Page 27

I stopped and she joined me, standing close enough that when she shifted, when she breathed, every bit of me felt her presence.

Before the need building inside me could take hold, I pointed toward a spot beneath the tree where the sunlight barely reached.

“There,” I whispered. “Watch.” Raising my spear, I waited.

Stillness settled over me as I focused, every muscle in my body coiled tight.

The fish below drifted lazily, unaware a hunter was stalking them.

When the moment was right, I struck fast. My spear pierced the water and sank into the fish.

Lifting my catch, I turned, aiming to meet Beth’s eyes, longing to see anything that would tell me she was impressed .

She stared at the fish with an unreadable expression before her gaze flicked up, meeting mine. “Wow. Ruugar, that’s so impressive. I’ve heard of people spearing fish but everyone I know who fishes now uses a hook and a line or a net. Your move was seamless. Incredible.”

My chest puffed at her praise. My mate was so sweet and kind. I didn’t quite know how to respond other than grumble thank you.

Something shifted in the air between us, and it felt good.

Ignoring the way my chest ached, I pulled the fish free and threw it up onto the bank. “Your turn.”

Beth nodded. Gripping her spear tighter, she squared her shoulders. She was determined. I admired that about her.

Admired everything about her, actually. But I couldn’t let that matter right now.

I stepped closer, doing my best to bury the longing threatening to consume me whole.

She stared down at the water, her brows furrowed.

This was the same look she had when she was setting her mind to something, when she'd decided failure wasn’t an option.

It was a look I’d come to admire. She'd had that look on her face when she fled a wedding she didn't want.

When she was afraid of touching Barg but did it anyway.

When she agreed to come on this trail ride as a helper.

My woman was amazing. Nothing was going to hold her back.

Beth raised the spear, her eyes locked on the slow- swimming fish. With a swift lunge, she drove the spear downward, making a hollow splash. The fish darted away unscathed.

Beth groaned. “It should've worked. I did it the same way as you.”

I grunted, stepping a little closer. “Good effort. But you hesitated.”

She scowled down at the rippling water. “I didn’t.”

“You did.” I gestured toward the moving current, where shadows of fish flitted near the rocks. “Because you paused, your arm twitched before you struck. The fish noticed, but not only that, it threw your aim off enough that you missed. It happens all the time. No worries.”

She blinked up at me. “I bet you stabbed a fish the very first time you tried.”

“Not even the hundredth time I tried.”

Her head cocked. “Really?”

“Really.”

Her posture loosened and her smile bloomed again, delivering a swift sorhox kick in the chest to me.

“Then I have ninety-eight more tries before I need to get worried.”

“Ninety-nine.”

She shot me a sly look. “Ninety-eight. I want to hit a fish one try before you.”

My laugh burst out.

The sound surprised me. Like the wind rushing from the mountains, it was impossible to pull back. Had I laughed like this before? Not just sounds, but expressing a feeling that came from the center of me? If I had, I couldn't remember when.

Her breath caught and she stared up at me with… It couldn’t be longing, could it? Just thinking it could be was enough for my laughter to fade and for heat to glide up into my ears, making them twitch.

“Yes, well.” She dragged her gaze back to the water and a sigh gusted out of her. She set her stance, adjusted her grip, and tried again.

The second attempt sent her spear gliding harmlessly past a fish’s tail. The third sent water splashing up around us. The fourth knocked a stone loose from the riverbed but impaled nothing.

I watched her shoulders grow stiffer with each miss. “Patience, Breela. Remember.”

She frowned up at me. “Patience, helper ?”

“Um, yes.” No. I needed to stop calling her the orcish word for sweetheart. “You're the helper, um, Ben .”

Her lips thinned and that happy look faded from her eyes. “Yeah, helper. That’s all I am.”

She was so much more than that. Did I dare tell her? Before I could decide, she turned back to the water with her spear lifted and tried again. Over and over, without success.

“I have patience,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Everyone from the firepit was watching now, murmuring among themselves. Joel and Pete cheered whenever she threw her spear, and Mary and Carol kept shouting for her to keep trying. I was sure they could see how hard this could be.

If they didn't, they would soon, because a lesson was in store for them later. It was part of the included activities in each trail ride. Dungar thought our guests would enjoy not only eating the fish speared here but being the ones to spear them.

Beth waved their way, though her face had gone scarlet. “They’re staring.”

“And you can stare at them later when it’s their turn to fish.”

“This, I’ve got to see.”

“You’ll be one of the instructors.”

Her snort rang out. “Please don’t tell me it’ll be a competition, because my team will be sure to lose to yours.”

I smothered a grin. “You’re doing better than most would. I’m sure you’ll spear your first when you reach one-hundred-and-one.”

“Ninety-nine, Ruugar,” she said with a smirk. “Ninety-nine.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. The way her lips curved and the easy way she spoke weren't things meant for me.

She enjoyed the moment, but did she see where this could lead?

How could she know what these little smiles, these teasing words, did to me?

I stood close to her, but I was not truly any nearer than if I was standing in the middle of Lonesome Creek and her here.

She turned back to the water and kept trying. “Do all orcs learn how to spear fish? ”

“If they hope to eat.”

She sent me a shocked look.

“I’m teasing. This is something my brothers and I used to do for fun. Many orcs live in the city and like you, the only fish they see come in a wrapper.”

“So no training in fishing, then.”

“Nothing formal, not for this.”

“For what, then?”

“Battle.” I thought back to my first weeks of training with my brothers, my aching muscles and the sharp words of my elder instructors. There had been no soft guidance, no patience. Just expectation. Strength and success were demanded, not encouraged.

“I bet you were good at that too.”

“No,” I said. “I was worse than some of my brothers.”

Beth blinked, startled. “Really?”

“First, they teach us to throw daggers. I missed for weeks before I hit my first target.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Glad to know even mighty orcs aren’t perfect.”

My grin joined with hers. “No male is perfect, especially me.”

She snorted, lifting her spear again. “Try telling that to the men living here on the surface.”

I wondered what sort of men she'd known before now, if she’d admired any of them, if they’d ever earned that glowing look she sometimes showed when she was pleased.

The thought unsettled me.

She adjusted her stance again, preparing to strike, but I caught the familiar flicker of hesitation, the way her fingers tensed too soon.

I moved in behind her, close enough that my abdomen brushed her back. She let out a little yip I couldn't define and ignored. I was here to help her. Nothing else. I settled my hands over hers, my body bracketing hers. The top of her head barely reached my chest.

She smelled of the river and a sweetness I still hadn’t figured out but always noticed.

Beth stiffened against me and sucked in a breath. I felt it under my hands and in the tremor shooting through her muscles.

My breathing grew heavy, my grip tightening on her wrist for too long.

Focus.

I pushed through the heat coiling inside me and bent my head, angling my words at her ear.

My pulse slammed against the inside of my throat.

It was too loud, too much. Her skin was so close, her wrist beneath my fingers delicate yet strong.

A breath. That was all it would take. Just one inhale closer to her ear, one moment of foolish indulgence.

“Like this.” Slowly, I guided her arms, forcing her grip to loosen so she wasn’t straining. Together, we positioned the spear at the perfect angle. Her heartbeat thundered, or maybe that was mine.

Her breath caught again.

I ignored the need to let my touch linger.

“Wait,” I said. “Don't move. ”

“I won't.”

The river whispered past us, smooth and cold and carrying secrets from time long forgotten. Fishing had existed ages ago. It did so now. She could learn this, learn something that might help her feel independent. I was going to make sure that when she emerged from the river, she felt confident.

A fish drifted closer in the shallows.

“Now.”

Together, we struck, driving the spear straight and clean, impaling the fish. The splash was quick, the final struggle brief, as it should be with a creature created by the fates.

Beth gasped. “I did it. Well, we did it.” She turned and launched herself at me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders, her legs my torso. Laughter spilled past her lips, and joy vibrated through her.

The warmth of her body hit me like a truth I wasn't ready to hear.

Every careful tether holding me in place was determined to snap. I braced myself, but it was useless. If she only knew the war she waged inside me when she did something like this.

I held her the way I'd craved to do from the moment I met her.

She pressed her body against mine, and her damp jeans and shirt clung where it touched my skin. She was small, soft in a way that made my heart hammer out of rhythm.

The people at the firepit cheered.