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“Be gone, then.”
Without a look back, my clan leaves.
“Don’t get too comfortable, orc,” she says in my ear. “When it is light out, you will take me to your steed and we will find another camp. Then we will rest.”
I would never hurt her, but she doesn’t know that. She is exhausted, a lone female kept without sleep. My clan would never have left her to face dangerous males on her own, especially those with the reputation of the West Mountain orcs. But I have no qualms that her clan cares about her. Nay, the biernaks will feel my wrath soon.
“Get up,” she says.
I play up my weakness, groaning as I struggle to my feet. It’s a trick she knows but perhaps with the holes in her memory, she’s forgotten. I have the upper hand because right now, she doesn’t know me... but I know her well. Her fighting style, the way she thinks—even the way she kisses.
Even though she was shocked by my kiss when I infiltrated her bed last night, I know Shalia. I know she’ll crave my kiss again.
“Where’s your horse?” she snaps when I sway on my feet.
“Back by the creek where you bathed.”
She looks at me suspiciously and even now, she’s fucking beautiful. Like a warrior princess with her battle scars and facial markings. So different than the pretty, sweet maiden that was mine for the taking a mere moon ago.
“And your males won’t be waiting?” she says. “Because if so, you’ll breathe your last breath.”
“Aye, wench. And your heart will cease beating.” There is a double meaning to my words that she will not understand.
“Mayhap your males will kill me without my prisoner,” she agrees. “So, we’ll die together then.”
“The way it should be,” I say softly.
Even though she’s gruff as she holds the blade to my back, I know she’s confused as well. I’m not afraid to die, not by her hand, and she doesn’t understand why.
She owns my life, my heart. She’s welcome to do with them whatever she wants.
We get to the edge of the creek and she whispers, “Where is he at?”
I click my teeth. “Tobias.”
My steed was trained by us both. He does not need to be tied, or enclosed with others. He loves his freedom—just like his mistress—and comes trotting, steam curling from his flared nostrils, eager to see her.
Mayhap he thinks we are just picking her up from Creede the way we do during her summer visits.
She drops the knife in surprise when he nudges her with his massive head, begging for the strokes she normally gives him. Her hand comes out automatically, muscle-memory enabling her to give him the same pets she always does despite not remembering the movement.
The element of surprise is what I need, and I may not get another chance soon. I hook my leg around hers and yank. She drops to the ground, where I collapse with her, a leg over her neck. She recovers quickly, but not fast enough.
We struggle, but my strength is greater. I know her tricks. But this isn’t about prolonging it and so, despite the lurch in my gut, I choke her until she loses consciousness.
Once she’s out, I release my grip and scramble, twisting my large body into practiced movements, maneuvering my hands bound behind my back as low as possible, curling my spine and bringing my knees up to my pointed ears. When I’m as small as can be, I work at loosening my joints and wriggling my hands down my ass and over my feet. Not an easy feat, but one my grandfather made the girls practice hundreds of times.
I know she didn’t tie me because if she had she would have tied my hands tighter to prevent the move. Nay, the males must have tied me after she knocked me out.
When my hands are in front of me, I grab the knife and hook it into my boot, blade up. I run the ropes between my wrists back and forth until the rope snaps, then flip the blade safely down.
I check her over, making sure she breathes freely. When I feel like she’s safe, I cradle her into my arms and sob, for I have never, ever injured Shally. My heart. My love.
