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“Nay. And you won’t tell her unless I take you to Solaya.”
I laugh. “You’ll take me. You’ve been trying to get me in your village since you met me.”
“Aye, wench. And you’ve been trying to get in my pants since you met me.”
A gurgle of surprised laughter bubbles out of me. “Not my fault you flit about in those leather pants and shirtless vests.”
“I don’t flit, female,” he mock-growls. “’Tis the West Mountain orc style.”
“Perhaps flit was the wrong word. Strut is more fitting.”
When my laughter rings out again, I realize that I haven’t laughed in a long time. And if I had, surely I didn’t feel it, down deep inside my soul the way I do when I’m with him.
There’s something about this orc that I like. That draws me.
“Will I be safe in your village?” I ask suddenly, the vulnerability surprising me. Right now, I trust him. And I shouldn’t, deep down I know this.
“You will always be safe with me. In our village. In our home. On our horse.” He leans toward me, his shoulders rounded and hunched as he makes himself smaller to fit me.
He nuzzles the side of my neck, and oh, my, this feels... this feels familiar. Maybe not the movement. But the feeling. And so, I angle my head more to give him room to run his lips along the sensitive tendon.
This is how I feel when I have the dreams that I crave. The same, giddy, glad-to-be home emotion inside.
I reach out to feel the hard wall of his chest. He’s warm and under my fingers, his heart thumps steadily, strong and eager to have me close.
I know that beat.
I’ve dreamed of that beat. We’ve danced to it and then later, I curled my cheek to the unknown chest while the beating thumped under my ear. He’s the male of my dreams... but those dreams are make-believe. He is real.
“Let’s get you fed, pretty warrior princess,” he rumbles, and his thumb tenderly traces the dark circle under my eye. “And then we’ll let you sleep, eh? You will be safe. You will have your night in my furs, though you are too exhausted for anything but rest. I will hold you and you can have your girly dreams.”
My dreams. Might I be so lucky as to have the male in my dreams? But then what he said dawns on me.
“Girly dreams?” I huff.
“Aye, my pretty. I told you I know you. Walked around in a fantasy for half the morn, a smile on your face from visiting those dreamlands. You never told me what they were about before so I can only imagine it’s me you dream of.”
“You are not in my dreams! I told you they are of dancing around the fires, the drums, the music—”
“Aye, and probably a male’s green chest you snuggle up to during some dances, eh?”
“’Tis not,” I say primly.
“We’ll see,” he says, pulling his pack from the side of the steed. Then he sets the horse, Tobias, free to roam.
“Are you sure he’ll return?” I ask, as Bakog starts to put together a tent.
“Always.”
Like he understands me, the horse comes to me for a nuzzle before he turns away to find areas to graze.
When our camp is set, Bakog unpacks his food. There are small, dense loaves of bread with fruit and seeds. Dried, spiced meat. Carrots for Tobias, probably easier to ride with than apples.
“How do you know we’re safe in this camp?” Not that I believe my tribe is lying in wait to capture us, but a normal orc should think that way.
“I moved us from Blackheart territory to the woods near Serenity, which are considered neutral now. Not that I’m worried about Blackhearts. ‘Tis just a sign of respect.”
I could argue that obviously my clan is Blackheart or we wouldn’t have dared to be on their land. But I won’t because it’s wiser to keep some things to myself, to watch, listen, and learn.
