Epilogue
Argon
The mountain air carried the scent of woodsmoke and ripening apples, crisp with the promise of winter to come. The first chill of autumn marked the air, crimson and gold leaves settling in among the green in the ancient trees surrounding the village square.
War Chief Argon stood apart from the celebration, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the afternoon sun.
His arms were crossed over his broad chest, ceremonial leathers creaking softly as he shifted his weight.
Before him, his chieftain—his brother in all but blood—spoke words of bonding to the human female who had captured his heart.
He should be watching them. Should be present in this moment of joy for his clan.
But his gaze kept drifting.
There. Standing beside the tall blonde. The small one with curves that would fill a warrior's hands and dark hair that caught the light like a raven's wing. She wore a dress the color of forest moss, and when she smiled at something the blonde whispered, dimples appeared in her cheeks.
His jaw clenched, tusks pressing against his upper lip.
He knew this female. Had seen her before, though she didn't know it.
Many moon cycles past, when young Ardin had taken a bullet while playing in the valley below the village, Argon had tracked the hunters' scent for miles.
One did not linger at the ramshackle house near the apple orchard.
He continued onward through the forest, across the creek, up the winding road to a property where neat rows of fruit vines stood like soldiers and a weathered barn housed barrels of fermenting wine.
He'd expected to find the hunter there. Expected violence, justice, blood.
Instead, he'd found her. A lone female, singing softly as she worked in her vineyard, a small dark-haired child playing at her feet. The child had laughed—a sound like bells—and the female had scooped her up, spinning her around while the little one shrieked with delight.
No hunters. No weapons. Just a female and her young.
He'd withdrawn into the shadows, confused. The trail had led here, unmistakably. But he'd found no evidence, no proof. And he could not accuse without proof, even if every instinct screamed that answers lay within her peaceful homestead.
Now she was here, in his village, friend to his chieftain's mate. Close enough to touch, if he crossed the distance between them.
Close enough to question.
Close enough to punish, if she proved guilty.
A cheer rose from the crowd as the chieftain kissed his mate, and Argon forced himself to join in the celebration, thumping his chest and raising his fist in salute. But even as he did, his eyes found her again. She was clapping, smiling, happy for her friend.
Pretty, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Soft where Orc females were hard, small where they were tall. His cock stirred despite himself, despite his duty, despite the suspicion that coiled in his gut like a serpent.
Young Ardin danced past, flower petals scattering from his basket, the scar on his chest hidden beneath his ceremonial tunic. Healed now, healthy and whole. But the crime remained unanswered. The hunter who had shot him remained unpunished.
It was not the Orc way to let such things stand.
Argon's hands curled into fists at his sides. He was War Chief. Protector of his people. Guardian of their laws and their honor. If this soft human female with her dimples and her wine had harbored those who hurt his clan, she would answer for it.
He would prove it.
He would find the truth.
And if she was guilty, no amount of pretty smiles or stirring in his loins would stay his hand.
The celebration continued around him, but Argon's focus had narrowed to a single point. A single purpose.
A single female who didn't yet know she was being hunted.