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CHAPTER FOUR

Jorak

The female was in my bed.

Verna. She has a name.

Aye, but ‘twas easier to think of her as just female . A visitor. Someone who would be gone as soon as the snow ended.

Ye’re going to draw her a map and send her off on foot through waist-high drifts, will ye?

Obviously not. But…I’d had a lot of time to consider it.

Because despite being bone-tired and having a second helping of the soup, I avoided climbing into my bed. I puttered around, cleaning up—although there wasn’t much she hadn’t done already. I read and re-read the scrolls she’d brought, unable to understand their meaning.

And afraid of what would happen when I climbed into that bed.

Could I resist her curves? Would I spend all night staring at the ceiling, thinking of how she’d almost dropped to her knees when she’d offered to use her mouth on me?

She knew what a male would want, then. She must be Mated—nay, humans called it marriage , although ‘twas a faint approximation of our customs. She was someone’s wife, and I was fantasizing over her.

Groaning, I dropped my head.

‘Twas going to be a long night.

I stripped out of my boots and kilt and climbed onto the bed, rolling to my side with my back to her, hoping I would be strong enough not to take her in my arms.

Apparently, I needn’t have worried.

Because I slept like the dead.

I woke in the morning in the same position, with a small, hot body pressed against my back. Sometime during the night—the dreamless, nightmare-less night— she’d put her arm around me.

I could feel her tits pressed against my back; those heavy, round tits I’d glimpsed through the shadows of her chemise as she’d changed last night. One of her arms hung over my hip, her hand inches from my hard, aching cock. How easy would it be to roll to my back to allow her to touch me?

Nay.

Nay, ye’ve come this far on yer own. Ye dinnae need her in yer space. Ye dinnae want her in yer space.

And then she exhaled, murmuring in her sleep, and her breath caressed the skin of my upper back. I could feel her cheek pressed there and knew if she twitched, her mouth would brush against me, and my cock wouldn’t be able to resist that.

With a groan of effort, I pulled away.

Verna immediately sat up with a gasp. I turned in time to see her looking about frantically, pulling the quilt to her, and so I saw the moment she remembered where she was and what she was doing here.

She cocked her head, listening to the storm still raging outside, and shivered.

“Ye are cold?” I asked gruffly, more to distract myself than to hear her talk.

She pulled the blanket closer.

“Nay.”

Her whisper, and the fact she wouldn’t look at me, made her denial difficult to believe.

But I merely grunted and rolled from the bed. “Of course no’. Ye were a little furnace.”

“I am sorry.”

I hadn’t minded her warmth. I hadn’t minded her hold on me, or her breath against my skin, or the way she felt pressed against me. And that was why she couldn’t stay.

Frowning, I padded toward the byre door, knowing I was flashing her my arse, and wondering if I should care. I grabbed my kilt on the way out, and took my time wrapping it, waiting for my cock to get itself under control.

My Kteer was another matter.

For the first time in seven years, the damnable thing wouldn’t shut up. ‘Twas a mere whisper now, but constant. Urging me to do, to say things that would not maintain my life’s careful control.

It wanted me to take the female as my own, and no matter how often I told myself she wasn’t mine , I remembered the casual way she’d offered her cunny yesterday.

She’d been desperate, thinking ye were going to throw her into the snow. She would’ve offered aught to stay safe .

Aye. And I had no need for pity. Or pity fooks.

By the time I returned, she was dressed again, although still barefoot, and had built the fire back up again. Her bare toes curled against the cold stone of the hearth, and I wondered if that was why she’d turned to me for warmth last night.

“Good morning,” she said quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. “I have pushed the soup back to warm, but if you would like me to make you porridge, I can do that.”

I preferred porridge in the morning, aye. I grunted an acknowledgement, then pointed to the chest where I kept the dry supplies the villagers paid me in, then crossed to my personal chest.

I’d hung her stockings here yesterday and they were dry enough. I also pulled out a pair of my own thicker ones I wore under my boots on the worst days of winter, and thrust them all out at her.

“Here. For yer feet.”

Ye dobber, of course they’re for her feet!

Verna’s eyes were wide, and her lips parted as she took them from me. Just like last night, when she’d handed me that satchel and our hands brushed, a shock of something ran up my arm and settled in my chest.

Stupid fooking Kteer willnae leave me be.

Determined to ignore the female in my home, I sat at my desk and pulled over my stylus to begin the complex process of sharpening the damn thing with only one hand.

Mayhap it took longer than I thought, because the next thing I heard was Verna— the female —say softly,

“Yer porridge is ready. Would ye like it at yer desk?”

I glanced about and was surprised to see she’d set the table for two. Two bowls, two mugs, two spoons. ‘Twould be churlish of me to demand she serve me at my desk, so I pushed away to join her.

The porridge was…good.

“Honey?” I grunted, not usually bothering with it myself. But she’d drunk my tea and known I preferred sweet things.

“Aye.” Her voice was soft, her gaze on my chin. “Keeper, I know you do not like my chattering, but can I ask something?”

I sighed. “As long as ‘tis no’ about my arm.”

Her surprised gaze slammed upward into mine, then to the stump I’d rested on the table, then back up to my face, and I realized that hadn’t been her intention at all.

“I just…I just wondered…”

By Torvar’s Hammer, she was enticing when she blushed like that, was she not?

“Where am I? I mean, this place? There was a mist in the stone circle, and this is where orcs live?”

Frowning, I wondered how to explain it to her. “Do yer people no’ speak of these things?”

“My people do not believe in you. Orcs are just…fairy tales—Nay, horror stories parents use to scare their children with.” She shook her head in what almost looked like bemusement, her spring-green gaze skipping across my features, caressing my tusks, making me hard again beneath my kilt.

“I never imagined you were real.”

Sighing, I put down my spoon and lifted my fist, pushing it across the table.

“Put out yer fist.”

When she did so, I knocked our knuckles against one another, trying to ignore the spark that made my skin tingle. ‘Twas just seven years of celibacy, ‘twas all.

“The human world and the orcs’ sit side-by-side, aye? Identical, except who inhabits them. Once a moon’s cycle, when it is at its fullest, the veil opens between our worlds…”

I opened my hand so the palm faced her, and without having to be prompted, Verna did the same. Her eyes were wide and interested, her lower lip tucked between her teeth as she listened.

I moved my palm forward to press against hers, and the shock was no longer a spark, but a full-fledged fire, rushing up my arm and causing my Kteer , for the first time since I’d gained complete regulation, to burst free and howl in my chest.

Swallowing, I struggled for control, struggled to hide my body’s response to her touch.

“So this is the veil?” She was staring at our hands. “Where our worlds meet?”

Focus .

I yanked my hand back, afraid I was a heartbeat away from curling my fingers around hers.

“I dinnae ken how long ago our ancestors put up the stones to mark the crossings, but aye, they are natural places. My people have been raiding yers for generations. Bloodfire Village is full of human females who have chosen to make their home here.”

“Chosen ?” her words were sharp.

I glanced at her, wondering at that tone. Ah, mayhap she was thinking of the conversation she’d overheard about the village being more suitable for her.

“Aye, ye will be welcomed there.”

“Torvolk bought Isadora. Are those women all slaves?”

Frowning, I finished off my porridge, eyeing her. Finally, I said, “Nay, orcs keep nae slaves. The women who live in the village are, by and large, cherished Mates of orc males.”

Her eyes had widened further. “They marry orcs?”

“Nay, they Mate—” My lips snapped shut into a scowl. How to explain Mating to a human who didn’t believe we existed?

How to explain Mating when ye’ve never experienced it ?

Abruptly, I pushed away from the table.

“The porridge was good. As was the tea.” I cleared my throat. “Thank ye.”

I stomped for the byre, desperate for escape, but her next question stopped me.

“Do you think—I mean, if it is not too much trouble…”

Reluctantly, I turned my glower her way, but she merely raised her chin.

“I would like to wash, Keeper. May I?”

“Aye,” I barked, gesturing toward the fire. “I’ll get ye some clean water.” Any excuse to slip away.

By the time I returned, she was finishing the dishes. Although I was used to being alone, I had to admit that there was something to be said for having someone willing to make food and clean up after. Some days I skipped meals because I couldn’t be bothered to go through the trouble, especially since the chickens had finished laying for the winter.

“Here,” I grunted, plopping the pail of half-melted snow on the table. Hopefully she’d figure out how to heat it, because I didn’t want to be involved in this any more than necessary.

There was naught for me to do at my desk, but I sat there anyway, pretending. Because…all of my senses were attuned to Verna— the female —behind me. I listened to the sound of splashing water and imagined her preparing. I scented her skin as she undressed, and heard the swish of the clothing she laid out over the table. I closed my eyes, swallowing a groan, and shifted slightly so I could see her from the corner of my eye.

She was nude.

She was nude, standing in my home, washing herself.

I knew she had to be chilled, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Or mayhap she wouldn’t allow it to bother her. I’d noticed this female of mine was bold and brave and— wait .

Verna was not my female. She was too bonny not to belong to another male.

I must have made a sound, or shifted on my chair, because her gaze flew to mine.

And I was unable to look away.

Unable to look away as she dragged my washrag across her shoulders. Down her breasts. Between her legs.

Oh, Palton’s Spear, between her legs .

My cock throbbed in time with my Kteer to see that thatch of auburn curls, shades darker than the hair on her head. I wanted to run my fingers through them. I wanted to press my nose, my tongue against those curls.

I wanted to know if she tasted as muskily sweet as she smelled.

‘Twas difficult to resist the urge to reach for my cock, to squeeze it through the wool of my kilt, but I did. She was merely a visitor and would be gone soon from my carefully ordered life.

But Verna held my gaze as she washed herself. Daring me to say something? Do something?

What could I do that wouldn’t disrupt what I’d spent so long building?

When she finally dropped the rag back into the pail, I told myself the torture was done and I could finally look away. But I didn’t.

And so when she began to walk toward me, that glorious red hair falling around her shoulders and those hips swaying, I still couldn’t.

Och , Torvar’s Hammer, look away .

But then she was there, standing beside me, close enough to touch, and I couldn’t resist rotating on my stool to face her, like a moth drawn to a flame. My throat was dry, my chest was itchy, and still I couldn’t look away .

“Keeper…” Her murmur was husky, deep. “Do you have another name? A name I should call you? After all, you are not my Keeper, yet.”

At that moment, I very much wanted to keep her. But my tongue darted out to brush against my tusk, grounding myself.

“Jorak,” I rasped, surprised to hear my answer.

How long since I’d thought of myself by that name? How long since I’d heard it?

For seven years I’d been the Bloodfire Keeper, protector of the stones. I expected to grow old and die here, surrounded by the carefully kept order that she was now ruining.

Her smile bloomed. “Jorak.”

Oh, fook . Had I thought her enticing, standing there naked and tempting? ‘Twas worse with the way her voice reached down through my chest and wrapped around my cock. Hearing my name on her lips…

I tried to shake my head.

“Jorak, I told you I could be useful. You could let me stay here with you. You could be my Keeper.”

Inside my chest, my traitorous Kteer tried to howl in gleeful agreement.

“I can cook. I can clean.” And then, horror of horrors, Verna cupped her breasts. Her delicious breasts, capped with full, pink nipples that begged for a male’s mouth. She cupped her tits and lifted them, offering them. To me .

“I can be useful.”

She was offering her body to me, and Malla the Beginner knew how much I wanted to take her offer.

“Jorak,” she whispered again, coaxingly. “I can make you feel so good.”

Could she? So she did have experience pleasuring a male. But why would she want to pleasure someone like me ?

Me, whom no female had looked at twice in seven years?

“So good,” she whispered again, and I gave in.

With a groan of surrender, I lifted my hand, hesitating only slightly before I pressed the palm to her stomach. She was warm and soft, her curves just as enticing as I’d known they would be.

I watched my hand move around to her side, watched it slide up her skin. Her hands fell away, and then my palm was there, cupping her breast. I willed my claws to retract, so I wouldn’t dimple her softness, wouldn’t hurt her.

My breathing was too quick. I had lost control, but I couldn’t stop. She felt so damnably perfect in my hold. I wanted to lift her tit to my mouth, to taste her the way my Kteer demanded.

But before I did, I glanced up at her face.

And froze.

Because she wasn’t looking at me.

Verna was staring over my head, her gaze distant and locked on the back wall of my house, where there was naught interesting to examine. She wasn’t looking at me…because she wasn’t enjoying this.

She’d offered her body to me because she thought that’s what she had of value, but she didn’t want this .

Wherever Verna was at this moment, it wasn’t here with me, being caressed. She was allowing me to take pleasure from her body, which is the opposite of how it should be. She was made to be given pleasure, not pawed at the way a human male would, interested only in himself.

And I’d fallen for it.

Squeezing her tit because my throbbing cockstand wouldn’t allow me to think of her , only myself.

That realization and comparison was enough to have me jerking my hand away, a curse on my lips. She blinked and shifted her gaze to me. I saw only confusion there, which somehow made it worse.

She’d expected me to act like that.

Fook .

Cursing again—my Kteer’s selfishness—I pushed myself away from her and stood.

She was bonny and brave and bold…and stuck here with me. A one-armed monster she only allowed to touch her out of pity. A male whom she had to offer herself to in order to stay alive.

“Ye dinnae have to do that,” I snarled. “No’ for me, no’ out of pity or guilt. I am no’ one of yer human males who would be satisfied with a quick fook anyway. I might no’ have two arms, but I am no’ so despicable as that.”

And right before I turned to stomp toward the byre, to spend the day pretending the animals needed me, I saw confusion cross her face.