Page 141 of Halfling
“I could at least start—”
“No. Nothing needs doing this early.”
“Then come back to bed.” She lifted up off the pillows as much as she was able, coaxing him down for a proper kiss.
She moaned when his tongue swept across her lips—then huffed when he pulled away.
“Temptress,” he murmured, straightening to his full height. “I just want to look around. See for myself that it’s nothing.”
“All right,” she said slowly, still not liking it. “You’ll be careful.”
“Of course, my mate.” And he leaned down one last time to brush another kiss across her lips. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured there, and then he was gone.
Sorcha rolled into the empty space he’d left in the bed, trying to soak up the residual warmth and scent of him. Darrah chittered with sleepy annoyance at the move, so she scooped him up to cuddle to her chest.
They lay together as the sun peeked across the world, but all Sorcha managed to do was doze. Her mind followed her brave mate through the trees, hoping this was all fancy and he’d return before breakfast.
Orek wouldn’t have left his mate, warm and willing, for anything less than a serious threat. The others may not have believed in what Keeley saw, but Orek wasn’t willing to take a chance. His mate’s safety, and the safety of her clan, was paramount. If it meant a cold trek through the trees, so be it.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t grumpy and a tad resentful being out here rather than with her.
All her father and brothers seemed to do was train, knocking weapons together in mock battles and preparing for…something.But when a possible threat emerged, they did nothing. They’d made promises to Keeley that they’d look in the morning for whatever beast she may have seen, but Orek thought these were only empty words to soothe the child. If they thought it was a real threat, they would’ve headed out immediately, the coming night be damned.
It made Orek seethe in the pit of his belly.
Sir Ciaran had already had a daughter snatched away—it was either pride or willful ignorance that made him believe it couldn’t or wouldn’t happen again. Orek would stake his mate’s safety on neither.
Perhaps Sorcha’s father and Lord Darrow had done good work elsewhere in Eirea, but it made them complacent in their own lands.
If it wouldn’t make Sorcha worry more, he would have patrolled the perimeter of the Brádaigh lands all night. The beast inside was agitated throughout the night, prowling at the back of his mind and allowing him only snatches of sleep as he held his mate close and tight, waiting.
His lip curled in disgust as he wended silently through the trees, the sun climbing the sky. What use were human knights if they let their own family be stalked by danger?
He didn’t claim to know anything of Jerrod Darrow other than what Sorcha had told him, but what he’d seen of the man, he didn’t think he’d go quietly. To give up power and luxury—it was a rare person who wouldn’t lash out and fight tooth and claw to keep it.
They’d been informed Jerrod was taken under guard to the Ward and had arrived for his sentence several days previous. Perhaps his father and sister were too heartbroken over the betrayal to consider anything else than that this would be the end of it.
Orek doubted it. A male with the amount of malice and spite now burning inside Jerrod didn’t need much intelligence to lash out. If there was a way to get his revenge, he would. Orek was sure of it.
So he trekked all morning through the frozen forest, seeking a slaver camp, his anger at Ciaran and Darrow and Aoife and Niall and even Connor rising with every step. He imagined dragging one surviving slaver to the Brádaigh doorstep to show these human knights just what threatened them and their family.
Look,he would say,look at what you let close to your females and younglings.
His beast was restless, ready for violence and retribution. He’d stayed his hand in Dundúran for his mate, but not this time. He wouldn’t abide more threats, more—
A familiar scent hit his nose. Orek stopped in his tracks, drawing in another lungful. The air hung heavy with silence around him, the trees shivering in the cold wind that brought the faintest scent of sweat andmale.
From behind the outcropping stepped the looming figure of an orc.
“What took you so long, runt?”
Silas.
Every muscle in Orek’s body seized in shock.
The tracker stepped out into the pale light, sneering down his nose at Orek. “Thought you’d seen the last of me, huh?” he hissed, the words lashing awkwardly against his lips.
It wasn’t hard to see why—Silas’s tongue had been sliced perfectly down the middle into the ugly likeness of a snake’s. A favorite punishment of Krul’s for those who returned emptyhanded but with a mouth full of excuses.
