Chapter Four
Farigoth
Feverish desire overcame Farigoth the moment he laid eyes on the Jewel of Vale.
His scent had driven him wild for days, but seeing this beautiful, delicate, precious little thing with his own eyes woke the beast in him.
His thoughts circled around getting his hands on him, claiming him, making him his.
Andre, as the humans called him, was very pretty.
He was petite, even for a human, with long, slender limbs and shiny brown hair, which he’d tied back in a far too neat plait.
Farigoth smiled at the thought of how rumpled that plait would be after he’d put him on his back and shown him what rough delights an orc could bestow on him.
Large brown doe eyes gazed at Farigoth with fearful desire. His startled look when Farigoth demanded he sit with him only stoked Farigoth’s blazing lust. The minute he was in his lap, Farigoth dragged his hands over him, covering him in his scent.
The sweet, intoxicating fragrance of Andre’s arousal hung between them, thickening as Farigoth stroked him. Oh, he was willing. So pliant, fertile and breedable. Farigoth yearned to mate and possess him.
Underneath that delicate skin, he felt Andre’s pulse race.
When Farigoth’s hand slid between his thighs, his breathing accelerated.
Farigoth wanted him, and he would have him.
He made his play for Andre. Now that he held him in his arms, he wouldn’t let him go.
The human’s wanton scent was thick. He would not resist if Farigoth took him.
Andre and that cunning, blond lord exchanged glances.
Something passed between them, and jealousy seized Farigoth.
Had the lord ravished Andre? Andre wasn’t a virgin; Farigoth could tell by his scent, and the thought that someone had been inside him, had inseminated that special place, filled him with rage.
“I need you to say it,” the blond lord said.
Andre, visibly struggling to maintain his composure and keep whatever emotions were swirling through him inside, made a soft, panting noise. “To secure peace between our people, I will go with Farigoth.”
Pleasure and triumph surged. “Mine,” he growled in Andre’s ear, earning a shuddering tremor.
Pride filled Farigoth’s chest as he smiled at his human. He’d secured the Jewel of Vale and was bringing him home.
As they left the tent and made their way through camp, Farigoth’s hand on the small of Andre’s back, one of the fae kings intercepted them.
A bronze woodland crown graced his head, long, dark hair flowing down his back.
King Malorn, Farigoth recalled his name.
His mate, a young human, stood a few yards back, eyeing Farigoth mistrustfully.
At Farigoth’s side, Andre bowed to the king.
“The Autumn Court would like to gift you a token of goodwill of our own,” Malorn said and produced a small, seashell-encrusted chest. He placed the delicate box in Farigoth’s hands. Mother-of-pearl shimmered in the light of the torches.
Farigoth opened the lid, finding an olive-green object wrapped in silk. It had an interesting shape.
“A mating gift,” Malorn said. “It’s a powerful magical device created by a sea witch from a faraway world.
Considering your difference in size,” he meaningfully glanced between Farigoth and Andre, “I’d recommend using it before your mating.
It grows and shrinks as you like, even vibrates.
You’ll have complete control over it once it’s on, and only you will be able to remove it. It’ll prepare your mate adequately.”
Farigoth expressed his gratitude. Andre, who was too short to see inside the box, bowed again.
“Your Majesty is too generous. It is a rare honor to be granted a gift by a fae king.” Andre said the second half of the sentence with strange emphasis.
When Farigoth didn’t say anything else, Andre added, “Perhaps we should offer something in return.” Again with the strange emphasis. Malorn’s eyebrows drew together.
Farigoth threw Andre a glance. His mate-to-be was trying to tell him something. With an internal shrug, Farigoth took the greatsword off his weapon belt and presented it to Malorn. “As a sign of my appreciation.”
Malorn accepted it, a forced smile on his face. “You have my gratitude.”
“Giving gifts is expected among humans and fae?” Farigoth asked when he was alone with Andre.
“Well…” Andre fidgeted. “King William received you as a guest, and so he offered something to start negotiations on the right foot. It’s different with King Malorn.
He’s a fae, and their gifts always come fraught with an expectation of repayment.
If nothing is offered, it creates a debt that may be collected at any time.
It’s wise not to have such an obligation hanging over oneself. ”
“You warned me.”
“I didn’t want you to be indebted to the king of the Autumn Court.”
Something in Farigoth’s chest flared. Malorn had tried to bind Farigoth.
Andre, familiar with fae culture, had seen the trap and neutralized it.
“I did not expect such an early show of loyalty.” Not in his wildest dreams. Many mates of his tribesmen had bodily surrendered first, spilling their seed outside a hole in submission before their minds had yielded.
But Andre… The urge to submit was coming off of him in waves. It was in the aroused sweetening of his scent, in the trembling of his slender body.
“I want to be loyal.” Andre’s quiet voice was laced with shyness. Color graced his cheeks.
“You want to be more than loyal.”
Andre’s lips parted. He was staring at Farigoth. The color intensified, his breathing going uneven. His desire to be a good, obedient mate couldn’t have been clearer. Andre averted his eyes.
“For an orc’s mate,” Farigoth said, “there’s no shame in submission. It is expected. It is revered. The deeper and more public the submission, the greater the honor.”
Andre’s scent was going to drive him insane. Every droplet of precum leaking into Andre’s breeches was an irresistible assault on Farigoth’s senses.
Andre glanced to the sides, his posture stiff.
He looked like a man standing on a precipice, wondering whether he would fly if he jumped.
They were at the edge of camp, alone. If people were near, they had ducked out of sight, slipping into the tents clustered around the fireplaces. Andre’s resolve firmed.
His dark lashes lifted, and, looking up at Farigoth with all-encompassing devotion, he sank to his knees. “I want to be yours. I want to be your mate.” He bowed deeply, pressing his brow into the grass. “Thank you for choosing me. It will be my honor to serve you.”
Dizzying warmth hit Farigoth. Andre was surrendering. Farigoth couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate. Beautiful, submissive and oh, so fertile. Andre would be coveted by the entire tribe, every orc dying to sink into him. But he was Farigoth’s, and he would guard him jealously.
The urge to mark Andre and assert his ownership crashed into him. He picked him up, eliciting a surprised squeal. Farigoth held him to his front, Andre relaxing when he realized he was secure.
Farigoth growled, and a shiver went through that precious little human. Andre’s legs wrapped around Farigoth’s waist. He snuggled closer and allowed himself to be carried off.
Farigoth smiled. His heart was full.
As they left the tent city, he snatched a torch from its bracket to light the way across the field and through the forest to the orc camp.
Crossing the darkness, Farigoth reminded himself sternly that the deal with the humans had not yet been fulfilled.
His tribe was still awaiting the agreed-upon mates.
The worry that the humans might not uphold their side of the bargain gnawed at him.