Chapter 3
Behind the door, Raye knew what to expect. The same big, bulky, craggy-faced orc she remembered from that long-ago night. Huge, hostile, and hateful.
But as she blinked at the orc standing before her, she found someone… different. Still the same orc, yes, with the same heavy features, the huge powerful body, the massive axe on his back. And he had a sword at his side now too, long and curved and gleaming, with vicious serrated edges.
But he also looked… older. Tired. With a tight, grim mouth, and deep hollows under his dark eyes. And though he couldn’t be much older than Raye’s own thirty-odd years, his long black hair betrayed several streaks of grey, half-bound back into a thick knot on his head.
He was looking at Raye too, his assessing eyes sweeping up and down her body in her baggy threadbare dress.
As if he was judging her, weighing her, and Raye fought down the urge to cross her arms over her breasts, to hide herself from his gaze.
Gods, this was the worst idea, what was she thinking, what the fuck was she doing…
But she couldn’t move, and couldn’t stop looking at him, either.
She hadn’t seen another orc up close since the day she’d threatened Kalfr, and she’d forgotten how rich their grey skin was, how they dressed like this, in rugged-looking leathers and furs.
And how their nostrils would flare like that, always sniffing for scents, just like Svein did.
And Gaelfr’s tall pointed ears were just like Svein’s too, and that stubborn set to his mouth, and Raye could even smell something similar on his scent, wild and musky and sweet.
“Woman,” Gaelfr said, deep and decisive, as if something had been settled between them — and he stalked past Raye, and into the cottage.
Frowning around at it with that same intent judgement, his eyes flicking over the empty fireplace, the small table with its two stools, the large spools of spun yarn, the bolts of woven cloth, the loom and spinning wheel taking up almost half the room.
And finally, his narrow eyes flicked to the closed door to Svein’s room, reinforced with multiple bands of steel.
“So?” Raye’s thin voice croaked, into the silence. “What the hell do you want?”
Gaelfr turned his heavy gaze upon her, his brow furrowed. “Why is Kalfr not here?” he demanded. “Why is there no new scent of him upon you, or in this house?”
Raye blinked at him, once, and barked a hoarse, grating laugh. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” she shot back. “As if you need to ask?!”
Gaelfr’s lip curled, but his brow furrowed deeper, and his head cocked sideways. A look that shot more strange sudden recognition through Raye’s scrambling thoughts, because Svein so often looked at her like that, even with his brow furrowed like that, oh gods.
“Ach, I need to ask,” Gaelfr said, slow and deliberate, as if he were talking to a child. “Kalfr ought to be here. He ought to be caring for you, and our son.”
Our son, again. More icy alarm wrenched up Raye’s back, because yes, this terrifying orc still thought that, and how had she forgotten it? This was what was at stake here. Gaelfr was her betrayer. Her enemy.
“Kalfr and I were finished eight years ago,” she snapped, though her voice sounded thin. “The night you decided to take him from me!”
It should have been an unassailable argument, a paltry victory in all this mess, but Gaelfr’s brow only furrowed deeper, his heavy jaw flexing in his cheek.
“I did not take Kalfr from you,” he gritted out.
“Ach, as soon as I learnt you had borne a son of his loins, I left! I gave you my ástvinur all for your own, just as you wished!”
He… what? Raye stared at Gaelfr for a long, thudding moment, while something roared low and distant in her ears.
For all these years, she had never once imagined that Gaelfr could be…
gone. That Kalfr had been… alone. No, no, she’d always envisioned them off hunting together, living deep in that Orc Mountain together, Kalfr’s lean body arching up, Gaelfr’s sharp teeth sinking into his throat…
“W-why?” she asked, unsteadier than she meant. “Where did you go? How long?”
Gaelfr stared back at her, his breath hissing out in a low, disbelieving growl.
“I left,” he snarled, “because you did not want me. I went south across the sea, where I could no longer scent my ástvinur, and be tempted to come home, and take what was mine. And I have been gone for all these summers, believing that amidst my own great loss, Kalfr would be at peace here with you, and our son would be guarded, and cared for, and safe!”
His voice thundered through the room, heavy with accusation and rage, and Raye couldn’t move, couldn’t think over that rising roar in her ears. Guarded. Cared for. Safe.
Gaelfr had left, because… he’d wanted to protect Svein? He’d wanted Kalfr and Raye to… reconcile?
Raye’s whirling thoughts flashed back to all Kalfr’s apologies, all his attempts to visit, the dozens of letters she’d thrown in the fire. And strongest and most horrifying of all, that awful threat she’d made, taking Svein away across the sea…
“W-why would you think that?” she demanded, though it came out too plaintive, too faint. “Why would you ever expect us to reconcile, when Kalfr — he betrayed me with you! In front of my own damned eyes!”
Gaelfr stared at her for another frozen, hanging instant — and then, oh gods, he laughed. Laughed, deep and dark and terrifying, judging her, mocking her. And worst of all was the way it transformed his hard face, his smile broad and white and wolfish, so stunning it took Raye’s breath away.
“You ken that was betrayal, woman?” he asked, still with that beautiful, horrible grin on his face. “A bite to his neck, a hand to his trousers? When I could have had him kneeling and screaming for me in your garden, watering it with our fresh seed?”
Oh. Oh. The vision of it writhed and kicked as it unfurled behind Raye’s eyes, so strong it staggered her on her feet.
Her tall, beautiful, generous mate, bent double and begging for this awful commanding orc.
And had Kalfr really wanted that from Gaelfr, and why couldn’t she reconcile it with the way he’d moved over her, the ease and the power in his fluid body, the hunger in his eyes and his touch.
But Gaelfr kept giving her that awful smile, the cruelty glittering in his hard eyes.
“Or you ken it could not have gone the other way?” he hissed.
“You ken Kalfr could not have fought me down and had his way with me, and howled his triumph to the goddess? He is my ástvinur, woman, and thus he is mine, in every way there is to make this!”
Something plunged hard and bitter in Raye’s chest — no, no, no — and she desperately dragged for air, and pulled herself as tall as she could.
“You — smug — horrible — swine,” she sputtered, between heavy breaths.
“As if I would ever reconcile with Kalfr, after that! After the likes of you! I was justified in what I did, in putting up boundaries against you two cheating lying bastards, and protecting myself and my son!”
Gaelfr’s smile twisted into a harsh, vicious growl, and he came a step closer, his eyes blazing on hers.
“No, woman,” he spat. “You were jealous, and stubborn, and greedy, and selfish. You broke your deep vows to my ástvinur. And I ken your fool human grudge has brought great danger and darkness upon our blameless son, and threatened his very life!”
No. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t. And Raye wanted to scream, to wail, to hurl a heavy bolt of spun fabric straight into Gaelfr’s lying face.
He’d stolen her mate, he’d ruined her life, and now he was blaming her for hurting Svein?
For putting Svein at risk? After all she’d done, and all she’d lost?
Why the fuck had she ever let this monster through the fucking door?
“And further,” Gaelfr snarled, as he snapped out a folded paper from his belt, and unfurled it before her, “I ken you have done this!”
This. Raye shot a furious glare down toward the paper, ready to dismiss it at once — but then she froze in place, as something hot, and then cold, streaked through her belly.
It was a drawing, and it was — Kalfr. Sketched in pencil, in light and dark shades of grey, with impressive clarity and deftness.
But Kalfr, too, looked… different. Older.
His face was hollower than it had once been, with faint lines around his eyes and mouth, and his thick black hair was tightly braided back, without a single cheerful curl out of place.
He carried none of his usual weapons, either, and he looked thinner than before, his trousers hanging off his hips. While beside him…
Raye’s throat spasmed, because beside Kalfr, there was — a woman. A tall, slim, beautiful woman, with a cool, satisfied smile on her mouth. And the way she was touching Kalfr, her long manicured fingernails gripping possessively at his arm, it was…
“Wh-what is this?” Raye’s voice asked, scraping out her throat. “It’s not — real? Kalfr hasn’t found a new… mate?”
It came out sounding jealous, curse her, or even angry — but Gaelfr’s answering growl felt just as angry, and he began pacing across the small room, his clawed hand clenched on his huge sword hilt.
“I had hoped not,” he snapped. “This drawing was sent to me in the south, with no clear name or scent upon it. I prayed it was only a falsehood, or mayhap some fool jest — and I would yet find Kalfr here, with you!”
He whirled around to glare at Raye, sweeping his hand across the room.
“But it seems,” he growled, “you have driven my ástvinur away from his rightful home, and his precious son, into the arms of some hateful new harpy! I should never have dreamt he could find worse than you, but I ken he has gone and done it!”
His voice thundered through the air, through Raye’s already-trembling body. I should never have dreamt he could find worse than you. Worse than you. Worse than you…
It was too much, too much shrill screeching chaos in Raye’s skull, raging with hurt and jealousy and grief. And her mouth was already opening, about to start screaming back at him. To tell him to shut his lying mouth, and get the fuck out of her house, and never, ever come back —
When — a sound. A movement, behind them. And when Raye staggered around to look, her breath heaving, there was — Svein. Standing in his bedroom doorway, blinking between her and Gaelfr with wide, terrified eyes, and clutching his favourite floppy toy to his chest.
Raye forced her quivering mouth shut, and beside her, Gaelfr had gone still. Not looking at her now, but instead gazing back at Svein, his eyes blinking hard, his swallow bobbing in his throat. Looking for an instant like he’d been struck across the face, or maybe like he’d seen a ghost.
Svein was studying Gaelfr too, glancing up and down his huge body. His gaze holding on Gaelfr’s fur cloak, his axe and his sword, his big black boots. And then rising all the way back up to Gaelfr’s face, searching it with surprising intensity, as his nostrils quivered and flared.
“You’re an orc, too,” Svein whispered, his voice barely audible. “Are you… are you my father?”
And even as Raye opened her mouth, fought to form an answer, Gaelfr strode toward Svein, and fell to one knee before him. Bowing his head, putting his hand to his heart, as if —
“Ach, my son,” Gaelfr said, deep with certainty and truth. “I am.”