Epilogue
Melelea
The day of my wedding and Bride Chase, I feel like a maiden again.
Like I’m young and new, without the burden of the past on my shoulders.
I dress in the traditional garb of an orc bride, the leather tunic hugging my body and baring much of my skin.
Back when I did the Bride Chase with Guruk, they had done away with the Mate Bond ceremony, so I never did one with him.
It makes doing one with Wodred feel special, like something that is untainted by my memories, even though I’ve done a Bride Chase before. A proper beginning to my new future.
As I finish having my handmaidens dress me in my outfit, there is a knock at my door. My handmaiden, Lady Naiva, moves to open the door. A young orc guard I recognize as part of Adalind’s Gold Guard steps forward. “Queen Adalind to see the Lady Melelea.”
I smile at that. “Must we always stand on ceremony to see each other?” I ask as Adalind enters the room.
Adalind returns my smile with one of her own. Her stomach is starting to show more, over halfway through her pregnancy. “You know how my guards and your ladies love to show their respect. You need to get used to it.”
I go to embrace my daughter-in-law. “I sometimes miss when I was one of your ladies and could just see you whenever I wanted.”
“I miss that sometimes, too,” Adalind admits. “But we must act befitting our rank.”
I smile at her. Adalind is a stickler for protocol and respect.
I suppose she has earned it. She suffered through many years of humiliation at the hands of her first husband.
Adalind is one of the few people who can truly understand me in that way.
But she has found her happiness with my son, just as I have found it with Wodred. The thought makes my smile deepen.
“Was there something that you were wanting?” I ask. “We need to leave soon to go to the Sacred Woods.”
The Sacred Woods are the forests that abut the north of Ilustan.
They are under the protection of the Crown and are usually reserved for religious rites.
To be allowed to do a Bride Chase there is an uncommon honor, but I know that Rognar is happy for me.
He did not seem as surprised as I expected him to be when I told him that I was taking Wodred as my mate, but I know that he approves.
Adalind replies, “I merely wanted to see you before the ceremony. You look beautiful. Truly, Melelea.”
I accept her words with grace, even though I am still a little self-conscious of the scar on my shoulder, which is bared by the traditional outfit.
It is more jagged than it was before, the edges torn by Grazrath's teeth when he fed from me.
But I try to think of it the way that Wodred does; as a badge of honor that proclaims my survival of not one, but two desperate circumstances.
I am a warrior in my own way, and I will fight for my future happiness.
“Thank you, daughter,” I say and watch as Adalind smiles. She loves when I call her daughter. “But I sense that you would not have come all the way to this wing of the castle only for that.”
Adalind looks a little abashed, “It’s just . . . I was thinking of Zera.”
There’s a twinge in my heart at the mention of our lost friend. I know that Adalind has mourned her even more than I have and is having trouble accepting her absence.
“What about Zera?” I ask.
“I was thinking . . . could you not try to commune with her with your runes? Or see if she is still alive with your gift? If there is the slightest chance she and Gunag are alive—”
“My gift was given to me by the gods,” I interrupt gently. “They do not allow me to spy on their realms with it. My runes are useless on that front. But, and I say this not to be unkind, you know as well as I that no one has ever returned from the Nether.”
“Grazrath escaped the Nether before,” argues Adalind.
“No mortal, then,” I amend, conceding her point. “Grazrath was not mortal the first time that he was summoned. That gives him powers that a human and an orc would not have. I’m sorry, Adalind, but, though it pains me as well, they are lost.”
Adalind closes her eyes, her grief apparent. By the time she opens them again, however, she has banished her feelings, projecting calm and even a small smile. “You are right, Melelea. Of course you are. I just had to check.”
“Zera was our friend,” I say with a sad smile of my own. “She will be missed.”
“I will speak to Rognar,” Adalind says, with more conviction in her voice. “We will erect a monument to her, in recognition of her sacrifice to rid our world of Grazrath. And perhaps one to Gunag as well.”
“An excellent idea,” I say. “But perhaps keep them separate. I doubt Zera would appreciate being memorialized with Gunag, even in death.”
That makes Adalind laugh, though it is tinged with sadness. Then she shakes her head, as if to clear it and say, “What am I doing? This is your happy day. I should not be bringing a spirit of mourning to cast a pall over the proceedings.”
“New beginnings often mean looking backward and contemplating those we have lost,” I reply. “I do not mind remembering my friend before marrying my mate. And I know why you had to ask.”
At that moment, there is another knock on the door. As Naiva answers it, I see an orc guard, wearing trainee colors. He makes the sign of respect.
“My Queen,” he says, “Lady Melelea. The sun is setting. Your escort is ready to take you to the Sacred Woods.”
Adalind smiles at the young orc. “Very well. You have delivered your message well.”
Then she turns back to me. “Shall we go?”
I feel excited anticipation flood my limbs, love in my heart as I think of meeting Wodred. “We shall.”
???
STANDING UNDER TORCHLIGHT as the orcs and orcresses present chant and thrum, I look up at Wodred, his dark eyes full of promise. I almost squirm under that stare. I know what awaits me during the Chase.
I also feel a wave of tender emotion. This moment feels fated, inevitable, as if my life was always leading here. Every trial, every hardship, has led me to the love my mother prophesied to me all those many years ago. I know that I have finally found him in Wodred.
Adalind and Naiva work to draw the runes of the ceremony on my skin in soro berry paste. The paste is meant to be an aphrodisiac, and maybe it is working because I can already feel myself priming to take Wodred, excitement in my veins.
As they finish, Wodred and I speak aloud the traditional vows in Orikesh.
“Pah threy thik. Thik drad vik or brok. Thik drad jro hana. Thik drad Mar Wodred tay,” I say.
I will run. Run until the world falls away. Run until time ends. Run until you catch me, General Wodred.
Wodred replies, “Thik, la swera. Thik fro pak trey dratcj ba. Stara fro pak threy grilli ba. Drad jro hana. Lia Melelea threya tok ba.”
Run, my bride. Run, and I will catch you. Hide, and I will find you. Until time ends. You will be mine, Lady Melelea.
The drums start as we finish, a primal rhythm, getting faster and faster.
It’s time for me to run. Suddenly, I am transported in my mind thirty years back, to the night I ran from Guruk.
The feelings come crashing toward me, paralyzing my movements.
I don’t want to give Guruk power, not now, not in this, but for a moment I feel helpless, the old memories seeking to choke me.
The drums stall, and everyone watches in confusion as I don’t move. I feel humiliated, but I can’t bring myself to run.
Then, suddenly, Wodred is there, in my line of sight, bending down so that his forehead touches mine. He grasps the back of my head, holding our heads together.
“It’s only us,” he rumbles, his voice like a soothing balm over my mind. “You and me. No one else.”
I take a deep breath, his musky, cedar scent flowing over my senses, so different from Guruk’s. I close my eyes and just breathe in that scent for a few moments. “Only us,” I whisper back, feeling myself calming.
“We do not have to do this, love,” Wodred says. “I am yours, ceremony or no. You do not have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
My eyes open, firming my resolve. “No, I want to. This is our beginning . . . mate.”
Then, stealing my courage, I pull back from Wodred, turn and run into the forest, chased by the sound of the drumming that resumes.
As I run, I feel the past fall behind me.
I let myself fly free, leaping over the underbrush and running as quickly as I can.
The moonlight streams through the late autumn trees, almost bare now.
I would be cold if not for the heat charm around my neck, the same one that Wodred gave me on the mountain.
It has become a symbol to me of Wodred’s care for me, of how he always puts me first.
Behind me, I start to hear the breaking of twigs and the rustling of the underbrush as Wodred chases me.
He is getting closer, and my blood rushes in anticipation, my core getting wet.
I know what is coming, yet he never catches me.
I expect him to pounce and take me, spurred on by our primal play, but instead, he stays just out of sight.
I can hear the steady hum of his thrum, just behind me, but when I turn, I cannot see him.
He is hunting me, I realize. Seducing me.
His sibilance accompanies my running, making me more wet and slick as I move.
The constant arousal and the movement of my thighs as I jog through the forest keep me on the edge of an orgasm.
There’s not enough friction to let me sail over the peak, but just enough that I am in a state of wild lust by the time that I run out of endurance.
My running slows when I reach a clearing that is covered in a thick layer of leaves.
I stop in the center and turn. Still, I can hear his thrum, can feel its pleasure washing over my sensitized and aroused body.
“Take me, mate,” I call. “I surrender. Take your prize.”
My words are like a magic summoning ritual.
Wodred emerges from the shadows like one born to them.
He stalks toward me, barely reined-in lust on his features, his majestic horns gleaming in the moonlight.
He looks like a beast of the woods, a primordial god come to take me, and I cannot wait any longer.
I rush forward to meet him, and then I am in his arms.
Where I belong.
Wodred bears me to the ground, laying me on the bed of leaves beneath us.
His lips crash into mine. His hands come to the clasps of my tunic, undoing them and baring my breasts to his gaze.
His hands smear the soro berry paste into my skin, tracing his thumbs over my nipples, leaving the juice in their wake.
Then his mouth is on me, wild and insistent.
He sucks and licks and nips, and I feel an answering spark of pleasure in my clit at the pressure.
His tongue vibrates with the force of his sibilance, tracing over my nipple as his other hand massages my other breast. I cry out at the intensity of his ministrations.
I was already on the edge of my peak from our chase through the woods, and when he pinches my nipples at the same time as he sucks the other, I scream in pleasure, coming just with my breasts.
“Beautiful,” Wodred growls, his voice thick with his thrum. “Such a good female, coming for her male. Can you come again on my cock?”
“Yes!” I cry out. “Yes! Please, Wodred!”
Wodred rips away my leggings, baring my legs and pussy to the cool air. Then, with clumsy, passion-addled hands, he frees his cock from his warkilt. It juts proudly in the air, a drip of precum tracing down its length. I whimper in anticipation and spread my thighs wider.
Wodred growls in approval, and then he presses into me, stretching me on his fat cock.
I gasp and whine. I’m still sensitive after my orgasm, my pussy still lightly contracting, but I know I can take more.
I reach for his horns and pull his face to mine, taking his lips with mine while he seats himself deep inside me.
“I’m going to Claim you, love,” he rumbles against my lips, even as he starts pumping in and out of me. “I cannot wait to be one with you any longer.”
“Yes, Wodred,” I say, placing another kiss on his lips. “Yes, mate. I want that. I want to be yours.”
“Mine,” he growls, almost ferally. “That is all I have ever wanted.”
“Then take it, Wodred,” I reply. “Take me.”
His thrusts become savage, as if my words have caused him to lose control. I moan and gasp at the intrusion, leveraging my hips up so that I can meet him thrust for thrust. The pleasure is intense, almost painful in its potency. I can feel myself going higher and higher, chasing my next climax.
“I’m coming,” I gasp out. “Coming! Coming!”
I keen out, ecstasy crashing over my senses at the same moment I feel Wodred bite down on my bare shoulder, the one with no scars.
Pain mingles with pleasure, becoming a strange amalgam of both, but not unpleasant.
Then Wodred releases my shoulder, covering it with kisses and laving it with soothing licks.
He still thrums, combating the pain of the bite with pleasure, and I sigh, knowing this experience could not have been more different than last time.
In a few moments, I feel a strange, foreign feeling in my chest. Happiness, contentment, and love. Such love. So much it leaves me breathless and makes tears spring to my eyes.
“That’s how much you love me?” I whisper reverently.
“That much and more, beloved,” Wodred whispers back, still nursing my wound. “Forever and always, mate of my heart.”
“Mate of my heart,” I return, and then I pull him back to my lips, letting him feel my own love for him, both through actions and through the bond.
And there, under the moon and among the trees, I am finally home.
THE END