“You honour me, my Maria,” he said, his voice almost painfully soft. “You are a great gift. You bring me such joy.”
Maria was still shivering, blinking toward his eyes — but she felt her head jerk a nod, her tingling hand twitching against his chest, finding its place against his thundering heart.
“And you honour me, Simon,” she whispered back. “Thank you, for granting this to me.”
And in another world, another life, surely Maria would never havethoughtof thanking an orc for such a thing. For baring her like this, flaunting her like this, having his filthy way with her on a dirty forest floor. For drenching her all over with his leavings, coating her with his scent, filling her mouth and her womb and her veryinnardswith him…
But instead, Maria felt only relief.Peace. Even as Simon abruptly eased up to his feet again, tying his trousers with swift fingers. Standing tall and imperious between her still-sprawled legs, his eyes flicking up and down her pliant, grimy body. Lingering first on her heated face, then her sticky-wet breasts, and then on the dual mess still oozing from between her thighs. Almost as if — as if he were assessing her.Judgingher.
But lying here at his feet, sprawled and sated and painted in his scent, Maria still felt no fear. No shame. Only watched, waited, while her mate’s blood-stained lips slowly, surely, curled up. Smug. Certain.Approving.
“Shall any of you Skai stand against me in this?” he said finally, his deep voice rumbling through the trees. “Shall any of you stand against the right of my claim upon this woman, through this rut she has so eagerly borne? Shall any of you say this should no please our Skai fathers? This should no please Skai-kesh?”
He’d waved a casual hand toward Maria’s sprawled, dripping form — and suddenly she could feel the weight of the surrounding orcs’ eyes. The weight of them watching, learning, seeking truth. Skai.
“Anyone?” Simon demanded, the challenge chilly on his voice. “Shall any of you claim that a woman taken thus — or even an orc taken thus — yet no belongs to the one who has done this?”
Still no one spoke, though Maria could see several of the orcs glancing toward one another, their eyes silently speaking. Judging, perhaps. Weighing this new way. Seeking truth.
And finally it was Joarr who stepped forward, his gaze cool and satisfied on Simon’s face. “Ach, no,” he said, inclining his spiky head. “I see your gain, Skai, and wish you a strong son.”
The words sounded strangely formal, somehow — and now there were more orcs saying it, too. Some speaking in the common-tongue, some in black-tongue, but surely all holding the same meaning. A rite, maybe. A vow.
And even Drafli was agreeing, mouthing the words, making a quick, fluid motion with his hands. And for perhaps the first time since they’d met, his eyes on Maria weren’t angry, or contemptuous. Instead, they looked almost…longing, as they angled toward Baldr beside him, and then quickly away again.
“I thank you, my kin,” Simon replied, once the orcs’ voices had fallen silent again. “I welcome you to seek this way also — but onlyafteryou have gained the trust of the one you would seek to claim. Ach?”
There were some scattered nods from the watching Skai, even a few brief smiles — and then the orcs seemed to melt away again. Fading back into the trees, their forms disappearing into the darkening light.
And when Maria blinked around her again, there were only a few orcs left. Joarr, Baldr and Drafli, Kesst and Efterar. And — she twitched — Tristan and Salvi, both of them bent overUlfarr, good gods. Who’d still apparently been lying there all this time, though he at least appeared unconscious at this point, and didn’t even flinch as Salvi pulled his broken leg straight with an awful-looking yank.
“Are we clear, you ken?” Simon said to Joarr, his voice low. “Is there aught more to face? With this duke, mayhap? Or orcs yet sworn to Ulfarr?”
Joarr gave a dismissive shrug, a brief glance northward. “I ken no,” he said. “But I shall keep a band here, and send you word, ach? You no fret over this. You fret” — he jerked his head toward Maria, still sprawled in the dirt at Simon’s feet — “over your mate, ach?”
Joarr winked at Maria as he spoke, but Simon visibly grimaced, and his eyes flicking up and down Maria’s body looked far different than before. Not proud or smug this time, but perhaps… uneasy. Uncertain.
But before Maria could search that, react to that, he’d grabbed for her nearby loincloth and dagger, and then knelt and swept her up into his arms. Not seeming to notice the utter mess of her, and instead tucking her tight and close against his bare chest, against the steady patter of his familiar beating heart.
“Peace, my brave one,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair, and she could feel him striding, carrying her across the clearing. “Efterar, you shall look over her, ach? And Arnthorr, also?”
Arnthorr. Theirson. As if he were already real, already here, and Maria felt her shaky hand skitter to her waist, her bleary eyes blinking up at Simon’s face. She hadn’t often dwelled on Arnthorr’s presence these past days, let alone the name Simon had given him — in fact, she’d fought very hard not to think of him at all, for reasons she hadn’t wanted to consider too closely. But suddenly there was the realization, giddy and oddly staggering, that maybe it was safe to face this again. To see it as real again. To be —free?
“You grant your leave for this, Maria?” Efterar asked, and at her answering nod, she felt his cool hand gently touching to her bare back, and then slipping up, and down, and sideways.
“All is well,” Efterar said, after a moment. “You bear no tearing or bruising, and your son — Arnthorr, you say? — feels hale, and already large for his days. You should now rest, and eat, and drink more of your mate’s good seed.”
This seemed an entirely surreal pronouncement, considering how full Maria’s belly currently felt, and beside Efterar Kesst huffed a laugh, his head shaking. “Gods, Eft, if she has any more, she’s going to explode, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he said lightly. “You positivelyreekof Skai, you must know. How many times did you blow, Simon? Five?”
“Six,” Simon corrected him, voice flat. “As if I were a band of five, ach?”
Right. Because the orc leading the rut — the main orc — would have done so twice. And perhaps Maria ought to have been offended at just how calculated that clearly had been, but she was too caught on the look in Kesst’s eyes. Wry, rueful, almostimpressed.
“Well, if you two have truly just managed to rid your clan of that awful practice from the fuckingdark ages,” Kesst said, his voice both scathing and amused, “you have my respect. Maybe Grim won’t need to tear into the lot of you after all.”
A tenuous warmth was skittering up Maria’s spine — had Kesst just spoken as ifshewere a Skai, too? — and here was the feel of Simon’s mouth, brushing soft against her forehead. “Ach, it is thanks to my brave mate that we have earned this,” he said, hoarse. “And I thank you for your help also, Efterar. And you, Salvi.”
He said the last over his shoulder, and Maria caught a hazy glimpse of Salvi waving a bloody hand, dismissing it. “I refuse to clean your filthy roomever again, though,” he called back. “After this, we aresquare, Simon.”
