Page 61 of War Mage

My mate and I both bow, before turning and exiting the room. I know that Queen Adalind dismissing us is a kindness, as they will have to deal with the complaints of the Council, now that the Tower is freed. Once we are out of the room, the guards close the doors behind us and we are alone in the corridor in front of the throne room.

“Whew,” Adara sighs. “That went better than I expected.”

“Queen Adalind and King Rognar are just rulers of honor,” I tell Adara. “I told you that you could trust their words.”

“So you did,” agrees my mate. Then she looks at me, a question in her eyes. “So, where are we going? On this ‘season of rest’ of yours?”

I take her hand gently in mine, pulling her along the hallway leading out of the castle. “I thought . . . Briacor.”

“What?” gasps Adara. “You mean . . . ?”

“Yes,” I say. “We should search for your family. And if we cannot find them, we can at least pay homage to the place of your birth. Perhaps light incense for your parents, to guide their souls home. If that is something you would want.”

Love bursts in the bond. Adara is touched by my idea, as I hoped she would be. She stops in the hallway, stilling my steps as I stop with her.

“I want that,” she tells me. “You are a good orc, you know that?”

I quirk my lips, ever so slightly breaking my emotionless, steady mask. “Careful, you just complimented me.”

Adara laughs, a hearty musical sound. She steps closer to me, rising up on her tiptoes, her lips reaching toward me. “Damn right, I did. Better get used to it, my mate.”

I take her lips with mine, not caring who might walk by and see us. Adara is my mate and I am proud of her. She loves me and I love her.

Nothing else is of consequence.

Epilogue

Adara

One Month Later

“Take me, hellion,” Urim growls behind me as he surges into me, building my climax to its peak. “Show me how well you can take me!”

I moan at his words, the pleasurable pressure coiling in my center as I get ready to come. I’m pressed against the wall of our cabin, bracing myself on the wood. The ship underneath us rocks and sways, adding to our rhythm as we collide together.

“Can I come, commander?” I breathe out, as I feel my pinnacle approaching rapidly. “Please?”

“I love it when you beg so prettily,” my mate rasps, increasing the pace of his thrusts. “You can come . . . now!”

I cry out as he perfectly times his words to my release, my channel bearing down on his hardened length, but he keeps driving into me, the vibrations of hissibilancerolling over my skin and extending my orgasm. Another climax rips across my senses and I cry out, but he keeps going. He grabs me with his strong arms and lifts me so that my back is braced against his front, thrusting up into my ready pussy. I moan as the new angle hits a new place inside me and soon a third orgasm grips me. Only when it is almost too much, does Urim let himself go, coming inside me, going rigid behind me as he spills within me.

Carefully, my mate lowers me onto our bunk, the whole thing rocking under our weight. His fingers carefully trace over my skin, soothing me down from my overwhelming sensation, kissing my forehead as he comforts me.

I draw in a deep breath, letting my exhale shudder out of me. After sailing for a month, one would think that I would be tired of making love to Urim, but the opposite is true. We have fallen into each other with a ravenous hunger, getting to know each other’s bodies as well as we know our own, getting more adventurous and extreme with our pleasure play. But my favorite part is right after we are done, when Urim cares for me in the aftermath of our rapture. With soft touches and achingly gentle care, cleaning and caring for me. It makes me feel safe and protected and loved.

As we lay together, cuddling in the aftermath, Urim murmuring loving, praising words, I hear a shout from the deck.

“Land, ho!”

Eagerly, I squirm out of Urim’s arms, going to grab my clothing.

Urim props himself up on an elbow, a sardonic brow on his face. “I wasn’t done with you, hellion.”

“You can have me again later,” I retort cheekily. “I want to see the land!”

Good-naturedly, my mate gets out of our bunk, grabbing his warkilt off the ground, and getting dressed with me. When we are both decent, I rush out of our cabin and onto the main deck. The sun is setting, backlighting the shore as I look across the waters at our destination.

Briacor.My homeland. The land of my parents. I don’t know what I’ll find here, whether I have family to meet or what awaits me, but I can’t help but feel excited to be here. To discover my roots. To honor my parents.

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