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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Vartok

My Kteer wouldn’t shut up.

And the worst thing of it? I knew it was wrong. I knew I should feel this shameful burn in my stomach. The damn thing was urging me to throw Myra on the ground and drive into her, slaking my lust with her body as if I was some kind of primitive beast.

But I’d come too close to that already.

Torvar’s Hammer, I’d made her cry !

My cock had never made a female cry, and I had been ready to cut the fooking thing off when I’d realized that. But…

But she’d said it had not been pain which caused her to stop, but an overwhelming of sensations. I could understand that, and while it made me feel marginally better, it didn’t take away the sharp, sour taste of shame in my throat.

“Vartok?”

We’d spent the last miles with her curled on my lap, both of her legs thrown over one of my thighs. While she’d dozed on and off, I’d known she hadn’t been sleeping long.

Nay, not my Myra. She’d been thinking .

“Aye, dkaar ?”

“We do not have to find the sea holly on the cliffs near the north Tit. We could gather some near the boat landing if you were anxious to return home.”

Home . How my heart loved to hear her call Bloodfire Village that. To think that she had a future there.

I readjusted my hold on her.

“The boatman will return for us tomorrow evening, so we might as well harvest the best quality herb we can. Avaleen will be well-served by Nan’s current supply, but if anyone else needs it, ‘twill be best if ‘tis the best we can find.”

“Aye,” she agreed quietly.

And my chest tightened in sorrow.

“Love, I’m sorry I hurt ye?—”

“You did not, Vartok, truly.” She peeked out from her little nest of our cloaks, her dark eyes shining in the dusk. “And if you did, I know it was not on purpose. You could never hurt me.”

‘Twas the truth. And as soon as I could get my voice to work past my suddenly dry throat, I would tell her that. Instead, I squeezed her and bent down to brush a kiss on her temple.

I love ye.

I needed to tell her that.

I needed to tell her everything.

She sighed and pressed her cheek to my bicep again.

“Can we stop soon? I suppose we will not be able to sleep in a real bed tonight?”

I swallowed, forcing my throat to work. “Nay, lass. But I’ll fetch ye some meat, and we’ll stay warm with a roaring campfire and our furs. I’ll keep ye cozy.”

She hummed in anticipation and snuggled closer. “That sounds lovely.”

I vowed I would do whatever ‘twas necessary to keep her comfortable tonight. Anything to atone for her tears earlier.

Within the hour I found the perfect campsite.

‘Twas not far from the cliffs where we would hunt for sea holly on the morrow, a little hollow, ringed ‘round with large boulders from the mountain, with a stunted oak tree on one edge to trap some of the heat from our fire.

There was plenty of deadfall to provide wood, and Myra cheerfully began to gather it as I prepared to hunt for our dinner.

Game would be scarcer in the winter, but I vowed my Mate would eat well tonight.

Except…

My Kteer was restless, and my senses were sharp. ‘Twas likely the only reason I smelled the faint whiff of smoke .

Slowly, I stood from where I was tying my traps and looked to Myra. Nay, she hadn’t lit the fire yet. But when she saw me looking, she straightened as well.

“What is it?” she asked, clearly seeing something in my expression I couldn’t hide.

Instead of answering, I held up a palm and patted the air, urging her to silence. I slowly turned in place, sniffing, my ears straining to pick up any sounds.

There!

Had that been laughter?

She was suddenly at my side, her cloak swinging into mine as she halted abruptly.

“Battleborn?” she whispered, jaw tight with determination.

Fook .

Myra hadn’t assumed ‘twas an innocuous explanation for the obvious signs of company. She’d skipped right to the worst-case scenario.

And the worst of it was, she was likely right.

I needed to investigate. But if Battleborn were roaming these hills, I couldn’t leave my Mate alone, either.

Grimly, I slid my hand through hers then bent to scoop up my battleax. I gripped the haft, reassured by the weight, knowing ‘twas a good weapon. A weapon which could protect Myra, could buy her enough time to escape if necessary.

“I am ready,” she breathed, understanding the need for stealth .

I couldn’t help myself; I bent down to capture her lips for a fast kiss, deep and hard. My Kteer needed to be reminded who we fought for. When I straightened, I whispered, “Good lass,” against her hair, then turned toward the night.

Following the scent of burning wood, my nose led us toward the cliffs. The sounds of revelry grew louder as we approached, and I was grateful we’d stopped such a distance away—and that the horse was tethered well beyond the hearing of whoever was down there.

Being careful not to disturb any soil or rocks that might give away our presence, I ghosted across the top of the cliff, looking for a good vantage point.

When I found it, I almost wished I hadn’t.

Because below, on the beach, two large boats rested, their oars standing upright and the sails—sails I knew would be painted in terrifying colors to strike fear into their victims—furled. Fook .

Myra lowered herself carefully to her stomach beside me so she could also peer over the edge of the cliff.

“Battleborn?” she breathed.

Part of me wanted to shush her, to warn her not to do anything to alert them to our presence. But I stifled the urge, merely grunting my agreement grimly instead, because I knew we were too far away to be heard.

Especially not over the revelry below.

It seemed they were celebrating something and I peered about, trying to determine what.

The males seemed to be from two different groups—the different ships, mayhap? Half of them wore mismatched colors and cloaks made from the fur of large animals, like I did. They wore their beards bushy and their hair unkempt. They were covered in tattoos of all sorts.

Self-consciously, I reached up to finger the beads I’d woven into my braids. A male’s appearance was the first thing others noticed about him; how could these orcs not care how they were thought of? Or mayhap ‘twas the point, so their victims would know them to be slovenly and unlawful?

If so, then the second group should be less scary, but ‘twas not the case.

The other half of the males, who at least kept their beards trimmed evenly, wore simple capes and cloaks made from dark material gathered close about them.

While the first group clumped around the fires, yelling and singing snippets of bawdy songs and waving tankards, this second group stood on the edges of the firelight, some with their backs to it, conversing in small groups.

As I watched, quite a few members of the second group sent disgusted glances at the drunken ones.

They were Battleborn, that was no doubt, and there had to be thirty of them down there.

Far more than I could face alone. And honestly, well-armed enough to make me glad I had never sent my Bloodfire warriors after them.

‘Twas clear this was two separate septs of the Battleborn clan, and who knew how many more warrior and sea raiders they could expect to call up?

Still, the thought of this fierce band pillaging the coastline made my chest tight with rage. And, if I were honest with myself, guilt. I couldn’t stop them, but if Bloodfire warriors had made a stand against them, could we have halted whatever they were celebrating tonight?

Ye would send yer men to their deaths?

I swallowed down my uncertainty.

Malla the Beginner! I hated having to make decisions like this!

Without making a sound, Myra scooted closer to me so our shoulders touched. We were lying on top of the cliff, peering over the edge, each keeping our own council as we studied the men below.

And then, two more came out of the darkness; an older male with a heavy paunch slapped the back of the other and sauntered toward the fire, calling for ale, while the second male pulled his dark cloak around him and drifted toward a knot of his own men, shaking his head as he spoke quietly to them.

I studied him.

Even from here, ‘twas clear this male was the leader. He wore the rings in his ears that some of the sea raider captains used to designate their rank, and they caught the firelight when he turned to speak to the male at his side.

He commanded with a natural ease I could admit myself envying.

Myra was watching him too.

“Who is he?” she whispered.

I winced, lowering my voice as low as ‘twould go. “I am no’ certain, but I would guess he’s Vrogul Stormseeker, chief of the Islay Battleborn. ”

I felt her shiver as she pressed closer to me.

“He is terrifying.”

Was he? From here, he seemed cold, and, aye, I suppose heartless.

When I heard the first feminine cry, I realized I’d taken my attention from the slovenly males, dismissing them as weak for too long.

My gaze snapped back to the fires and I realized what I was seeing at the same time I heard Myra suck in a breath.

There was a female—a human female—slapping at the hands of the older, bearded male whom I’d seen earlier. He was yanking her clothing from her, pulling her dress from her until she stood naked, bare skin gleaming in the light of the huge driftwood fire.

I knew what was coming, and I turned to hide the ugliness from Myra. But my Mate squirmed from my hold, peering down at the beach as the orc yanked up his kilt and pulled the female down onto his lap.

She slapped him, and I winced, calculating anew the chances of fighting them all…but to my surprise, after slapping him, the female grabbed the orc’s face and pulled his mouth to hers. Kissing him?

I heard his laughter, saw him grab hold of his cock, saw him slam it into her. Her scream pierced the night, but the sound turned to a moan soon enough to make me question what I was seeing.

An orc’s cock was made to bring pleasure—she must have climaxed instantly .