Page 34 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Although they had to delay another day on account of Ulrich being indisposed, the march to the splinter tribes moved through the eastern foothills like the tide, inevitable and indomitable.

They made good time, much of which Vallek put down to Ravenna and Ulrich playing nice.

Or at least, being kept at opposite ends of the column.

Her point having apparently been made, Ravenna accepted riding near the rear of the column on her assigned onager, Mattias once again watching over her.

Vallek would’ve much preferred to spend the day marching alongside his mate and send Ulrich to the rear.

Especially given how foul his mood was after what he and Vallek were calling a bad jar of pickled turnips—although the whole camp soon knew otherwise.

Vallek didn’t know whether to be impressed or exasperated with how his whole camp, from warrior to cook, now looked at her askance with real trepidation in their eyes. She wasn’t allowed anywhere near the mess tent.

Ravenna…it wasn’t that she enjoyed the notoriety, but she certainly rode her onager with the poise and regalness of a queen. A smug queen.

A few days of hard marching, however, soon made everyone—not forget, but at least think about other things.

The hard days of journeying had their rhythm, and soon all fell into step.

Vallek made himself be content with spending his days strategizing while marching, for at least he was holding his mate close in the night.

He kept her back with all the others who weren’t warriors, though, when the smoke of the first tribe’s camp was spotted on the horizon.

Vallek sent scouts ahead, and when they reported back on size and strength, he deployed his berserkers. As one disciplined unit, they encircled the camp, moving inexorably inward to tighten the knot. When the tribesmen realized what had happened, it was already too late.

One by one, the tribes pledged their allegiance. Surrounded and overwhelmed, they had little choice. Sharp-Tooth, Green-Back, Silver-Tusk, Shorn-Head, and Iron-Chest, they all came to understand that unification with the growing orcish kingdom was in their best interest.

Not every encounter went smoothly. The Green-Back chieftain challenged Vallek to combat.

It was a good fight, one that got Vallek’s blood pumping, and in the end, he was by rights the new chieftain of the Green-Backs.

His first decree was to order the remaining kin to choose a new leader before sending representatives to Balmirra.

Challenging and fighting for leadership of every clan wasn’t practical, but it did expedite his demands. It also had the unforeseen benefit of softening his little hellion towards him.

His mate fussed over his minor scrapes from the challenge even more than his healer Fenna did, which pleased him no end.

He could very well get used to having Ravenna flutter and fuss, her soft hands searching him all over for any more bumps or bruises.

He let her check over the healer’s work and even dab on her own salves and tinctures.

“A kiss from you would heal all my hurts,” he crooned, trying not to be too obvious about looking down the neckline of her nightgown.

Her rosebud lips pursed in an unimpressed moue. “You’re fine.”

When she made to stand up, he grabbed her hand, pulling her back down to his side. “No, you must check me over more. I’m bruised and weary from missing you.”

“You saw me this morning,” she said grumpily.

“Hours and hours ago. Agony to my poor heart.”

Ravenna patted his chest. “Your heart is fine.”

“A kiss would ensure it.”

She squinted at him a long while, but in the blink of an eye, her expression grew sultry.

A vixen’s smile played at her lips as she gently pushed at his chest. He fell back into the bed willingly, ignorant of his sore body as he watched her climb first onto the bed and then onto him.

Straddling his waist, her nightgown pushed up to her hips, she arched one dark brow at him as she ran her hands up and down his chest.

Enchanted, his purr buzzed through him, and his hands slid up her thighs to frame her hips. He hummed with pleasure when she leaned over him, balancing her weight on one hand so she could hover just above him.

“Just one kiss?” she murmured in a dulcet, cock-teasing tone. “I think you will demand far more than that, my king. You’re greedy.”

“It would depend on the kiss,” he mused.

Ravenna hummed in consideration, her long hair falling around them in a dark, fragrant curtain. Intoxicated by her scent and nearness, Vallek’s hands began to knead her flesh, urging her silently to come closer, to let him devour her.

“Well, if it would mean the health of the king. Just kisses.”

Something niggled in his mind that he should’ve been worried, but then that lush mouth was on his, and he wasn’t thinking anymore beyond that.

She kissed him first in gentle little nibbles, teasing touches that were never quite enough.

The lightest pressure, the barest taste, and then she was gone, moving to his chin or his tusk before coming back to give him hope again.

Her hands found their way into his hair and traced the tipped edges of his ears.

Her fingertips were as light as her kisses, feathery and maddening.

No matter how he coaxed, she wouldn’t be rushed.

Instead, over long, long moments of tantalizing agony, she slowly increased the pressure and length of her kisses.

Whenever his hands strayed beyond cupping her pert backside, her magic took hold of his hands to push them back in place. It was vigilant, never letting him stray into the wet heat he could just feel above his lower belly.

Too late he realized she truly meant it. Just kisses.

But oh, her kisses fed his soul. He couldn’t feel his stinging cuts or aching bruises. His pride and triumph at conquering another tribe were nothing to the thrill of her lingering kiss.

Gods, why was he here in this wilderness when he could be comfortable in his great bed in Balmirra, locked away with his luscious mate?

Once this was done, once the east was secured, he intended to march straight back to his city and ensconce himself and Ravenna in his quarters for days.

There, he would take his due for every teasing kiss, every arched brow and defiant grin.

If it wasn’t his fingers inside her, then it would be his cock, every day, always, claiming her until their scents mixed and she was convinced of the fact that he’d never part with her.

He endured her play for as long as he was able, meeting her kisses with his own, murmuring promises to her, and trailing his fingers ever closer to the cunt he knew was swollen and soaked for him.

Squeezing her backside, he growled against her lips. “You win, sprite. Now ride my cock before I truly get cross.”

Her laugh puffed against his abused lips. Lifting herself up, she bit her bottom lip, keeping his gaze as she deliberately slid down to kneel above his straining cock. A groan tore from the deepest depths of his chest when she lowered herself onto him, cradling the underside of his cock.

“A different kind of kiss,” she breathed.

Vallek’s hips punched up in a violent roll, a hiss bursting between his gritted teeth. A needy moan caught in her throat, and Ravenna began to move, maddening little rocks of her hips that had him seeing the afterworld and all the ancestors.

With his grip on her hips, he moved her faster, grinding himself up into the seam of her body.

She soaked his lap, their bodies making slick, sloppy sounds as she moved faster, faster.

Her nails dug into the meat of his chest, and Vallek bared his teeth.

Fuck, they needed to practice more, for he didn’t know how much longer he could bear not being inside her.

She claimed his climax, those infernal little moans and rolling motions sending him careening off a cliff.

Throwing his head back, his bellow filled the tent as spurts of spend lashed his belly.

The bite of her nails stung, digging in almost enough to draw blood, and he felt her throb against the underside of his cock.

Chest heaving, he watched greedily as she came apart, every muscle tensed.

Seeing her lose control, how those violet eyes went hazy with passion, fulfilled something needy inside him, something that was desperate not just to care for his mate but to earn how she looked at him now—like he was the male for her.

Faster than she could react, he tumbled them around, reversing their positions. She gasped up at him from the bed, her violet eyes sparkling as he loomed over her.

Rumbling with a seductive purr, he lowered his head to hers to whisper, “You’re right. I’m far too greedy for just one.”

The last camp, the most northerly of the eastern tribes, was also one of the most isolated. In the fortnight he and his berserkers had marched up the foothills, he’d heard plenty about the Stone-Skin camp. About their penchant for cruelty and taking human slaves.

It was why he left his mate safe and secure in their camp over a day’s journey from the Stone-Skin tribe, making the last push with only his berserkers. It was why they approached in the gloaming, tightening the net as the tribe gathered round their central fire to eat.

And it was why, as he passed between great boulders meant to funnel enemies into an easy kill zone and finally into the camp, he was shocked to find the tribe to be the smallest of them all.

With a flick of his wrist, the net closed.

His berserkers sprang from the shadows, herding the Stone-Skins toward the center of camp, where the bonfire crackled. Shouts rang out through the craggy hills, but before any of the warriors could draw their weapons, his berserkers were there, pushing them between the circles of tents.

“Gather by the fire!” Mattias ordered. “In the name of the king!”