Page 57 of Halfling
Orek grimaced as he readjusted the blanket against his side, turning it to the half not already soaked and sticky. Hot blood pooled in his palm, shockingly warm against his cold, shaking hand. His lips had gone cold, too, and he’d given up trying to move his head from where it leaned against the tree, too woozy to do more than put it back.
Fuck. Not good.
But then, he already knew that. Had known it the moment the dagger plunged into his side. It was why he’d plunged into the river with Silas.
A wound like this…
If he lasted the night, he might have a chance. If he could rest awhile, he might survive.
She could afford neither of those.
Orek didn’t trust that the river would be enough to finish off an orc like Silas. The male was too canny, too stubborn, too vicious to simply drown. Orek could only hope when Silas did haul himself out of the water, it was far, far downriver.
He couldn’t defend Sorcha like this. Couldn’t do anything like this. His only use was drawing predators away from her with the strong scent of his blood. No predator would be able to resist coming to sniff around and therefore pass her by.
It was all he could give her.
The thought was about as comforting as the soaked blanket at his side.
He’d tried reaching in his pack for supplies, but pulling out the blanket had taken what little energy he had left after fighting both Silas and the river. Unconsciousness nipped around the corners of his mind, but he refused sleep, not knowing if he’d wake again. Instead, he focused on the sting of the cut on his face, moving his brows when it subsided and welcomed the renewed pain.
Just a little longer and I’ll try again.
He wouldn’t sit here and wait to die, but he didn’t want to slow Sorcha down and make her wait to see which way the fates decided.
His limbs had gone mostly numb and cold, and Orek knew the night would bring a chill. He smelled it in the air, how the temperature dropped and the leaves shuddered. Autumn was done being patient.
Orek bent his leg and moved his ankle with effort, just to work a little warmth back into it.
If he could keep himself alive, last the night, get a bit of rest, stop the bleeding, in a few days maybe he could…
What? Catch up to her? Rejoin her?
His lips pulled back in a snarl at himself.Stupid.
What use would she have for him now? He’d sent her away. For her own good. For his pride.
He’d do it again, but fates, he missed her already something fierce.
Blood burned one palm, but the memory of her kiss seared the other. He still had his fist closed around that palm, keeping the feel of her lips against his skin close.
Fates, how stupid he’d been.
He’d thought in sending her away, letting her go, he might finally feel relief from the fist wrapped around his heart. The tightness never seemed to leave, easing only when she gifted him with a smile or laugh.
But he’d been wrong.
Not having her was just as much a wound as the angry hole in his side, and just like it, it would’ve been better to leave the dagger in, let her pierce and slay him, than bleed out alone, in the dark.
Stupidity gets you killed.
He knew what this was—had told himself it didn’t matter that it meant disaster and ruin for him so long as he was beside her. And that was true.
But now, without her, even for just a few mere hours, Orek understood what all the stories and elders said about the treacherousness of orcish mate-bonding. Even with a wound pulsing and weeping at his side, being parted from her was a worse blow. She may as well have cracked him open and ripped out his heart to take with her, for it already felt as if she had.
And this was only thestartof the bond. The first laying of tentative roots.
He shouldn’t have let it come to this. He should’ve guarded himself against her. It was already a grim fate to be resigned to the shadows, but now to understand what he didn’t have, toknowwhat he could never have—the torment was no longer sweet.
