Chapter 12
The village of Soza rose from the twilight like splintered teeth against the fading sky. Nargol had never been so relieved to see this place.
Five days.
It had only been five days since she’d left, but it felt like a lifetime stretched out by danger and distance. Her muscles ached from the long ride. Her clothes still carried the scent of rain, forest, and smoke. The memory of the temple clung to her like a shadow.
But beneath all of the exhaustion there was a sharper pull. One that was urgent, undeniable, and something she had to take care of.
Orlena.
Her mate’s name alone tightened something deep inside her.
Torch snorted beneath her as they passed through the outer path leading into the village. The air smelled of damp earth and smoke from cooking fires that were long extinguished. It was late, and most of Soza slept. Only a few candles flickered in the distant windows.
Beside her, Makhel shifted in her saddle with an irritated huff.
“You cannot go see her tonight,” she muttered. “Not tonight. Let us conclude our business in the morning. Hagu will be expecting us.”
Nargol didn’t slow her shukan. Her gaze remained fixed ahead.
“You will secure the scrolls,” she said flatly.
“Nargol—”
“That is an order. Or have you forgotten who I am?” Nargol inclined her head.
She glanced over at Makhel who glanced away from her. The words hung between them. Nargol rarely pulled rank with Makhel or any of the warriors she fought beside. They were sisters in battle, bound by trust and solars of protecting each other.
But this—her going to see Orlena—she would not debate.
She had to see to her mate.
The witch’s words echoed in her head. She had to ensure that Orlena was safe and sound in her home. That no danger had arrived at her doorstep.
Makhel’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, Nargol thought she might argue. Instead, the warrior exhaled through her nose.
“You are risking a lot for this human,” Makhel said.
“She is worth the risk. She is mine,” Nargol growled low. The possessiveness in her voice surprised even her. It proved with certainty that she could not deny what Orlena was to her.
She was her mate.
Every instinct she had told her so. Leaving her for five days had been like walking with a blade pressed into her ribs.
Complete agony.
Makhel studied her in silence then nodded. “I will secure them. We need to meet at first light in the north sector of the village.”
“I will be there.”
She did not wait for further protest. With a gentle pressure of her heels, she guided Torch down a side path away from the main road. The village blurred into quiet shapes and shadows as she rode toward the human quarter.
Her breaths were coming faster.
Was Orlena safe and sound in her own home? Had Nargol’s enemies somehow found her there? Her thoughts were restless as the distance closed to Orlena’s home.
Soon, she would have to tell Orlena the truth.
The realization settled heavy in her stomach.
To Orlena, she was Bula—a nomad. A woman from nowhere with no ties, no crown, no obligations beyond the next horizon.
Not Nargol Cydassi, the daughter of the chieftain.
A woman who was an heir to legacy steeped in their country’s history, wars, and politics.
Would Orlena look at her differently once she found out the truth?
The question gnawed at her. She imagined the hurt that would flash in her warm brown eyes. There may even be betrayal. Nargol hated the fact that she had to use deception between them, even though it was necessary.
Soon, she promised herself. When this was all over and she found out who was trying to tear down all that her family had built, she would claim her mate for all the world to see.
And beg for forgiveness for the lies and deception.
The human quarter was silent when she arrived, the narrow streets empty. Nargol dismounted Torch a short distance away from Orlena’s home. She secured him in the shadows on a grassy knoll where he could graze. Her pulse quickened, and she approached the house where her mate lived.
Faint light glowed from the windows.
Relief filled her that Orlena may still be awake. It was late, and she’d half expected the house to be basked in darkness. She arrived at the door and knocked softly.
In the quiet neighborhood, the sound seemed unnaturally loud. She waited. Every one of her senses were alert. She turned and checked the street. Stillness and silence greeted her.
A flicker of unease settled inside her.
She knocked again. This time a little harder and leaned closer to the door.
“Orlena,” she called out softly. “It’s me.”
For a heartbeat, she was greeted with silence.
Then footsteps. Her heart raced at the quick and light sound crossing the floor inside.
The door flew open.
Orlena stood framed in candlelight, her dark hair contained in silky material that hid her hair. Her eyes were wide with shock, and she stood frozen. For a suspended moment, they stared at each other.
“You came back,” Orlena breathed.
Before Nargol could answer, Orlena launched herself forward. Nargol caught her instinctively. She wrapped her arms around the smaller woman, and Orlena clung to her. Relief filled her that was so intense, it was almost painful.
Her human was safe.
She buried her face in Orlena’s neck and inhaled her familiar scent.
“I told you I would return,” Nargol murmured.
Orlena pulled back and gazed up at Nargol. Her tiny hands fisted the fabric of Nargol’s tunic as if she were afraid she’d vanish into thin air. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“I wasn’t sure,” she admitted in a whisper. “Every day that passed, I just thought—”
Nargol silenced her with a kiss.
It was not gentle. It was desperate and full of the restrained hunger of being away from her mate for five long days. Orlena’s breath hitched, and she melted into the kiss. Her hands slid up to cup Nargol’s face.
Nargol nudged the door closed behind them without breaking the kiss. The latch clicked softly, sealing them inside away from the world. In this house, this was their own little world that was small and warm.
Their kiss deepened, but the pace slowed. It went from urgent into something tender. Nargol traced the curve of Orlena’s cheek with her thumb. She marveled at the simple wonder of Orlena’s presence in her arms.
“I thought of you every moment I was gone,” Nargol confessed.
“I prayed for your return every night.” Orlena’s lips lifted into a shy smile.
The words struck Nargol with an unexpected force. She pressed her forehead to Orlena’s, her heart thundering. This little human, who had an abundance of strength and hope, had woven herself into the very fabric of Nargol’s being.
She quickly barred the door, then turned to lift Orlena. Her mate laughed softly and looped her arms around Nargol’s neck. At the sound of her giggles, a rush of warm emotions flooded Nargol’s chest. She carried her into the bedroom.
The room was intimate. The bed, modest at best, was designed for a single sleeper.
Yet when Nargol laid Orlena down and joined her, it felt as though the bed was made just for them.
They stripped each other of their clothing, their movements unhurried, with pauses for kisses and touches.
Nargol memorized the warmth of Orlena’s skin, the touch of her, the way her lips parted when Nargol shimmied her hand down her stomach to rest on her thigh, or how her eyes darkened the moment she slipped her finger between her slicked slit.
Orlena’s moans filled the air.
“Bula,” she breathed.
Nargol gritted her teeth and had to force herself not to correct Orlena.
Nargol, she snapped inside her head.
That was the name she wanted to hear fall from her mate’s lips. One day soon, Orlena would speak her true name. The thought sent a ripple of longing through her.
“What is it that you want, doakir?” Nargol murmured.
She watched how Orlena’s smooth thighs parted for her. She glided her fingers through Orlena’s folds and shuddered. Her lover was extremely ready and prepared. Her slickness coated Nargol’s fingers.
She pressed a finger into Orlena’s opening. She was greeted with a silky hot heat as it sank inside Orlena. She bit back a curse at how wet her human was. She licked her lips, wanting to drink every ounce of honey that poured from Orlena.
Orlena’s eyes were closed, her head back on the bed.
“Tell me, doakir. What is it that you want?” Nargol murmured.
She withdrew her finger then pressed two deep inside. Her fingers were thick and wide and stretched out Orlena’s tight little channel. Her moan signified how good it felt to her. Nargol kissed Orlena’s cheek, then her chin, then her lips.
“Tell me.”
Orlena’s eyes opened, dark with need. She reached out a hand and skated her fingers into Nargol’s thick hair.
“You,” she whispered.
Nargol withdrew her fingers quickly. She positioned herself over Orlena and claimed her lips in a brutal kiss.
Five days had been too long to be away from her.
At a time when she should be officially courting this woman and earning her love and trust, she had to deceive her and hunt down orcs who threatened to destroy her beloved country.
The scent of her mate’s arousal filled the air and drew her in.
Nargol trailed hot kisses along Orlena’s body.
She stopped and worshipped her bountiful mounds.
Swirled her tongue around the beaded nipples.
Orlena’s soft skin was an aphrodisiac. She would never get enough of her.
After getting her fill, she moved on. She was hungry for this woman but had to try to hold on to some form of control.
She coasted her tongue down Orlena’s belly and teased her navel before continuing on.
Nargol arrived at Orlena’s center. She pressed Orlena’s tantalizing thighs apart and groaned. The sight that greeted her was enough to make her growl. Slick labia that housed a protruding bud coated in slickness.