Page 31

Chapter

Eighteen

TESSA

Arlon leads us along the stream, his gelding following the larger horse meekly through the thick growth on the banks. We left the road a few hundred feet back and plunged into the dense forest, following the sound of the water.

I focus on Arlon’s broad back and duck beneath a low-hanging branch that nearly unseats me, though my thoughts whirl with worry.

Why did he ask about his scent? And is he truly serious about washing?

It’s cold enough that my fingers are red and aching, and I’m chilled to the bone despite my warm jacket.

I already know the stream beside us is icy, but he looked almost relieved when he first heard it.

He dismounts at a bend where the water deepens into a green pool fed by a small waterfall.

A broad boulder juts from the streambed, forcing the current to tumble over it in a thick spray that mists the surrounding rocks.

Moss blankets the area in soft green, echoing the dark tones of the fir trees overhead.

“It’s beautiful here,” I murmur, my gaze following the water’s path.

“Aye.”

Arlon’s voice is slightly raspy, and when I glance over, I find him watching me, not the stream. Heat surges through my chest, warming me from the inside, and I turn quickly away, startled by the sensation.

What is it about this man that unravels me like this? It’s probably his looks. I’ve seen my share of handsome men—nobles with coin to burn, musicians, crooks, thieves—but none of them held my attention the way he does.

No, it’s more than that. It’s his skill.

As I watch him lead the horses to drink at the edge of the pool, I turn back to the trees before he can catch me staring.

Everything he does is efficient, practiced.

He moves like a hunter, never wasting energy trying to impress.

He just…does things. Last night, he found us shelter from the storm.

This morning, he had breakfast ready without expecting anything in return.

I turn to thank him and squeak, startled, because Arlon has stripped off his jacket and is tugging his shirt over his head, revealing the broad sweep of muscle across his back.

He spins at the sound, eyes wide. “Tessa? What’s the matter?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, though not before catching a glimpse of his sculpted chest and abdomen, his arms thick with muscle. “You-you’re undressing.”

“Aye. I’ve no wish to swim in my clothes,” he says, calm as ever. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

I shuffle awkwardly, turning to stare at the treetops. “You couldn’t wait to reach an inn tonight? They’re bound to have a washroom. A private one.”

He exhales slowly. “What could be more private than a deserted forest? And no. I’m used to washing every morning. I dislike skipping it.”

But I’m here. I want to scold him for being inconsiderate—but is he, really? If this is what he’s used to, who am I to berate him for it?

“At our palace in Bellhaven, we have an underground bathing chamber.” There’s a soft splashing sound, then he continues, “Hot water springs up right from the ground and fills all these small pools that have been carved into the rock. The best place in the world.”

I imagine a cavern filled with steam and unlimited amounts of hot water. “That does sound lovely.”

“It is. But I don’t mind the cold.” He’s speaking louder now to be heard over the rushing water. “Just wait a moment, I’ll be right out again.”

Now that Arlon is washing, though, I realize I haven’t really washed since leaving Ultrup two days ago.

I splashed my face and rinsed my hands in the stream yesterday, but the last full-body wash I afforded myself was…

Ugh . The afternoon before I broke into the Ravens’ mansion.

I lift my arm, sniff experimentally—and cringe.

Two days on the road, combined with nervous sweat and sleeping outdoors, make for an unpleasant combination of smells, awful even to my human nose.

To think that Arlon has been sniffing me for the past day with his much better senses is too embarrassing to dwell on.

“Damn it.”

I stomp over to Clover’s side and dig through my saddlebags, pulling out a clean shirt, a pair of linen underwear, and the bar of soap I stole from Arlon.

When I glance toward the stream, I catch sight of him standing beneath the waterfall, letting the water pour over him in steady sheets.

I quickly look away, but not before glimpsing the firm lines of his buttocks and the powerful muscles in his thighs, braced to hold steady under the rushing current.

Then I tiptoe away, around the first clump of bushes, and down to the next pool, smaller than the one Arlon took over but still large enough to dunk myself in.

“I’m not washing my hair,” I mutter to myself as I unlace my boots and shove my pants down. “I’d catch a cold and die of exposure.”

A shudder runs through me, and goosebumps erupt all over my skin as I drag my shirt over my head and undo my stays. My nipples pebble in the cold air, and I already regret this.

“Cold, cold, cold!”

I hiss in a breath—my toes are barely touching the water.

But I’ve come this far, and if I don’t wash right now, quickly, I’ll risk getting that chill after all.

I clutch the bar of soap tighter in my fist and march forward resolutely.

The water covers my shins, then my knees.

The burn starts, the chill seeping into my bones.

Another few steps, and I’m up to my buttocks, deep enough in the pool that water will cover me to my chin if I crouch.

Scrunching my eyes shut, I take a deep breath and plunge.

“Aah!”

The cry escapes my throat, a wild sound ripped from me along with all the breath left in my body. I shoot upward, trembling all over, and scrub the bar of soap under my arms. My teeth chatter, so I clench my jaw against the involuntary movement and lather my hands to wash my?—

“Tessa?”

I swing around, dropping my soap in alarm, because Arlon is standing right there on the bank, naked as the day he was born, gawping at me with his mouth open.

With a squeak, I cover my tits and lower a hand between my legs. “What are you doing here?”

He blinks, then wrenches his gaze up to my face with visible effort. “You-you screamed.”

“Because I’m cold !”

But that’s not really true anymore, because heat pulses through me—part embarrassment, part the realization that we’re both naked, fully exposed to each other.

Arlon must have run here the moment he heard me scream.

He’s still dripping wet, his long hair plastered to his shoulders.

My gaze drifts over his body. I can’t stop it.

There’s just so much of him. His powerful arms, those muscular legs, and the startling length of his cock between them.

Gods.

As I watch, it thickens slightly, beginning to rise. Is he…?

I snap my gaze to his face and catch the deep flush in his cheeks. Yes, he’s getting hard, still staring at me. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t speak, and that restraint says more about him than any of the questions I’ve asked.

My heart is pounding, from both the cold and the shock.

But my belly is warm, heat pooling deep inside.

I tell myself it’s natural. Arlon is gorgeous , and we’re both naked, so of course my instincts would respond.

What I can’t explain is why I’m not sending him away, why I haven’t told him to turn around or leave me alone.

Arlon’s nostrils twitch as he inhales, and he lets out a low groan, barely audible over the rushing water.

My gaze dips down to his cock, now fully hard and pointing up toward me, the length of it truly impressive.

What’s more, there’s a fist-sized bulge at the base, and I wonder what that’s for. It can’t be comfortable for him—can it?

A shiver runs through me. My body is at war with itself, trying to stay warm and fight arousal at the same time. Arlon and I are locked in a silent moment, staring at each other, and I have no clue what to do.

But his eyes narrow at my shudder, and he runs a palm over his face. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Tessa. I’ll-I’ll get back to the horses. You finish washing.”

He turns on his heel and disappears through the bushes, his footsteps silent.

His retreat snaps me from the moment. I squint into the water and spot the soap floating near the bottom of the pool, the current washing it away from me. I grab it and lather my hands again, then freeze as I reach between my legs to wash myself. I’m wet, slick and warm, ready for…

Gods, that’s not a great development. But Arlon has this effect on me, and if I’m not careful, he’ll pull me into this whole fated fairytale he’s concocted.

I need to learn more about orcs and their customs to understand what this is all about.

The more prepared I am, the better my chances of survival.

I seem to have forgotten that over the past few days, as I plunged into the unknown without a solid plan.

But now that I’m not in immediate danger, I need to stop and think.

Prepare a plan, then execute it ruthlessly.

My shivering has given way to a constant tremor, so I rinse myself quickly and stumble out of the water, crossing slick river stones to the mossy boulders beyond.

I dry my body with my old shirt, then drag on fresh underwear and my stays.

My fingers and toes are alarmingly pale, so I jump in place several times, willing my teeth to stop chattering, but it’s no use.

I got chilled through, just as I suspected I would, all because I wanted to smell good for Arlon.

Damn it, Tessa.

I fumble with the buttons of my jacket, cursing softly under my breath. I shouldn’t have stayed in the river for so long, not at this time of year, when the air around me is barely any warmer than the frigid stream.

“Tessa?” Arlon calls from somewhere behind the bushes. “Everything all right?”

I tuck my numb hands under my armpits and will my heart to send more hot blood into them. “I’m fine!”

I glance down at the laces on my boots. It seems like they’re mocking me, laughing at my inability to tie them.

“Are you decent?”

My companion’s voice is closer now, right on the other side of the alder shrub.

“Y-yes,” I stammer.

Arlon pokes his head through the branches, and his eyes widen at the sight of me hunched on the ground. He’s by my side in two long steps and crouches, peering intently into my face.

“You’re too pale,” he tells me. “What’s wrong?”

“Cold,” I force through gritted teeth, not wanting to show him just how badly chilled I am.

But my body betrays me, and my chin trembles as another shudder runs through me.

“Gods, woman, why would you do this to yourself?”

Then he’s up and hurrying to the horses, returning a moment later with my blanket.

He drapes it over my shoulders and rubs my arms through the thick wool.

His touch is firm but respectful, his focus entirely on warming me.

It’s as if he’s forgotten our moment from earlier.

He’s fully dressed now, shirt buttoned, pants laced, though the faint bulge at his crotch still betrays his body’s lingering response.

“There you go,” he murmurs encouragingly. “Some color in your pretty cheeks. That’s good.”

Then he stops and sniffs, his eyes widening as he stares at me.

It hits me then—he can smell me. Not just the scent he mentioned earlier, cherries and sweet peas, but my body’s reaction to him. I know it as surely as I know my name, because he drops his gaze to my lips and sways forward, just an inch, then stops himself, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“What does it feel like?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Arlon’s dark gaze meets mine. “What does what feel like?”

I shiver, either from the remnants of the chill clinging to me or from the raspy quality of his deep voice.

“Finding a mate,” I explain. “What-what do you?—?”

“Incredible,” he interrupts my stammered question. “It feels incredible to have you near me. To know you’re safe. To scent you.”

He inhales again, and his eyelids flutter shut as if he’s half-drugged by my essence. Then he focuses that intense gaze on me, his expression serious.

“You have to know that I’ll never do anything to compromise this, Tessa. I’ll protect you from whoever wishes you harm, but you’re safe from me , too.”

“I know,” I reply, and realize it’s the truth. “I-I’m not afraid of you.”

Arlon’s smile is a thing of beauty. “Aye, I’m aware. You were scared at first, back in Ultrup, but that was because I startled you. Now you know there’s nothing to fear.”

Do I? I’m still afraid of what this all means, of how he’ll react when he realizes I’m not what he’s been searching for all this time.

He releases my shoulders and runs the backs of his fingers slowly over my cheek. “There you go, you’re getting warm. No more swimming in streams for you, not until summer.”

He moves a few inches back and tugs on the laces of my boot. He does up my left one, then moves to the right, his movements gentle and precise.

“You’re a good man,” I murmur.

Arlon looks up at me, his eyebrows raised.

But I continue before he can ask for an explanation. “The fact is, I’m not . Good, that is. And I think you should find another woman to court. I’m not the perfect mate you think I am.”