Chapter 6

Dura

F ucking stupid Ash’ka. Trying to leave in the middle of the night when all the predators are out, with no weapon to protect him. He ran through the woods as though he had not a care in the world. While I chased him, scaring away a panther that had started stalking him. I’m sure it could sense his weakness. I thought he would be bright enough to at least stay hidden in the trees, only to catch him in the clearing like a fool. It was almost like he was trying to get himself killed. I would have let him run longer, tire himself out even more, when he suddenly picked up his pace. That slight increase in speed stimulated that predator in me, the need to chase, to hunt, to Claim. Almost like we were doing a traditional Bride Chase. I needed to stop it before it got even more out of hand, before my instincts got me into more of a mess than they already have.

Cursed. I am cursed. I’m convinced that the gods have only given me an Ash’ka to torment me and, like an idiot, I fell right into their trap. Now I have saved a man that despises me and wants to kill my beloved cousin in the bargain. The thought rankles and I push a little on Marvik’s back as he walks bound in front of me, his wrists held together with my first dragonhide bracelet. My left wrist already misses its length. I have worn it for over five years, the braided leather wound up my forearm from my wrist to my elbow. A prize leftover from the mighty battle with the dragon Wyrmin, where I fought side by side with my cousin. On that day long ago, Rognar was the one that struck the killing blow, but bestowed the pair of treated leather plaits on me as a show of gratitude for my assistance during the fight. They are supple as normal leather, but tougher than steel. There’s no way that a human could escape from such bonds .

I try not to think of the fact that giving your Ash’ka something sentimentally precious is part of elvish courting rituals. This is not that. I am not giving it to him and he is not accepting it as a sign of my feelings. The only reason he has it is that I had nothing else to tie him with. If anything, it is now a symbol of the animosity that exists between us.

We are almost back at the cave when Marvik breaks our tense silence.

“What was that sound you made back in the clearing? Before you tied me up?”

He is obviously asking about thrumming, something that makes my black mood even more foul. I’m still embarrassed that my instincts drove me to use my sibilance . The position we were in caused an involuntary reaction. There is no way in the seven rings of the Nether that I am telling him that chasing and pouncing on him aroused me.

“It was nothing you need to worry about,” I answer tersely. He stops moving and I push impatiently on his back. I can almost feel eyes on me, this wood filled with dangerous things. I am, of course, the most dangerous of them all, but I would rather not have to fight and protect Marvik at the same time. Still, even with my push, he doesn’t move. I know how weak he is after convalescing for so long, so I’m almost impressed, even though I am mostly annoyed.

“What was it?” he asks stubbornly. “What did you do to me?”

He was affected by that short burst of sibilance ? To have a reaction from so little means that he is already attracted to me. I should be pleased with that information. It gives me a little edge over my captive, knowing something that I am sure he would not want me to know, maybe something he doesn’t even realize yet, but again, I am annoyed.

“Why should I tell you?” I demand. “I owe you nothing. Less than nothing after tonight. It won’t happen again, so you don’t have to worry about it. ”

He turns to look at me and though my embarrassment bids me to look away, I instead meet his eyes, letting him see my fire and exasperation instead. He keeps my gaze and I stare back into his serious face. I suddenly realize, and become even more annoyed, that he is handsome. His golden hair looks silver in the mysterious light of the thin moon, framing a square, stubbled jaw in strands wet from sweat. A strong, prominent nose bisects his face, large without being beakish, and his dark blue eyes are deep set under good thick eyebrows. His lips, set in that perpetual calculating frown, are generous, more generous than a male’s should be. My mind suddenly wonders at what it would be like to feel those lips caressing my skin.

Base instinct, nothing more , I censure myself. Of course I am attracted to my Ash’ka . The Recognition would make sure of that, as well as my woken Mating Instinct. The urge to push down and fuck the pretty human man, to slake my lust, is strong, but I will endure it, giving nothing away.

I narrow my eyes further, letting all my rage at my current circumstances stare him down. After a moment, he looks away and starts walking again.

“You right,” he remarks, voice steady as always, “You owe me nothing. My mistake.”

Is he trying to make me feel guilty about my answer? I could almost laugh if that is his ploy. That would never work in a million years. It shouldn’t work. But my Mating Instinct whimpers inside me, wanting to give my mate what he wants. It doesn’t understand that we’re at odds, it just wants its mate. Fucking curse it all .

“It’s called thrumming,” I grudgingly offer. “Orcs do it with their mates.” There, that should be enough to soothe his curiosity and my Mating Instinct.

“You know, before I met you, I didn’t know that orcs had mates. I thought they just sired children with other races, since they cannot within their own, and then took the children and left.”

A hot flash of anger courses through me at his assumptions. Orcs certainly do have mates. My father sacrificed everything to be with my mother, they . . . I will never see them again. The thought interrupts my line of thinking so quickly and unexpectedly, the pain of it so intense, that I stop walking. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but it is true. I will never see my family again. Perhaps I have been in denial about it, but as that realization dawns on me, grief beyond even what I have felt before spears me. I will never listen to my father’s boisterous laughter or hear my mother sing the remembrance chants, the songs that detail our ancestors, by the fire. I will never hear her gentle chiding as I steal one of her sweet levas loaves before they have finished cooling or listen to her hum while drinking her ziki blossom tea. I’ll never spar with my father and hear his outrageous excuses for why he lost this time . All of that is gone. Gone because I deserted the Horde to save the hide of my ungrateful Ash’ka .

At that moment, I hate my mate. Hate everything about him, and I wish, gods how I wish, that I had left him to die. He has brought me nothing but loss and anguish.

Marvik realizes that I have stopped behind him and turns. He sees what is on my face and for the first time I see something other than wariness or calculation. Something almost like concern.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

I gulp, and find my throat thick with unshed tears. I am horrified that they are in my eyes as well. Scuffing my arm over my eyes, I step forward, grabbing his arm and turning him away so that he can’t see me, pushing so that he walks again. I want to get back to the cave before sunrise.

“I’m fine,” I lie, my voice a little huskier than normal. “And some have mates. Not all, but some.” More now that it is no longer illegal , I silently add. But I do not want to get into that now with the human warrior. Orik’s history is its own, as is mine. He doesn’t deserve to hear it. Not when he will just file it away as a weapon to use later. A tool to aid his inevitable next escape attempt.

We reach the cave and I put my hand on his head, roughly pushing him into a duck so that he can fit back through the small entrance and into the cave. Once we are in, I command, “Sit down,” and gesture at the bedroll. Marvik silently obeys and when he is situated, I pull at my second dragonhide bracelet from my right arm, unwinding the beautifully braided leather. When it is rope in my hand, I deftly kneel and begin tying his legs tight enough that it would be a struggle to stand, let alone walk.

“What if I need to relieve myself?” the object of all my hate and longing asks me.

“Then wake me and I will untie you and bring you out,” I reply coldly. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. I do not know what to do next. Sleep, I suppose. Sleep and then look at things with fresh eyes in the morning. Maybe things will not seem so bad and hopeless then. I take one last look at my Ash’ka and find him staring at me with curious eyes. Let him wonder what I am thinking, for I will not share my thoughts with him.

I stand and walk to the other side of the cave, sitting and leaning back on the wall, as I have been doing for more than a month, and close my eyes. I hear the crinkle of leaves as Marvik lays down on his bedroll, knowing there’s no way for him to escape now. His breath is still too quick for him to be asleep, but I don’t care anymore. Fatigue rolls over me like a heavy blanket, and with that, I am asleep.