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“I followed your rules,” Leaf pointed out, his voice steady. “If you break them, I break them.”
To punctuate his warning, blue lightning crackled at his fingertips.
The captain glanced at the witnesses gathering, then bared his teeth.
“You win.” He spat blood on the sand, tossed the dagger, and his bloody lips stretched into a terrifying smile. “Now, you must mate with her.”
Nova tensed at the implication. Here?
“At the camp,” Leaf agreed, backing away from the orc to shield her with his body. “Same as the other victors.”
A new kind of panic entered Nova’s pulse. What the actual fuck? As if he sensed her spiraling anxiety, Leaf’s hand slipped behind his body and squeezed her hip. It wasn’t a lecherous grope. It was short and platonic. Businesslike.
He must have a plan.
Did he?
Nova squeaked as he tossed her over his shoulder. It happened so fast. Her arms dangled, and the blood rushed to her head and pooled in the temple Grung had hit. As it throbbed, her hair dripped patterns onto the ground while they walked.
But she wasn’t looking at that. Not really. Not when she had a face full of flexing taut buttocks encased in tight leather. Her cheeks heated, more blood rushed to her head, and she promptly passed out.
ChapterEight
Nova awoke inside a dark tent with an angry elf pacing by her bedroll. She tried to sit, but dizziness sent her down with a groan.
“Where are we?” she mumbled.
“Where do you think?”
His gruff, irritated tone made Nova’s brow scrunch.
Taking a moment to breathe, she let the dizziness abate and took stock of her surroundings. Campfires outside gave enough light for her to register the color and texture of the canvas. It was the same dirty green from the war camp. Her stomach sank. She was still here—still a prisoner.
Her lumpy bedroll smelled musty and was squished against a damp wall. Piles of clothes and hoards of loot lined the length of the opposite wall. With a middle peak high enough to stand beneath, but smaller at two sides, Leaf had worn a path with his restricted pacing in the center of the cluttered space.
This must be one of the soldier’s tents.
Carousing and raucous shouts outside ruined her false sense of safety.
The army waited. Celebrating. Did that mean Leaf had already… She patted down her damp dress and pressed hesitantly between her thighs, feeling for bruising.
Leaf stopped pacing. Alarm hit his shadowed eyes, and he hissed, “No, I did not fuck you while you slept. You’re the last person I’d—” He quickly shut his mouth and glared at the tent’s closed flap.
Voices outside hushed.
“Sounds like she is awake, Guardian!” The mocking voice was unmistakably Grung’s. “You best claim your prize, or she is fair game.”
Leaf contemplated his palms as if they’d betrayed him. He still wore his battle uniform. The only change was that his long blond hair had been combed. Well, that and his mood.
The voices outside picked up in volume. Leaf resumed pacing. Every time he pivoted, his damp hair flicked. She mustn’t have been unconscious for long if they were both still wet from the river.
“You’re soaked,” she mumbled, to which he ignored.
She slid from the bedroll and searched a pile of clothing in the corner. One piece looked like a cloak. That would be fine. When she faced him, two narrow eyes watched her warily. Flattening her lips, cursing in Spanish, she approached him and held out the cloak.
He slapped her offering away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Enough.” Her eyes flashed.“No puedo creer que los hombres todavía creen que saben todo sobre todo.”
