Page 119 of Halfling
The parents blinked at him, stunned, and Sorcha took the opportunity to hustle them up the stairs. Curious eyes peeked through cracked doors as they made their way down a narrow hallway to the last door on the right.
It was open, a fire already laid in the small fireplace. The room itself wasn’t large, perhaps just double the stall they’d shared in Cara and Anghus’s barn, and already full with a bed adorned with a thick quilt and carved oak headboard, a trunk with scrolling ironwork, shelves stuffed with books and trinkets, a desk and chair, and a braided rug. With the two of them inside, there was hardly any space left.
Sorcha ushered him inside, and he set down their packs on the only available patch of floor as she shut the door behind them.
She slumped against the closed door, letting out a gusty, relieved sigh. The look she shot him was all wide eyes and tired amusement.
“We survived,” she laughed softly.
“Only just.”
“You did very well. I know they’re a lot.”
“They’re happy to have you back.” It was obvious how much her family adored her. Watching them today, he understood that a part of the family had been missing, and Sorcha fit there perfectly. They were whole again.
If nothing else, Orek understood that. Sorcha made him whole, too.
“How are you doing? I’m sure they’ll have more questions.”
“You prepared me well with all of yours.”
Her smile deepened, and she stood to cross the room to him—all two steps. His arms went around her with ease, drawing her close. He liked being here, in her room. Yes, it was small, but it was quiet and smelled of her, if faintly.
“Thank you for bringing me home.”
“Anything, mate,” he murmured against her lips.
Sorcha slid her arms around his neck, and Orek picked her up, leaving her toes to dangle as he kissed her soundly. Too tired for much else, they contented themselves with kisses and soft touches as they pulled off their clothing. It was strange to think of lacing these same stays that morning and how different the setting was as he unlaced them.
From the trunk, Sorcha pulled a soft nightgown. It was a pretty thing, with billowy sleeves and a ribbon running along the low neckline. In the soft light of the fire, it was nearly transparent, giving him glimpses of her thighs and the dark thatch between them.
He wasn’t sure about the bed when she pulled him toward it, remembering the creak of all the other furniture.
“We could make a nest,” he suggested. Floorboards would hardly bother him after a lifetime of the ground.
“Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, I need a bed.” She pulled back the layers of bedding and patted the empty space—which hardly looked like enough for his bulk.
After setting up Darrah with a cushion and blanket in the chair beside the bed, Orek carefully maneuvered himself under the covers. The bed shifted with his weight but settled once he did.
There was little room left for her once he’d laid down, but Sorcha only hummed happily, drawing the covers over them as she settled beside him. She was almost completely laid out atop him, head on his chest and legs tangled with his, but Orek was content with that. If the sleeping quarters were tight, he’d manage, so long as it meant holding his mate close.
Sorcha fell asleep almost immediately, breathing gone even and soft, but Orek took much longer despite the exhaustion nipping at him. The house had gone quiet. Too quiet. The forest at night had plenty of noises, and the occasional cooling breeze.
Jostling her as little as possible, Orek drew one of the furs from his pack and threw it over them, not for the warmth but for the weight and smell. He drew the furs to his nose, comforted by the familiar feel and scents.
He was finally able to settle as Sorcha hummed contentedly in her sleep, tucked into him and safe in her bed.
28
Orek came awake with his mate’s hair in his mouth and tangled in his fingers. He was happy for it, though, the familiar scent and softness keeping him from sitting bolt upright at the strangeness around him. Four walls. Still air. A bed that creaked with every move.
He’d claimed a few hours of sleep at least; gray dawn seeped through the two windows of the room, casting it in a colorless glow.
Carefully, Orek maneuvered out from under his tired mate, and arranged her again with the fur tucked tight over her. She curled into the warm spot he’d left and sighed.
Sorcha wasn’t the lightest sleeper, but she normally would’ve come awake from that. His mate was exhausted from the journey and reunion; and he knew the pleasure of returning from a long hunt to finally sleep in his own tent again.
Her face easy in sleep was a sight so perfect he had to lean over to kiss her cheek. Warm, safe, and sleeping—he could be more than content with that.
