Page 42

42

W hen morning came, Daisy couldn’t seem to look at Filak . Couldn’t even touch at the memories of last night, of how he’d plundered her again and again, pouring her full of pain and fear and pleasure. And in return, she’d only begged him for more, begged him to mark her and choke her and drink her, to use her wherever and however he damn well pleased.

But now, in the bright light of the lamp, there was no avoiding it. No avoiding the sticky mess all over Daisy’s belly and thighs, or the plentiful new red claw-marks on her pale skin. Or , oh gods, the brand-new lines of black ink he’d painted down both her thighs, in between bouts of feasting furiously between them.

Daisy grimaced, and touched a shaky finger to one of the new marks — but the ink was warm, dry, sunk deep into her skin. And gods, she didn’t even know what they said, and what had she been thinking, it had been madness, surely…

But now — a claw. Gently following her finger down the mark, tracing its lines one by one. “ Daisy mín ,” Filak’s low voice murmured, as if it was a translation — and then his claw slipped to the other side, and traced down it, too. “ Og hér — sólin mín .”

Oh. And at the bottom of that one — she squinted, blinked — there was even an eye. A matching eye, just like the eyes in Filak’s palms. Just like the one she’d painted on him the day before. Just like the ones in the Skyli .

And it was that, somehow, that snapped Daisy’s eyes up to Filak’s face. To where he was watching her, solemn and searching, his hand slipping up to tentatively stroke at the kraga around her neck. “ Gott ?” he murmured. “ You like?”

And in return, there was only the heavy exhale of Daisy’s breath, and the nod of her head. Because — yes. She liked it. She’d wanted it. She’d willingly followed him into the darkness and the danger, and he’d again kept his word, and kept her safe. Shown her his care. Made art with her.

Unbelievable , a distant voice nattered, very far away. He publicly punished you. Told you he has the right to trap you and rule you. Irrational , foolish, dangerous…

But Daisy again shoved it away, and reached her hand for Filak’s stubbled bare scalp, and brought his head down toward her. So she could meet his mouth with hers, taste the tangy remnants of her own pleasure on his lips.

“ Gott , Filak ,” she murmured, into the gentle scrape of his teeth. “ I like.”

He smiled against her lips, gave her a light little nip, even as his hand softly caressed her cheek. Silently speaking back to her again, telling her he liked it too, he liked her, he liked this. He liked being her mate.

It was enough that Daisy didn’t resist when Filak nudged her out of bed, or when he swung her fur cloak around her wobbly, sticky body. Or when he plucked up the lamp and guided her out the bedroom door entirely, and then down the empty corridor, around a corner, and down a long, spiralling staircase.

It wasn’t until they’d reached the rough stone floor at the bottom of the staircase that Daisy realized Filak was still fully naked — and still streaked with his own mess, too. But he didn’t seem slightly bothered by this, and he slipped his arm around her waist as he led her across the broad, low-ceilinged room, toward where several large, rounded stone basins stood along the opposite wall. They were perhaps as wide as Daisy was tall, and they were full of water, with billows of steam wafting away over them. As if… they were heated?

“ Bat ,” Filak said, with a satisfied smile toward Daisy , as he drew her after him into the nearest basin. “ Bath , sólin mín .”

Oh, gods. A bath. A hot bath, just waiting here for them under Orc Mountain like this, and Daisy sank into the water with fervent, genuine relief. It was indeed hot, and clean-looking, and wonderful , enough that she betrayed a shocked, shaky laugh, and an astonished grin toward Filak’s watching face.

He easily grinned back, and then produced a clean cloth from beside the basin, and began carefully washing her all over. Starting with her face, then moving to her neck, her breasts, her belly, her groin. Taking extra care with anywhere he’d broken the skin the night before, searching her face as he went, perhaps seeking any hints of pain.

But it was still wonderful, all of it, and Daisy felt dazed and boneless under his touch, and all too willing to spread wide for him, to welcome the familiar prodding touch of his hard cock beneath the water. Because after all they’d done last night, making love in a bath felt like the easiest, most natural thing in the world, like a quiet morning stroll under a sunny sky.

And maybe Filak felt it too, his cock easily stroking through the water into her clutching grip, his smile slow and approving, his hands moving lazily beneath the water, tweaking at her nipples, scratching gently against her belly and her thighs. And at Daisy’s guiding, one of those clever hands rubbed against where she wanted it most, while his cock stabbed and swelled beneath — and when Daisy’s release flashed through her, it was like a warm whispering wave, flooding her inside and out. Until Filak gasped and flooded her, too, his head arching back, his molten seed surging into her, and melting out into the water around them.

Afterwards, they didn’t seem to need words, just smiling and touching each other as they dried off and dressed again. Or , rather, Daisy put on her fur cloak again, while Filak wrapped his hips with a flimsy little towel that still showed off far too much, including her own distinct black daisy rising up over his hip.

It was a lovely view, Daisy could admit, and she couldn’t help eyeing him as they headed back to their room together. He still looked a little less gaunt than before, his ribs less visible, his arms bulkier. Making his marks look almost smoother somehow, or — Daisy frowned and peered closer as they walked — or maybe they were also fading a little, especially on his shoulder. The formerly stark black ink was now lighter, more of a deep cloudy grey. And when she glanced down toward her sun, just visible above her cloak, she was strangely disconcerted to see that it had slightly faded, too.

“Do you need your marks redone?” she asked Filak , over that unsettling thought. “ Make húeflúr new again? Nytt ?”

Filak blinked, twisting to look at where Daisy’s finger was brushing his shoulder, and then he nodded and grimaced. Saying that yes, he needed to repaint them — but perhaps he wasn’t eager to do it, either. Flashing Daisy’s thoughts back to the tunnel the day before, to how he’d despaired over his gods, how he’d thought they’d left him behind.

“Do you… actually need to repaint them?” she carefully asked, as Filak ushered her into their bedroom. “ Can you just… let them go? Let them fade, and pray in other ways?”

She’d gestured as she spoke, motioning at washing the marks away, and Filak’s expression was suddenly aghast, his head shaking. “ Nei , nei !” he replied. “ Prayers are for gods, ach, but also… me. My prayer. My … art.”

Right. Of course Daisy could understand that, enough that it flipped deep in her belly — but it still wasn’t fully making sense, either. If Filak wanted the marks, then why did he seem reluctant about redoing them?

“I suppose… it must not be easy to do?” she ventured, as she mimicked holding a brush, and attempted to twist herself enough to draw on her own shoulder. “ Can you even see them properly?”

Filak grimaced again, but then he reached for his nearby satchel, and plucked something out of it. A small, gleaming looking-glass. And while that would help, it certainly still wouldn’t be an efficient process, especially with how perfect the marks were, how tiny and detailed and exquisite. And suddenly there was only the sad, sinking vision of it, Filak twisting and struggling to paint himself in the dark, to still make his own careful painstaking art, even if his gods had forgotten him.

“Can I help, then?” Daisy asked, without at all meaning to. “ Hjálpa ? Pray for you?”

Filak stilled all over, his swallow bobbing in his throat — but then he gave a slow, wary nod. And when Daisy guided him down to the bed, he easily went, sitting on it with his shoulder facing out toward her. Waiting patiently while she first cleaned her brush — which she’d forgotten to do the day before — and then while she plucked up his jar of ink from the table beside the bed, and set to work. Carefully tracing over the first few strokes of faded ink on his shoulder, following them as closely as she could.

“What does this prayer mean?” she asked, as she dipped her brush again, and brought it back to his skin. “ Hvae er tetta ?”

Filak’s shoulder slightly rose and fell, and he cast a brief, unreadable glance toward it. “ It asks for… strong,” he said. “ For … brave. Hugrekki .”

Right. And Daisy wanted that for him too, enough that she silently repeated it to herself as she painted, writing out line after careful line. Strength . Bravery . Courage . To face his past, his loneliness, his fear. To overcome all that darkness, and still seek the hope, the art, the light.

It felt strangely soothing, even contemplative, and the more Daisy painted, the more she could almost appreciate this as a form of prayer. The steady pattern and rhythm of it, intentions and longings slowly turned into something visible and tactile, into a promise of reality. Into art.

She exhaled as she finished re-inking his shoulder, leaving it all freshly painted in deep black. The sight of it almost as compelling as her daisy had been, her own prayers come to life against her mate’s skin.

And if she wasn’t mistaken, Filak liked it, too. His shoulder had steadily relaxed as she’d painted, his head slowly bowing, as if in a prayer of his own. As if this was a relief, or even a gift.

So without at all meaning to, Daisy dipped her brush again, and moved her hand up to his scalp. Feeling how the stubble was thicker now, a satisfying rasp beneath her fingers, enough that she hesitated — should she paint it anyway? But then Filak twisted sideways to grope for his satchel, snatching out his blade, and passing it into Daisy’s hand. And after a deep breath, she carefully set the blade against the nape of his neck, and drew it up, slicing off the stubble beneath it.

But Filak’s breath shuddered out, heavy and contented, so Daisy kept going, easing her way around his head, cutting until all the stubble was gone. And then she traded the blade for her brush, and began painting again. Tracing over all those marks on his scalp, even though they were far less faded than his shoulder had been. But again, Filak didn’t at all seem to mind, and his head willingly tilted back toward her, angling into her touch.

“What do these ones mean?” she asked, as she gently gripped his sharp jaw, and tilted his head further to finish the last few lines over his temple. “ The prayers? The húeflúr ?”

Filak let out another shuddery exhale, and he angled a brief, hazy glance up toward her. “ For … wise,” he said, husky, as he tapped a claw at his forehead. “ Clever . See .”

Right. So the prayers on his shoulder had been for strength, and the ones on his head were for intelligence and wisdom and sight. And the eyes on his palms obviously were for sight, too, and the sun over his heart was for — for her. Right ? And then…

Daisy’s traitorous eyes darted down Filak’s front, toward that damned towel still wrapped around his hips, and he twitched a wicked little grin as he followed her gaze. “ Ach , sólin mín ,” he murmured, brazenly cupping his clawed hand against the obvious bulge beneath the towel. “ For good fucking. Good strong seed.”

Daisy laughed and rolled her eyes, but her gaze couldn’t stop lingering on that bulge, as a bizarre temptation whispered too strong and close. Would he allow her to paint it, too, maybe to add more to it, and then…

But that intriguing thought was broken by — a commotion. A blaze of loud voices and clanking metal and stomping feet, just outside the door.

Daisy’s eyes met Filak’s , the alarm blaring bright between them — and then Filak leapt off the bed, and swiped for his trousers. Yanking them on as he lurched for the door, his displeasure vibrating all through his body, his eyes darting longingly back toward Daisy and her brush. As if he would very much have liked her to keep going, too, but the commotion sounded even louder, closer, with a familiar voice ringing through it.

Filak halted at the door and groaned aloud, while Daisy fumbled to set aside the ink, and then rushed over to join him. And there, clustered together in the corridor outside their room, was a large group of orcs, and at the head of them was… Rosa ?

“Good morning!” Rosa told them, with a bright, dazzling grin. “ I’m here to introduce our newest project. The Official Alliance for Skyli Restoration , Refurbishment , and Renovation !”