Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
After depositing Thea in his tent, Khorrek crossed to the fire pit and began the familiar ritual of building a fire.
Kindling first—dried grass and small twigs arranged in a pyramid—then larger sticks layered around it.
Then flint and steel, the sharp crack-crack of sparks until one caught and smoke began to curl upward.
The mindless work helped. Gave him something to focus on besides the uncomfortable awareness that Thea was in his tent, surrounded by his things.
He added a few more sticks to the fire, the snap and crackle a familiar comfort even though he could feel Brennik’s gaze on him.
“So, what’s the plan?” Brennik asked with false innocence. “Do we get to play with her before we get to Kel’Vara?”
“No.” The word came out clipped and hard.
“Just asking.” Brennik held up his hands, but his eyes lingered on Khorrek’s tent. “I can see why the High King might want her untouched.”
I didn’t leave her untouched. I gave her my tunic. I carried her to my tent and left her on my bedroll. The image of her small body on his furs was seared into his brain.
He ignored the low growl from his Beast and forced his expression to remain neutral. Lasseran might suspect him of wavering loyalty, but he couldn’t know that Khorrek’s own body was betraying him with this… obsession with his captive.
Stop.
He focused on the fire instead, feeding larger branches into the growing flames and watching them catch and burn. Once the fire was steady, he hung his travel pot over the fire and picked up the wrapped bundle of dried meat and grain that he’d prepared earlier.
They were traveling rations, designed to keep a soldier moving rather than satisfy any desire for flavor, but they would do.
He’d just started measuring out grain when he heard light footsteps behind him just as her scent reached him.
You have to be joking.
He turned to find Thea at the edge of the firelight, still wearing his tunic like an oversized dress. Her hair—that wild auburn tangle that seemed determined to escape any attempt at order—caught the firelight and turned it copper.
She looked at him and looked at the pot. Then she sat down right next to him as if she had every right to be there. As if he hadn’t just told her to stay in the tent where she’d be safe from men who were staring hungrily at her.
“What the fuck—” He caught himself. She wouldn’t understand.
She gave him a small, tentative smile—the kind of smile that said she knew exactly what he was thinking and had decided to ignore it.
Then she started talking.
It wasn’t the angry stream of words from before. Instead she gestured as she spoke—at the pot, at the fire, at him, at herself—her voice lilting upwards at the end of each phrase.
He added water to the pot and ignored her, but she kept talking. She pointed to the pot again, clearly asking a question. She wanted to know what he was making.
Why? What possible difference did it make?
But she was looking at him with those bright, curious eyes, and something in his chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with his Beast.
He sighed and held up the wrapped bundle of dried meat. “Rethka.”
Her eyes lit up. “Rethka?”
Her pronunciation was terrible—the guttural consonant came out wrong, too soft—but she’d tried.
“Rethka,” he repeated, slower this time.
“Reth-ka.” Better. Still not right, but closer and something that might have been approval stirred in his chest. He crushed it.
Don’t encourage her.
But she was already pointing at the grain. At the pot. At the fire. Each time making that questioning sound, waiting for him to provide the word.
He told himself he was only answering her because her constant stream of questions in that incomprehensible language irritated him. That teaching her a few basic words would make communication easier during the trip.
It certainly wasn’t because her face lit up every time she successfully repeated a new word. Or because his Beast settled when she focused on him instead of glancing nervously towards where the men sat watching them.
He pointed at the fire. “Thorak.”
“Thorak.” She frowned and tried again. “Thor-ak.”
“Close enough.”
She blinked and tilted her head, studying him as if he were some kind of interesting problem.
The thought should have annoyed him. Instead, it was almost…
refreshing. The mercenaries looked at him with fear and resentment.
The other humans in Lasseran’s service looked at him with suspicion—the tame orc, the High King’s pet monster.
Even the other orcs in Lasseran’s private army of Beast Warriors would only have been looking for weaknesses.
Thea looked at him as if she wanted to know who he was.
Across the fire, Brennik muttered something too quietly for him to catch, but Dann’s responding laugh was much louder. Her attention snapped towards them, and her shoulders tensed.
He knew she didn’t understand what they’d said, but she knew it was about her.
His hand drifted toward his sword. Brennik noticed, and his grin faltered.
“Just talking, orc. No need to get territorial.” The mercenary’s tone was mocking, but he shifted his weight backwards away from the fire, away from her.
Good.
The water in the pot began to boil. He added the grain and meat, stirring it with a long wooden spoon that had seen better days. The smell of cooking food filled the camp—not appetizing, exactly, but familiar enough to make his stomach growl.
She’d gone back to watching him. When he looked over at her, she gave him a hopeful smile before pointing at the pot and miming eating.
She’s hungry.
Of course she was. Who knew how long she’d been in the stone circle? His Beast growled at the thought of her hunger, but he held up his hand, counting down with his fingers—enough time for the meat to soften and the grain to absorb the liquid.
She nodded and waited with surprising patience until he ladled out a portion of stew into a wooden bowl and handed it to her.
She took it with both hands, her fingers brushing his, and the brief contact sent sparks racing up his arm. He quickly pulled back to fill his own bowl with more haste than necessary. The stew sloshed over the sides, but he ignored it.
She said something, the same sounds she made when he gave her his tunic. She was thanking him—and why did that bother him? He was simply making sure that his… captive survived the trip to Kel’Vara.
She took a cautious bite and made a face, but she took another bite anyway. She was smart enough to know she needed to eat, even if she didn’t like it. But perhaps he could capture some game on the way back, some fresh meat to add to the pot…
His Beast growled approvingly at the idea of proving his hunting prowess, but he quickly suppressed the idea.
They ate in silence as night fell around them.
The mercenaries gathered on the opposite side of the fire, passing a bottle around.
The horses stamped and snorted in their makeshift corral.
Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called.
It should have felt peaceful, but there was a subtle undercurrent of tension that made his skin prickle.
She finished her stew and set the bowl aside, and he realized she was shivering slightly.
The temperature’s dropping. She’s wearing nothing but your tunic.
He stood, and pointed toward his tent, then made a sleeping gesture—his hands pressed together beneath his cheek.
She looked at him, then looked at the tent and shook her head.
Why am I not surprised?
She started talking again although he couldn’t tell if it was more questions or simply arguments. Her voice had that stubborn edge that he was rapidly learning meant she’d dug her heels in about something.
He tried again. Tent. Sleep.
She crossed her arms and stayed exactly where she was.
Fine.
He walked over to where she sat, bent down, and picked her up.
“What—hey! Put me—”
He carried her to the tent, ignoring her protests. She wasn’t hitting him this time, just making outraged noises that would have been funny if he’d allowed himself to find anything about this situation amusing.
Inside the tent, he set her down on his bedroll. Again.
She glared at him, and said something that was definitely not complimentary.
“Stay,” he ordered, pointing at the furs. It was the same tone he used with subordinates who were testing his patience—but she still opened her mouth to argue.
He raised one eyebrow. Try me.
Her mouth snapped shut. For a long moment, they stared at each other in a silent battle of wills. She looked away first.
Triumph filled him, even though it was a petty victory.
He turned to leave, then hesitated. This early in the year, the night would be cold. They were too far south for frost, but the temperature would drop enough that she’d be uncomfortable. Possibly worse than uncomfortable, if the shivering he’d seen was any indication.
And she was wearing nothing but his tunic.
He sighed and untied a heavy winter fur from the bottom of his pack, then spread it over her before he could talk himself out of it.
She made a small surprised sound before her hands came up to touch the fur, running over it with something like wonder. Then she tilted her head, looking at him with those sharp grey eyes as she asked a question.
The words were incomprehensible, but the meaning was clear in her tone, her expression, and the way she gestured between the furs and him.
Why?
Why was he helping her? Why was he being kind when he’d kidnapped her and dragged her away from the stone circle?
Good questions. He didn’t have good answers. The fact that she was his mission was not enough.
Ignoring the question, he settled onto the ground near the tent entrance, his back against his pack. Not on the bedroll. Not sharing her space. Just… blocking the entrance. Making sure the soldiers would have to go through him to get to her.
He could feel her watching him before she asked another question. A different question this time, but he ignored that too.