remember?”

“I remember. But I would rather bathe alone.”

The human just turns so his back is toward me. “I’ll stay turned around until you are done. Now hurry, the water is getting cold.”

“Bossy,” I mutter, but my eyes sidle to the bath. The water does look warm and inviting and it has been forever since I have done anything but wipe myself down with a rag. My eyes go back to Marvik. He is standing, almost at attention, like he is standing guard. As long as he stays in that position, there’s no way he can see me.

Fuck it . I take off my war clothes, armor made of studded leather, and toe off my boots. My ruined socks are last and then I am completely naked for the first time in months. I step into the wooden tub and almost moan. The water feels so good. I sit down and spy a precious cake of oatmeal soap sitting atop a folded towel. I take the soap and rub it on my skin.

This time I do moan, the exfoliation from the oatmeal feeling like the greatest luxury. I keep washing, allowing the warm water to soothe my aching muscles. I hum lightly, cleaning my legs, when I smell a change in the air. A welcoming, spicy scent that I have smelled before, just this morning. Lust . Marvik’s lust.

I whip my head around, but he is still facing the wall, standing in a stiff posture. Maybe even stiffer than before. Did I imagine it? I go back to washing, humming again, and smell it again. Again I turn sharply, only to find him still looking at the wall. But this time, the scent doesn’t go away. It is emanating off of him, his pheromones undeniably communicating desire. It is delicious. Tempting and seductive. I feel myself go wet just from his smell and feel the instinct to thrum. It takes all my discipline to not start.

“Stop that,” I snap, even as I become uncomfortably aroused.

“Stop what?” he asks, his head turning slightly.

“Don’t turn around!”

His head goes back to looking at the wall, and asks again, calmly, “What do I need to stop?”

“Your lust,” I grit out between my teeth. “I can smell it. Whatever you are thinking about, stop.”

The back of his neck heats, but all he says is, “I’ll try.”

I hurry with the rest of my bath and step out of the water, wrapping the towel around me. Going back to my war clothes, I wrinkle my nose with disgust. I don’t want to put my sweaty leather back on my clean body.

“There are clean clothes in my pack. Yours are the smaller parcels,” offers Marvik, as if hearing my hesitation.

That’s right. We went to the tailor’s today. I don’t remember what he picked for me, though. I go to the bed where his knapsack rests and open it. Pulling out the parcels, I find three that are a little smaller than the others. I open one package and find two tunics inside. I pull one over my head and find that it fits, but it is long on me, going to just above my knee. That works. Then I open another package and find some trousers. Going to pull them on, I find they are too loose on the waist. I will need a belt. I let them fall off and open the last package. Socks. Clean, fluffy socks, much better than the sweat-drenched, threadbare ones that I have been wearing for the last few months. The thoughtfulness of the purchase makes me feel a certain way, a way that would be wise to ignore. I pull them on and they feel luxurious against my skin, made from some sort of silky wool blend.

When I am mostly dressed, I say, “Alright, you can turn around. It’s your turn.”

Marvik turns, and when he sees me, he stares. His eyes flick down to my bare legs, slowly working their way up until they reach the modest cleavage that is bared by the tunic’s low collar.

His scent explodes with lust. There’s no other way to describe it. I smell want and desire. Longing, even. It’s so strong that I can almost feel how much he wants to touch me. I immediately get soaked between my thighs and I am glad that he is not an orc, so he can’t smell it. A little thrum escapes me before I quash it again.

Marvik steps forward. “That sound. The thrum. You said orcs make it with their mates. Does that mean that you want me too?”

Want him too? He is my Ash’ka . I have wanted him almost from the moment we met, my frustrated lust a source of great irritation. My Mating Instinct rumbles and purrs within me.

But to admit it would be vulnerable and I do not trust him enough to be vulnerable with him. Instead, I say softly, “You don’t really want me.”

He strides forward, taking my hand in his and places my hand on his cock. It is an iron bar in his trousers, hot and reaching toward me. I feel the urge to squeeze lightly, to test its firmness, but I keep my hand slack.

“That’s just base lust,” I point out, even as my voice is a little breathless. “You are feeling it because I am the only female close, and it has been long since you’ve had a woman. You don’t want me. You want your huntress.”

He goes still. “Where did you hear that word?”

I blush lightly, remembering this morning, the passionate kiss that we shared in our sleep. But I don’t go into detail, I merely say, “You said it last night in your sleep.”

Marvik’s face comes down a few inches, a breath away from my own. I am frozen, unable to move. Unbidden, my eyes go to his full lips, his face graced with light stubble.

“I said it in my sleep because I dreamed of you,” he murmurs. “I have only one huntress, and that is you.”

My heart stills in my chest, absorbing his words. Me? He dreamed of me so passionately? He continues, “I’m going to kiss you now, Dura. Stop me if you must.”

But I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him. His lips take mine and it is all over for me. The first time we kissed, it was all teeth and tongue, a punishment. This time it is sweet and soft, a seductive dance. It reminds me of this morning, only better because we are both aware. My knees weaken and I fall onto the bed, Marvik following me. We land among the packages that I took out earlier and Marvik impatiently dashes them onto the floor before coming back to my lips again.

His chest presses against mine, and his hand finds the outside of my thigh, hitching up my leg so that it is on his waist. My tunic rides up, exposing my sex to the cold air, and he settles between my legs, grinding on me, only the thin material of his trousers separating his cock from my wet heat. I mewl as my blood turns to honey, thick with arousal in my veins.

“Those fucking little sounds you make,” he growls against my lips, “I fucking love them.”

Then he gives a little nip to my lip, just hard enough that it ignites something in me. I take my hands and rip at his tunic, clumsily pulling it over his head. He helps me and soon his sculpted torso comes into view. With my claws, I lightly graze up the sides of his ribs and he groans, kissing me hard. Then I sheathe my claws and reach between us to the ties of his trousers and yank. They fall down his thighs and I grasp his cock like I wanted to before. He growls deep in his throat. The sound spurs my thrum, which I let spill out unimpeded. Marvik hardens further in my hand, leaking arousal.

“What is this?” he gasps, his arms shaking a little as my thrumming spurs his lust to new heights.

“My thrumming, my sibilance ,” I explain, wiping my thumb over the top of his manhood, wiping away his seed. “It causes your arousal to increase and last longer.” I take my thumb up to my mouth and taste his cum. It is salty, but not unpleasant. Marvik’s eyes darken at the action, dilating with passion.

“As if I need help to be aroused by you.”

His words please me, but I say, “I can’t help it. It just happens when I am aroused.”

His lips find mine again, before wandering down my neck, “Then keep going, huntress. Feels good.”

The hand that isn’t holding my leg comes down and brushes over my nipple.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he grumbles, then licks my collar bone. I shiver at how good it feels. Reaching down, I grab the hem of my tunic and then squirm until it is over my head.

“Perfect,” he purrs. “That is much better.”

His lips find my left nipple and suck, hard. I cry out at the pressure, unsure what to do with my hands. Marvik laves my nipple, letting it calm for a second, then sucks again. Then he goes to the other and does the same. He keeps switching between them, licking, sucking, nipping. Out of nowhere, my back bows off the bed and I am coming, the first orgasm I have ever had with another person.

“So sensitive, huntress,” Marvik murmurs. “So ready for your man.”

His hand sweeps downward, petting my mound before finding my soaking clit. It’s almost too much, so soon after coming, but I crave the intensity. My thrum strengthens as his fingers glide around my center, never quite touching my clit, but building the pleasurable pressure in me again.

“If you keep using your sibilance, I’m going to come too soon and I want to last for you.”

“You can,” I respond. “With my sibilance, you’ll be able to stay hard all night.” Or at least so I have heard.

Marvik looks stunned, then a lazy smile spreads over his lips. Beautiful. He looks beautiful when he smiles. I know that males don’t like to be described like that, but it is true. “That’s good information, huntress. I look forward to fucking you all night then.”

His hips press against my own, his cock notched at my entrance. He’s going to enter. I feel my first feelings of apprehension.

“Wait!”

Immediately, Marvik stops. He looks at me questioningly and, though I still hate to be vulnerable with him, I admit, “I’ve never done this before.”

His eyes widen. “Sex? How is that possible? You’re gorgeous.”

Flattered but a little defensive, I say, “When I was younger, I was an outcast. No one wanted me. And when I grew older and had offers, I never knew if they wanted me just because of my high military position or closeness with the king’s family. I decided to wait for my Ash’ka. ”

Marvik’s hand finds my center again and starts massaging around my clit. It feels so good and my thrum begins once more.

“So no other male has had this wet, responsive pussy?”

“No,” I moan, my legs instinctually falling open, granting him more access. He takes my legs and hitches them up around his waist, tilting my hips, before going and pushing one finger inside me. It is a tight fit and he starts pumping in with his finger, curling it sometimes in a way that makes me call out with pleasure. My climax is building again, banishing my earlier fears as euphoria takes their place.

“No other male has had this tight cunt?”

“No,” I say again. “You don’t mind?”

He chuckles darkly at my words, then responds, “ I ’ve had lovers in the past. Do you mind?”

My brow furrows, some of my euphoria receding. I don’t especially like him bringing them up while he has his hands on me, but I get his point. “No. You can’t change your past.”

“Exactly. So no, I don’t mind being the man to show you the ways of passion. I’m fucking honored.”

He adds a second finger and it feels good. He kneads my interior flesh, softening my muscles and then adds a third finger.

“This might hurt for you, the first time, huntress.”

That makes me stiffen again. “What? Why?”

“Human women have something called the maidenhead. It sometimes tears the first time, but the pain doesn’t last long, if a male knows what he’s doing. Do orcresses have the same?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

He kisses my lips, bright and quick, and then says, “That’s good. But we’ll go slowly at first, just to make sure, alright? I don’t want to hurt you, unless you ask me to.”

Unless I ask him to? What does that mean? I don’t ask because I don’t want to look even more inexperienced. So instead I nod.

“Tell me if it starts to hurt and I’ll stop,” he commands.

He presses his cock to where his fingers were and slowly, oh, so slowly, invades my body. It feels so good, the pressure of his fingers inside nothing compared to his manhood. It fills me up in a way I never knew I needed. When he is finally buried to the hilt, I feel deliciously full, but like something is missing.

“Is everything good?” he asks, his voice tight with control.

“So good,” I sigh .

He smiles again and says, “Then I’m going to move. Slowly at first, alright?”

Move. Yes. That’s what’s missing. I want that. I nod eagerly and he starts moving his hips, in and out. With every movement, my thrum grows louder and my climax grows nearer.

Marvik chokes out, “Fuck me. You’re vibrating on the inside.”

Am I? Is that another aspect of my sibilance ? I ask, “Is that good?”

“So good,” he groans, repeating my earlier words. “So fucking good.” His hips pick up speed and oh, I like that. I can feel my climax approach, like a steady beating drum.

“Harder,” I moan, not really knowing what I’m saying. “Harder!”

“You want it harder, my dirty little huntress? You want me punishing your pussy with my cock? Want me to make you come?”

“Yes!” I cry out, loving his filthy words.

Marvik gets even faster, his rhythm brutal. He’s fucking me like a savage and I love it. My orgasm takes me and I keen out in pleasure. I feel my interior walls squeeze down on his cock and in a trice he pulls out, ejecting his seed all over my stomach in long, white ropes. Then he collapses on me, a welcome weight, our bodies pushing together.

My instinct is to put my arms around him, hold him after our shared intimacy, but in the afterglow of my climax I am thinking more clearly and wariness takes hold. What was this? A slaking of lusts? Or something more?

My Mating Instinct thinks it was something more. I feel it riding me to take , to Claim . My mouth is right by his shoulder. It would be a simple thing to bite down. But I don’t because I don’t know why Marvik did this, or where we stand.

Marvik breathes heavily and then he must realize that my thrumming has stopped. He looks up, long blond strands of hair in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”