Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Korrad
The main beach on Eastshore always had the same chaotic energy on a Saturday afternoon in mid-summer.
The air was a thick cocktail of salt, sunblock, and the distant, tempting smell of something frying at The Waterfront or The Salty Squid.
We’d parked by the library, carting our gear past the little row of shops where tourists bought sweatshirts on eighty-degree days, and down the wide wooden ramp to the sand.
Half the island was here.
I spotted Tarkhan near the water’s edge, patiently showing his new foster son how to dig for sand crabs with those ridiculous little plastic shovels, while his Mate, Sami, watched fondly.
Over by the park’s public grills, Aswan was flipping burgers, speaking seriously to his oldest kitling, Ben, who was in Jay’s class.
His Mate, Hannah, good-naturedly chased their youngest, Joshy, who was making a break for the swing set.
We exchanged waves, a silent acknowledgment of our shared corner of the world, before finding our own patch of sand.
As soon as I started wrestling the umbrella into submission, the boys were gone, a blur of motion and excited yells as they raced toward the surf.
I stifled my sigh, knowing I should have said something to them about helping me, but also knowing that two kids their age wouldn’t focus when there was this much fun to be had.
Good thing Kesha had made them apply sunscreen before we’d left the house.
I finally got the umbrella anchored, spread out the oversized blanket, and turned to get the chairs just as Kesha was shrugging off her cover-up.
And the world stuttered to a halt.
My mouth went dry. My Kteer, which had been purring contentedly in my chest with the pleasant peacefulness of the day, shot awake with a low, predatory hum—with the kind of note that warns the song was about to get dangerous—that vibrated straight to my cock.
Her swimsuit was a one-piece, a flash of metallic silver that hugged every single one of her glorious curves.
The straps were thin, her shoulders and back were bare, and the cut of it somehow made her legs look even longer.
The sun caught the fabric, making her glitter like some kind of sea goddess who’d misplaced her trident.
My breath hitched, a rough, involuntary sound I was glad she couldn’t hear over the crash of the waves.
I was in trouble. Big, hard, these-swim-trunks-are-woefully-inadequate trouble.
She knew. Oh, she knew. I saw it in the way her lips quirked into a knowing smirk as she caught my gaze. Kesha swept her hand up her thigh, her fingers caressing her skin—a little show, just for me—and smoldered at me.
“You like it? I had to engage in an intensive campaign of deforestation to make it work…”
“What?” I managed to rasp, my throat hoarse.
Her grin suddenly was back. “I shaved.”
“Oh.” I swallowed, struggling to control my cockstand. “Yeah. It’s…uh…nice. Pretty.”
With a little laugh, Kesha turned the tables on me.
Her eyes, dark and suddenly assessing, did a slow, deliberate crawl down my body. From my shoulders, over my chest, down past my navel, and lingered for a half-second too long on the very obvious problem in my swim trunks before flicking back to my face.
Her smirk widened.
That was it. My control snapped.
My Kteer went feral, a possessive, snarling thing in my chest demanding I cross the sand, pull her against me, and show her exactly what she was doing to me.
Mine.
A wave of heat flushed my skin, and I had to physically turn away, grabbing the cooler as an excuse, the heel of my free hand pressing against the hard ridge of my erection through the thin fabric of my suit. It did fuck all to alleviate the need to taste her, to feel her whimper beneath me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw tight, every muscle screaming with a need so sharp it was a physical pain.
She was my wife. No one would think it strange if I reached for her, pulled her in for a kiss. Yeah, okay, she might, considering there’d been no discussion of the possibility after the wedding.
I thought of Milo’s innocent question from that morning—Why can’t she share my bed? Because there’s no way I’d be able to sleep beside Kesha without feeling her, holding her, tasting her, making her come…and she’d given no indication she wanted that.
But then…
But then, carried on the breeze, I caught her scent. That sweet, intoxicating fragrance of arousal, a high, clear note above the salt and sunblock.
She wanted me, too.
The thought was a lightning strike, short-circuiting what little reason I had left.
I was already reaching for her when the gods sent a distraction.
“Dad! Where’s the football?”
Jay skidded to a halt on the blanket, sending a fine spray of sand over everything. The spell shattered.
“Jay, for heaven’s sake, sand!” Kesha’s voice was sharp but fond. She knelt, brushing grit off the towels with an efficiency that was all mom.
Thank the gods.
The interruption—a wrong note in an out-of-control melody—gave me the precious seconds I needed to gain control of my Kteer and my cock. I yanked a beach chair open—an XXL monstrosity that was thankfully ample camouflage—and sank into it, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Kesha found the football and tossed it to Jay. “Go find your brother. And don’t tackle anyone who isn’t expecting it.”
He was gone again in a flash, grinning hugely.
Laughing, Kesha dusted off her hands and flopped into the chair beside me. An awkward silence fell between us, filled only by the sounds of the ocean and the distant shrieks of our children. I reached into the cooler, my movements stiff.
“Margarita?” I asked, holding out one of the canned cocktails I’d bought specifically because I’d seen her enjoying one last week.
Her eyes widened slightly, a flash of surprise and pleasure. “You remembered.”
“Of course, I did,” I grunted, my voice rougher than I intended.
Our fingers brushed as she took it, and I swear she let hers linger for a fraction of a second against mine. A tiny spark in the face of the inferno I was trying to contain, but it was enough to make my Kteer purr.
I cracked open a beer for myself, the can cool and solid in my trembling hand, and resisted the urge to press it against my forehead.
What was I supposed to say? So, about the fact that I want to pin you to this blanket right here and find out if you taste as good as you smell?
In the distance, Jay launched the football in a perfect, soaring arc that Milo, against all odds, managed to leap up and catch.
Kesha let out a whoop of laughter, the sound pure and joyful, and the suffocating tension in my chest eased.
“I’m still amazed by how good he is at skating,” she said, shaking her head. “Looks like he’s just athletic in general. He told me your little brother plays for the Teal Terrors?”
Safe territory. I could do safe.
I took a long pull of my beer. “Yeah. Kardok. He’s the youngest. When Brak and I moved here from Colorado, he stayed. The team, you know.” I shrugged, the old ache of his absence a familiar pang. “We miss him.”
“Ah,” Kesha laughed, taking a sip of her drink. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she teased me. “So Jay gets his athleticism from your side of the family, then.”
The words were out before I could stop them, a reflex born from a history I hadn’t shared.
“Actually,” I said, my voice suddenly quiet. “Jay’s mother was really athletic.”
Kesha’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “You…never mentioned that. Her.”
Shit.
I realized it too late. The beer, the sun, the way she’d looked in that damn swimsuit—my usual guard was down. I took another swig, the condensation dripping down my fingers. “Guess not.”
She tilted her head, sunlight glinting off her dark curls. “What was she like?”
My Kteer growled a warning to me, and my stomach knotted. I didn’t want to talk about Sharra, not when I felt guilty about not missing her at all. Not when my wife was looking at me expectantly.
I could lie. I could deflect. But Kesha was watching me with those sharp editor’s eyes, like she could see straight through to the parts of me I kept locked away.
“She was…” I exhaled, forcing my voice steady. “Beautiful. You know among orcs, there are fewer females born, right? That means they’re…popular. And Sharra was beautiful,” I finished in a whisper. She knew it.
Kesha’s fingers tightened fractionally around her can. “Sounds like you really—”
“She had this way of making everything feel… important.” I rubbed the back of my neck, the memory of Sharra’s perfume—something floral and expensive—flickering through my mind. “Like even the boring stuff was an adventure if she was there.” If she deigned to show up.
A muscle feathered in Kesha’s jaw. “That’s… nice.”
I almost laughed. Nice. Like that single word could contain the whiplash of a Mate Bond—all fireworks and no foundation. Fuck, I’d thought myself the luckiest kid in Bramblewood Bluff when I’d realized the signs of the Mate Bond. I’d been so stupid.
But Kesha was still watching me, her expression carefully neutral, and something in my chest twisted.
“I was working in the mines when we met,” I said, shifting to face her just slightly, not sure why I was trying to defend myself. “Twelve-hour shifts, coming home covered in dust. Not exactly glamorous.” And Sharra never let me forget it. “But she… she made me feel like I could be more.”
Like I needed to be more, in order to be her Mate.
Kesha’s margarita can hissed as she took a slow sip. “She sounds amazing.”
But all I said was, “She was my Mate. That’s…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “That’s not something you get over.”
Kesha’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “No,” she agreed softly. “I guess not.”
The silence stretched, thick with all the things I wasn’t saying.
She thought I was still in love with a ghost. And I let her.