And gods, why did she even care? Why had she even gotten drawn into that again, allowed herself to trust him again, towanthim again? He was a cruel, selfish, calculatingcrook, and even if he’d wanted that pleasure with her — or evenenjoyedit, damn it — that certainly didn’t change the truth of it in the slightest.
This was just a job. Just her next step. And Geva needed to keep her distance, keep her focus on her goal. One month, and then the sea.
But it was only cold comfort, and the shivery memories of that fierce, forbidden pleasure kept swinging out, with no logic or warning. The way Rathgarr’s hungry, swollen heft had sprayed those streams of sweet seed. The way his finger had delved so deep inside her. The way he’d touched her exactly how she’d shown him, thereby proving himself a more attentive lover than most of the human men who’d shared her bed. An orc. A cold, calculatingcriminal, who otherwise couldn’t care less how she felt, or what she wanted.
She only fell asleep after telling herself what felt like a dozen tales, silently reciting them line by line while she clutched at the blanket, and squeezed her eyes shut. The tale of the days when the squirrels ran rampant over the earth. The time when the lizard survived a great flood. The story of the hero who transformed into a shaggy dog and tricked everyone he knew, but for his quick, clever wife.
But even once sleep finally came, wakefulness returned far too soon. And with it, the unmistakable, alarming sound of someone just outside the room’s door. Someone jiggling at the latch — lifting it up from the outside — before swinging the door wide open.
Geva yelped and flailed up in bed, yanking the blanket to her neck — but of course, it was only him. Rathgarr. Still dressed in the clothes he’d worn the night before, but — she blinked — they were now far filthier than before, with multiple green and brown streaks across his previously pristine white tunic. And wait, did he have ablackeye?
“Did you get into a fight?” Geva’s voice demanded, before she could possibly stop it, and in return Rathgarr shot her a narrow, contemptuous look, and slammed the door shut behind him. And then he strode over toward her, and promptly began yanking off his clothes, tossing them onto the bed.
Geva kept staring blankly up at him, watching as he stripped off his fur, and then his hooded cloak, and then his stained white tunic. Revealing a broad, powerful, muscled grey chest, with deep grey nipples, and a heavy dusting of thick black hair. And beneath it, a softer-looking abdomen, bisected with a line of more dark hair, thickening as it trailed down toward his low-slung trousers…
Geva dragged her eyes away with effort, gritting her teeth, clamping her hands to fists against the blanket. No.No. He was cold. Selfish. A criminal. One month, and then the sea.
She belatedly lurched her own bare body out of bed, shoving past Rathgarr’s bulk toward the wardrobe — but then her feet faltered, her breath choking in her throat. Because — those were fresh redscratches, down Rathgarr’s grey chest and shoulders. Scratches that looked to be from… fingernails. Human fingernails. A woman’s fingernails, perhaps.
Had he… met someone else overnight? Had he left Geva alone, foranother woman?
Something powerful plummeted in Geva’s chest, strong enough that she almost retched — and she rushed the rest of the way to the wardrobe, yanking it open, clutching numbly at clothes. Gods, she had to dress in all this again, and what even went where, why couldn’t shethink—
“Ach, poppet,” came Rathgarr’s voice from behind her, a little tentative. “I can carry some of this today. No need to wear it all again.”
Oh. Geva shot a wet-eyed look over her shoulder toward him, and then down toward his pack — where it must have been lying all night — and managed a tight little nod. And then attempted to return her focus to her clothes, yanking on a shift with shaky hands, and then her simplest day-dress, and her stockings and boots.
She’d tied her scarf around her hair to sleep, so she took that out, too, fanning out the tight black curls around her head. And amidst everything else the night before, she’d neglected to oil them — but when she spun back to collect the oil from her satchel, she nearly ran straight into Rathgarr again, damn the gigantic bastard. And damn the way he was still standing here, blocking her with his infuriating bare chest, with all those appalling scratches upon it.
But he still wasn’t moving, and his eyes were fixed blankly to Geva — or rather, to her head. And his big hand was slowly, purposefully rising in midair between them, reaching toward her hair. Almost as if he wanted to… totouchit. To stroke it like he had in the wardrobe, like when she’d been sucking him, and…
“You donottouch my hair,” she hissed at him, and she almost tripped as she dodged around him, and began digging frantically through her satchel. Finding the bottle of scented oil — her mother’s traditional recipe — and fumbling at the cork, pouring out the familiar liquid into her shaky palm. And then rubbing her hands together, warming it, before combing her fingers through her hair, the way she always did. Andwhywas Rathgarr still looking at her like this, looking rather like she’d struck him across the face.
“You did not…” he began, his tongue brushing his lips, as his eyes darted down to where the washbasin was still sitting beside the bed. “You… washed your hair. In water scented of…this.”
Geva’s disbelief surged with staggering, furious force, and she glared fiercely toward him, yanking her hands hard enough through her hair that she winced. “Do you honestly have some kind of problem with that?” she shot back. “It was due for a wash, so I washed it! It’s notmyfault the bathwater was full of your spunk, is it? And even if Iamstuck working for you for the next month, you still haveno rightto tell me what to do with my own damned hair.None!”
Her voice had gone thin and shrill, dangerously close to breaking — and before her, Rathgarr grimaced, and ran a hand through his own hair, too. Which, Geva irritably noticed, was far more mussed-looking than it had been the night before, no doubt due to his overnight trysting with whatever unfortunate woman he’d met. Or more likely, whatever woman he’d gone andpaid.
“I seek to tell younaught, woman,” he replied, his voice stiff, his eyes angling guiltily away. “It is only… I did not ken… my scent, on your hair from this, it is…”
Geva kept frowning at him, waiting, still pulling her fingers through her hair, until he grimaced again, shrugging his bare, scratched-up shoulder. “It is very strong upon you,” he said. “Very clear, even when blended with the water thus. Mayhap we could…”
His eyes darted back to her hair again, while his hand — damn the transparent bastard — once again dropped to adjust something at his groin. That long, dangerous ridge, highly visible beneath his trousers. And Geva stared for an instant too long before she dragged her eyes away, and gave a loud, brittle bark of a laugh.
“No,” she hissed. “No. You will not spray that directly in my hair.Never.”
And good gods, Rathgarr actually looked disappointed, and wait, was he evenpouting?! “It shall easily wash out,” he said stubbornly. “It washed off the rest of you, did it not? And if you are scented so strongly of me thus, the other orcs may not even question why you have no scent of my seed in your womb, or your rump.”
What?! Unbelievable.Unbelievable. Geva truly could not speak, her mouth frantically opening and closing — and without thinking, she lunged for the leather pouch still tied to Rathgarr’s belt, and plucked out a large gold coin.
“We areneverdiscussing thisagain,” she spat, as she brandished the coin toward him. “Now, I am going to buy myself a very large breakfast, and some provisions for the day. Andyouare going to pack, and wash and dress yourself, andfuck off!”
With that, she whirled around, yanked open the door, and stormed out. And while it should have felt good — wonderful — to tell off the smug cheating bastard, Geva still couldn’t deny the thick lump rising in her throat. Or worse, the realization that she’d forgotten to twist her hair up, which would certainly lead to even more wrangling with it later, probably again while that prick watched, and thought about dousing it with his spunk.
Even an excellent breakfast in the inn’s dining-room didn’t improve her mood, nor did the innkeeper’s willingness to trade a large sack of food for Rathgarr’s coin. And when Geva finally stalked out the inn’s front door, and found a much cleaner-looking Rathgarr lounging against a nearby tree, she strode past him without a word, curtly snatching her satchel from his outstretched hand.
Rathgarr hadn’t spoken either, but he soon fell into step beside her, his looming bulk rigid and forbidding. So on they walked, stiffly and silently, both staring straight ahead, and attempting to ignore the renewed pointing and muttering of the various passersby.
