Chapter 12 Becken
Becken
The ride back to Lonesome Creek stretched ahead us, each step Peeka took along the trail a reminder of how everything had changed.
Carla sat in front of me, her body tense despite my arm around her waist. The golden mark on my wrist caught the sunlight whenever I adjusted my position, a constant reminder of what had happened.
Fated mates.
The concept should’ve filled me with joy. In the orc kingdom, finding one’s destined partner was considered the greatest blessing the fates could bestow. But all I felt was a crushing weight of responsibility mixed with terror.
I’d had six months to grieve Wexla, to tell myself I might be ready to live again. But ready to love again? Ready to risk the devastating loss that came with caring for someone who could be taken away?
How could I ever prepare myself for that?
According to orc tradition, the marks connected mates on a deeper level. I could sense Carla’s confusion, fear, and something else I couldn’t name. Regret, perhaps. Or was that my own feeling reflected back at me?
Her body remained rigid against mine, nothing like the soft warmth of the woman who’d melted in my arms not long ago. The memory of her taste, her sounds of pleasure, the way she’d clung to me as she came undone, played through my mind like a song I couldn’t stop humming.
I’d never experienced anything like giving her pleasure.
With Wexla, intimacy had been gentle, comfortable, mutual.
But with Carla, I’d felt driven by something primal, a need to worship her body until she cried out my name.
The way she’d responded, the sounds she’d made, and the way her body had trembled from my mouth had been intoxicating enough to push me over the edge without any touch in return.
That had never happened to me before. The intensity of it had shaken me as much as the appearance of the marks.
“Are you comfortable?” I asked, my voice rough.
“Yes.” Her response came out clipped, professional. The woman who’d gasped my name and begged for more had disappeared, replaced by the competent consultant who’d first walked into the saloon.
The transformation stung. But what did I want from her?
I couldn’t even name that.
We rode in silence. The only sounds breaking through the silence were Peeka’s steady breathing and the crunch of snow beneath her clawed hooves. The forest gave way to open prairie, and in the distance, I could make out the outline of Lonesome Creek’s buildings.
Almost there. Almost back to the real world, where I was beginning to suspect we’d have to pretend nothing had happened between us.
But something had. The marks proved it, even if we were both determined to ignore their significance.
“Becken.” Her voice came out quiet, uncertain. “What you said about the marks being permanent. What exactly does that mean?”
“In orc culture, mating marks appear when two souls recognize each other as destined partners. They’re a sign that the fates have chosen you for each other.”
“But what does that mean, practically? Are we…” She paused, searching for words. “I know I sputtered it out back there, but are we married now according to orc traditions?”
“Not exactly. The marks are an invitation, not a binding.” I tightened my arm around her waist as Peeka navigated a particularly deep drift. “They indicate compatibility, but the choice to complete the bond is still ours.”
“What happens if we don’t, if I leave after Christmas like I planned?”
“The marks will fade over time. Slowly, but they’ll disappear.”
“And if we chose to complete the bond?”
“Then we’d be mated for life. Connected on a level beyond the physical.” I paused, then added quietly, “Orcs don’t divorce, Carla. When the fates bless us with a mate, it’s considered a blessing.” Never a burden. “I don’t know of anyone who’s rejected the bond.”
She absorbed this in silence, her body growing even more tense. I could sense her internal struggle through the mark, the pull she felt toward me warring with her fear of commitment.
“I understand how you feel. How would anyone want to seek permanence with someone they just met?”
“Seems we’ve more than just met,” she said dryly.
I’d give her that.
“I’ve never stayed anywhere longer than a year.” Her sigh rang out. “I don’t know how to do forever.”
“Neither do I. Not anymore.”
“I’m not…” Her voice came out hesitant. “I’m not trying to replace Wexla.”
“Of course not.”
“Exactly.” She said it as if that settled things, but it didn’t. I wasn’t sure anything would ever be settled between us again.
We passed my cousins’ homes and approached town on the main road. Smoke rose from chimneys and the cheerful glint of Christmas lights felt harsh after the endless storm, the relentless whiteness of the world we’d left.
How could I explain that we’d formed something I’d never thought I’d find, only to discover it might be temporary?
“People will wonder where we were,” Carla said.
“We were caught in the storm, and we took shelter in one of the trail cabins.”
I guided Peeka toward the rodeo grounds, where several figures moved from one building to another.
Word must have spread about our disappearance.
My cousins would be worried, especially if Dester had returned without a rider.
I should’ve thought to tell them where we were going, but who could’ve predicted something like this?
“Are you ready for this?” I asked.
Carla straightened her shoulders and transformed before my eyes. The vulnerable woman who’d questioned the marks became the confident professional who could handle any situation.
“I am,” she said.
As we approached the arena, I spied Ruugar standing near the fence, his relief evident even from a distance. Aunt Inla stood with them, and strangely enough, Lavon, dressed in an apron with a winter coat over it. Dungar waited nearby, his phone to his ear.
Ruugar strode forward, reaching us first, his dark eyes scanning us both for signs of injury.
“Where have you been? When Dester came roaring into town yesterday, we weren’t sure what was going on.
” He nudged his head toward the pasture where Dester stood, his head hanging as if he, like Peeka, was sorry for bolting.
“When we couldn’t find you or Carla in the area, we were worried.
” His gaze sought hers, but his tight expression didn’t change.
“We were riding in the forest, and Dester was spooked by a chumble. He bolted and Carla fell. When I got down to check on her, more chumbles appeared and Peeka took off too. We got caught in the storm.”
“That’s what we thought.” Inla joined us. “I took good care of Azool.”
“Thank you.” I dismounted and helped Carla down, making myself remove my hands from her waist, my gaze from her face. “We took shelter in one of the trail ride cabins.”
“Wise,” Dungar said. “Are you alright, Carla?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Peeka found us this morning.”
“Carla sprained her ankle when she fell,” I said. “But it’s much better now.”
“I twisted it.” Carla took a few steps to demonstrate, and I noticed she was careful to keep her marked wrist hidden with her sleeve.
Holly and Lavon joined us. “Dester’s usually so calm. Hail worked a long time with him before adding him to the rodeo group.”
“You know how loud chumbles can be,” I said. “Even the calmest sorhox can be startled by something unexpected.”
“Those ridiculous birds,” Aunt Inla said with a sniff. “Always causing trouble with their shrieking.”
Max’s face brightened with curiosity. “Were you afraid? Being trapped in a blizzard sounds scary.”
“It was fine.” Carla’s smile almost looked genuine. “We raided the supplies.”
“Good,” Ruugar said. “I’m glad we leave things there even during this time of year.”
“They were wonderful,” Carla said. “We just had to wait out the storm.”
“And keep each other warm,” Holly added with a knowing look that made my ears burn.
I grunted. “The cabin had plenty of blankets.”
“Yup, we stock those too.” Ruugar’s expression suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced by our casual explanation, but he wouldn’t press us for more answers.
“The storm was severe,” Dungar said. “Good thing you were able to get to shelter.”
“That’s what I told Carla.” I was grateful for his understanding.
“Well, the important thing is that you’re both safe.” Holly reached out to squeeze Carla’s arm. “Are you hungry? We have plenty of fresh bread and that soup you like, Becken.”
“We ate at the cabin, but thank you.”
“You should both rest.” Aunt Inla glanced Lavon’s way. He was studiously avoiding her gaze, even going so far as to shift away from her and move over to stand on Dungar’s other side. “Being stranded in a storm is exhausting, even with good shelter.”
“I should check on the other sorhoxes.” I needed something normal to focus on. Anything but this woman who, bizarrely enough, was my fated mate. “I want to make sure the storm didn’t cause any problems here.”
“They’re all fine.” Ruugar glanced toward the main barn.
“When Dester returned, we looked for you. Not finding you, we suspected you’d been caught somewhere in the storm.
Dungar and I had just returned from looking for you again.
We were about to form a larger group and scan a bigger area.
As for your sorhoxes, I checked on them throughout the storm, though I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you. ”
As the group began to disperse, I caught Carla’s eye. She looked pale, exhausted, and I could sense her overwhelming need to be alone.
“You should rest,” I said. “The ankle injury and the stress of being stranded…”
Holly looped her arm through Carla’s. “Come on, let’s get you back to the hotel. I’ll help you bathe, if you want, and then prop that foot up on pillows, get you something to drink. Food later, too. No worries. We’ll take care of you now.”
I’d taken good care of her, but I didn’t snarl or point that out.
Holly began leading Carl away. I watched them go. Carla looked in my direction, her brown eyes meeting mine before she turned back.
In that brief glance, I saw confusion and a touch of something that might be regret.
“She’s a good woman,” Ruugar said, watching them too.
“Yes. She is.”
“And you care for her.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “I couldn’t help it. She’s leaving after Christmas, though. When her contract ends, she has no reason to stay.”
Ruugar slowly nodded. “Perhaps you should give her one.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” He turned to face me. “You’ve been existing since you came to the surface, not living. Everyone can see it. But today, you seem different. You care.”
“I’m the same as always.”
“No, you’re not. There’s something in your eyes that wasn’t there before.” He paused, then added carefully, “It was there before Wexla died.”
The observation hit hard. “Wexla was my mate.”
“And now she’s gone. Life is for living, Becken. Grieve her. No way you can do anything else. But remember that while she’s gone, you’re here. So’s Carla.”
“I’m aware of that.” The words came out sharp.
“Are you? It looks to me like you’re using her memory as an excuse to avoid taking a chance with someone new.”
Before I could respond, he walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the mark on my wrist.
I busied myself with the sorhoxes, checking each one and making sure they had adequate food and water. The familiar routine helped calm my racing thoughts.
As evening approached, I stood at the window of my small hotel room, looking out at the town below, the same street Carla must see from her own window.
Christmas lights twinkled on every building, and people walked through town, pausing to look into the general store or chat with others.
Normal people, living normal lives, without golden marks binding them to a person who might leave them soon.
Carla had every right to be afraid of this. Loving someone meant risking loss, and we’d both learned how devastating that could be. But the mark wasn’t only about love. It was about recognition, about finding the piece of yourself you didn’t know you were missing.
With Wexla, I’d chosen companionship, comfort, and shared goals. With Carla, I felt something wilder, more desperate. The need to protect her, to make her laugh, to watch her face light up when she discovered something new about this special town in this nowhere part of the surface.
I ached to taste her again, to hear her gasp my name as she came apart from my touch. But wanting something and being able to keep it were two different things.
I touched the mark on my wrist. Tomorrow, we’d have to face each other again, maybe even pretend nothing had changed while dealing with the reality of what we’d become.
Fated mates with no future.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. After months of existing in the gray fog of grief, I’d finally found a person who could bring me back to life.
And she was planning to leave the day after Christmas.