Page 50 of Ironling
“It’s not meddling, it’s a better use of space.”
Fearghas’s beard twitched dangerously, and the red of his face deepened. “Put it all back.”
“You haven’t even tried—”
“Put. It. Back.” And he took a hammer and slammed it on the anvil, the ring piercing.
“No.”
Fearghas’s glare darkened. “That’s an order.”
“If you hate it so much, you put it back. It works for me and the—”
“No, you work forme,halfling,” Fearghas spat, pointing an accusatory finger. “You may have your fancy ways and orcish techniques, but this ismysmithy, you understand? The heiress will tire of you—looks like she already has—and then where will you be?”
Hakon growled a warning, the harsh words hitting too close to his heart.
Eyes glittering with malice, recognizing he’d scored a point, Fearghas struck his hammer on the spare anvil again. “That one always tires of her projects. You aren’t special, halfling. Now put everything back and get back to real work.”
Hakon bared his tusks, frustration as much of a snarling beast in his chest as his actual beastly instinct. A snorting huff exploded from his nostrils, then he was pulling Wülf behind him as he strode from the smithy before he did something regrettable.
The courtyard was much cooler than the smithy, the difference punching through him. His bare arms prickled, but Hakon hardly felt it.
Stalking further away from the blasted smithy, Hakon took long, deep breaths, needing the burn of cool air in his lungs.
Stubborn, hateful old bastard.
Tugging a hand through his sweaty hair, Hakon slowed his pace.
The old blacksmith was set in his ways, and Hakon liked to think he wouldn’t normally be so aggravated to have his ideas so thoroughly dismissed. He and Fearghas would never be friends,but he could acknowledge the human was skilled—when he actually put his mind to something.
None of that mattered with an unhappy, impatient beast snarling just below his heart, goading him to steal into the heiress’s room to profess his undying devotion and then ravish her senseless.
Gods, don’t think of her naked!
He did enough of that while in the baths late at night, alone with his daydreams. There were nights he rubbed himself raw with how long and viciously he tugged his cock to thoughts of the pretty heiress.
Three days without her and he was reduced to a slavering, irritable beast.
Fuck.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
What was he to do now?
Go to her. Claim her. Mate her.
I can’t—
“Hakon!”
He looked up at the sound of his name, hope lancing his heart.
A woman hurried toward him from the direction of the kitchens, and Hakon tried not to show his disappointment in it being Brigitt.
He attempted to match her bright smile as she came to stand before him, but he feared it was tepid at best.
“Good day,” he managed.
