Page 8 of The Bull's Beauty
The heat between my thighs pulses in time with each slow, deliberate pull, and I bite my lip. I finish one side then move to the other, closing my eyes. I should think about anything else, but the darkness behind my lids conjures him again. That serious mouth, those broad shoulders, I wonder if his stoic demeanor would shatter if I ever let him close enough to touch me. My breath hitches as I imagine his low growl in my ear, the weight of him pressing me down, the thick, heavy length of him—
I breathe through it.
When I’m done, I rinse off again, tie my shirt closed, and wipe my face on the edge of my cloak. I lay out my bedroll on a patch of moss beneath a cedar and shove some bread in my mouth like it might muffle the thoughts I don’t want. The stars blink above me as I stare up at the sky.
I don’t miss him, or wonder what might’ve happened if I’d just let him touch me….
I shift under the blanket, curling into myself, arms over my chest. The night sounds settle around me: crickets, wind through the trees, the stream whispering nearby.
…Is that a wolf howling?
Gods Beatrice, get it together.
You’re safe. You’re free.
I tell myself that another three times, just to make it sink in. Then I close my eyes, letting the ache in my chest and between my thighs drag me into sleep.
I don’t even know what wakes me at first. One second, I’m dreaming of a blue door, the next, rough hands are on me, yanking the blanket away like they mean to tear me straight out of my skin.
“Hey! What the hells?!” I snap, thrashing like a wildcat in a trap, and then the moonlight hits their faces…green skin, tusks. These are Orcs. Real, live, actual Orcs.
The tallest one crouches down, tilting his head as he studies me. There’s something calculating in his golden eyes. “She’s not human,” he says, almost to himself.
“What?” another grunts.
The leader grins. “You smell it, don’t you? Sweet milk.” His nostrils flare as he leans close. “A Hucow.”
The others mutter in surprise.
“They start producing when they come of age, even without bearing young,” the leader continues. “The human nobles pay silver by the ounce for one of their kind. Even the Minotaurs keep them locked away like treasure.”
I spit in his face. “I’m not your prize, you filthy beast.”
He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, still grinning. “You’ll be whatever I decide you are.” He looks over his shoulder at the others. “Take her. The chief will want to see this one.”
A scream claws up my throat, but it barely gets out before one of them clamps a hand over my mouth. Another grabs my legs. I fight harder, harder—kicking, scratching, doing anything—but they lift me like I weigh nothing.
My chest aches, and my breasts leak painfully as they jostle me in their grip. They carry me off while I struggle against their hold, twisting and writhing as best I can. Every time they shift me, the ache in my chest flares worse.
After a while, the hand over my mouth slips just enough, and I bite down hard. He howls, jerking his hand back. “She bit me!”
“Put me down, you over-sized lizards!” I snarl, “I swear, I’ll rip your tusks out and stuff ‘em where the sun don’t shine!”
The three of them exchange grins, sharp tusks gleaming as they chuckle.
“She’s got spirit,” the tallest one rumbles. “Good. We like that.”
“Relax,” says the one carrying me, his voice almost gentle despite his hulking frame. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“You should be more worried aboutmehurtingyou!”
All three burst into laughter again.
Chapter Seven
Silas
I wake with a jolt, the early morning light burning my eyes. I sit up so fast my muscles scream in protest. My gaze darts to where Beatrice was sleeping below but her bedroll is empty.
