Page 28 of The Orc's Innocent Plaything

Maybal called out from where she sprawled on one of the benches, “Och, since yer Mate started breeding, ye’ve lost yer sense of adventure, Gruptor. Bloodfire warriors are any male’s equal in the Highlands!”

As the squabbling grew around me, I wondered if I really should be congratulating myself on the formation of this council. Aye, they shared the burden of leadership, but having to mediate these meetings could be exhausting.

Especially when there was some place I’d rather be.

With Myra.

However, Myra had made her preferences clear.

It had been two evenings since she’d come around my cock, right here in the Council Hall. I had to fight to keep from twisting my head yet again and staring at the halfwall where she’d sat as she ground against me. I hadn’t been able to feel her cunny squeezing, but I’d scented her release, felt her shuddering against me, tasted her arousal in the air.

And I’d told myself the next time would be even better.

But before I could make plans for our next rendezvous, she’d reminded me that she saw me as just her tutor. She had no interest in being my Mate, and myKteerhowled in mourning.

I told myself to be grateful for the chance to pleasure her, but she’d fled me. And she hadn’t returned.

In the last days, I’d found excuses to check on her, and I found her mask of politeness in place as she went about her work for the clan. No indication of what we were sharing. No indication she wantedmore.

As I did.

Och, be grateful, ye dobber, that she wants any time with ye at all.

Aye, I would be. But…’twas difficult not to think of what might have been.

I sighed, the flames before me beginning to die down.

“What say ye, chief?” called Gruptor.

My head snapped up. “I am no’ the chief, no’ yet.”

“If Kragorn doesnae?—”

“My brotheris no’ dead.” I pushed myself to my feet and met each of their eyes in turn, willing my words to be fact. “He is no’ dead. We would have heard.”

Klorbkal stirred. “Then where is he?” he asked quietly.

If I knew that, I would go fetch him. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I scrubbed my hand down my face.

“Torvolk will find him.” The full moon was only a few days away, and our Ranger could cross back to the humans’ world then.

“Assuming he can pull himself away from between his new Mate’s thighs before then,” called Maybal jovially.

I joined in with the chuckles, because aye, the whole clan knew of how Torvolk and Isadora had been spending their time since they finally gave into the Mating Heat at the Midsummer’s Feast.

The fire was dying down, and as Gruptor bent to add more wood, I held up my palm to stop him. “Enough. I’ve heard everything ye had to say. The Battlebornare fierce, aye, and we’ve heard the cries for help from the coast. But until they hurtourpeople orourallies, I cannae send our warriors to die.” My voice dropped. “No’ for that. No’ until there’s nae other choice.”

There was some grumbling from the council, but others nodded thoughtfully.

Fook, this wasn’t easy, was it?

As they slowly filed out, offering words of encouragement or disagreement, I smiled and clasped hands and pretended I was at ease. When in reality, I was being eaten up inside. How did Kragorn make decisions like this—life or death choices!—regularly? How did he know what was right and what was wrong?

And how, for the love of shite, wasIsupposed to figure it out?

“Fook, Kragorn,” I whispered, scrubbing my hand down my face again as the last of them left, “ye’d better get yer arse back home soon.”

“Talking to yourself?”

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