Page 140 of Halfling
Instinct told Orek there was something out there in those trees, likely watching them still.
His skin prickled, and he gritted his fangs to keep from baring them and scaring Keeley more.
“What did it look like?” he asked gently.
He only got a bare idea, something with arms and legs and menacing eyes. It told him little, but he didn’t need to know more. Something lurked out there, threatening the Brádaigh family. His mate’s people.Hisclan.
Resolve molded to his heart in an iron grip.
He turned back to the house with Keeley, the feeling of eyes on his back crawling up his spine.
It was late for bears to be roaming, meaning if it was a bear, it would be hungry, volatile.
Orek didn’t think it was a bear.Bears don’t mutilate their food.
Whatever the threat, he’d deal with it. Hungry bear—or slavers sent to seek retribution for another humiliation. He may have been impressed by Lord Darrow’s commitment to punishing his son, but that didn’t mean Orek thought Jerrod would go quietly.
With every step toward the house, his resolve hardened, sharpened.
If the worm thought he could hurt Sorcha,his mate,Orek intended to show him and any slaver just how deep his fangs could bite.
He’d spent his days here feeling listless, unsure what to do for his mate. But this—protect her and her kin, was something he could do. Gladly.
32
Sorcha woke to a cooling bed and the sound of gear sliding into a belt. Eyes fluttering open, she blearily looked about the room, finally finding the dim silhouette of Orek in the far corner. Even in the weak, colorless light of predawn, she could tell he’d not only dressed for the day but donned his leathers and hatchet.
Panic had her sitting up straight in bed, nerves tightening in her stomach.
“Where are you going?” she whispered.
Orek’s shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, he stood perfectly still. When he finally turned to her, his face was all grim, determined lines.
“Tracking.”
That answer did nothing to relieve her.
“You really think something’s out there?”
Keeley’s hysterical sobs from the previous night still rang in her ears. She’d been difficult to console, clinging to Orek until she cried herself to sleep. She woke to eat a little and then Aoife had taken her up and tucked her into bed with her and Ciaran.
It pained Sorcha to see Keeley so upset, but she’d shared her father and brothers’ doubt that anything truly dangerous stalked the woods outside their home. Keeley was an imaginative girl, even fanciful, especially when she’d been listening to Blaire read her romantic poetry. Perhaps it’d been a large elk buck.
But Orek seemed to take Keeley’s story seriously. All night he’d sat stalwartly, letting her soak his collar in tears and nodding along as she told her story again and again.
And now, he looked ready to go to battle.
“I don’t know,” he said finally.
His terse answer only fanned the flames of her worry. Pushing the covers back, Sorcha said, “I’m coming with you.”
“No.” His swift denial cut through the room, and she startled at the harshness of his tone.
Orek grumbled and rounded the bed to her. “No,” he said again, this time much more gently. He took her ankles in one hand and arranged her back under the blankets. With efficient movements, he tucked her in tight and placed a still sleeping Darrah on her chest. Effectively pinning her down.
She couldn’t help a little scowl at being managed so easily, even as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Orek…”
“No, my heart. You stay here. Rest. The sun isn’t even up yet.”
