Chapter 16

Dura

T he Eastforte Thicket is a younger forest than the Deep Wood. The ground isn’t as gnarled with roots and the trees aren’t too thick. Poplar and birch trees, their leaves changed to orange and yellow, make up the bulk of the wood. It is more welcoming and peaceful in its ambiance and I have found no evidence of predators. As such, Marvik was right about the hunting. After my first day every snare that I put out was full, so much so that I let some of the rabbits go. I have no need for so much game now that I am on my own. It seems foolish that the townsfolk avoid this bountiful wood just because it spills into Barakrin, but I suppose humans can be frightened and distrustful of the monstrous races. Orcs know that better than most.

It was easy as an orcling game to find the cave Marvik talked about, with the furniture still inside. His many treks through the woods as a child left a simple-to-follow trail that led straight from the castle to the cavern. Simple for a trained orc scout, that is. Which, of course, will not do if it is to be a hiding spot. One of the first things I do, after making my snares, is to spend a day obscuring the traces of the path. I move logs and stones, spread leaves and even transplant a bush, carefully concealing the traces of the trail. There are still a few when I am done, but it is not nearly as easy to find.

It is worth the work, however. After the cave in the Deep Wood, having a shelter with tables and chairs and even a sagging settee seems palatial. The furniture is a little worn and weathered, but has held up surprisingly well, the cave having protected them from most of the elements. There is even a chest with some books in the very back of the tunnel, the oiled wood having protected the pages quite well. I haven’t tried reading them yet, however. Though I am fluent in Adrikian, my reading and writing is weaker than my speaking. I suppose I will have nothing but time, however, in the winter. It will be as good a time as any to practice.

After that first day, I get to work covering the entrance with branches to keep the wind and snow out when the winter comes. I use some of the rope to make a make-shift door at the end of the wall of branches. The wall is effective, though there are some gaps in the wood. I don’t have the tools to properly machine the wood to be flush. I’ll need to fill the gaps with some mortar when I have time.

I also cut down more branches after the wall is complete, planning to make a smokehouse so that I can preserve my hunts more effectively. It is lucky that Marvik thought to get a hatchet, for it is quite useful getting the branches, though I use my sharper orc-make knives for trimming and details. The days are difficult, but I welcome the hard labor as it gets me out of my head and into the moment. It is the nights I dread.

In the evening, when I am alone in the cave, bedded down on my bedroll, I have time to think and regret. Should I have left Marvik like I did? I am ashamed that I acted in fear, ignoring the screaming protests of my Mating Instinct and the Recognition. I just woke that morning with Marvik’s arms around me, feeling my Mating Instinct completely at peace and wanting more physical affection, and panicked. His sweet, pleading words from the night before were not enough for me. The closer we get the more I have to lose and I have already lost too much. Being with him makes me weak. Besides, he has shown that I cannot not trust him, not with my safety and not with my heart. Whatever god picked him as my Ash’ka either made a mistake or was cruel in their intentions.

The other thing that I regret is that I allowed him into my body. Not because I didn't enjoy it, like he feared. But because I did enjoy it. It remade me, being with him. Now I have awakened an appetite in me that no amount of touching myself can sate. I ache deep inside, my thoughts full of him. In those quiet, agonizing moments, I almost convince myself to go find him, to beg him to choose me. But I remind myself that I was a shieldmaiden, a general, a warrior. My pride will not allow me to beg. I would rather be alone than have him reject me, or worse, accept me out of pity.

I have been in the Thicket for about a week when I get the feeling I am being followed. I am out hunting, checking the snares when I get the distinct feeling that eyes are on me. Turning, I see nothing but trees, the sunlight streaming through the leaves. Was it my imagination? I turn back to my trap, but the feeling doesn’t go away. I reset the snare and stand, brushing off my knees. Nonchalantly, I walk through the wood, on my way to my next trap. I don’t hear any other steps, but I can’t shake the feeling that I have someone, or something tailing me.

I get to a big tree, a rare oak, and rather than step past it, I turn, ducking behind the thick trunk. Waiting with bated breath, I concentrate on listening. At first, I think that I have gone mad, that the solitude is already getting to me, when I hear it: the unmistakable sound of footsteps. The weight and gait behind the steps say that it is a male. A brave hunter from town? The guard in Portia said that food is scarce right now in the south. Maybe desperation has brought one of the townspeople into the Thicket after the game. But if it is a hunter, why would they be following me, so obviously trying to sneak under my notice? What if this is something more sinister? I pull out my knives, just in case.

The steps get close to the tree and I whirl around out of my hiding place, shoving the stalker up against the trunk, my left knife darting up to rest against their neck. Then I see the face of my follower.

“Marvik?”

The human warrior stays still, looking down at me with wry amusement. He is wearing his new clothes, a tunic and leather overcoat. A new knapsack is on his back, though not as big as the one I took from him. “Nice to know you missed me.”

I keep my knife at his throat. “Why are you here? How did you find me?”

“I took a chance that you didn’t know where else to go and would have gone to find my cave. I was right.”

His confidence irks me, especially his assertion that I didn’t know where else to go. It is true, but that doesn’t make it any less irksome.

“That still doesn’t explain what you are doing here.”

Marvik quirks a brow. “Can you take your knife away from my throat first?”

I glower at him. “No. Answer me.”

The human sighs. Actually sighs , like I’m the unreasonable one, thrice-damn him. But he answers. “I came here to find you. Why else would I be here?”

“But why did you want to find me? Do you not get it? You are free. Free to go wherever you want, do whatever you want. I do not want or need your life debt.”

“I know,” he responds. “You made that abundantly clear when you left.”

“Then, again, why are you here? Go be with your sister! Don’t you want to see for yourself that she is safe and happy?”

He looks considering, the calculating look I am used to briefly on his face. Like he’s weighing what to tell me, how much to tell me. It makes me wary and I tighten my grip on my knife.

Finally he says, “I did. Last night.”

Confusion wars with frustration in my heart. “What do you mean you did last night?”

Marvik answers, “Since you took all the supplies and money when you left, I had to stay in Portia for a few days, working odd jobs and earning coin. While working, I listened to gossip. I heard that the king and queen would be in Grimblton soon.”

My heart lurches for a moment. Rognar in Grimblton? So close? “For your mother’s trial?”

Marvik nods tightly, avoiding my knife biting into his skin. “And because of that plot to destabilize the country that the innkeeper in Kingsbury mentioned. With the fires. Apparently, the High Houses were involved. Adalind and her husband are traveling to the capital to sit in judgment over the trials.”

He continues, “Since I was coming here anyway, I decided to see with my own eyes how your king treats my sister. I had your word that your king was a good orc, but there was a part of me that wanted, that needed , to know for myself. I used some of my earnings to buy a spyglass and, when I arrived last night, I watched them from afar through their window before your king closed the curtains. You were right. I have never seen my sister so content and unguarded.”

Marvik looks a little sad as he says the words. Questioning, I prod, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

A bitter little smile plays on Marvik’s lips. “It’s the best news I could have gotten. Once, it would have been the only thing I wanted to hear. But it also just shows how much I failed her as a brother when I was in her life.”

I shake my head, even as I keep the dagger at his throat. “That wasn’t your failing, but Yorian’s and your parents’. You were also a child when your parents were abusing her. There wasn’t much you could do against them. And now you could be together with your sister, without their specters between you. Why did you watch her from afar when you could have just reunited with her?”

“I’ve learned from you how sensitive an orc’s nose is, which is why I stayed so far away. But as to why I didn’t reunite with her . . . if she is happy without me, maybe it is for the best that I am out of her life. Especially after all the sins of my family against her. Maybe this is her chance to start fresh.”

I growl a little at his self-pitying words. “If you believe that, you are a fool. No one is better off with a loved one dead.”

He shrugs again, “Maybe. But that is not the only reason that I want to stay a dead man.”

“What do you mean?”

Marvik’s eyes sharpen, piercing me with their intensity. “Though I am glad to have seen my sister and her happiness, that was merely a bonus. When I woke up and you were gone, having taken everything and left me with nothing, all I could think about was you. Though I probably should have been angry, or maybe even relieved, all I felt was that I was desperate to see you again.”

His words immediately make me suspicious, like his words at the pond last week. He’s telling me what he thinks I want to hear again, I’m sure of it. But I don’t even get the chance to try to check his scent, when, looking at my face, Marvik shakes his head, making my knife accidentally bite into his skin. A red line appears, a shallow cut. Alarmed, I pull the knife back slightly, just enough that it is no longer touching his skin.

“I can see what you are thinking. It’s in your eyes. No, I’m telling the truth. I was worried about you, whether you would be alright.”

There’s no lie in his scent, but his words merely make me angry. I don’t want his pity. “I can take care of myself,” I snarl.

“I know,” he replies simply. “But there is more to being alright than simply taking care of physical needs. I know more about you than you might like. I know that you have lost everything, gave up everything to gamble on hope. And when I woke, I dashed those hopes, and you have been distancing yourself from me ever since. But I realized that means that you are hurting and trying to hide it, too strong and proud to let it show.”

It’s like my worst nightmare come to life. He is here out of pity.

He continues, “But beyond my worry, I had the realization of what you said: that I am free. More than you even know. Ever since I was a child, there have been expectations on me. My parents wanted me to be the perfect heir, the inheritor of their will and work. My men needed me to be the perfect, undefeatable captain. My king expected me to protect him, even as he willfully harmed my sister. Even Adalind had expectations of me as a brother and protector, expectations that I failed again and again. But now, all that is gone. Everyone who knows me must think I am dead after this long. Like I said, I’m a dead man. And a dead man is free to do with his life what he likes. I could find my sister or go across the sea or become a hermit in the mountains. While I worked in Portia, believe me, I considered all my options. Do you know what I found?”

“What?” I ask, slightly breathless.

Marvik suddenly strikes upward, knocking my knife away from his throat. He does some footwork, grabbing me and twisting so that we switch places. Suddenly, I am the one pushed up against the tree, Marvik looming above me, his gaze smoldering. He is holding me against the trunk with a firm grip, though loose enough that I could escape if I truly wanted to. Embarrassingly, I get wet at his forceful display and barely stop myself from thrumming. Damn my primal instincts .

“I found that, if I allowed myself to be selfish, the option that filled me with the most longing, the most hope for a bright future for myself, was you . You who have no expectations of me, you who might be my soulmate, everything that I didn’t know I was looking for. You, Dura. How could I go back to society and leave you behind? How could I let you go?” His face comes closer to mine, his intentions clear.

“You’re right,” I answer, feeling myself being pulled toward him and tilting my head, “that is selfish.”

Lips descend on mine, kissing me with savage force, a ghost of our first kiss. I am stunned and I whimper at the onslaught. My thrum escapes, my Mating Instinct howling with victory. It only takes a moment for me to kiss him back, to match his passion with my own. I . . . I . . . believe him. Without even checking his scent. Maybe that makes me a fool, but I do. He showed me with his actions when he came and found me, when he could have done anything else in the world. He wants to see if this works, what we could be. Maybe he is even starting to believe that he is my Ash’ka . That I am his. It is everything that I was too afraid to hope for .

“Yes, huntress,” Marvik murmurs against my lips as I thrum, his clever fingers coming to the belt at my waist, “make your sweet music and I will draw out more.”

My trousers slide down my hips easily as my makeshift rope belt comes undone, pooling around my ankles. His hands come to the hem of my tunic, lifting it and exposing my wet center to the air, all while kissing me, bruising my lips with his ardor. My own hands come up eagerly to the ties of his trousers and start working on them as well. Yes, I want this. I want him inside me.

His fingers find my center and brush my clit. I buck into his hand, kicking off my trousers and finally free his manhood from its cloth confines. I pull back from our kiss and find him flushed and aroused, beautiful.

“Get inside me,” I command, bracing on his shoulders and pulling his hands to support my hips so that my legs can wrap around him. He easily lifts me, pushing me up against the tree. The thick wool of my tunic protects my back from the bark, though I can’t say that I would care even if I were naked. The need I feel for him is overwhelming, the Mating Instinct pushing me to become one with him again. Marvik notches his thick, jutting cock at my entrance.

Yes, yes, yes, I chant internally, tilting my hips to make his access easier. He is about to enter me when he catches my eyes, burning me with his wanting gaze.

“Huntress,” he asks, “do you trust me?”

Things go still in me, my ardor pausing for the space of a breath. Do I trust him? I didn’t. I want to. But I have been telling myself for days that I can’t . Even if I believe him right now, is that the same as trusting him?

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, fearing that I will ruin the moment. My fears are realized when he sighs and carefully sets me down .

“Until we have trust between us, I think that sex will only make things complicated.”

I groan at his words, frantic in my need. “It is not fair for you to rile me up like this only to leave me wanting!”

Marvik chuckles darkly, dropping to his knees in front of me. “I never said that I would leave you wanting, my huntress. Just that we should not have sex.”

Before I can ask what in the Nether the difference is, he takes one of my legs and puts it over his shoulder.

“Did I do anything you didn’t like last time we were together?” he asks at my feet.

I shake my head. “Nothing. I liked everything.”

“Even my crass words?” He raises a brow.

I feel myself blush. “Especially your crass words.”

“Thank fuck,” he says, then, with great deliberation, he licks my wet, needy pussy.

Now he is the one who groans, “You taste too good, huntress. Sweetest pussy I’ve ever eaten.”

He dives back in, licking with enthusiasm and my pleasure ratchets up, as well as my thrum. How this differs from sex and how it won’t complicate things just as much, I have no idea, but I would die before stopping his magic ministrations.

“Gods,” he says between licks, “you vibrate against my tongue.”

Marvik takes my clit between his lips and sucks, and my back arches off of the tree. My one standing leg starts to shake, but there is no way that I am asking him to stop. I feel two fingers push inside me and begin pumping ruthlessly. He licks and sucks and licks some more. His fingers curl and my hands find his head, pushing him more firmly into my wet warmth. I am close to coming, my orgasm galloping toward its peak. Then he nips my clit, ever so lightly, and I come, my release coating his fingers. But he doesn’t stop. He adds another finger and begins again. His other hand comes up and starts tracing around the hood of my clit, even as he is still licking. He is like a musician playing my body masterfully and I shout as another orgasm takes me.

My leg collapses, and he grabs it, putting over his other shoulder. I am now sitting against the tree, held up only by its bulk and Marvik’s broad, muscular shoulders. My thrumming is out of control. He gasps and growls against my pussy, still brutally pumping with his fingers. They curl and begin rubbing a textured place within me that almost feels like too much. But I ride the tidal wave of feeling, letting him do what he likes with me, another climax building until it bursts, surprising me with its intensity. Only once the last tremor has left me, does he slow down, massaging my insides gently as he laps up my juice with the flat of his tongue, more soothing than arousing now.

I am satisfied, at least as satisfied as I can be without his fat cock inside me. I exhale deeply and, after a moment, take one leg tentatively off his shoulder. It shakes a little with the force of the aftermath of my pleasure, but I can stand, so I take the other off as well. When I am standing and my tunic falls back into place, I look down at Marvik, who lazily grins at me with a glistening mouth, the picture of a smug male. He knows how hard he made me come.

“Let’s go home, huntress,” he says, still smiling.

It takes me a moment to realize he is talking about the cave, not my actual home in Orik. A wave of homesickness takes me, but I brutally shove it down where I can’t feel it. Instead, I nod and reach out a hand to help him to his feet. He takes my hand and I pull him upright. Then I grab my trousers, pulling them back on and tying my rope-belt. Finishing putting myself back together, I notice the little cut I gave him accidentally and instinctually send some healing into him from our joined hands. The cut disappears and Marvik closes his eyes, as if enjoying the sensation. His trousers are still down, untied like I left them, and I can see his still-hard member, weeping a bit with his arousal, jerk a little. My healing arouses him, now? Or at least feels good enough that it enhances his arousal. That is good information to know. Marvik bends to get his trousers, but hisses a little as he pulls them over his sensitive cock.

“Do you . . . do you want my help with that?” I ask, a little hesitantly. I have never sucked cock before, though I have of course heard of the practice. Once, before Rognar was king, I even walked in on him getting sucked off by a maid. An incident that horrified and embarrassed us both. That was a long time ago, though. He couldn’t afford dalliances after he ascended the throne, for the same reason that I couldn’t when I became Keeper and the General of the Southern Horde. When one is in power, it is hard to know who to trust.

But though I am inexperienced, I find that I want to put my mouth on Marvik. I remember the salty taste of his spend and want to taste it again. Perhaps my enthusiasm will make up for the fact that I am not skilled.

Marvik merely gives me another smile. He is free with such expressions now. It is hard to remember now there was a month where he would only give me his stone face and calculating eyes.

“I appreciate the offer,” he replies. “But this was my gift to you, not so that you could reciprocate. If you still wish to later, I will happily welcome it, but for now, let us leave things as they are.”

Another difference. He used to only want to give me something if he got something in return. Now, he wishes to give me this pleasurable interlude for free? Who is this man and what has he done with the cold, tactical warrior I have known? I don't know how to act with this new, free and easy man.

Marvik closes his eyes and breathes a little. After a long moment, his hardness is no longer tenting his trousers, and he opens his eyes.

“That is a good trick,” I remark. I wish I could have banished my arousal so easily on those nights when I was alone.

He holds out his hand to mine, asking without words to hold it. Off-balance, I sheathe my claws and give my hand to him. Marvik grabs it and starts walking, pulling me along toward the cave. “I merely thought of the morning I found you gone.”

His words do funny things to my insides. I can smell his scent and I know he is not lying. Feeling vulnerable, I am quick to try to joke it away. “I thought that you would have thought of when I tied you up for weeks on end.”

Stupid . That was stupid. Why would I bring that up, harming this fragile peace between us? Do I want to send him away? I suppose that I am frightened again, scared of what will happen if he rejects me still after all this, and I may be lashing out because of it.

Marvik stops and looks at me over his shoulder. I am worried that I have offended him, but on his face is a look of pure wickedness.

“If you wanted me tied up, huntress, and at your mercy, I don’t think I would mind now. In fact, I think we might both enjoy it.”

I feel myself blush at his words. I am not so innocent that I don’t know that he refers to games of pleasure. Of willing partners dominating and submitting to each other. That he would want to play such games with me and would want me to be the aggressor is new to me, and the thought surprises a little thrum out of me.

Marvik groans and tugs me forward. “Huntress, if you keep letting me know that you are aroused, we will never make it back to the cave.” He gives me a quick kiss, again a surprise, then starts walking again, leading me back to our shelter.

And I let him.