Page 20 of Agor the Merciless (Orc Mates #10)

Zoe listened to the orc captain’s wet footsteps as he approached her.

When he was close enough to place a hand on her shoulder, she could smell him and feel the warmth coming from his massive body.

His touch held no anger or demand, just support as she stood in the rushing current, living her own hell.

“Come,” he said. “This will not help.”

She nodded. Her teeth chattered as Agor guided her across the slippery stones. At the bank, he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders to block the wind that cut through her wet clothes.

Durnak the Morose waited at the tree line. He watched them pass without speaking, then turned and disappeared among the pines, heading back to camp on his own path.

Agor kept his arm around her waist as they walked.

He didn’t rush her or speak. He simply helped when she stumbled on roots or stones.

The woman who leaned against Agor’s side was not the same one who had pushed him earlier.

Her strength had faded, leaving behind a shell that shivered with each step.

His anger had disappeared, and guilt filled him instead.

He’d done this to her. He’d ignored the signs of addiction because they pleased him.

Now his mate fought for her life because of his madness.

They walked in silence while their breath made clouds in the cold air.

The path to the cave seemed too long and too winding.

Zoe’s feet dragged with each step. The cloak trapped some heat, but the wet clothes underneath kept her cold.

Her mind moved between clarity and confusion as the need for the ointment rose and fell.

She tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and let the orc captain lead her.

The camp lay quiet in the night. Only two guards stood by the entrance, their eyes following as Agor guided her through.

The rest of the horde had retired to their sleeping areas.

Agor led her into the tunnel that connected to their private gallery.

Candles burned in holders along the wall. The bed of furs waited across the room.

“We need to remove your wet clothes,” Agor said. “You’ll become sick otherwise.”

She nodded but her fingers had gone numb, so she didn’t move.

Agor helped with the clothes and wrapped her in the warmest furs.

His hands never lingered. He bundled the wet items by the entrance, then sat down next to her, not knowing what to do with his hands, with himself.

He didn’t even know how to look at her, or if he could look at her at all.

The light coming from all the candles scattered around flickered on the smooth surface of the iron bolt above the bed.

“Sleep,” he eventually said. He stood up and moved away to give her space.

Zoe opened her mouth to say something, to thank him for bringing her home and helping her, but no sound came out. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t think straight anyway, so she turned her back to him and closed her eyes. But rest was out of reach…

She tossed in the furs for hours, between sleep and the need that wanted to keep her awake.

Dreams mixed with memories – her father telling her to stay out of the way, her brother laughing while she lifted an engine part.

Then came the crash of the lift, oil smell, and the sound of her bone breaking while they talked about repair costs.

She woke up from the dream, her chest tight.

The craving bothered her less now, pushed aside by what the dream had brought back.

Her family said she was difficult, stubborn, too strong for her own good.

Those traits had helped her survive before.

They would help her now. She hadn’t given up when her father and brother ignored her bleeding on the garage floor.

She wouldn’t give up because of some magic in a jar.

She sat up and looked around, trying to see where her orc mate had gone.

Across the chamber, Agor sat on a pelt with daggers laid out in front of him. Stone scraped against metal as he sharpened each blade. He looked up when she moved.

“I’ll fight this,” Zoe said, wrapping the furs tighter around her. Her throat felt dry.

Agor put down his dagger but kept the whetstone in his hand.

“But I can’t just sit here in this cave.” She moved her legs over the edge of the bed, her toes touching the stone floor. “If I stay here with nothing to do except think about the craving, I’ll lose my mind.”

She walked the distance between the bed and where Agor sat, focusing on each step to stay upright. The floor chilled her feet as she moved.

“Let me work in the garage with Grol and Tarn.” She sat next to him, careful about the daggers.

Agor raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he picked up another blade.

“I need to keep my hands busy. My brain needs problems to fix.” She put her hand on his arm. “When I work on cars, I don’t think about anything else. I’ve always been strong.” She met his eyes in the candlelight and tried to give him the tiniest, softest smile. “I just forgot for a while.”

The orc captain grunted and turned the whetstone in his hand while he thought about what she asked.

She wanted to return to the garage he had forbidden.

She wanted to do the work he had stopped her from doing.

He almost said no right away. No to the garage, no to the tools, no to anything outside his watch, anything he didn’t approve of.

Then he remembered how his need to control her had made things worse.

He’d tried to keep her safe by keeping her close, and instead he’d helped the curse take hold of her.

The silence between them grew as he studied her face.

Her jaw stayed firm despite the tremors in her body.

Her eyes held the same look they had when he first chose her – not fear or submission, but quiet strength.

This strength had drawn him to her. The ability to face his demands without breaking, the power to endure what would destroy most humans.

And now she used that strength to ask for the one thing he didn’t want to give.

Trusting others was hard for Agor. It meant someone else might know better than him about what they needed, even when it went against what he thought was right.

He was used to always making choices for everyone.

The captain decided for the horde, and he decided for his bride.

It was the way of his world, his culture.

But Zoe wasn’t like them, and Agor had to admit he really didn’t know much about humans. She didn’t need him to choose for her, she needed him to let her find her own way to fight.

“The tools will be too heavy for you,” he said.

“I’ve been lifting tools since I was ten. Let me try.”

This wasn’t just about working in the garage, it was about stepping back when he wanted to protect her from everything. He looked at her hand on his arm, at the grip that still had some strength. This was the woman he chose. Not because she obeyed, but because she didn’t give up.

Agor nodded. “Alright.”