Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Abydos
I stood in the glass-enclosed office which overlooked the pit mine, my arms crossed as I frowned down at the horrific scar on the face of the earth. A scar I’d caused.
“You want some coffee?”
I started, jerking my gaze to Garrak, who’d limped up to my side. “Not right now,” I told him. I would likely need some by this evening.
He shrugged, following my gaze out the window. “You seem distracted. Everything look good down there?”
No, it looked horrible. But I nodded. “Running at peak efficiency. As if you would allow anything less.”
My Director of Mining Operations nodded in satisfaction, resting his fist against the windowsill to take some of the weight off his prosthetic. It was a habit I doubted he was even aware of. “We’re going to surpass last quarter’s output, even with the protestors disrupting commutes and whatnot.”
Without turning to look at him, I grunted. “How are the guys feeling about that? Frustrated?”
“Nah, boss, we’ve been through enough shit with humans that they don’t bother us anymore.”
I felt my lips twitch at Garrak’s drawl. He was more easygoing than I was when it came to humans…or at least, he’d stopped trying to change the world. He’d accepted that humans had the power, and we were dirt to them, and it didn’t bother him.
Not all humans.
Well…yeah. Fuck.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut.
I’d been out here in Colorado for five days, and I’d had thoughts about Riven approximately forty-five times a day.
And not just at mealtimes, when it was impossible not to compare whatever fare Sylvik had arranged to her dishes.
I thought of her as I sat in my now-too-quiet office, vainly straining for sounds of her bustling around.
Safety reports, output, sabotage? But all I heard was her voice in my head, humming off-key in my kitchen.
It contaminated everything—just like humans always did.
I kept expecting to catch a whiff of her scent, or taste her touch in the cheese platters or bolognaise I ate.
My Kteer was going absolutely mad.
I felt like a tiger in a cage, pacing back and forth, not sure what I needed, but a ball of contained rage nonetheless.
No wonder Garrak thought I looked distracted.
“You headed home soon?” he asked out of the blue. “I could give you a ride past the protestors.”
I had no need to see them or their signs. No need to hear the chants and feel their anger—not when I agreed with them. So I forced myself to turn to Garrak, and clap him on his shoulder. “No, but thank you, T’mak. I’m taking the helicopter to the air strip.”
The other male’s brows rose. “You’re heading to the plant?”
Was that a good excuse? No, my friend deserved more. “To Eastshore. I can work from there as easily as anywhere else, and the food is better.”
Garrak chuckled and turned toward the door. “I’m glad you’ve found happiness there, boss, even if it’s just with a good chef. You deserve it.”
“Do I?” I murmured.
He limped past me. “Hells yes, you do. I know how you love your food.”
It was his way of teasing me, and I might have forced a chuckle for his sake.
But my eyes flicked toward the window, taking in the mine, the deep open scar.
My gaze lingered on the north side of the pit, where the rubble from that long-ago landslide had been cleared.
There was no evidence of the pain, the fear that human had caused…
no evidence of Garrak’s bravery or loss.
He’d saved us all that day, and deserved the position of overseeing it now.
The protestors wanted the mine shut down. But how could I do that to Garrak, to my men? This was their livelihood.
From the doorway, Garrak said, “I’ll walk you to the helipad, and you can tell me about Eastshore. Or at least…” His face split into a grin. “Your new chef.”
There’s no way I was going to share Riven—even talking about her. She was a human. One I didn’t entirely mind.
So I just grunted and turned to follow him out the door. “Eastshore’s got good views,” I said, and Garrak laughed.
“High praise indeed! How about the people? There’s a bunch of orcs there, right? Maybe I could visit one day…”
We discussed the mine output, and Eastshore’s population, and a half-dozen other things on the way to the helipad.
But once I was ensconced in my plane for the ride back to the East Coast, I found myself thinking about what he’d said.
Had Garrak been angling for an invite? I had several guest suites in my new house—Riven was only in one of them.
Would I be able to handle the other male in my space? He was my friend, and I owed him much.
If he wanted to visit Eastshore, would others? The rest of my guys? Considering so many of my brothers had found happiness and peace on Eastshore, could Garrak? Could the rest of my men?
Maybe you ought to wait until you find that happiness and peace.
I snorted quietly to myself, startling the fae crewmember who was pouring me a coffee, and turned to stare sightlessly out the window.
How was I supposed to find peace on Eastshore?
My peace was found in the satisfaction of my quarterly reports, knowing that my companies were doing so well.
Knowing I was beating the humans at their own game.
Right?
Deep in my chest, my Kteer rumbled, and I felt uneasy, unsettled. Uncertain, which wasn’t like me.
I tried to focus on work—reading reports, going over shipping schedules…but I couldn’t concentrate. Interestingly, the farther I got from the mine, the worse I felt—disconcerted, itchy. Something was wrong, and my Kteer knew it.
But the moment we set down at the little airstrip on Eastshore, it was as if everything calmed. I could breathe again, and my stomach and chest loosened their tight hold on me. As the fae crewmember—what was his name? Shadar? Shaden—drove me toward home, I found myself relaxing.
Home.
Completely ridiculous. I’d lived in this building for a month, total. Not even that long. This house, this island…it wasn’t home. Bramblewood wasn’t home either, nor was the mine.
Then what is home?
I scowled to myself. I didn’t want to return to the orc world, even if I could, so it wasn’t like that was home. I might have several houses, but none of them were homes…were they?
When we reached the portico—were those pumpkins?
Since when did I have pumpkins on my front porch?
I didn’t wait, but strode toward the front door and wrenched it open.
When I took a deep breath, I could feel the tension in my chest easing.
Yes, this was where I should be. The scents of salt air, thunderstorm-laden clouds, some kind of tasteful grapevine-and-leaf decoration on the chandelier, Riven’s cooking, and Riven herself.
And…
Frowning, I stepped into the foyer.
“I’ll put this in your room, Mr. Abydos,” said Shaden, carrying my bag in behind me.
Distracted, I merely grunted, inhaling again, trying to capture the strange scent which had tickled my nostrils earlier. Was that…? Riven, yes, but…
Stalking deeper into the house, I followed the scent trail like a hound. It was…wrong. Illness, pain. I realized I was jogging, my inhales frantic as I tried to capture the smell.
Vaguely I heard the crewmember shutting the front door, heard the sound of the car starting up as he returned to the airstrip. I was alone in the house. Just me and…Riven.
It was Riven I was smelling. Riven’s wrongness.
Blood.
It was blood.
Not bothering to swallow down my growl, I picked up the pace, hurtling down the hallway toward the small suite of rooms the architect had designed for a live-in servant like her. Except Riven was more than a servant, wasn’t she? She took care of me, she cared about me.
Didn’t she?
Blood! My Kteer howled, and all the tension which had leeched from my chest earlier tightened my muscles, pushing me, pushing me. That was Riven’s blood I smelled, and now the scent was not only strong, but obvious too. How could I have wondered?
Blood.
I reached the door to her suite, and it didn’t occur to me to stop. “Riven!” I roared as I slammed the door open, pulling to a halt just inside the little sitting room with the kitchenette.
My gaze automatically went to the table, thinking she might have cut herself, but the space was clean.
It was the only space where it seemed my little human, who was so tidy and neat in the kitchen, didn’t see anything wrong with leaving her shoes strewn across the floor, or books piled haphazardly on the end tables beside smiling plastic jack-o-lanterns.
It amused me to see this glimpse into her life, but my Kteer still urged me to find her, find the source of the stench.
“Riven!” This time it wasn’t a roar; I told myself it was just a call. I was looking for her, dammit. Her and her injury. I stalked to the couch—she wasn’t behind it—then turned in a circle. “Riven, where are you?”
Then I heard it; a faint moan coming from behind one of the other doors. I remembered there was a large bathroom behind the left one, so that must be the bedroom. Without thinking, I stalked toward it, wrenching it open.
The darkness beyond—she’d pulled her drapes against the sunset—didn’t hinder my senses. I could see a shape in the bed, scent her there. The smell of her discomfort was almost overpowering.
I lowered my voice as I glided across the room. “Riven?” I reached the bed and, without thinking, placed my hand on the small, huddled shape beneath the blankets and dropped to one knee beside the mattress. “What happened? Can I call for an ambulance?”
“Go away.”
Her voice was muffled, her tone petulant, pain lacing her words. In fact, the last syllable ended in a little moan. Like fuck I was going to go away!
She curled tighter on herself, whispering it was fine, something about cramps. But her scent told me otherwise—sharp pain and copper. My Kteer roared. I’d faced a cave-in, fire, a broken body. But this? I felt helpless.