Chapter 20
Maeve loved it when a plan came together. It was almost as good as sitting in the shade of a leafy tree while Soren taught her all about the art of sunbathing. She’d declined the offer to join him, not wanting a burned nose and more freckles, but they found a happy compromise.
With a cushion under her to soften the ground, she was quite comfortable leaning against the shady tree, legs straight out before her.
Soren looked quite comfortable too, laid perpendicular, head in her lap, his lower half stretched out into the sunshine.
His tail curled and uncurled languidly, and every once in a while, his toes would luxuriate in a lazy spread.
Although she’d brought a book along with the cushion, if only as a prop to her story, it lay unopened in her basket. She’d barely had time to start it before Soren found her not long ago, exactly where she’d suggested he might take respite from the festivities.
He’d mentioned he wouldn’t mind if she read to him, but for now, Maeve was more than content to sit with him in peaceful quiet, listening to his gentle purrs as she pulled flowers from her crown to weave into Soren’s mane.
Soren lay there amenably, his eyes closed. It was only that tail and how his ears shifted with her every movement that told her he was still awake.
“Did you have fun today?” she asked eventually, not bothering to speak much above a whisper.
“Imogen’s herd took first place, so we’re all pleased.” Reaching up, he blindly caught one of her hands to draw down to his mouth. He bestowed a few gentle kisses, whiskers tickling her palm. “You are better company than goats.”
Maeve laughed, smoothing her kissed hand over his forehead and mane. “What a rousing endorsement.”
He grinned softly, and Maeve couldn’t resist leaning down to taste it. Her kiss was quick, chaste, and she giggled to herself to hear his grumble when she straightened after just one.
“You’re better company than my brothers, too,” he added, no doubt hoping for another kiss.
“Hmm,” she hummed, tapping his lips with a fingertip. “I’m prettier company, I’ll grant you that.”
Her stomach swooped when, to her surprise, his lips parted and he caught her roving finger in his teeth. Delivering a teasing nip, he then flicked the pad with the tip of his tongue.
She fell silent, utterly surprised by the hint of teasing from him.
Fates, he was getting bolder, and she didn’t know if she’d survive it.
Of course, she loved his shy, gentle nature.
There were few things she liked better than making him blush or shocking him with something seductive.
Although his flirtations were still small, that they came from him made them all the more precious.
Maeve also couldn’t forget his comment. Better company than his brothers. Surely, he didn’t truly mean it. There wasn’t a real chance that he’d prefer her to them. Not in a way of any consequence.
Clearing her throat, Maeve redirected. “I was thinking…” When he cracked open an eye to peer up at her, she continued.
“I apologize if it’s not something you want to discuss—if so, just say.
But, how you talked about your turuk, about it needing control, it sounded very much to me like the inner beast Orek talks about orcs having. ”
She held her breath, waiting for him to say something. She didn’t think she’d upset him, but his ears and tail weren’t giving anything away.
“Yes, I’ve heard something similar,” he said finally.
Maeve nodded, deciding to forge ahead. “I thought perhaps it might be worth discussing it with Orek. From what I understand, the orc’s inner beast is quite insistent when they’ve decided on a mate.
Perhaps it’d be good to talk with someone who’d understand.
” Smoothing her hand over a cheek tuft, she added, “I thought it might be easier than with your brothers, especially if there’s a stigma around your beast.”
The words hung there between them, and Maeve bit her lips together to keep from saying anything else. She hated how much this inner conflict seemed to affect him. Soren was a good, kind man—he shouldn’t think less of himself because of something he was born with.
His purr grew in volume, and Maeve watched in surprise as he rolled from his back to his right side, pushing his head into her middle. One hand came up to cup her hip, keeping her there as he nuzzled her.
Left momentarily speechless, Maeve’s hands hovered over him a moment before she laid them on his shoulder and mane.
“Did I overstep?” she whispered.
“No,” he rumbled.
Maeve sighed in relief, digging her fingers deeper into his mane. Although he didn’t say anything else, his purr continued and every few moments he’d nuzzle her middle, taking in a deep, contented breath. He looked so relaxed, so…vulnerable.
Seeing this big, strong man like that stirred something in Maeve deep, deep down in her chest. Deeper than she’d ever felt before. Somewhere dark and unexplored.
He stayed like that a long while, the shadows of the tree marching up his thigh to his hip. From time to time, she thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he’d nuzzle again, sometimes murmuring her name or one of his mantii words. Urisá. Inaná.
She didn’t know what they meant, and yet, she understood.
This sweet, sweet man.
Maeve bit her lip, wondering if she dared make her second suggestion. Well, request, really. It felt as important, if not more so than her suggestion of speaking with Orek.
Leaning down, Maeve kissed his cheek before whispering, “Can I meet your turuk?”
Soren went utterly still, his purr stuttering to a stop. His nostrils flared, and he turned his face up to gape at her.
“You can’t want that,” he murmured.
“I do,” she promised.
“But…”
“He’s part of you, Soren.” Bestowing a firm kiss on his parted, stunned lips, she insisted, “I know you’d never hurt me. Either of you.”
“Never,” he said vehemently, voice an octave deeper even than his normal baritone.
“Then, can I?”
His throat bobbed on a swallow, and for a long moment, Maeve thought he’d deny her.
She understood what she was asking, and that Soren would be right to refuse her.
They hadn’t known each other long, while this was something he’d clearly struggled with his whole life.
He was of a different people, a different culture—she couldn’t expect to fix everything with one request.
Still, all she could do was ask and await his answer.
She was patient, hoping her determination and genuine curiosity showed in her expression.
She wouldn’t be scared or disappointed. It was Soren, and even with everything he’d said, Maeve knew, deep down, down in that new place that was warm and dark and achingly fragile, that his turuk would be as good to her as he was.
He didn’t answer immediately or enthusiastically, but finally, he nodded.
Smiling brightly, she thanked him profusely.
Soren’s expression was conflicted, but he did climb to his feet. Once there, he began to strip.
Oh, now this was getting especially interesting.
Sitting up straighter, Maeve enjoyed every moment and every inch of bared skin—er, fur. She hoped to hide her nerves and put him at ease. This moment didn’t have to feel momentous—even though, for her, it was.
His body was magnificent, all male strength clad in a beautiful coat of tawny fur.
His chest was wide, pectorals, arms, and thighs thick with muscle.
His waist was wide, too, reminding her of a wrestler.
He was nothing like the lithe, beautiful men she’d been with before.
Everything about him was raw, primal, a show of animalistic strength and beauty.
His kilt was last to go, revealing his truly magnificent cock.
She’d grown quite fond of it over the past few days, and she wasn’t immune to its allure, her gaze falling to admire it.
Even at rest against his thigh, it was impressive, sparking lusty interest low in her belly.
Maeve squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore it for now.
When he gazed at her in concern, she nodded with encouragement. Please, please trust me.
One more swallow, and then his body began to ripple.
She didn’t know how else to describe it. His muscles seemed to shift beneath his skin, rippling as they expanded. He fell forward onto his hands that quickly elongated into true paws. His mane grew longer, his wings larger, and his chest lengthened.
It all took but a moment, and it wasn’t an elegant process, but between one breath and the next, there was a bestial manticore blinking at her with Soren’s green eyes.
Maeve’s mouth fell open.
Fates, he’s gorgeous.
Resembling a big cat like a lion, his turuk was a beautiful beast. A dark brown mane haloed his broad feline face, cascading over his chest and narrowing down his belly.
Rather than rounded leonine ears, his were longer, triangular, with tufts at the tips.
His wings jutted from angular shoulders, and his tail, twice as long as it’d been before, whipped behind him.
He was the right colors, all warm browns and tawny golds, with his glittering green eyes. And yet, his manner was completely different.
This beast positively sauntered forward, shaking out his glorious mane for her benefit. Where Soren’s facial scars were so stark on his other face, on the beast, they seemed fitting. This was a male who’d fought and won.
“Oh,” she sighed, rocking up onto her knees to meet him.
Beastly Soren dipped his head, allowing her to sink her hands into his thick, luxurious mane. An aggressive purr rattled in his chest, tickling her palms.
“You’re so beautiful,” she gushed, unable to contain her smile.
Beastly Soren chuffed and she swore he waggled his feline brows.
“My beautiful mate.”
Maeve gasped, arms dropping away. He could talk in this form?