Page 21 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Vallek…might need a new strategy. That assumed he’d had one to begin with, which he couldn’t truly say he did, but after the unmitigated disaster of the previous night, whatever he’d thought the plan was clearly needed to go.

The haunted way she looked at him…he wore it as a wound on his soul.

Everything had felt so good, so right; feeling her hot, lithe body in his arms as she came apart fulfilling a very male, very ancient need in him.

Nothing had ever satisfied him the way witnessing her glorious climax did.

He wanted it again. Forever. Would’ve made her come on his hand all night if she hadn’t pushed him away.

But she ran from him. Literally ran away.

His own mate .

It was a dagger to his pride, and for long moments afterwards, he’d sat alone in his bed, stunned silent. Her slick cooling on his hand, his cock still throbbing in the confines of his trou, his mind hadn’t been able to comprehend what’d just happened. Where he went wrong.

Pursuing her into the den hadn’t yielded any answers.

If anything, it only made everything worse.

Seeing her curled up on that chair, looking for all the world like a wounded animal and at him like he was the very hunter who’d hurt her, had shriveled up his lust faster than cold water and thoughts of his granddam.

He didn’t know what was wrong, but he didn’t need to ask to know she wouldn’t tell him. With how she looked at him, he thought he’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

Vallek hadn’t known what to do. His beast whined inside him, a desperate, clammy feeling overcoming him as he hurried to fetch her a cloth to clean herself and then his coverlet to wrap round her. She sat there stiffly, not moving at all, and Vallek could think of nothing to say.

He retreated alone to his bedchamber, convinced that while he might have won their sparring, goading her with his talk of wives, he also may have lost something far more important.

There was little sleep to be found that night, marking the second night he went with hardly any rest. His tactician’s mind pored over what they’d done, every word and expression, searching for an answer to what went wrong.

Through the dark hours, he couldn’t pinpoint a precise moment to focus on. The deeper the night became, the more he suspected he should apologize—but for what he didn’t know.

When predawn light began to filter weakly through his bedchamber window, Vallek quit the field. Rising from his bed, he grabbed only a tunic and boots before heading for the door.

A quick glance into the den revealed that Ravenna had at least moved to one of the sofas.

His chest ached peculiarly to see what a small lump she made under the coverlet, just the very top of her raven-black head visible against the scarlet fabric of the sofa.

The need to hold her, to gently place her on his bed as he had the previous night was a visceral thing, lodging just behind his heart.

Instead, he padded silently across the hall to the door. Not a retreat—a strategic withdrawal for now.

The guards on the other side of the door were surprised to see him, but they were too well trained to do anything but watch on in silence as he slipped the tunic over his head and stepped into his boots. He left them guarding her, quietly descending through the citadel.

No one but the night watch was awake at this early hour, not even the cooks. Vallek had the citadel to himself.

He sat in the basilica as the sun rose, watching how the light crested over the eastern mountains.

Morning rays slanted into the basilica, catching on the flecks of pyrite running through the red limestone.

The great panels of stained glass cast shafts of colorful light onto the checkered pattern of the flagstones, purples and greens and reds.

It was a dazzling, beautiful display, a reminder of the genius and might of Balmirra and his forebearers.

And it was lost on Vallek.

Regaining his feet, he left the basilica behind, a restless despondency taking root in his chest. He didn’t care for the feeling at all.

His feet brought him to the training yard, and he contented himself with wearing out his body. A few of his berserkers were about by now but all gave him a wide berth, no doubt remembering his fury in the pits.

No matter how hard he beat the straw-stuffed dummies with his wooden practice sword, Vallek couldn’t seem to shake his dejection.

Is she awake now? Was she disappointed to not find me there—or relieved?

Whack went his sword against the dummy, old straw bursting from a fraying seam.

His thoughts circled like birds in an updraft, spiraling higher and higher. The harder he beat the dummy, the greater his frustration. Sweat soaked his linen tunic and matted his hair to his skull, but he didn’t want to stop. To stop was to face whatever this was, whatever he did.

But how could he face what he didn’t know?

The sun rose above the citadel wall before Vallek finally stepped away, chest heaving. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he noticed Asta standing off to the side observing him.

Grinning cheekily when she realized he’d seen her, she jogged over to meet him. With her thin sleeveless tunic and loose braid, she wasn’t yet dressed for the day. Still, she took up another practice sword, clacking their weapons together.

“Care for a partner who can fight back?”

He rarely denied Asta; sparring with her was always a delight, for she made an agile opponent, testing his strength and cunning.

And yet, “Not today. I’m in a foul mood.”

Asta hummed, making a show of looking closer at his face. “Yes, you do look pretty haggard.”

Vallek huffed. “You’re not helping.”

“Who said I was?” She grinned again, but when she saw her usual charms weren’t working on him, she sobered. “What is it, breddah? You know you can tell me.”

He didn’t want to. Gods, he didn’t want to admit his own mate had run from him as though he’d struck her rather than pleasured her. His pride was far more battered than the dummy he’d pulverized, and it shrunk away from revealing what a hit it’d taken.

Yet, there was no one else Vallek trusted more than his sisters.

Pressing on the bruise, he admitted under his breath, “She resists me.”

Asta’s brows rose. Looking around the yard to mark the growing number of warriors gathering, she caught his arm to pull him under one of the thatch awnings that provided shade for those training.

“Tell me,” she said, all her boisterousness gone.

In as few words as possible, Vallek explained how the previous two nights had gone with his faeling mate. How she fought him at every turn. How his beast yearned for her as much as it was bewildered by her.

“She’s known all this time, Asta,” he sighed. “Yet she hid herself from me. Denied our bond. She still does.”

Twirling the end of her braid with a finger, a habit she’d had since girlhood, Asta asked, “Have you asked her why she hides?”

“Of course,” he said, “but she gives me nothing. Anything I get must be fought for.”

“You wouldn’t like it if it was easy,” she teased gently. “We both know you’d be bored with a simpering orcess within the month.”

Vallek harrumphed, not liking that she was right. “Perhaps, perhaps not. But why must everything be a fight? She’s known all this time, has sat with me for many evenings over talfon, and yet she doesn’t trust me.”

“She agreed to play talfon? More than once? Yes, you’re well suited.” Sighing profoundly, she slapped her hand onto Vallek’s shoulder. “That time before, she wasn’t your mate. She was someone else. Whatever you had then, it must have felt safe enough for her. What you have now is different.”

“She has seen me for who I am all this time,” he argued. “Yet she still hid away. She still runs from me.”

“What have you done to reassure her? To win her over as your mate? ”

Vallek’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

There had to be something.

“I have told her she’s safe,” he insisted, although he didn’t need Asta rolling her eyes to tell him what a weak answer it was.

“Told her, yes. You’ve told her many things. Ordered her about, too, I’m sure. What have you done to prove it?”

Vallek had no answer for that. I’m her mate, his beast insisted.

For any orc-kin, that would’ve been enough.

The knowing they all felt, it was a foundation to build upon.

The beast knew, and the beast inside was their truest selves.

It might be wrapped up in pretty, divine platitudes, but at its core, the beast was the intrinsic self of every orc-kin.

He knew Ravenna, knew she was for him.

Why wasn’t that enough?

Seeing his inability to answer, Asta groaned dramatically.

“I swear, you and Eydis claim to be great lovers of women, but you hardly seem to understand them.” Gripping his shoulder hard, she rocked him back and forth, as if to gently shake sense into him.

“You must reassure her, breddah. She’s a fae amongst orcs and must have a good reason for it.

But she won’t tell you until you’ve earned her trust.”

If he hadn’t done that in the three years he’d known her, how was he to start now?

“My king!”

Vallek and Asta looked up to find Ulrich hurrying toward them.

Ducking under the awning, the lord commander rushed to say, “Forgive the intrusion, my king, but we just received urgent word from Toksfinge.”

The name immediately sharpened Vallek’s attention.

Although not a large place, Toksfinge was nevertheless an important fishing village along the southern coast of Dyfan Bay.

Toksfinge was one of a collection of villages and outposts that ringed the southern curve of the bay, marching up to the Spearhead, a squat peninsula overlooking the estuary that led from the western sea into Dyfan Bay.

Toksfinge was one of the southernmost of these villages and the nearest to Balmirra, about two days’ hard run away.

Already anticipating what Ulrich would say, Vallek asked, “How many?”

“One fae ship,” Ulrich answered. “It came ashore just west of the village.”

The fae and orc-kin had long vied for control of the bay, as well as the estuary leading into it.

With the major strongholds of Kaldebrak, Holdur, and Balmirra all within just a few days of the bay waters, maintaining it was vital to the security of orcish territories.

With the fae rimming the northern coast and their capital of Fallorian overlooking the mouth of the estuary, keeping control of the south, especially the Spearhead, was imperative.

No incursions could be tolerated.

“Find Mattias and prepare the berserkers,” Vallek ordered. “We leave by noon and we run through the night.”

Ulrich’s gaze flared with eagerness. “Yes, my king.”

“Vallek, you can’t just leave,” Asta insisted. “The beast won’t let you.”

“You’ve given me much to think on. The days’ run will do my mind good.”

“Indeed,” agreed Ulrich, “there is time yet to get this soothsayer business sorted. There are more important things that demand the king’s attention now.”

Asta turned a rare withering look upon the lord commander. “There’s nothing more important, more sacred than the mate-bond.”

“She will still be here when we return,” Ulrich grumbled. “The bond is still new, a little distance can be withstood.”

Ulrich spoke Vallek’s own mind, and yet, hearing the words aloud, they grated against him. The very idea of leaving his mate now, in the early days of their bond, went against every instinct. His beast roared at him for even considering it.

“Find Mattias,” he ordered Ulrich.

Startled by Vallek’s shortness, Ulrich’s lips thinned before he bowed and turned to fulfill his orders.

“Vallek, you can’t really—”

Lifting his hand, he silenced Asta’s objections. From his belt he pulled the ceremonial key to the citadel and handed it to her.

“See that this gets to Eydis. She knows what to do. And have her tell Hrothgar; he will understand the delay.” The old chieftain had himself fought many a skirmish against both fae and Pyrrossi incursions.

“Send Ulrich to handle it since he’s so keen,” Asta argued.

“I lead by example, Asta, you know that.”

“A chieftain would see to it themselves, yes. But you’re more than that now. A king is pulled in many directions. You can’t go charging off any time something arises.”

“The people expect it of me. Hrothgar will expect it. You want me to lose face in front of him? Now, when an alliance may have to be negotiated without a marriage?”

Asta’s look was dark as she said, “You complain that she runs from you, and yet here you are, running away yourself.”

Vallek reeled at the reproach, but his sister didn’t give him time to respond, turning on her heel to march angrily up to the citadel. He watched her go, fists clenched.

She was right, of course. It was another blow to his pride to admit it.

But the safety of the kingdom couldn’t be ignored. And although putting distance between himself and his faeling mate might be frowned upon by others, he thought perhaps a few days apart might be good.

Maybe with a few days’ run, he might think of a way to win that trust Asta spoke of. Maybe he could find a way forward that included both unification and his mate.

Not a retreat, then. A strategic withdrawal. To strategize.