Chapter 4
The walk to his quarters—our quarters now—felt endless.
Every orc we passed cheered or called out suggestions that made my face burn.
Vorak's hand on my ass as he carried me was possessive, his fingers having worked completely under the silk.
His thumb stroked lazy circles on bare skin, occasionally dipping lower to tease.
When he finally kicked the door shut and set me on my feet, we stared at each other in the sudden quiet.
"That was—"
"Necessary," he said, but his voice was strained. "They needed to see. To know."
"Know what?"
"That you're not just politics. That I chose you as much as the king commanded." He moved closer, backing me against the wall. "The moment I saw you in that cell, spitting defiance despite chains. I wanted."
"That's not choosing. That's wanting."
"For me, they're the same." His hand came up to trace a painted symbol on my collarbone. "Do you know what this really means?"
"Akara said fertile."
"It means possibility. New life, new futures." His finger moved lower, tracing the symbol between my breasts. "This one means precious."
"I'm not precious."
"To me, you are." His hand continued down, fingertips ghosting over my ribs. I swallowed a gasp. "And this one," he touched the symbol just above where the silk barely covered me, "means ready."
"Ready for what?"
"For me. For this." He pressed against me, and I felt him hard against my stomach, bigger than I remembered. "Take it off."
"What?"
"The silk. Take it off. Or I'll tear it off."
My fingers shook as I reached for the ties. "Tell me first."
"Anything."
"Your sister. Tell me about her. Not how she died. How she lived."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know you. The real you. Not the general. You."
He was quiet, then: "She loved to sing. Terrible voice, but she sang anyway. Every morning." A ghost of a smile. "She read everything, even stole my military texts. Said if she understood war, maybe she could prevent it."
"She sounds wonderful."
"Too good for this world." His hand cupped my face. "She would have liked your defiance. Your strength."
"I'm not strong."
"You survived years as a spy. Torture. Betrayal. You're here, standing, fighting. That's strength."
"It's stubbornness."
"Same thing." His thumb brushed my cheek. "The silk, Kaela."
This time I obeyed, letting it fall. I stood naked except for the painted symbols, fighting the urge to cover myself.
His eyes went dark as he looked at me. But when his gaze found the scars on my back, fury replaced hunger.
"Turn around."
I did. His sharp intake of breath, then lips pressing against one scar.
"Never again," he whispered against my skin. "No one marks you but me."
"Possessive."
"Yes." Another kiss to another scar. "Problem?"
"I don't know yet."
He turned me to face him. "I need to tell you about tomorrow."
"The rut. I know."
"You know the concept. The reality is different." He pulled back, removed his vest. The symbols on his chest pulsed with our mixed blood magic. "I haven't been with anyone in over a year. The last attempt... didn't end well."
"Akara said—"
"She knows the basics. A dignitary's daughter thought she could handle me. She was wrong." He paused. "I lost control. Not to hurt her, but... she ran."
"You're trying to scare me."
"I'm trying to prepare you." His vest hit the floor.
"Tomorrow when the rut starts, I'll have no control.
None. I'll take you repeatedly, harder than you can imagine.
I'll knot you—lock inside you for potentially hours at a time.
Mark every inch of your skin. And I won't be able to stop, even if you beg. "
"For how long?"
"Three days minimum. Sometimes four."
Fear and dark arousal twisted in my belly.
"But tonight?" I asked.
"Tonight I'm still myself. Tonight I can be careful."
"I don't want careful."
"What do you want?"
What did I want? I'd been touched only in violence or training. Sex had been mechanical, part of missions. Or the occasional relief that held about as much passion as an afternoon sweet.
"I want to feel," I said. "Make me feel real."
He crashed his mouth onto mine, and I felt.
His hands mapped my body, claiming every inch. When his mouth found my throat, I gasped. He sucked hard, marking me. His tusks scraped the sensitive skin.
"Tradition," he said against my skin. "The bride must be prepared."
Before I could ask what that meant, he dropped to his knees.
"What—"
"Making you ready. Making you wet. Making you mine."
His mouth found me and thought fled.
This was worship and claim and devastation. His tusks pressed against my inner thighs as his tongue explored, finding places I didn't know existed. My hands flew to his hair, gripping braids.
"Vorak, I—I can't—"
He growled against me, the vibration sending me over. I cried out, knees buckling. He held me up easily, didn't stop. His tongue circled my clit while two fingers slipped inside, curling to find that spot that made me see stars. I came again, harder, screaming his name.
Only then did he pull back, looking up with satisfaction. "First of many tonight."
"My turn," I said, surprising myself with boldness.
His eyes widened as I dropped to my knees. "Kaela, you don't have to—"
"I want to." I pushed his pants down, and—fuck. He was proportional everywhere. Thick, long, already leaking. Green like his skin but darker at the tip. Ridged in ways human cocks weren't, with a swelling at the base I realized must be where his knot would form.
"That's not going to fit."
"It will. Your body will adjust. The symbols help." He groaned as I wrapped my hand around him, barely able to close my fingers. "But you don't have to take it all in your mouth. Just—"
His words cut off in a groan as I explored the ridges with my tongue. He tasted different from human men—earthier, musk and spice. The ridges were firm but had give when I sucked. His hands tangled in my hair, not forcing, just holding.
"Your mouth," he groaned. "So hot. So perfect."
I couldn't take him deep—he was too big—but I found a rhythm with my hand and mouth that had him shaking. When I grazed my teeth lightly along a ridge, he nearly came off the floor. I sucked harder, using my other hand to explore the base where his knot would swell, and his control snapped.
"Stop," he gasped, pulling me up. "Need to be inside you when I come."
He lifted me, carrying me to the bed. Laid me on the furs, then crawled over me. His weight was so solid, it overwhelmed me.
"Need to make sure you're ready." His fingers found me, one sliding in easy. "So wet already."
"Your mouth—"
"Just the beginning." A second finger joined. The stretch was noticeable. "So tight. But opening for me."
A third finger, and I felt the burn. His thumb found my clit, rubbing in circles, and I shattered again.
"Now," he growled. "While you're still coming."
He positioned himself and pushed inside. Even with preparation, the stretch was intense. Every ridge, every inch, claiming space inside me.
"Breathe," he commanded. "Let me in."
"Too much—"
"Perfect. You're perfect." He continued the slow invasion until fully seated. We both groaned. "Made for me."
"Need—need a minute."
"Take all the time you need." But his control was visibly fraying, muscles shaking with the effort of staying still.
I shifted, adjusting, and we both gasped. The ridges pressed against places that sent sparks through me.
"Please," I said. "Move."
He started slow, letting me adjust to his size, to the drag of those ridges. But as I relaxed, opened, his control began slipping.
"Harder," I gasped. "I need—"
He snarled and complied. Each thrust hit deep, the ridges dragging against sensitive spots that lit me up from inside. I'd never felt this full. Like my whole body was made to accept him.
Then he stopped. Pulled out.
"What—"
"Turn over. Hands and knees."
I obeyed. He entered me again from behind, deeper. The angle was intense, hitting places that made me cry out.
"This is how orcs mate," he growled, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. "Primal. Claiming."
It should have felt demeaning. Instead, it felt right. Natural. Like my body had been waiting for this.
"Yes," I gasped. "Yours."
His control shattered completely. His thrusts became almost violent, but it wasn't pain but pleasure so intense it transcended everything I'd known. The base of his cock swelled, catching on my entrance with each withdrawal.
"Going to fill you," he growled. "Mark you inside where no one else will ever touch."
"Please—"
"Come first. Need to feel you."
His hand snaked around, found my clit. The combination was too much. I shattered with a scream that definitely woke half the Keep. He followed immediately, roaring as he pumped into me. I felt his knot swell, locking us together as he continued to pulse inside me.
"Can't move," I gasped.
"The knot. It'll go down in a few minutes." He carefully maneuvered us onto our sides, still locked tight. "This is just the beginning."
He was still hard inside me. Still pulsing occasionally. The knot pressed against places that kept me on the edge of another orgasm.
"How long—"
"Tonight? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. During the rut? Could be hours." His hand moved to my clit again. "But you'll come over and over while we're locked."
He proved it by making me come twice more before his knot finally reduced enough to pull out. The loss left me empty, aching.
But he didn't give me time to process. He flipped me onto my back, was between my legs again, but this time with his mouth. He licked his own seed from me, the obscenity making me clench.
"Taste us," he growled. "You. Me. Perfect."
He worked me with his mouth until I came again, then moved up my body, entering me in one smooth thrust. This position let me see his face, the way his jaw clenched with pleasure, the possessiveness in his eyes.
"Mine," he said with each thrust. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasped.
"Again."
"Yours, Vorak. Only yours."
"Good girl." The praise sent heat through me. "Now ride me. Want to watch you take what you need."
He rolled us, putting me on top. The position gave me control but also made him impossibly deep. I could feel every ridge as I moved. His hands on my hips guided my rhythm while his mouth found my breasts.
"So beautiful," he repeated. "Take me so well. Made for my cock."
The words from his mouth sent me over the edge. This orgasm triggered his knot again, swelling inside me.
"Fuck," I gasped. "It's bigger—"
"Each time it swells larger. Your body learns to accommodate." He thrust up, the knot pressing against that spot inside. "Touch yourself. Want to watch."
I reached between us, circling my clit while he watched with dark eyes. Being observed, displayed, while knotted on his cock was intensely erotic. I came hard, clenching around his knot, which triggered his release.
We stayed locked for twenty minutes this time, him making me come three more times with his hands and words before the swelling reduced.
The rest of the night blurred. He took me against the window with moonlight painting our skin. In his chair with me facing away, watching ourselves in the mirror he'd positioned. On the table, my legs over his shoulders. Each time his knot lasted longer, each time he wrung more orgasms from me.
By dawn, I'd lost count of how many times I'd come. Every inch of me bore his marks: bites, bruises, the lingering ache of being thoroughly fucked. My body had learned his shape, adjusted to accommodate him.
"Is it always like this?" I asked, voice hoarse.
"No." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "This is different."
"How?"
"I didn't lose control. Not once. Even when you came on my cock screaming my name. I stayed." He pulled me closer. "That's never happened."
"Why?"
"Because you're mine in a way, no one else has ever been."
"Vorak..."
"Sleep. Tomorrow evening, the rut starts properly. You'll need strength."
"What about you?"
"I'll rest. But first—" He rose, returned with a damp cloth. Cleaned me thoroughly. "Any pain?"
"Sore. Good sore. Full."
"Tomorrow won't be good sore. Tomorrow will be—" He stopped, then moved to a cabinet I hadn't noticed before. He pulled out a small glass vial filled with amber liquid. "Drink this."
"What is it?"
"Stamina draught. Herbs, minerals, some things better not named." He helped me sit up, pressed the vial to my lips. "It'll help your body recover faster. Heal the small tears. Give you energy reserves."
The liquid tasted of honey and iron and something earthy. It burned going down, but not unpleasantly—more like strong spirits with an herbal bite.
"Akara makes them for warriors before long campaigns," he explained, setting the empty vial aside. "Never thought I'd give one to my bride, but..." He traced a bite mark on my shoulder. "The rut is its own kind of battle."
Already I could feel warmth spreading through my limbs, the soreness easing. "Will you take one?"
"The rut gives me all the stamina I need. Too much." His expression darkened. "Tomorrow night it begins. Once the sun sets, I won't be gentle. I won't be able to be."
"Tomorrow night," I repeated.
"We have tomorrow—one day—while I'm still myself." He pulled me closer. "There's something I need to show you. Something that will help you remember who I am when the beast takes over."
"What?"
"You'll see in the morning." His hand stroked my hair. "My last gift before I lose myself for days."
"You're scaring me."
"Good. You should be wary of the rut. But tomorrow, during the day, I'm still me. Hold onto that."
"I will."
"Sleep, wife."
Wife. The word should have felt wrong. Instead, it felt like coming home.
Tomorrow would be our single day of peace. Tomorrow night, the rut would begin. Three to four days of primal claiming.
I was about to find out if I was strong enough to survive it.