Page 147 of Halfling
“Keep her safe,darrah.” And he placed the kit beside his mate in the bed before drawing the furs around them.
He allowed himself only one more taste of her, running his nose along her neck and kissing her brow. “You are my heart,” he whispered to her.
Then Orek pulled away, slipping from the room without looking back.
The house was still deep asleep. Connor didn’t even stir in the parlor when Orek passed through, closing the front door behind him.
The world outside was somnolent and dark, a match to Orek’s mood. He retrieved the provisions he’d collected yesterday—and secured Silas’s severed head in a sack. He tied it tight, hoping the cold of early winter would suppress the worst of the stink.
Then there was nothing for him to do but turn south. Orek set his feet, one foot after the other. In little time, he was off Brádaigh land. That much further from his mate.
His heart ached with it. His beast snarled and snapped with every step further away from her.
He hated doing it, and he hated himself for needing to.
And he knew, as surely as he did that this had to be done, that she would hate him for it.
He’d promised to never leave her. That being mates meant staying together, always.
But he’d already failed a central tenet of being mated. He’d failed to protect her. And he had to make it right before he could claim a place beside her again.
So he would do this—he’d put an end to all threats to his mate. Permanently. And then he’d return to her and beg her forgiveness. Win back her heart. Earn his place with her again. Orek would accept nothing else.
34
Sorcha knew something was wrong the moment she woke. Instead of her mate curled around her, she was alone in the bed. Well, not entirely. Not-so-little Darrah was curled into a ball beside her, nose buried in his tail.
She rose onto her elbows, expecting to again find Orek in the corner, putting on his leathers.
There was nothing. The room was cold and empty.
Heart thumping, Sorcha sat up. Her body groaned with aches, and if a knot of dread hadn’t been pulling tight at her insides, she might have stretched and luxuriated in the delicious soreness of her body. When she stepped out of bed, she found small bruises in the shape of Orek’s fingers on her flanks and backside. Her breasts were covered in little red marks from his nips and kisses. Her thighs were still sticky with their spend.
But he was nowhere.
With trembling hands, Sorcha wiped herself down with a cold cloth and dressed. Nausea rose when she didn’t find his pack beside her trunk.
Looking about the room, she discovered nothing of his remained save for Darrah and the fur she’d slept under.
Sorcha swallowed a whimper.
No. He probably just needed something out of it and didn’t want to wake you.
She hurried downstairs. It was still fairly early, only Connor still asleep in the parlor and her mother peeling apples in the kitchen downstairs.
“Have you seen Orek?” Sorcha asked before her mother had even greeted her.
Aoife’s brows rose in surprise. “No, I haven’t, sweetheart. Did he return last night?”
“Yes, late. But I woke up just now and he’s not h-here.”
Her mother hurried to her when Sorcha’s voice threatened to crack on a sob. Rubbing her arm, Aoife soothed, “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m sure he’s somewhere. Maybe he went out tracking again. Or out with Calum, I haven’t seen him, either.”
Sorcha dashed back upstairs, startling Connor awake in her haste. She took the steps two at a time and rushed to fling Calum’s door wide—only to find her lanky brother sprawled across his bed, a book laying open on his chest.
“Calum is still asleep,” she told Aoife back in the kitchen, wringing her hands with worry.
Connor joined them, rubbing his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
