20. Lily
I don”t know how long I stumble through the forest, Grok”s massive weight bearing me down, his blood soaking my side. It could be minutes. Hours. Each second stretches into an eternity of fear and desperation, of fervent prayers to gods I barely believe in anymore.
Please. Please let him live. Let me save him.
At last, just when my knees are about to give out, a miracle. A cottage, little more than a rickety shack, rising out of the gloom between one blink and the next. A woodcutter”s hut maybe, or a trapper”s, long abandoned from the look of it. But it has four walls and a roof, a door that still hangs straight on its hinges.
Shelter. Safety.
A place to heal my love...or watch him slip away.
With a sob of relief and terror, I stagger across the clearing, shouldering the door open with a creak of rusted hinges. Inside, the single room smells of mildew and mouse droppings, of time and abandonment. But there”s a narrow bed shoved against one wall, a table and chairs, a hearth with a spiderwebbed stack of firewood beside it.
Enough. It will have to be enough.
I lower Grok onto the bed as gently as I can, my muscles screaming with the effort. He moans low in his throat, head lolling, face ashen beneath the grey cast of his skin. Fresh blood oozes between my fingers as I peel back the makeshift bandage, hot and slick.
Ancestors, so much blood. How can anyone lose so much and still live?
No. No, I won”t let myself think it, entertain the possibility. Grok is strong, so strong. He”ll survive this. He must.
Because a world, a life without him in it...
I refuse to imagine it. I can”t.
My hands are shaking as I build a fire in the grate, nurse it to gasping, guttering life. The light is dim, fitful, but it”s enough to see by as I fill a dented kettle from the pump behind the cottage and set it to boil. Then I gather the meager supplies this place has to offer—moth-eaten blankets, a chipped basin, rags that may once have been dish towels.
All the while, I keep up a steady stream of chatter, a rambling monologue directed at Grok”s still, silent form. Anything to fill the fear-frozen silence, to tether him to me, to life.
”You just rest now, love,” I croon as I cut away his blood-soaked clothing, clean the ugly gash as best I can. ”Let me take care of everything. You”ve spent so long taking care of me, protecting me...now it”s my turn. My turn to be the strong one, the savior.”
I pause, throat closing on a hard knot of emotion. With infinite gentleness, I brush sweat-soaked hair back from his brow, trace the beloved lines of his face. The grim arch of his brow, the harsh blade of his cheekbones, the full, firm curve of his lips. Lips that have smiled for me, snarled for me. Whispered words of love and lust, breathed prayers and promises into my skin.
My beautiful, brutal warrior. My heart.
Mine.
”You can”t leave me,” I rasp, the words harsh, broken. A vow, a command. ”Do you hear me, Grok? You don”t get to do this. Don”t get to make me love you, make me need you...and then rip yourself away. You promised, remember? To stay. To never leave me. So you damn well better keep that promise, you great bloody brute. Or I swear by all the gods, I”ll follow you into the dark and drag you back myself.”
I”m crying openly now, tears and snot and the salt-sting of grief smearing my cheeks. I make no attempt to stem the tide, to be strong or stoic. There”s no one here to see, to witness my weakness, my unraveling.
No one but him, my love, my life.
Shuddering, I lean down and press my lips to his, tasting my own tears. ”I need you,” I breathe against his slack, silent mouth. ”I need you, Grok. More than breath, more than life itself. So you fight, damn you. Fight and stay with me. Don”t you dare leave me alone in this world, not after everything. Not now. Not ever.”
I linger one last moment, memorizing the rasp of his breath, the thud of his heart. Then, slowly, painfully, I straighten, squaring my shoulders, my spine. Swiping at my cheeks with the back of one trembling hand.
Enough of that, Lily. Enough weeping and wailing like some weak, simpering damsel. Grok needs your strength now, not your sniveling.
So get to it.
Jaw firming, I set to work, sluicing hot water and herb-steeped poultices over the wound, packing it with every scrap of healing knowledge I”ve ever gleaned. From my mother, gone too soon. From the wise women and hedge witches of the village, the healers who patched me up after one too many reckless scraps.
I bind the wound tight with strips of boiled linen, wrap Grok in every blanket I can find until he looks like some hulking woodland beast, shaggy and strange. Trickle water and tinctures past his cracked lips, chafing his hands, his face, to bring blood and warmth back to waxy flesh.
All through the night, I tend him. Kneel beside his bed and plead in silence for the only miracle I”ve ever needed, ever wanted.
Please, please...just let him live. Let me keep this love, this life...that I”ve only just, finally found. I”ll pay any price, bear any burden...
Just give him back to me. Whole and hale and safe.
Please.
As the grey fingers of dawn creep through the cracks in the shutters, Grok stirs, a deep-chested groan quaking the still air. I jerk upright from my slumped vigil, every nerve alight, heart in my throat.
”Grok?” My voice cracks on his name, battle-rough and breakable. ”Can you hear me, love? Are you with me?”
Slowly, painfully, his eyes flutter open, strain to focus on my face. The amber of them is clouded, confused, but aware.
Alive.
”Lily,” he croaks, little more than a breath, a broken wisp of sound. But it”s the sweetest music I”ve ever heard. ”What...where...?”
”Shh,” I soothe, reaching out to stroke his brow, careful-tender. ”Don”t try to talk yet. You”re safe, Grok. We both are. I found us shelter, patched you up as best I could. You”re going to be alright.”
My voice wobbles, threatens to crack, but I swallow hard against the upwelling of relieved tears. Have to be strong, steady. For him.
He frowns, a furrow forming between his brows as he takes in our surroundings, the pain and pallor of his own face. Memory slowly kindles in his gaze, horror and fury and aching concern.
”The battle,” he rasps urgently, struggling to rise. ”Varkos...did he...are you...?”
”I”m fine,” I assure him swiftly, pressing him back down with gentle, implacable hands. ”Varkos is dead, Grok. We won. You...” My voice fails me, a hard knot of remembered terror lodging in my throat. Swallowing thickly, I force myself to go on. ”You saved me. Stepped in front of his blade, the blow meant for my heart. Ancestors, Grok, you almost...”
A single rogue tear slips free, streaking hot down my cheek. I dash it away impatiently, fixing him with a glare I hope hides the way I”m shaking inside. ”Don”t you ever do that again, you hear me? Don”t you ever scare me like that again. Watching you fall, seeing you so still, so much blood...” A shudder ripples through me, ice in my marrow. ”I thought... I thought I”d lost you.”
His face softens, a big, callused palm coming up to cradle my cheek. I lean into the touch helplessly, starvation and succor in one.
”Never,” he rumbles, low and rasping but so achingly alive. ”You”ll never lose me, Lily. Not in this world or any other. I”m yours, remember? Always and only. To whatever end.”
A sob hitches in my throat and I turn my face into his palm, press a fierce kiss to the heart of it. ”You better remember that, you great idiot,” I manage to croak. ”Because if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I”ll kill you myself. Slowly and painfully. Over many, many days.”
He chuckles softly, then winces, face pinching with pain. I make a low, distressed sound, hands fluttering uselessly over his chest.
”Hush now,” I croon, gentling him back onto the thin pillow. ”No more talk, no more fuss. You need to rest, regain your strength.”
He grumbles wordlessly but allows me to settle him, eyes already fighting to stay open. Bending, I brush a soft, lingering kiss to his brow, his fluttering lids. ”Sleep,” I whisper against his skin. ”I”ll be right here, keeping watch. Nothing and no one will touch you again, I swear it. On my life, my love.”
He sighs, a soft susurrus of breath. Nuzzles his face clumsily into my touch. ”Stay?” he mumbles muzzily, more than half asleep already.
”Always,” I vow, throat aching, heart full to breaking. Perching on the edge of the bed, I stroke his hair as his breathing deepens and evens. Watch the lines of pain slowly smooth from his dear, rugged face.
My heart. My home.
Safe and alive and here.
For now, that”s enough. That”s everything.
Let the world and its worries wait. The war, the wounds, both physical and spiritual. The hard choices and harrowing roads ahead.
In this moment, in this space...there is only him. Only this.
This love, this light...that I”ll fight to my very last breath to keep.
No matter the cost. No matter the scars.
What follows aredays of pain and recovery, of fear and hope in equal, agonizing measure. I barely sleep, barely eat, every waking moment consumed by Grok”s care, his comfort. I change his bandages religiously, feed him broth and healing teas spoonful by shaking spoonful. I bathe the sweat and sickness from his skin, murmur songs and stories and every sweet, silly nothing I can think of to tether him to the world, to wellness.
To me.
Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, when his fever burns brightest and he thrashes and moans in the grip of delirium...I crawl into the narrow bed beside him. Press myself to the heat and heft of him, skin to skin, heart to heart. I stroke his hair, his heaving flank, and plead with him in broken whispers.
”I”m here,” I rasp against the humid hollow of his throat, the throb of his pulse. ”I”m here, Grok. Come back to me. Please, please...come back to me. I can”t do this without you. Can”t be, without you. I”m not that strong.”
But even as I say it, I know it for the lie it is. Because I am strong. Strong enough to hold him, hold us both, through this and every other storm to come. I am Lily Hawthorne, the Red Blade, Scourge of the Borderlands and Beloved of the Bloodclaw Warlord.
I do not break. I do not bend.
Not even for this, the greatest battle of my life. The fight for him, for us.
For our future, our forever...that I”ll wade through every hell, every horror, to claim.
And slowly, day by stubborn day...I begin to win that battle. To turn that tide.
His fever breaks, lucidity seeping back into his eyes for longer and longer stretches. His skin loses its waxy pallor, some of its healthy grey luster returning. He manages to keep down solid food, regaining a measure of his formidable strength.
And in the moments between, the sweet, stolen hours of calm and connection...we talk. Low, and halting, voices hushed in the honeyed half-light.
Of our pasts, our hopes and scars and secret shames. The stories that have shaped us, honed us...all unknowing...for this. For each other.
He tells me of his childhood, the harshness and the hunger of it. Of how he clawed his way up from nothing, forged himself into a warrior, a warlord...through blood and brawn and sheer, unbreakable will.
I tell him of my own life, my losses. Of my mother”s death, my father”s decline into drink and despair. Of the rage, the restlessness, that drove me to pick up a blade, to throw myself into a cause not my own...just to feel something, anything, beyond the howling void inside.
We speak of the war, the ancient enmities that have riven our peoples for generations beyond counting. Of how, in each other, we”ve found a bridge across that bitter divide. A way forward, towards peace, that we scarcely dared dream possible before.
But now...now, with every touch, every whispered word, every shared breath...that dream feels achingly near. Inevitable, inexorable, as the turning of the seasons, the wheeling of the stars.
As this fledgling, unfurling thing between us, mighty and miraculous. This love, vast as oceans, that could reshape the very world in its wake...if only we”re strong enough, brave enough, to grip it tight.
To fight for it, come what may.
And oh, but I am ready for that fight. Ready and raring, a wildfire raging in my breast, my blood. Because he is mine now, this savage, soulful male.
And I”ll raze cities, rend the very heavens to keep him. To hold him, and be held, just like this. Battered and bruised, broken open and remade in each other”s arms.
Forever.
Late one night, as Grok sleeps and I drowse in a hard chair beside the bed...a noise jolts me to instant, adrenaline-fueled alertness. A rustling, a snapping twig, just outside the cottage walls.
I”m on my feet in a heartbeat, reaching for my sword with a hand that barely trembles. At my back, I hear Grok stir, a low rumble of alarm in his chest. But I hiss at him to be still, stay silent.
Cracked or not, I”ll be thrice-damned if I let anything or anyone threaten him, harm him. Not now. Not ever again.
On silent feet, I stalk to the door, blade at the ready. With a deep, steadying breath, I set my shoulders...and wrench the door open in one violent motion.
A familiar figure stumbles back with a startled oath, hands flying up in instinctive surrender. I blink, not quite trusting my sleep-deprived eyes. Surely it can”t be...
”Thane?”
My brother—for it is him, unmistakably—looks haggard, careworn, but his smile is true as he slowly lowers his hands. ”Hello, little sister,” he says softly. ”You”re a damn hard woman to track down, you know that?”
I stare at him in mute, frozen shock for a long, slow heartbeat. Then, with a low, wild sound, I fling myself into his arms, sword falling forgotten from my suddenly numb fingers.
He catches me tight, crushing me to his chest as I shake and shake, great gulping sobs wrenching up from some deep, dark place inside me. ”Thane,” I rasp brokenly into the familiar scratch of his jerkin. ”Thane, gods and ancestors, is it really you? How, why are you here, how did you find me?”
”Shh,” he soothes, big hands rubbing circles on my back, gentle as when we were children and he comforted me after skinned knees and schoolyard squabbles. ”Shh, Lily-bud, it”s alright. I”m here. I”m here and I”ve got you.”
I don”t know how long I weep, a lifetime”s worth of tears and terrors pouring out in great, gasping waves. All the fear, the pain, the desperate, clawing need...that I”ve held tight inside, refused to release, refused to feel...for Grok”s sake, my own.
But Thane takes it, accepts it, his arms an unshakable bulwark. My blood, my bedrock. As my sobs slowly subside, Thane guides me back into the cottage, one arm still firm around my shoulders. I stiffen as his gaze lands on Grok, a low growl rumbling instinctively in my raw throat.
But to my shock, Thane merely inclines his head respectfully, his expression grave but kind. ”Warlord Grok,” he says softly. ”I”m glad to see you alive, if not entirely well. My sister has been...” He clears his throat, a shadow passing over his face. ”Well. It”s been a hard road for you both, I know.”
Grok struggles to sit up straighter, wincing but facing my brother with unbowed pride. ”Thane Hawthorne,” he rumbles, his deep voice rusty with disuse. ”Well met, for all the strangeness of the circumstances.” His eyes cut to me, warm with concern. ”Lily...are you alright?”
I disengage gently from Thane”s hold to cross to Grok, taking his big hand in both of mine. ”I”m fine,” I assure him, managing a wavery smile. ”Better than, now.” I glance over my shoulder at my brother, a question in my eyes. ”Thane...how? Why? Not that I”m not thrilled, overjoyed to see you, but...”
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. ”It”s a long story,” he says wryly. ”And one perhaps best told over a hot meal. You look half-starved, sister. Both of you.”
He unslings a bulging pack from his shoulder, pulling out parcels of travel bread, hard cheese, dried meat. My stomach rumbles eagerly at the sight, my mouth flooding with sudden saliva.
When was the last time I ate? I can barelu remember, every waking thought consumed by Grok, his needs, his care.
As if reading my mind, my love squeezes my hand, his gaze soft with gentle reproach. ”Eat, Lily,” he urges quietly. ”Please. You”ve been wearing yourself to the bone tending me. Let me—let us—return the favor now, just a little.”
Thane hums agreement as he sets out the food, pours ale from a skin into dented tankards. ”Grok has the right of it,” he says, not unkindly. ”You”ll be no good to anyone if you run yourself into the ground, Lily-bud. Least of all him.”
I huff and grumble, but allow the two males to bully me into stuffing myself with bread and cheese, gulping down great fortifying swallows of ale. And I have to admit...it helps, the food sitting warm and heavy in my hollow belly, the alcohol buzzing through my blood.
Thane tells his tale as we eat, Grok and I listening intently. He speaks of the battle”s aftermath, the retreat to Thornhall. Of taking command in my absence, rallying our battered forces. Of the debates, the dissent that followed—some calling for retaliation, others for parlay in the wake of this uneasy truce, this shaky cease-fire.
And through it all, his growing conviction that something fundamental had changed. Some vital piece shifting on the great gameboard of this conflict...centered on the unprecedented bond between ogre warlord and human champion.
On Grok...and me.
”I knew I had to find you,” Thane says softly, his eyes distant, pensive. ”Had to see for myself...what manner of connection could compel such sacrifice, such devotion. And how it might...” He pauses, weighing his words carefully. ”How it might change things. For all of us, human and ogre alike.”
I glance at Grok, reading my own quiet awe in his eyes, the set of his jaw. After a lifetime of war, of strife and slaughter...could it truly be that simple? That a single bond, a love that breached the boundaries of race and rancor...might chart a new course, a road to resolution?
”It won”t be easy,” Thane cautions, as if sensing the shape of our thoughts. ”Even if this fragile peace holds, even if we can bring our peoples to parlay...there are centuries of hatred to overcome. Generations of spilled blood and bone-deep biases. It will take time, tact...and tremendous courage.”
”Courage we have,” Grok says roughly. His hand finds mine, our fingers braiding tight. ”In abundance. As well as a reason to fight, to strive...to achieve what no other has in this war.” His gaze meets mine, molten and ardent, a silent vow.
My heart clenches, a sweet, fierce ache in my chest. Yes. Oh yes, my love. Reason and resolve, to move mountains, forge new futures from the ruins of the old.
Together. Always, only, together.
”Well then,” Thane says, something like wonderwarming his tone. ”I suppose there”s nothing for it but to return to Thornhall and begin the work of building bridges. One stone, one step at a time.”
I smile, hope and determination a fire in my blood, my bones. ”One bond at a time,” I correct softly, lifting our joined hands. Pressing a kiss to Grok”s scarred knuckles, a silent oath. ”One unyielding, unbreakable love...that could reshape the world.”
The road ahead will be hard, fraught with peril and opposition from all sides. But in this moment, in the shelter of this shabby haven, with my mate on one side and my brother on the other...
I feel invincible.
And later that night, when Thane has bedded down by the hearth and Grok and I lie curled together in the narrow bed...we reaffirm that bond, that promise. With hands and hearts and the slow, sweet slide of skin on skin, we map each other anew. Memorize with touch and taste and hushed, heated whispers all the reasons, the ways and wherefores...that this is worth fighting for.
That we are worth fighting for, in the face of all that would divide and deny us.
I rock above him, his thick length sheathed deep in my welcoming heat. One broad hand cups my breast, while the other curves over my hip, guiding our rhythm as ancient as time, as tides.
”Lily,” Grok breathes. ”Gods, Lily, yes. Take me, take all of me. Everything I am, everything...it”s yours. Only ever yours.”
”Mine,” I moan softly, undulating over him in long, lush strokes. Feeling him deep, deeper, his thickness stretching me in the most exquisite ache. ”My Grok, my mate. My heart, my home.”
I lean down to kiss him, slow and sumptuous, my hair curtaining us in a crimson cocoon. We move as one, give and take, a dance that builds in tempo and intensity as pleasure coils tighter. Grok”s teeth graze the tender column of my throat as his fingers find the slick nub at the apex of my sex, circling in maddening counterpoint to his steadily increasing thrusts.
”That”s it,” he growls against my skin as I gasp and shudder above him. ”That”s it, my queen. My goddess. Let go for me, let me see you. I”ve got you, now and always...”
And with a keening cry, I do, shattering in his arms as ecstasy crashes over me in breaking waves. He follows me over, roaring through his own release as I milk him in fluttering, rippling pulses.
We cling to each other as we descend, trading soft kisses and shaking sighs. Murmuring affirmations, adorations, with the little breath we can muster.
”I love you,” I rasp into the sweat-damp hollow of his throat. ”I love you, Grok. In this life and whatever waits beyond, with everything I am...I love you.”
”My Lily,” he rumbles back, arms tight as iron bands around me. ”My soul”s own mate. I will love you to the end of worlds, and then I”ll find you in the next and love you anew. Always, only, endlessly...I am yours.”
We drift into drowsing, lulled by the wondrous weight of this love, this promise. Even as we ready ourselves for the battle to come, the struggle to bring our vision, our fervent dream...to vibrant, valiant life.
A new world, a new way, bought and birthed by this bond, unbreakable and unbounded.
The bond of human and ogre, woman and warrior, forever fused as one.
In this life, and all the rest to come.