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W hen Daisy awoke the next morning, she felt relaxed, refreshed, and strangely at peace.

She would forget Lew . She would focus on art, and learning, and seeing. She was an artist. She was.

That certainty settled deeper as she blinked toward Filak beside her in the bed, and found him already awake, watching her with warm, glimmering eyes. His tall lean body was still fully naked, his pale skin luminous in the light of the already-lit candle, and at his groin — Daisy’s breath shuddered out — he was hard again, his cock long and glossy and thick, oozing a bead of shimmering white at its blackened tip.

Damn, he was a sight, and instead of speaking aloud, Daisy groped behind her for her sketchbook and pencils, which had still been tucked into Filak’s satchel on the floor. And then she sat up on the bed, flipped to a new page, and began drawing.

And just as she’d fully expected, Filak was lovely to draw. The lines of him so smooth and lean, the black marks adding texture and drama to his pale skin. And the sharp angles of his face, the shadowy depths of his dark speaking eyes, the elegant tips of his pointed ears. And next the long cords of his neck, the rows of his ribs — perhaps a little fainter than they’d been before? — and then, his cock. His long, swollen, heavily marked cock, lying both innocuous and powerful against his hip, with Daisy’s sun still brazenly drawn upon it. Silently shouting of whose it was, where it belonged, who it would be fucking and filling next.

Filak had lain almost perfectly still as Daisy had drawn, showing himself an excellent subject, too. And in return, she found herself taking extra time, extra care, adding as many details as she pleased. The dark hair peeking from under his armpit, the perfect little dip of his navel, the long claws he apparently had on his toes, too…

When she finally finished, she could admit that it was a very good likeness, and perhaps Filak thought so too, gazing down toward it with strangely intent eyes. “ Daisy draw Filak ,” he murmured, as he lifted a finger, and stroked his claw against the page. “ You like?”

He looked almost shy, suddenly, glancing up toward her under his lashes, and Daisy couldn’t help her impulsive nod, her swift smile back. And in return, Filak’s head slowly tilted, as if considering something — and then he reached his long arm over her toward the table beside the bed, and came back holding that jar of black ink.

“Daisy mark Filak ?” he asked, as his hand gently dropped to caress against that vow he’d written on her belly. “ Art Filak ?”

Oh. He wanted her to — draw on him. To mark him, like he’d done to her. And maybe Daisy should have refused such a proposal, because Filak’s marks were meant to be prayers to his gods, right? And they clearly carried considerable weight for him, and she was still only supposed to be learning, two weeks…

But Filak was still looking at her like that, so shy and serious and hopeful, and he again reached over her, and this time came back holding a handful of brushes. The brushes he’d bought her at the shop yesterday. All of them brand-new and untouched, just waiting for an artist to use them. Waiting for her.

The longing swelled in Daisy’s chest, too powerful to resist — and after studying the brushes for an instant, she chose the smallest, finest one, and set the others aside. And then she prepared the brush, smoothing it to a fine pointed tip, before dipping it carefully into the jar of ink Filak was still holding.

“You’re sure?” she asked him, hesitating, searching his watching eyes. “ And what do you want? And where?”

She couldn’t understand his reply, but she could easily follow the careless wave of his hand, the way he eagerly sank down onto his back on the bed. As if he didn’t care what she did, what it said, or where she put it. As long as she did it.

And maybe that did give this too much meaning, too much power — a way to speak strong and unceasing, Julian had called it. But as Daisy’s eyes ran up and down Filak’s lean waiting body, she could almost see the appeal in that, could feel the longing to say something, to make a claim…

Her gaze caught on a bare spot above his sharp hipbone, beside where his still-hard cock was now lying on his belly, and weeping white fluid from its slit. And after a deep breath, Daisy carefully lowered her hand to that spot on his hip, and grazed the wet brush-tip against his pale skin.

The ink was dense and satisfyingly dark, without any running or fading, so she touched the brush again, more certain this time. Watching her hand draw a familiar ring of tiny little spikes, and then a long ray floret…

Filak’s cock spasmed upwards, sputtering a thick streak of white against his belly, but Daisy fought to focus on her ray, on tracing the lines inside it, on the delicate ragged edge of its pointed tip. And then, once she was satisfied, she dipped the brush again, and then drew another ray, and another. Painting … a daisy.

And gods, it was probably so foolish, so juvenile, like a child scrawling her name all over her favourite toy — but Daisy twitched her head, shoved that thought away. Filak wanted her to do this, and she loved drawing flowers. She was damned good at drawing flowers. She was an artist.

And if she wanted to draw a long, stylized stem, she would. If she wanted to connect it to one of the thick black rays of the sun extending across his groin — just like he’d done with her vow — she would. If she wanted to shade the daisy’s spiked disc, so it looked more and more like an eye, she would — and she would even turn over Filak’s slack hand on the bed, and use the eye on his palm as reference. Making them match, giving him a daisy that could see, a daisy that was entirely unlike any of his other marks, but still felt like him. Still belonged to him. Just like the eyes in the Skyli , in his home.

Filak again didn’t move as she painted, holding himself perfectly still, but for the erratic, sustained shudders of his swollen cock. There was now an entire glossy pool of white on his belly, connecting to his slit in a thick oozing string, and in a sudden, bizarre burst of daring, Daisy reached and dipped her brush into that string, and brought it back to the daisy. Painting in the rays with it, slightly smudging the black ink beneath its glossy strokes — but gods, maybe she liked that too. Liked the shade of it, the depth it gave it against his pale skin.

So she dipped the brush into it again, fighting to ignore the way his cock flexed and spasmed, and dribbled out more. Wanting her to do this, wanting to help her do this, and Daisy’s mouth felt oddly dry as she kept going, and going. Painting in each ray, one by one, blending the ink with his seed, making art, together.

When she finally sat back on her heels and studied her new daisy, she could admit that it looked — good. It looked strong, decisive, yet delicate, even exquisite. The way it grew out of his sun, like a daisy should, and that eye in its middle looked surprisingly vivid, unnerving, as if it might blink at any moment. And it did match the one on his palm quite well, enough that Daisy again spread Filak’s hand beside it, to see both eyes looking at her, just like in the Skyli . Again , like… something new. Like art. Together .

And when Daisy finally risked a glance up at Filak’s face, he was staring at it, too — and then his gaze flashed up to hers, and something was shouting, blazing in his eyes. So strong that Daisy didn’t even twitch when his hand snapped to her neck, circling her kraga hot and certain, and then guiding her face down toward his spasming leaking cock.

“ Sjúgeu mig ,” he gasped, as his other hand grasped his swollen shaft, pointed it up, as he brought Daisy’s mouth down. And yes, this was just what she needed too, Filak’s fat succulent crown parting her lips, spreading her wide around him, so he could plunge up smooth and deep inside. So he could mark her, and paint her, just as she’d painted him.

His thrusts were fast and hard and rough, but his hands caressed her face with astonishing care, and he was again murmuring praises, so soft and reverent in his hoarse voice. Calling her his daisy, his sun, his artist, and a dozen other things she couldn’t understand — but gods, it was so good, impossibly good, like a beautiful pitch-perfect harmony of pain and power and affection and worship and gratitude.

He arched and cursed as he sprayed out down her throat, flooding her with sweet jets of heat. His eyes burning on hers, his hands trembling on her face, keeping her there, wanting to see her swallow every last drop. And Daisy willingly did, holding his gaze, revelling in that look on his face, that quiver on his mouth. Again , as if this had meant far more than she’d intended, and now…

He moaned as his hands gripped her shoulders, and dragged her upwards. All the way up his body, over his chest, until she was straddling — his face . With her swollen exposed heat blatantly spread, convulsing before his hungry watching eyes.

Daisy shuddered, stared, fought the sudden urge to draw away, to hide — but oh, he just kept looking at her like that, with such bright, awestruck yearning in his eyes. And with a firm, purposeful tug of his hands, he drew her downwards. Bringing her down further and further, toward where his long black tongue was waiting, sweeping against his lips.

Daisy gasped and froze again, but Filak growled, low and hungry, and tugged her closer. While that long tongue slithered straight up to meet her, flashing her full of sudden shouting sensation — and then, oh gods, it began seeking up inside her. While his strong hands kept pulling her downwards, guiding her right down where he wanted her, onto his open waiting mouth. Until his warm lips met hers, kissing her sloppy and fervent, while his tongue anchored itself hot and triumphant inside.

“Filak!” Daisy choked, writhing all over at the feel of it, the shocked staggering pleasure — and oh, hell, the way he laughed, vibrating it all through his tongue, rumbling it into her grasping opened core. Fuck , it felt so good, nothing had ever felt so good, and when he pulled her down harder she didn’t fight it this time, sinking heavy and obscene onto his glorious taunting mouth. Not caring, for the moment, what this looked like, what she was doing, grinding helpless and greedy against an orc’s face, smearing her slickness all over his skin. Just needing more of him, all of him, please, gods, please…

Her release was a careening clutching furor, reducing her to wild desperation, a blaze of staggering ecstasy. Her voice shouting, her body quaking, fluid leaking and lips frantically kissing at the hungry mouth beneath them. Feeling that mouth kiss back just as hard, just as hungry and brazen, as if it needed this just as much as she did…

As if it was, again… art. As if it was Daisy again painting him, marking him, claiming him as her own. Seeing him.

She was still trembling when she finally drew back again, revealing Filak’s flushed, slick-streaked face, his swollen wet lips. But his expression was hazy and sated, his breath exhaling in a low, satisfied sigh. And in a swift movement, he furled himself up, clasped Daisy’s face, and met her lips with his. Again kissing her, tasting her, drinking her with such raw, frantic abandon, as if he wanted to swallow her whole. And maybe Daisy wanted to swallow him, too, wanted to taste herself all over his lips, to again feel the wonder of that clever delving tongue.

“ Ach, sólin mín ,” Filak breathed, once he finally drew away again, his face still shiny with Daisy’s mess. “ Daisy mín .”

He cast a glance down to the new daisy on his hip, and again he looked almost awed, almost reverent. “ Artist mín ,” he murmured, hushed, as he dropped his finger to carefully stroke at one of the shaded florets — and Daisy had just enough awareness to be grateful that it didn’t streak, that it stayed just the way she’d painted it. Her art. Her orc. Hers .

The strength of that thought was deeply alarming, and too late, Daisy squeezed her eyes shut, and gulped down a shaky breath. Damn it, she wasn’t supposed to be getting so lost in this. She was still supposed to be watching, and seeing, and learning. Not committing to this yet, not even if Filak had let her paint a daisy on him. Not even if he loved it. Not even if he’d thanked her by painting her all over his face, too.

She attempted to keep repeating that thought, even as Filak next cleaned them both up with a cloth, his touches soft on her skin. And then he passed her his waterskin, and followed it by slipping a plump tart berry between her lips — apparently from a new basket of food that had somehow emerged in the night. And then he fed her another berry, and another, and gods, now he was feeding her, and she should be arguing this, she should.

“You’re eating too, right?” she finally asked, with a twitch of a half-smile toward his face. “ Filak borea ?”

Filak betrayed a faint grimace, but that was unmistakable warmth in his eyes, too — and he swiped for a small piece of meat from the basket, and tossed it into his mouth. “ Ach , ach,” he said, his voice surprisingly mild, as he plucked up another piece of meat, and popped it into Daisy’s mouth. “ Gott , sólin mín ?”

Daisy’s smile drew higher, and she picked up a far larger piece of meat, and poked it between his lips. And though he playfully snapped at her fingers with his teeth, he also gulped down the meat, and then slowly smiled at her, still with that warmth shimmering in his eyes.

It made it too easy to keep eating with him, passing food back and forth, and when Filak again pulled over Rosa’s language book, it was too easy to talk back and forth over it, too. Practicing words and pronunciations as they ate, correcting each other, laughing at each other’s mistakes. And at some point, Filak had apparently even written his own list into the book, with a variety of Aelakesh words Rosa had missed. Including everything from innocuous terms like húeflúr — their inked prayers — all the way to words like refsa for punish , heiera for honour, bieja for beg .

“Are these all supposed to be a hint?” Daisy asked him, with far too much warmth in her voice, and she didn’t even twitch at Filak’s wicked grin, the teasing tickle of his claws at her back. Suggesting that maybe they really would use those words together, and he wanted to be sure she understood them. Wanted to be sure she was safe.

She was almost disappointed when they finally finished eating, and put the book away — but then Filak went and picked up a large crate she hadn’t noticed before. And when he set it onto the bed beside her, it turned out that it was full of clothes . All the lovely new clothes they’d bought at the shop yesterday, which Kitty must have had delivered, just as she’d promised. And Daisy watched with rising bemusement as Filak carefully sorted through the clothes, sniffing and stroking at them, setting various items aside, and even holding some up against Daisy’s still-bared body.

“ Gott ,” he said, more to himself than her — and then, without preamble, he tugged her up to her feet, and began dressing her. As if it was his right to do such a thing, or even his responsibility. And while Daisy probably should have argued, she could admit that it was a relief not to need to decide for herself, and she also liked the colours he’d chosen, the bright orange silk wrap top, the tawny buttery trousers. And his hands as he dressed her were warm and approving, stroking over her skin, smoothing out the fabric against her, making sure her black marks — her húeflúr — stayed visible for all to see.

Once he’d finished, he stepped back, and gave her an assessing look up and down. And then he reached for his satchel, and plucked out — something new. Something gold, something beautiful, glittering with familiar bright stones…

It was — a cuff. A thick gold cuff, set with yellow stones, made to match Daisy’s ring, and her kraga .

Daisy’s breath hitched, and she stared down at it, and then up at Filak’s face. At how a slight flush was creeping up his cheeks, how his eyes looked almost nervous. “ For you, sólin mín ,” he told her, as he carefully slipped the cuff over her hand, and then guided it up onto her upper arm. “ You like?”

Daisy swallowed as she blinked at it, at the perfect smooth gleam of the gold, the sparkle of the beautifully cut stones embedded within it. And again, she should be refusing this, telling him no gifts, two weeks…

“Ach, Filak ,” she said, her voice hitching. “ I like. It’s beautiful. Fallegt . Thank you.”

His smile was bright and dazzling, the flush deepening in his cheeks, and he promptly eased around behind Daisy , and began carding his claws through her tangled hair. While also speaking again in Aelakesh , telling her something about how he would have had it for her sooner, but Gareth had been too occupied punishing his wayward pet in the dyflissa.

Daisy chuckled and stroked her hand appreciatively at her stunning new cuff, even as she leaned closer into Filak’s touch. Into the tantalizing feeling of his claws gently scraping against her scalp, combing her hair back, and then tying it together with something that felt like a ribbon. All of it too easy, too tempting, even if he’d apparently decided he had the right to decide her hairstyle, too. And she should be arguing it, saying something, anything…

“Can you grow hair?” her unhelpful voice asked instead, as she turned around to face Filak again. And at his quizzical expression, she reached and stroked her hand at his bare head, which — now that she was paying attention — betrayed a noticeable burr of stubble, and she could see the faint shadow of it, too. “ Or do you cut it?”

The comprehension flared across Filak’s eyes, and he went for his satchel, and drew something out of it — a sharp, gleaming blade. “ ég klippti ,” he told her, as he mimed running the blade up over his scalp, before tossing it back into his satchel again. “ Cut . For húeflúr .”

For húeflúr . For prayers. And of course that made sense, didn’t it? He cut his hair as part of his worship, his marks. Giving him more of a canvas to work with, perhaps.

And Daisy could admit that it suited him, that he would look almost wrong otherwise — and now her traitorous eyes were again running up and down his tall marked body, and then catching on the too-compelling sight of that new daisy, her daisy, growing up onto his hip over the waist of his trousers. Making itself one of those prayers, making her claim on him very clear. Even just for the next two weeks, until it would fade forever…

“Are any of your prayers ever permanent?” Daisy asked, again without at all meaning to. “ Húeflúr … last? Endast ?”

Her face was already heating at the too-obvious implications in that question — she surely wouldn’t want to mark anyone permanently, right? But she couldn’t seem to take it back, either, because hadn’t Julian said, back in the sickroom, about some of the marks being embedded , somehow? Beyond just the ink?

Something flickered in Filak’s eyes, something almost like longing — but then he stepped closer, and brushed his hand against that vow he’d written on Daisy’s belly. “ Bara heitin ,” he told her. “ Only … vows. These are… great power.”

Vows. Great power . More new words they’d learned from the book, and Daisy’s heart skipped as she glanced downwards. Because yes, he’d given her a vow, and she had to be misunderstanding him, because he certainly hadn’t made it permanent… right?

But when she met Filak’s eyes again, they were intent and far too knowing on hers. “ No yet,” he told her, in more careful common-tongue. “ If you stay, I make vow… forever.”

Forever . The word flared strangely in Daisy’s belly, especially when Filak mimed again writing the vow with his claw, but more forceful this time. As if… as if he would cut the vow into her. With blood and ink. Permanently .

And Daisy didn’t want that… did she? She should be running again, or maybe demanding why he hadn’t told her this before, or why Julian hadn’t, either. She should definitely not be imagining what that would feel like, to have Filak’s art and his vow part of her, forever.

And most of all, she shouldn’t be frowning back at Filak , again sweeping her eyes up and down his lean body, lingering on that new daisy. Because did that mean — surely it meant — that if that happened, she could mark him permanently, too. Give him a vow — or maybe some art — that would never fade. And would she want to keep the daisy, or draw something else, or both, and…

A low growl hissed from Filak’s throat, and when Daisy’s eyes darted up to his, he was watching her too closely, his nostrils flaring, his tongue brushing his lips. As if he knew just what Daisy had been thinking. As if he wanted it, too. And when he eased even closer, scraping his claws against her belly, there was the alarming awareness that maybe she wouldn’t refuse, either…

“Er, are we ready to go, then?” her voice asked, too loud, over that dangerous impulse. “ We’re still going back to the Skyli , right?”

Filak’s eyes flickered, as if he’d followed her thoughts all too easily. But he didn’t argue, and even twitched her a small, indulgent smile before turning to swipe for his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder. “ Ach ,” he said firmly. “ Vie forum í Skylie .”

Daisy smiled back, and went for her own satchel, too — but then she remembered something she’d almost forgotten from the night before. “ So why didn’t you want to tell the rest of them about the Skyli , last night?” she asked. “ Jule , and Rosa , and John - Ka ? Nei Skyli ?”

There was an instant’s stillness, and then Filak grimaced, as genuine displeasure flared across his face. “ Nei ,” he snapped. “ Nei Ash - Kai . Nei Ka -esh. Nei Rosa !”

There was surprising menace in his voice, enough that Daisy flinched slightly away — and Filak sighed, and grimaced again. “ Nei trust them, sólin mín ,” he said flatly. “ Never trust them, ach?”

Right. Daisy winced, and her memories skipped backwards, back to everything Filak and Julian had told her about that. How the Nor -ka-esh had been suffering, dwindling, under attack. How they’d repeatedly sent to Orc Mountain — to their own clan — for help. And how they’d received only silence in return.

“But that was… during the war, right?” Daisy asked, tentative. “ Before Rosa came here? I just know she would love to see the Skyli , and I’m sure we can trust her, and I promised her I would…”

But Filak cut her off with a swipe of his hand, the anger flashing through his eyes. “ Skyli is for Nor -ka-esh,” he insisted, his voice hard. “ Only Nor -ka-esh! Ekki Rosa ! Nei Rosa !”

Oh. Daisy couldn’t deny a sharp twinge of hurt, her gaze dropping — but then Filak’s hand curved against her waist again, and when she glanced up, his eyes were worried, even apologetic. “ Fokk , sólin mín ,” he said, lower. “ I am sorry. You wish… see Rosa today? Nei Filak , nei Skyli ?”

Daisy blinked — he thought she wanted to spend the day with Rosa , instead of him? But yes, surely that was what he meant, his eyes now intently searching hers. “ You go now?” he said, with a jerk of his head toward the door. “ See Rosa ?”

Daisy couldn’t stop blinking at him, because he didn’t actually want her to leave him and go off with Rosa , right? But no, no, he didn’t, based on that tightness on his mouth, the deepening regret in his eyes. And the longer she gazed at him, the more dejected he looked, his shoulders heavily sagging. “ I am sorry,” he said again, with a sigh. “ I take you to Rosa .”

But Daisy held herself still, and kept searching his eyes. Because even though he clearly wasn’t changing his mind about the Ka -esh and the Skyli , he was still… apologizing. Admitting defeat. And also… giving her the choice. Allowing her to decide how to spend her day, even if it was without him.

And suddenly, that felt… important. Like a crucial counterbalance to his refusal, and to how he’d decided her clothes and her hair and the gift, too. It felt like… something a good mate would offer.

But then it twisted around, turned inside out, because maybe… maybe to Filak , those were all things a good mate would offer. Clothes , gifts, grooming, washing, food, care. Time . Freedom . And maybe… maybe even permanent marks on his mate’s skin. Something to prove his promises, to bind him to his vows forever. Great power , he’d said.

Daisy swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat, and before she could catch it, she slid her arms around his stiff waist. Squeezing him as tightly as she could, while something shifted and settled in her belly. Something that felt almost affectionate. Grateful . Maybe even… possessive.

“Thank you, Filak ,” she told him, as she ran both hands up and down his back, feeling him slowly relax beneath her touch. “ Takk fyrir . But I still want to go see the Skyli again with you. Just you. Daisy og Filak .”

And oh, the way his mouth softened, the light flickering through his eyes. Like relief, like gratefulness, like something too strong for Daisy to name…

“So will you come with me?” Daisy asked him, with her brightest, most hopeful smile. “ Kemur mee mér, Filak minn ?”

Filak mine . Like he was infecting her, making her say things she should never, ever say — but yes, she wanted to see him blinking at her like that, with that awe shining in his eyes. Wanted to see him smile, slow and so impossibly stunning. Wanted to bring her orc to life like a painting, like a sparkling priceless jewel beneath her stroking hands.

“ Ach, sólin mín ,” he whispered. “ I come.”