Page 103 of Halfling
Despair clawed at his chest in vicious swipes, making him deaf and blind to anything that wasn’t immediately in front of him. He barely even breathed until trees surrounded him, and even then, he didn’t stop walking.
His blood ran hot, rage howling inside for release, and his eyes stung with angry tears he’d long since buried away. He bared his fangs against it, snarling at the air, refusing them, refusing to giveherany more of his grief.
Fallen leaves churned around his boots as he strode blindly through the forest, that old, inherent hatred for himself, for hishalfness, a bitter tang on his tongue.
His clan didn’t want him, his own mother didn’t want him—fates, what if his mate didn’t want him, either?
Good enough to provide, to fuck, but not keep.
Fuck, he was so stupid.
“Orek—Orek, wait!”
Sorcha overtook him, her breaths coming in heavy pants. She put herself in his path, making him skid to a stop before crashing into her.
She looked up at him with eyes gone wide in confusion and—pity.
He snarled, rage burning hotter.
Orek pushed past, unable to bear the sight of her.
With a grunt of frustration, she called his name, but he ignored it. Ignored Darrah snuffling at his ear. Ignored the crunch of branches and leaves under his feet.
He just walked, needing the movement, needingaway.
She tried twice more to get in his way and stop him, totalk. He didn’t want to talk.
Fates, he needed to get hold of himself, to calm down and stop snarling athis mate,but the wounds deep inside were open and fresh now, gushing past the point of stuffing back down again. He was an exposed nerve, a raw cut of flesh, all frenetic, desperate pain that wanted out, even as he wanted to push it all back down.
What she must think of me—fuck!
Sorcha saw exactly what his own mother thought of him. Fuck, she’d seen all of it—and when she kept rushing up in front of him, arms out to stop him, he knew she saw itall. Every hurt, every scar, every childish want.
Even the brush of her gaze was too much, too painful. She was all softness and sympathy—and came from a family who loved her, accepted her,wantedher. She was everything he wasn’t.
So what do I have to offer her?
The mate-bond snapped and roared inside him, refusing to swallow that, but Orek bared his fangs at it. What had he expected? How could he think she’d ever want to take a mate like him—a male who could give her nothing. Who was nothing.
He came to a sudden stop, sending Sorcha skidding through the leaves. She caught her balance and rounded on him, fists planting on her hips as she glowered.
Orek met it with his own bitter grimace. In one furious swipe, he jerked back his hood and then tore off his gloves.
Darrah complained with a whine, jumping from his shoulder into Sorcha’s arms. The two of them scowled at him, but he didn’t care. A scowl was preferable to the way she’d looked at him before.
It was clear from her disapproving frown and haughty stance that she didn’t understand him—why would she. She’d always belonged somewhere, to someone.
“No more,” he growled, catching her by surprise. “I’m not human, Sorcha. I won’t pass for one in your towns. I don’t want to.”
Her mouth went slack, lips parting in surprise. His instincts told him to stop, to not scare or hurt his mate, but he was too angry to listen. Hehurt.
“Orcs didn’t accept me, humans never will. I can’t pass. So why do you keep trying?” He shook his head once, hardening himself against the way her eyes went round and glassy. “Why keep showing me everything I’m not and never will be?”
Though her mouth hung open, she had no answer for him. She stood there in stunned silence, even Darrah gone quiet in her arms.
Orek’s lip curled in frustration, and with a huff, he started walking again. His pace lacked the urgency from before, but he still needed to put as much distance between Briggán and himself as he could.
Maybe with distance, all the parts of himself—instinct, mate-bond, memory—would stop clamoring inside him and just let him fucking breathe.
