Page 11

Chapter

Ten

DRISK

I blink at my special human, torn between conflicting emotions as concern wars with a foreign sensation of what I can only imagine is mirth. I have felt it a few times throughout the endless passing of ages of my existence, but it has been too infrequent and shadowed by much misery that I barely recognize it. Keeping my wings pinned tightly along my arms and sides, I rise from the bed and prowl to the floor, my gaze focused on my female as the healer wiggles out from beneath her prone form and flies out the door. Disdain fills me that this Gwen found it so easy to abandon my human, but I cannot fault her too much given that she merely left her in my care.

After all, my female will never be in danger while she is in my care. In fact, there is no safer place than beneath my wing. If any male had dared to do as Kael had done, I would have eaten him on the spot before Daghel had a chance to return. Now that I think on it, I probably should eat the healer too for just abandoning my mate on the floor, but I do not wish to leave her side to chase the silly female through the palace.

A lick of flame springs from my mouth and snuffs out in the air as I stare at the door with disgust. The healer’s fear still sours the air, and I can taste its essence as she flees down the hall.

My pointed ears perk at the distant sound of heavy footfall, and Daghel’s welcome scent fills my nose. I dislike the palace. There are too many scents mixed together, many of which do not belong lurking so close to our rookery. They are intrusive and unwelcome, and yet still these orcs persist. The disrespect makes my lips pull back from my teeth. In the depths of the Cold Mountains, it would not have been tolerated. It would never have happened before.

I grumble quietly to myself as I fold my arms and legs beneath me, taking care not to pinch a wing as I settle around my mate, warming her and chasing the chill from the cold stone floor. I would keep an eternal ember burning within the stones, but with the condition of the palace, there is a good chance that the fire would rush through the stonework, setting everything within ablaze. Not a great loss but Daghel would disapprove. His opinion is the only one that matters, for he is the only reason for my purpose here. His birth awakened me, and I searched the mountains for years until I finally caught his scent and felt the familiar tightening in my loins that roared with lust and adoration through me.

Surprisingly, it is the same feeling that I felt when I caught her scent.

I did not anticipate this little female, however, though I welcomed the idea of Daghel choosing a mate. Although I saw generations of orcs mate and give rise to new ones, I never seriously considered what it would mean to have a mate of my own until I scented Daghel’s loneliness. It puzzled me at first—why would he be lonely when he had me here? But I watched the interactions of orcs with their mates, and while there were a few males I barely restrained myself from eviscerating, I slowly came to understand exactly what he needed. Her scent, however, was unanticipated. It nearly broke me as a wild need to cage her and lock her to me as I breed her consumed me.

I blink down at her with amusement, curling my tail protectively around her. Judging by her reaction, I do not think she will welcome a mating lock just yet.

The door groans, and Daghel fills the doorway. His dark gaze moves to the rumpled bed before shifting to fall upon us as his pale arms cross over his chest.

“Gwen fetched me.”

I grumble at his observation and curl myself more comfortably around our female. “ Gwen is a silly girl. It is only by the grace of the gods that she has more gift with the healing arts than she has common sense.”

His brow cocks in response, but his mouth flattens as he shakes his head grimly and strides across the room, closing the distance between us to crouch by our female. He runs a clawed hand gently over her cheek and sighs with relief.

“She merely fainted,” he rumbles before lifting his gaze to me once more. “What happened?”

My tail twitches, disconcerted. “I did not expect her to be so frightened,” I admit. How could I when all of my experiences on the mountain have showed close, loving relationships between gathol pair bonds and their mates? “I returned from my hunt and noted that, despite the fire, she was shivering. She is uncomfortable in the cold, so I sought to remedy it in the quickest and most efficient way. She did not react well.”

The corner of his mouth hitches faintly and I stare curiously at his expression, but he is no longer looking at me. Instead, he is peering down at our female thoughtfully.

“She is strong. She will adjust, perhaps even better than many other humans brought here. It was simply too much too soon,” he says and gives me a pointed look. “I did tell you to rest in the common room until she woke.”

I huff in a quiet grumble. I did not like being out there when my delicious female was hidden away from me in here. “I waited for an entire rotation of the sun,” I mutter.

Truly, my self-restraint should be praised. Wyverns rarely have patience for such social conventions, though I’ve noticed that those born through the clans with some of the orc bloodlines within their veins have a milder appearance and temperament. As an ancient, my own bloodlines show in sharp contrast when compared to theirs. Although I’m only slightly larger, making it possible for me to comfortably fit into the rookeries, I know that their features are far blunter and broader, giving them a “pleasant” appearance. Now that I think on it, the females and many of the males often shy away from me, and I have heard comments more than once about my “monstrous” look.

Is this what she saw when she looked at me?

My chest tightens uncomfortably, my stomach souring as if I had eaten something rotten. Daghel’s gaze shifts back to me, sensing a hint of my distress through our bond. His brows rise in surprise as he regards me.

“You are worried.”

It is not a question, but then it need not be one when he knows my feelings through our joining. Still, I gnash my teeth in annoyance, hating the sudden weakness flooding through me.

“She is afraid of me,” I grumble, echoing my concern.

Daghel snorts and shakes his head. “They are all afraid when they first arrive.”

“But I am not like the other wyverns.”

He lifts his head and regards me quietly for a long moment. “No, you are not. But she may like that better.”

I am not sure if I believe that, but I settle beside her and lower my head to the floor so that I can watch over her until she awakens. I rarely mind the fear of orcs and humans. Usually, I savor it. But not from her.

I just do not know how to win her affection when I have never attempted to win the love of anyone. I never cared to. I never cared for anyone except Daghel, and he accepted me and grew to love me quickly because he had been bred toward that expectation. But this female presents a new challenge that I am uncertain if I will be successful in overcoming.