Chapter Fourteen
Fenric
I wake with the sunrise draped across my chest and Annie draped across everything else.
She’s curled against me, soft and warm, and smelling like crushed flowers and me , because I spent half the night mapping every inch of her with my tongue, learning the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the way she shivers when I drag my teeth over that spot just below her ear.
One leg is hooked over my hip, her thigh brushing where I’m already hard and aching for her again. Her arm is slung across my stomach, fingertips grazing the old scars from my past near-fatal stupidity.
Last night… fuck. If I’d known pretending to be mates would earn me the right to make her come apart like that, I’d have dropped to my knees for her the moment I saw her in that Gods-damned dress.
She stirs when I shift, lashes fluttering as she lets out a sleepy, satiated noise against my throat.
“I have to go,” I whisper into her hair, though every instinct snarls at me to stay buried inside her warmth. “The tournament waits for no Bull.”
Her eyes crack open, still hazy with pleasure and sleep, but sharpening fast. “You’renotsupposed to fight,” she says, voice rough in a way that goes straight to my cock. “Elda said—”
“Elda always has something to say,” I growl, rolling her beneath me in one smooth motion.
She gasps, bare skin sliding against mine, and I kiss her deeply before she can protest, my tongue tracing hers.
When I pull back, her lips are wet, her chest heaving.
“But right now, I’d rather hear whatyousay. ”
Her nails dig into my shoulders. “ Fenric. ”
Gods, I love my name in her mouth. Especially when it sounds angry.
I smirk and drag myself away, ignoring the ache in my ribs as I reach for my clothes. Behind me, the sheets rustle. I glance over my shoulder and nearly lose my resolve.
She’s sitting up now, the blanket pooled around her waist, her hair a wild tangle of gold. The marks I left on her throat are dark against her skin. Mine.
“You’re so stubborn,” she mutters, but there’s no real heat in it. Not when her gaze keeps dropping to my bare chest.
I finish buckling my armor, then stalk back to the bed. She tilts her chin up, defiant, but her breath hitches when I tangle my fingers in her hair and tug just enough to make her lips part.
“I’m wearing your favor today,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along her swollen lower lip.
She scoffs. “I didn’t give you one.”
“Didn’t you?” I lean down and whisper against her ear. “Then, what do you call the way you came on my tongue last night? Painted my fingers with your pleasure?” I pull back just enough to watch her flush. “Seems like a favor to me.”
She shoves at my chest, but I catch her wrist and press a kiss to her pulse. Then, before she can retaliate, I pluck the ribbon from her hair, the one that’s been teasing me all morning, slipping loose from its knot.
She stiffens. “What are you—?”
I tie it around my wrist, the lavender silk stark against my leathers. “Now, I’ve got proof.”
Her lips part to protest, but I don’t let her speak. I kiss her again, slowly and thoroughly, until she’s clutching my shoulders like she’ll never let go.
When I finally pull away, her eyes are storm-dark. “Please, be careful,” she glares at me.
I grin, “Always.”
Then, I’m out the door, her taste still on my tongue, her ribbon tight around my wrist.
Time to win a tournament.
I stride toward the sparring ring like a man who definitely didn’t almost die from a bee sting yesterday. The other Bulls are gathered in clusters, stretching and posturing. I can feel their eyes tracking me the second my hooves hit the dust.
“Look who survived nature’s deadliest predator,” Berrick calls, hefting a training spear with a shit-eating grin. “You sure you’re safe out here, Fenric? I think I saw a butterfly earlier.”
The others snicker. Someone makes a buzzing noise. I press a dramatic hand to my chest. “Gentlemen, please, you might trigger my apian fears.”
Cray squints at Harl. “What’s ‘apian’ mean?”
“ Bees , you absolute cabbage,” I sigh, flipping a dagger idly in my palm. “Try reading something other than what’s scratched above the tavern's chamber pot.”
Laughter ripples through the group, and I bask in it.
“But in fairness,” I add, flashing a wolfish smile, “That bee did drop me faster than any of you managed to yesterday.”
More jeers. Someone chucks a clod of dirt at me.
I bow like it’s a standing ovation. I’m still grinning when the other men suddenly go silent, and I turn to see Dakar standing behind me.
His arms are crossed, jaw locked, and that telltale vein in his temple is pulsing like a war drum.
Maeve’s fingers dig into his bicep, and again, this tiny female is the only thing stopping him from strangling me.
Ah. Right. My smile slips, and I straighten as I approach, dipping my chin in a nod that’s more respect than greeting. “Chief.” My voice is lighter than I feel. “You’re looking particularly lethal today.”
Maeve gives me a warning look from behind her mate, and I heed it as I step closer. “We’ll make it convincing. Garron won’t see anything but a man head-over-hooves for his mate.”
“This isn’t a game, Fenric. If Garron suspects even a whisper of fakery—”
“Then, he’ll take her,” I finished, my smile slipping. “I know. I’m not playing around.”
Dakar’s glare could gut a lesser Bull where he stood. He’s only a few inches taller than I am, his horns a handspan wider, but right now, I might as well be a Calf caught trampling the crops.
Then he sighs, and some of the tension slips from his shoulders.
He remembers, just like I do, that the trust between us wasn’t built from honeyed words and promises made over mugs of mead.
It was made in the Bone Trenches, when we held the line against the Orc horde until our hooves sank into blood and mud.
When we fought back-to-back with nothing but sheer stubbornness between us and death.
That kind of trust doesn’t come easy. It’s carved from pain, from loyalty proven in the worst moments.
Dakar hasn’t forgotten, and neither have I.
“I know you respect the chain,” he mutters. “But this was reckless, Fenric.”
“I’d do it again,” I reply without hesitation. “For Annie. Every damn time.”
Dakar sighs, but Maeve’s brows lift, a grin curling at the corners of her mouth like she’s already rehearsing how she’ll recite this to Annie, word for word. Oh, she’s loving this.
“You’re an idiot,”
“A loyal one,” I say with a half-smile.
He shakes his head, and there’s no anger, only the unspoken bond of warriors.
I spot Garron crossing the training grounds with two of his own warriors flanking him, their hooves kicking up dust from the hard-packed earth.
“So. The man who folds at insect bites is now mated to Havenmoor’s meekest heifer,” he says as he reaches us.
Oh, hells no .
Maeve’s cheeks flush pink, but she tilts her chin up, those big, green eyes narrowing. “Annie’s kind ,” she mutters under her breath, “Not meek.”
I turn, grinning at him. “Love works in mysterious ways, Commander.”
Garron’s gaze flicks to Dakar, then back to me. “I don’t recall a proper claiming rite.”
My tail flicks. Oh, so we’re doing this? “Apologies, Sir. Should I have invited you to watch?”
One of the Bulls starts choking from behind me. Maeve pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Fenric.” Dakar’s amber eyes narrow. Behave , that look says, or I will break your legs.
Garron’s gaze flicks between us, smug. “Your Captain has a smart mouth.”
“And yet,” Dakar says, voice dry as sun-baked leather, “somehow, he still has all his teeth.”
The warriors behind us snort. One of them muffles a laugh into his fist.
Garron’s lip curls. “I’ll be watching you.”
“I’ll try to be worth the view.” I wink and stride past him toward the ring, and that’s when I catch her scent.
Annie.
Wildflowers and fresh cream, sweet enough to make my cock ache…and that’s the problem, isn’t it? The most dangerous part of this charade isn’t the lies, the politics, or even Garron’s thinly veiled threats.
It’s that somewhere between teasing her, tasting her, and claiming that she’s mine…
I realize I was never actually pretending.