Page 21 of The Rake OR The Orca Who Met His Match in a Selkie Desiring Revenge

Their options were limited and, considering the way he felt about her, wife had seemed like the best of the lot. Neither sister nor daughter felt remotely palatable. Pet might have been a possibility if he hadn’t been sure she’d find it distasteful—all things considered, he supposed he did, too.

"I take it you’ve slept with Trina?" Elspeth asked. She quirked an eyebrow, pinning him to his seat.

"That obvious?" He hoped the lightness he injected into his tone would soften the way she was looking at him.

"I don’t think she was trying for ‘subtle.’ In fact, I think she was endeavoring for ‘I’ve sampled his wares and wouldn’t mind going back for seconds if only this little mouse would getlost.’"

Despite knowing she was speaking from Trina’s perspective, Aegir couldn’t get the thought of Elspeth "sampling his wares" out of his mind. The bond held him firmly in its grip now.

Trina, a partner he’d slept with on multiple occasions, seemed as bland as toast now. No, it was worse, the thought of sleeping with her was downright revolting. Objectively, he could see she was an attractive woman, but the second he thought of touching her, his skin crawled like he was covered in bugs.3

Elspeth though? Now that was a possibility he’d love to explore. Stroking himself to thoughts of her had barely provided temporary relief and he’d been hard since seeing her again. Though his outward appearance was that of a high elf, he’d kept his member securely in its pocket, so he could maintain some level of decorum. If he was feeling this way, though, possibly Elspeth was as well? Flicking his eyes back up to her, the expectant look on her face reminded him they’d been conversing, about Trina of all inane things.

"Oh, yes, well I don’t think she’s ever quite been subtle, and she’s the one that can get lost as far as I am concerned." He flipped his hand to the side dismissively. "Honestly, the thought of her isrepulsive."

"Oh," Elspeth breathed. "Be that as it may, if we continue on this tack, I am certain this won’t be the last time I’m treated badly. I’d prefer to avoid that again, if possible."

The sadness in her voice broke him. "We’ll figure something out, my wee siren. I’ll ensure it won’t happen again."

Trina interrupted with their drinks, sloshing Elspeth’s across the table, likely on purpose. Anger flared hot in his chest, though he kept a tight rein on it.

"Oh I’m terribly sorry, ma’am," the faun smirked.

Aegir shot to his feet, rage boiling in his chest. He opened his mouth, admonitions ready to spew forth but stopped when he felt a tug on his hand. Warmth spread from that location, and when he looked down, Elspeth held him, squeezing his fingers and shaking her head slightly. She looked up at him with those eyes that he thought he could drown in, her discomfort plain.

"It was an accident, Alwin, " she said, nodding her head. With gentle pressure, she pulled him down next to her, instead of across the round booth. Her thigh brushed his own and she didn't release his hand, squeezing it like a heartbeat.

Though anger still roiled within him, it was a slow simmer, rather than a rolling boil.

"Yes, an accident." His voice and eyes were tight as he directed the statement to Trina. "See that it doesn't happen again."

Elspeth's thumb traced circles on the back of his hand, the small touch calming and igniting him—though admittedly in entirely different areas.

“There now," she said. "Feel better?"

Aegir cleared his throat and nodded once. They needed to have a talk, and soon. He wouldn't broach the subject in the middle of a common room, but as soon as they were alone, he'd see if they could come to some sort of accord.

Trina turned around and grabbed their food from a tray behind her, plonking it onto the table with sass. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, Trina, I think we’ve had more than enough thank you." Aegir grit his teeth and swapped his hand to squeeze Elspeth’s. The faun gave him a snide smile and sauntered off to the bar.

With a deep breath, Aegir closed his eyes, steadying himself and opening them to take in Mrs. Engel’s delectable food. The sausage was on thick, crusty bread, and a stream of steam rose off it, making his mouth water.

"Looks tasty," Elspeth whispered.

"It does," Aegir said. He’d turned to look at her, instead. The sandwich looked… fine, butshelooked like he could eat her for hours, as if she were his last meal. Now entirely ambivalent about Engel’s normally amazing food, he lifted the sandwich and took a big bite. The juicy meat filled his mouth, the sharpness of pickle providing a sharp, cutting contrast to its richness.

"Ugh," Elspeth groaned. "Pickles."

"What?" Aegir threw his sandwich down onto his plate, standing up without thinking.

"It’s—it’s fine," Elspeth stammered.

"No, it isn’t." Crossing the common room in a few short steps, Aegir arrived at the bar counter. "She said no pickles! Trina’s gone too far!"

"Oh?" the innkeeper asked, wiping the bar-top and raising a brow. He was acting nonchalant, but Aegir could see the twitch in his eye.

"Yes, she’s being insolent to my wife, spilling her drink and bringing the incorrect food."