“I must needs carry you,” he said, with a disapproving glance down toward Rosa’s light, scuffed leather boots. “These silly shoes are worth naught, in this rain.”
He himself was wearing a pair of large, sturdy-looking black boots, which Rosa couldn’t even recall seeing before — wheredidorcs acquire footwear, anyway? — and she belatedly glanced back at his face. “Carry me?” she echoed. “All the way to yourmountain?”
It had to be a full day’s journey away, at minimum, over rough and dense terrain, but the expression on John’s face didn’t change in the slightest. “Yes. Now come.”
There seemed to be nothing else for it, so Rosa moved tentatively toward him — and then found herself whisked bodily up with strong, sure arms, and pressed close against his bare chest. It was broad and warm, slowly expanding and collapsing with his breath, and for a brief, hurtling instant she wanted to touch it, stroke it, turn her face and taste it with her tongue —
John was looking down at her, his eyes entirely unreadable, though she could see the hard swallow of his throat. “You shall be still,” he said, “and do not seek to speak, or distract me. I must stay aware, to ensure we are not seen.”
With that, he shifted her to the side, supporting her entire weight with one damnedarm, and nudged the door open, just a crack. Flattening himself, and her, close beside it, as he tilted his head toward the opening and inhaled, long and deep.
He wassmelling, Rosa realized, clearly for the presence of other humans, even through this still-driving rain — and she watched in curious, bated silence as he did it again and again. His eyes distant, his body coiled and tense against her, his mouth frowning in concentration —
And in a juddering jolt of movement, he dodged outside, into the pouring rain. Shutting the library door decisively behind them, the latch clicking into place — and then he sprinted to a run. Tearing with astonishing speed away from the university grounds, across the road, into the open field beyond, his strides long and powerful, his clawed hands gripping almost painfully against Rosa’s already-wet skin.
The forest was approaching, rushing up toward them — and Rosa couldn’t help a shuddering twitch as they surged straight into the thick line of trees. But not into the close, constricting scrape of branches and leaves, like she’d perhaps expected — but instead only into hushed whispering darkness, tall tree trunks flashing by as John dashed around and through and between, following some invisible, impossible path.
It was the strangest feeling, being barrelled through the forest in the strong, safe arms of a furiously sprinting orc — and even more so when those big arms shifted her more upright, spreading her legs so she was straddling his hip. Holding her the way a mother would hold a child, almost, so that her body was pressed up close against him, his arm circled tight beneath her arse.
He hadn’t once looked at her in this, or even slightly broken stride, but Rosa could feel how this position would be easier, how her weight was spread more evenly against him. And how — she squirmed a little, and then, in a burst of daring, tightly wrapped her legs around his waist — she could make it even easier, working with his big body, rather than against it.
The hand against her arse lightly squeezed, almost as if in approval, and Rosa felt flushed all over as she leaned in closer, and inhaled the musky scent of his bare chest. It was slick and glistening now, drenched with both rain and sweat, his dark grey nipples pebbled, his muscles standing out stark beneath his scars. There were also tendrils of wet black hair stuck against it, coming out long and loose from his braid — and even worse, his hip was grinding unmercifully against Rosa’s groin, every stride of his leg a torturous rhythmic stroke justthere. And she realized, with a sputtering chagrin, that her tunic had worked its way upwards, so that her open, swollen bare heat was pressed directly against that glorious solid strength —
John stopped running so abruptly that the world seemed to stutter, and before Rosa quite knew what had happened, he’d deposited her down beneath a large tree, and backed swiftly away. His eyes distant, hooded as he gazed at her, and she blinked dazedly back, grasping at the tree for balance, trying to find purchase on her shaky legs.
“I must eat,” he said, voice hard, as he thrust the wrapped package of books into her hands. “Stay here. And keep these dry.”
Rosa nodded, clutching the books to her chest, while her eyes darted greedily up and down his drenched, bare-chested form. And then finding — her breath stilled — an undeniable, impossibly thick bulge, jutting out strong and hungry against the front of his trousers.
Gods. Rosa’s betraying tongue had come out to lick her lips, and in reply there was a quiet, strangled noise from deep in John’s throat — but without another word, he whirled away, and took off into the trees.
Rosa watched him go, her eyes lingering on his broad bare back, the hard curve of his arse — and then she sagged against the damp tree trunk behind her, and clutched the books to her chest, so tightly it hurt.
This was supposed to be research. This was supposed to get Lord Kaspar his war, and spare Rosa from an otherwise hellish fate. And she had to keep her wits about her, and pay attention, rather than being constantly befuddled by this alarming, appalling orc.
But the situation was not helped by John’s inevitable return, perhaps a quarter-hour later. Now complete with a generous splatter of fresh blood across his glistening bare chest, and — Rosa nearly choked — also dripping red from the claws of his right hand, and from the corner of his mouth.
Gods, she was losing hermind, and Rosa squeezed her eyes shut, and fought to fill her brain with grisly images of whatever poor helpless animal he’d just devoured. “Better?” she managed. “Nice snack?”
His tongue darted out, long and black and sinuous, to lick the blood on his mouth, and curse her but Rosa nearly groaned aloud, her eyes arrested on the sight. While John’s head tilted, his wet braid falling over his shoulder, as he raised his reddened claws to his mouth, and — Rosa nearly groaned again — slowly licked them off, one by one.
“Yes,” he said, once he’d finished, in answer to her question. “I should have brought you a taste, but I know you humans only scoff at good fresh meat.”
He was frowning at her again, as though this fact were some personal failing on her part, and then strode over toward her. Looming far too close, tall and bloody and breathtakingly powerful, as one hand grasped for the package of books she’d still been holding, and his other hand came to tug downwards at the too-low neck of her damp tunic.
Rosa froze all over, perhaps expecting him to expose her, or rip the tunic, the way he’d done with her dress — but he was only frowning, first at her collarbone, and then lower, to her sternum. “Yet,” he said, almost more to himself than her, “you must hunger, woman. You weigh little more than a youngling, and your tiny bones ought not to be seen thus.”
He again spoke with sharp disapproval, as if Rosa bore full responsibility for affronting his eyes in such a way — this, when he was literally still dripping withblood— and she belatedly yanked the tunic back together, hiding the objectionable sight of her bones from his critical gaze.
“Well, excuse me for offending your delicate sensibilities, orc,” she snapped at him. “Maybe next time you can actually bring me some meat to eat, and you won’t have to be quite so repulsed at the sight of me.”
The orc’s eyes flicked up to hers, something odd shifting within them, and he shook his head, whipping more loose black hair out of his straggling braid. “I am notrepulsed,” he said, his tongue sounding careful on the word. “I only do not follow this. Why does this rich man not feed you, as he should? Does hewishto keep his pet small and weak?”
Rosa had already opened her mouth, about to point out that feeding her wasn’t Lord Kaspar’s responsibility in the least — and more importantly, she wasnotLord Kaspar’spet— but then she pressed her lips together, while the memories paraded behind her eyes. Her salary at the library was nominal, meant to be a small honorarium for an already-wealthy student employee, and Lord Kaspar had claimed an utter inability to order an increase to it, lest he be accused of favouritism amongst his lesser colleagues. And while he had on occasion given Rosa coin, when she’d been particularly desperate, it had always been grudging, annoyed, reluctant.
I’ve already gone above and beyond to give you this post, haven’t I? he’d said once. With my income being what it is, I cannot afford to have another mistress hanging on my purse-strings. You’re better than that, Rosa darling. Aren’t you?
And while that mention ofanothermistress had been quite spectacularly lowering, at the same time, it had also placed Rosa in a different place, a different sphere, than the rest. Not simply another interchangeable pretty face paid for pleasure — but someone important, someone clever, someoneworthy. I should rather enjoy having you for a wife…
