Chapter 21
Delia was sitting on a low wall near the main courtyard, watching the first stars emerge above the mountain peaks, when a shadow fell over her.
"There you are." Ralvar’s voice was warm with relief. "I've been looking."
"Meetings done?"
"For now." He settled beside her on the wall, his thigh pressing warm against hers. "How are you feeling? Today was—a great deal."
Delia considered the question.
She thought about the elder's hand on her shoulder. The drums and the mead and the feast. The way warriors had welcomed her without reservation. The work waiting for her in Brenneth's shop. The friendship offered in Thessaly's knowing eyes. Everything she'd been given, freely, without cost.
"I feel like I belong somewhere," she said slowly. "For the first time in my life."
Ralvar made a low sound in his chest and pulled her against his side.
They sat like that for a long moment, watching the stars multiply as the sky deepened from purple to black. The sounds of the stronghold had gentled with evening—distant voices, the clatter of dishes being cleared, the occasional bark of laughter from the great hall.
"Brenneth offered me work," she said.
"I heard." She felt his smile against her hair. "Word travels fast in a mountain fortress. By tomorrow, everyone will know that my krenna has skilled hands."
"Skilled hands." She turned her face into his shoulder, hiding her flush. "Is that what they'll say?"
"Among other things." His arm tightened around her. "They'll say the captain's woman is clever, and capable, and that she makes the best stitches Brenneth has seen in years." His voice dropped lower. "And they'll say their captain is the luckiest orc in the Iron Wilds."
Delia lifted her head to look at him.
In the blue twilight, his features were all shadow and sharp edges—the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his tusks, the burn of his amber eyes watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"I missed you today," she admitted. "During the celebration. I kept looking for you."
His expression turned hungry.
"I thought of nothing but you." His voice had gone rough at the edges.
"Sitting in that room, discussing patrol schedules and supply requisitions, and all I could see was your face when the elder named you under our protection.
" He cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
"I wanted to throw the whole council out and come find you. "
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I am trying—" He exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh. "—to be a responsible captain. A patient mate. A male who does not drag his krenna into dark corners every time she looks at him like that."
Delia's pulse jumped. "Like what?"
"Like you want me to stop being reasonable and patient."
The words hung between them, charged as lightning before a storm.
She should have been embarrassed. Should have looked away, made some joke, retreated into the safety of propriety. That was what she'd been taught. What good women did.
But she wasn't in Valdara anymore.
"What if I do?" she whispered. "Want you to stop being reasonable and patient?"
Ralvar went very still.
For a heartbeat, she thought she'd miscalculated. Gone too far. Been too forward, too hungry, too much—
Then he moved.
One moment she was sitting on the wall. The next, she was being lifted, cradled against his chest as he was strode toward the shadows at the courtyard's edge.
There was an alcove there, where two rough stone walls met in a narrow pocket of darkness, tucked away from the main paths but not entirely hidden.
Moonlight barely reached it; torchlight from the distant torches flickered just enough to outline his massive frame as he set her down, back to the cold stone.
The chill bit through her tunic, contrasting sharply with the furnace heat of him pressing her against the wall, blocking her from any stray eyes.
"We shouldn't—" she started, but her voice came out breathless, unconvincing. "Someone could—"
"No one comes this way after dark." He was already gripping her hips, pulling her against him. "And if they did, they would know better than to interrupt their captain."
"Ralvar—"
He kissed her, his tongue sliding past her lips, his tusks pressing at the corners of her mouth as his tongue slid deep. She moaned into him, and his whole body shuddered, a low growl vibrating through his chest straight into hers.
"Quiet." His mouth moved to her jaw, her throat, the sensitive spot below her ear. "You need to be quiet, my krenna. Unless you want the whole settlement to know what I'm doing to you."
"What—" She gasped as his hand slid beneath her tunic, rough palm skimming the soft swell of her belly, then higher to cup the heavy weight of her breast. His thumb circled her nipple through the thin shift, pinching just enough to make her arch.
The night air kissed her exposed skin where he'd rucked up the fabric.
"You're shaking." His voice was rough, wondering. "Already. Just from this."
"I can't—" Her hands fisted in his vest. "I can't help it. When you touch me, I—"
"I know." He shifted, wedging one thick thigh between hers so she straddled it, the hard muscle pressing right against her core through her clothes.
"I can smell it, remember? Your want. Your need.
" He rolled his hips, grinding the rigid length of him against her belly.
"It drives me insane, Delia. Makes me want to pin you here and fuck you against this wall.”
"Yes," she breathed, hardly knowing what she was agreeing to.
"Not here. Not like this." His voice cracked with restraint.
"You deserve better than a frantic rut in the shadows.
But—" His fingers slid lower, shoving her tunic up farther, tracing the plush curve of her thigh before finding the hem of her smallclothes.
"I can give you something. If you want it. "
"I want it."
His fingers pushed the fabric aside and stroked slowly through her drenched folds. She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper as he circled her clit once, twice, then plunged one thick finger inside. The stretch was immediate, perfect; she clenched around him with a muffled whimper.
"There," he murmured against her ear.
She was going to die. She was going to shatter into a thousand pieces right here in this alcove, back scraping stone, thighs trembling, the distant murmur of voices from the main path reminding her how exposed they were. She didn't care.
His other hand clamped over her mouth.
"Quiet," he reminded her, his fingers still working between her thighs. "You remember what I said? Quiet, krenna. Or we stop."
She nodded frantically against his palm.
He rewarded her by slipping one thick finger inside.
He rewarded her with a second finger, stretching her wider, pumping slow and deep while his thumb worked her clit in tight, merciless circles. The pleasure coiled fast and vicious, her hips bucking against him.
"Good girl," he growled against her temple. "Taking my fingers so beautifully.”
She whimpered behind his hand and came hard.
The orgasm ripped through her in sharp, shuddering waves, her cunt spasming around his fingers in frantic pulses.
She screamed into his palm, the sound muffled but raw; her nails scored his shoulders, thighs clamping his wrist. He worked her through it until the spasms turned to helpless flutters and she sagged against the wall, boneless.
He eased his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean with a low, satisfied rumble. Then he replaced his hand with his lips, kissing her softly, tasting herself on his tongue.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come for me."
Delia trembled, legs weak, but her mind sharpened on the hard length still throbbing against her thigh. She reached for him.
"You didn't—" Her fingers found the laces, fumbling them open in the dark. "Let me—"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." She found the laces of his trousers, fumbling in the darkness. "Show me. Teach me how to touch you."
His forehead dropped to her shoulder. "Delia—"
"Please."
The laces came free. She reached inside and wrapped her fingers around him, and his whole body jerked like she'd struck him.
"Like this?" she asked, stroking experimentally, and he thrust into her grip once, helpless. The ridges shifted under her fingers; she felt them rise and fall with his pulse, slick with precum that eased her way.
"Tighter,” he rasped. "You won't hurt me. Tighter. Faster."
She obeyed, pumping him with firm, steady strokes, thumb swiping over the broad head on every upstroke. He groaned loudly, and she reached up to clamp her free hand over his mouth.
"Quiet," she whispered, echoing his earlier command, a thrill racing through her at the reversal. "Unless you want the whole stronghold to know."
His gaze snapped to hers in the dim light, and he thrust into her fist harder, hips jerking, muffled sounds vibrating against her palm, desperate, raw, beautiful.
He came with a shuddering roar trapped behind her hand, hot pulses spilling over her fingers in thick ropes, coating her wrist. His body shook, tusks pressing her shoulder as he rode it out, hips grinding weakly until he stilled.
When he finally quieted, she pulled her hand away.
He stared at her, chest heaving.
"Is it always like this?" she asked softly. "Always this... urgent?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I've never felt anything like what I feel for you." He cupped her face, tilting it toward the starlight so he could see her. "But I hope so. I hope it's always like this. I hope I never stop wanting you so badly I lose my senses in courtyards."
Delia laughed, breathless and giddy. "That might make captaining difficult."
"Worth it." He kissed her nose, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "Everything is worth it, with you."
They lingered for a moment, pressed together in the shadows, catching their breath. The night air was cool against Delia's flushed skin, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She felt wrung out and rebuilt. Seen and wanted and powerful in a way she'd never imagined.
Then Ralvar shifted, and she felt him already hardening again against her thigh.
"Already?" She couldn't keep the wonder out of her voice.
"I told you." He lifted her effortlessly. "Orc blood runs hot. And you—" He pressed his forehead to hers. "You could make a dead man rise, Delia Harrowmere."
She laughed again, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stepped out of the alcove. "Where are we going?"
"My quarters." He strode through the darkened corridors, carrying her like she weighed nothing. "Where I can take my time with you. Where I can make you scream without worrying about the watch patrol."
Her breath caught. "The watch patrol? Were they—"
"Probably." He didn't sound remotely concerned. "By morning, every orc in Northwatch will know their captain has a very enthusiastic krenna."
She should have been mortified. Instead, she tightened her arms around him and said, "Good."
His stride hitched. "Good?"
"Good." She kissed the edge of his jaw, tasting salt and musk. "Let them know. Let them hear. I'm done hiding what I feel. I'm done being ashamed of wanting things."
Ralvar stopped walking entirely.
For a moment, he just looked at her—this massive, fearsome warrior, frozen in the middle of a mountain fortress, holding her like she was the most precious thing he'd ever touched.
"Say that again," he said hoarsely.
"I'm done being ashamed."
"Again."
"I'm done being ashamed of wanting you. Of wanting this.
" She cupped his face, made him meet her eyes.
"I spent my whole life being told I was too much.
Too big. Too loud. Too hungry. And I believed them.
I made myself smaller and smaller, trying to fit into the space they said I deserved.
" Her voice cracked, but she pushed through.
"But you—you look at me like I could never be enough.
Like there's not enough of me to satisfy you.
And I—" She swallowed hard. "I'm starting to believe you. "
He made a raw, broken sound and kissed her so deeply she forgot her own name.
"My quarters," he said roughly when they finally broke apart. "Now."
She nodded against him. "Yes."
He started walking again, faster now, his long stride eating up the corridors. Delia caught glimpses of torchlight, heard distant voices that cut off abruptly as they passed, but she didn't care.
Let them see. Let them know.
She was done with shame.