Chapter 8
Soren should’ve known better—feeding a hunger, if only a little, did nothing but make a beast hungrier. And his beast was ravenous.
In the coming days, he found the only way to manage it was to get back to his work at the school. Being near Miss Maeve satisfied both him and his turuk, and he enjoyed seeing the children again.
They shouted and laughed with glee when they first spotted him the day of his return. Soren ignored Kiri’s pointed look as the little ones gathered round him, holding onto his kilt and tail.
“Where have you been?” demanded Liese, a blonde half-orc girl.
“Why have you been at the pub so long?” asked Hawk, an orcling boy.
“Mama says we can’t go to the pub, it’s only for grownups,” said Grainne, a human girl and the youngest student at the school.
“Well, Mister Soren’s a grownup,” Liese couldn’t help reminding her.
Waiting for their questions to run out, Soren finally told them, “Mister Ulmo needed my help, but I’m done now.”
“Mama says Mister Ulmo needs all the help he can get,” said Grainne, eyes and smile innocent as could be.
Kiri smothered his laugh behind his hand, and Soren worked to keep the grin from his mouth. Grainne’s mother often had a lot to say, it was true.
Soren received their curiosity patiently, and they couldn’t help but ask again why he’d been gone and if it was true that Miss Maeve was his mate.
Clearing his throat, Soren made to answer, but the swish of skirts in the doorway caught his attention. His turuk purred with pleasure to scent her on the breeze.
Maeve stood in the threshold of the schoolhouse, a pleasant expression on her face. An enigmatic grin lifted her lips as she descended the steps to come gather the children.
Soren watched her approach, looking for any sign that he’d upset or offended her.
She’d taken his declaration that he didn’t intend to act upon his instincts to take her as his kigara rather…well. In fact, he’d been relieved to hear that she didn’t intend to stay very long at her family’s estate. Excellent. For the best.
It means I only have to endure until winter.
It means we only have that long to claim her, corrected his turuk.
He let his beast think so, if only for a bit of peace. Soren wouldn’t get in her way, and when she left, the pain would be minimal.
His turuk began to grumble at the thought, but Soren focused them both on the way Maeve looked him over. Her gaze remained open, but he thought he detected just a hint of sharpness there.
The children, their eyes rounded with curiosity, looked between Soren and Maeve, as if awaiting something dramatic.
“Come on now, everyone, don’t bother Mister Soren too much. We wouldn’t want to scare him away again.”
The little ones giggled, and Soren endured a few more tugs to his paws and tail before they did as Maeve bade and hustled into the schoolhouse.
Their teacher, however, remained outside with him.
“It’s just me today, Briseis has mayoral duties,” she told him, gaze hovering around his chin.
Soren nodded. “Very well. I will see to the game field and flowerbeds.”
“Good, the children have been wanting to plant seeds.”
“All right, I’ll turn over the soil and bring out the supplies from the shed.”
“Briseis told me you’ve led nature walks for them before?”
“I have.”
“It’d be nice if you could plan one for later this week with the warm weather.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Wonderful.”
“Good.”
Something of a forced smile stretched her lips, and Maeve nodded. “All right, then, have a good day.”
“You as well, Miss Maeve.”
“Mister Soren.”
He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, but over the next few days, Soren often found himself…charmed. He rarely had reason to notice anyone beyond assessing them for potential danger around Kiri, but he couldn’t help noticing Maeve.
The shame wasn’t in finding her charming—he figured someone would have to be made of stone not to be even a little enchanted with her. No, his shame came from being surprised at not only how good she was with the children but the lengths she went to for them.
From what he’d learned of her from Imogen, he hadn’t imagined Maeve willingly doing activities with the children. He hadn’t imagined she’d get dirty or sweaty.
And yet, it was Maeve who helped the children plant the first seeds of their garden.
She showed them how to measure the holes in the soil with their fingers, about proper light for various plants, and used the planting to diagram and discuss stages of growth.
She helped them water the plants, happy to get her apron soaked and muddy.
It was Maeve who led the children in afternoon exercises, leading them in stretches to clear away the after-luncheon yawns or refereeing a game of tag or duck-ball, their favorite game.
It was Maeve who guided them through cleanup and tidying times, and she who swept the floor and wiped down the desks every afternoon.
It was Maeve who ensured they had a good, long luncheon and took the time to eat it. She wiped jam off cheeks and brushed honey out of hair. She washed their hands and braided their hair and showed them how to tie their shoes.
And it was Maeve who seemed to have a song for everything. One for remembering your vowels, one for greeting the plants as they grew, another thank you song, and yet more for lunchtime, saying goodbye to the sun, remembering all the letters, and how to tie different knots.
Soren often found himself humming along, the silly rhymes floating to him through the open windows on the gentle breeze. It made his work even more enjoyable, and the rhymes—and the sweet lull of Maeve’s voice—quickly hooked into his mind.
He also found himself lingering around the school more than was necessary. A fortnight he spent avoiding it, and now he couldn’t keep away. From morning to dusk, he found ways to stay near her, if not in her direct company.
And that was enough. The nod of acknowledgement, the polite smile, the occasional friendly teasing, that would all be enough for Soren.
He…liked her way. Yes, he could sometimes glimpse the girl Imogen had spoken of. She could be direct, cutting even, but she tempered it with the children and took no nonsense from them—or her adult students. She was clear and direct, unafraid of anything or anyone.
She would’ve made a formidable erēz.
She will make a good mate, his turuk would rumble greedily.
For someone, yes. A very good mate, indeed.
Ours, the beast argued, gnashing its teeth at the idea of some other faceless mate.
No, not ours. She’s leaving.
The beast didn’t want to hear that, but Soren was sure to remind them both of it every day.
For, the longer he watched, the more he saw and understood—Maeve was meant for far more.
She had talent, drive, ambition, and the children here were lucky to have all of it focused on them for the year.
But it was plain to see for Soren that such skills could benefit so many others.
Maeve was bright, bold, beautiful—meant for something far bigger and greater than their little town.
Soren certainly wouldn’t be the one to hold her back from such a future.
And yet, as he hummed the vegetable song to himself, he couldn’t help a strange pang in his chest at the inevitable.
Something equally strange happened after each evening session, too.
Soren had become one of the least popular people in Danann. To be sure, he was used to dirty looks and grumbling after twenty years within the Gurunkun pride, but he’d gotten used to being unnoticed, if not actually liked, within the growing otherly community.
But he was far from the only one charmed by the new, young, beautiful schoolteacher.
Now that Miss Maeve had decided Soren would be the one to walk her home in the evenings—even after the Feather Debacle, as it was being called—Soren had become particularly reviled. In her polite but direct way, Maeve made it clear that she’d walk with only him.
“Don’t worry, everyone,” she chimed, “I’m safest with Mister Soren.”
Grumps and growls and glares followed. It would take but a glance, a word for a dozen suitors to throw themselves at her feet, begging for the chance to escort her home.
It was less than a thirty-minute walk, yes, but to have thirty minutes alone with the beautiful Miss Maeve—Soren is a lucky bastard, they said, and also, Such a waste.
“Wouldn’t you rather have someone else walk with you?” he had to ask her eventually. “Get to…know someone?”
Her lips lifted in that polite smile he was coming to recognize; the one that was both placid and polite, neutral yet beguiling—and didn’t reach her eyes.
“No, this suits me fine. I don’t want to have anymore…complications, and we already have an understanding, you and I.”
Soren nodded. That’s right, they did. No need to acknowledge or announce their mate-bond, for they wouldn’t let one grow. Soren could ensure no rivals encroached on Maeve, and she got to avoid any unwanted entanglements.
Really, he was protecting her from everyone, including himself.
That’s fine. Good, even.
His turuk hacked in disgust.
It’s fine, he insisted. This will work out fine.
Escorting her home made sense, then, for both of them. Not so remarkable. What he found strange, even fantastical, was that after a few nights of this, Maeve began to…talk to him.