Rathgarr shot a rather approving smile back, and then — Geva swallowed again — he plucked a string out from his trouser pocket, and began tying up his hair. An action that seemed to reveal his already-familiar face in an entirely different light, and as she kept blinking up at him, it occurred to her that Rathgarr really was a far better-looking orc than either Killik or Ulfarr. What with his rugged but harmonious features, his expressive eyes, that supple mocking mouth…
Geva dragged her gaze away, earning a strange little harrumph from Rathgarr in return — but when she glanced toward him again, he was already striding off toward Killik. Who was still casually stretching his long arms over his head, his harsh face tilted up to the sun, as though he hadn’t even noticed Rathgarr approaching.
But then, in a sharp flash of movement, Killik’s lean body launched up into the air, and —attacked. His clawed hand sweeping out strong and vicious, swiping straight for Rathgarr’s exposed, undefended eyes.
Geva gasped aloud, her hands clapping over her mouth — but somehow,impossibly, Rathgarr twisted away, just in time. His big body shifting with unaccountable speed as his clenched fist snapped out, and caught Killik on the shoulder. Striking with enough force that Killik staggered, whipping around with a sly smile on his mouth — and then he launched back at Rathgarr again. His claws furiously flying, moving so fast Geva could barely follow them, and wait, those were brand-newgouges, already welling fresh lines of red across Rathgarr’s chest.
But Rathgarr hadn’t seemed to notice, and shifted on his feet again, his big fists raised and waiting. And one of those fists met Killik’s next flying strike, knocking his arm away, while the other fist sank deep into his belly. Making him bend double, in what looked like defeat — until he leapt up and whirled around again, aiming a vicious-looking kick at Rathgarr’s groin. But Rathgarr avoided that one too, and landed another powerfully impressive punch, against Killik’s chest this time.
Geva’s breath still felt caught in her throat, but she felt her heartbeat gradually slowing as she watched, as something almost like admiration began to bloom in her chest. Rathgarr certainly seemed to be holding his own in this, despite all his grand claims of being out of shape. And though he had a very different fighting style than Killik — far less light and flamboyant, relying much more on his weight and his fists — it still seemed to be brutally effective, sending Killik flying on multiple occasions.
But — Geva’s head tilted — there was still something…offabout it. Because while Rathgarr kept smiling throughout, meeting Killik’s taunts with lighthearted mockery of his own, she could still see that telltale edge of tension on his form again, hunching his shoulders, pulling on his smiling mouth. Suggesting, quite clearly, that the fighting was just as fraught as the speaking had been. And though Rathgarr never once glanced over at Ulfarr’s silent watching form, Geva could almost feel the awareness between them, the implication that this entire little scene was somehow a test, or maybe even a provocation.
“Ach, enough,” Rathgarr finally said, his breath heaving, his palms upraised toward Killik. “You may count that as a win, brother. I am already undone, and I must yet walk across half this province today.”
Behind Killik, Ulfarr’s eyes narrowed, but Killik only twitched a careless-looking shrug, and flashed Rathgarr a complacent smile. “This was not as bad as last time,” he replied smugly. “You are better, with a woman to impress.”
Rathgarr huffed and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t quite look at Geva as he strode back toward her. “Two more days, brother,” he said over his shoulder, “and I shall bedemolishingyou in the Skai arena, whilst my sweet matelaughsat your doom.”
Two more days. Wait, did they only have two more days, before arriving at Orc Mountain? And yes, good gods, Rathgarr had said the trip would take five days, and this was already their third day of travelling, and how had Geva not even noticed?
It took far too much effort to keep the smile fixed to her face, but thankfully Killik and Ulfarr had already turned to leave, Killik giving a casual wave over his shoulder, Ulfarr not sparing a single backwards glance as he stalked into the trees. And finally Geva was left alone again with Rathgarr, who was still copiously dripping with blood and sweat, his breaths heaving, his bare chest gleaming in the bright midday sun.
“What the hell was that about?” Geva asked, her voice low, as she rummaged in Rathgarr’s pack for the waterskin, and thrust it out toward him. “And are you… all right?”
Rathgarr took the waterskin without comment, and then heartily drank, before dumping out the rest of the water over his head and chest. “Ach, I am well,” he said, with a hard exhale. “And this was only a friendly meeting between brothers, ach? Killik is a first-rate fighter, as are many of his clan.”
There was more telltale tension in his voice, and he’d purposefully angled his eyes toward the forest, where Killik and Ulfarr had gone. Very clearly suggesting that they might still be listening, damn it — so Geva thrust down all the bubbling questions she wanted to ask, and instead plastered another worshipful smile to her face. And then, as a proper mate would surely do, she let her eyes linger on Rathgarr’s flushed cheeks, his long wet lashes, the water still running down his broad chest in rivulets.
He looked… tired, she realized, as something oddly flipped, low in her belly. He looked… defeated. Like that entire unexpected little visit, whatever the hell it had been about, had taken more out of him than he’d have liked to admit.
His eyes had even fluttered closed again, his shoulders still high and stiff — and without quite meaning to, Geva set aside the pile of his clothes she’d still been holding, and again grasped for his pack. Searching inside for one of the clean rags she’d remembered seeing, and then, in a burst of bizarre, inexplicable daring, she rose to her feet, and wiped the rag against his wet, heaving chest.
She fully expected some kind of snide protest or resistance, but Rathgarr didn’t open his eyes, or betray a single twitch. Suggesting, perhaps, that Killik and Ulfarr were indeed still watching, still expecting such behaviour from Rathgarr’s devoted mate. So Geva wiped his sweaty chest again, firmer this time, and in return he huffed a shuddery exhale, his shoulders sagging, his face tilting higher toward the sky.
Oh. And maybe that was what a besotted orc — or a tired one — would do in this situation, so Geva kept wiping at him. Drying off his chest, and then around to his back, and up to his neck and shoulders, and finally, even his face. Fighting to ignore the feel of his sharp jaw under her fingers, the heavy ridges of his brow bone and cheekbone, the softness of his full mouth…
Rathgarr still hadn’t looked at her, or even acknowledged her in the slightest, so in another flash of inexplicable boldness, Geva plucked up his tunic from the pile of clothes behind them. And after shaking the fabric out, brushing off a bit of debris, she lifted it up, and carefully pulled it on over his head.Dressingthis devious orc, good gods, as though she had every right to do this, as if hewantedher to do this…
But again, Rathgarr didn’t seem even slightly disconcerted, sliding his arms obligingly into the tunic’s full sleeves without even looking. So Geva took the liberty of pulling the tunic down, smoothing it out over his powerful chest and arms, and then against his softer belly, before tucking it properly into his trousers. And then — her face was heating, now — she tied up the tunic’s laces at his neck, taking care to leave them a little loose, the way he seemed to prefer. Just enough to show the smooth grey skin of his upper chest, the smattering of black hair beneath.
Rathgarr still hadn’t moved, beyond another slow, heavy exhale, so Geva kept going, next reaching for his huge black cloak. And once she’d thrown it over his shoulders, she couldn’t resist fussing with it, smoothing and shifting until it hung in even, heavy folds, its thick cord pulled firm — but not too tight — across his collarbones. And last was his grey fur, and she fussed with that, too, until it also looked just as it should.
“There,” she told him, her voice thick. “All good again, but for your hair. Unless you’d like that dealt with, too?”
She’d been eyeing his hair rather too much throughout all this — it had half-fallen out from where he’d tied it back, with multiple sweaty strands clinging to his face and neck. And to her distant surprise, Rathgarr shrugged, the movement sweeping out his beautifully arranged cloak. “Should you wish,” he said gruffly. “There is a comb in my pack.”
Geva remembered seeing it earlier, and accordingly knelt and dug it out again — a lovely, human-made silver comb, with the kind of close-set teeth she’d never be able to use on her own hair. But once she’d moved behind Rathgarr, and pulled down the rest of his hair, she could soon see how well the comb worked for him, how it smoothed out the thick black strands into a beautiful glossy sheen.
“Do you cut it yourself?” she heard herself say, her voice still unaccountably thick, as she eyed the line of it across the bottom. “Or are there orc barbers you can visit, perhaps?”
Rathgarr made a low scoffing sound, and very slightly shook his head, as if not wanting to disturb Geva’s combing efforts. “No,” he said. “And I cannot cut it straight myself, or risk visiting a human shop to do this. I most oft ask a bedmate to tend it, when I can.”
Oh. Geva froze in place, her heart skipping a beat, while the sudden, staggering vision of Rathgarr with abedmateswarmed through her thoughts. It would be a sweet, beautiful woman, no doubt, quiet and obliging, just the way he preferred, coming apart beneath his clever hands. And afterwards, perhaps as they dressed the next morning, she wouldtendto his hair with this exact silver comb, and he would flash that smile at her, and ask if she would —
Oh, hell, no.Gods, no. And far too late, Geva stumbled away from him, lurching back toward his pack. Thrusting the comb deep inside, and then packing up everything else, too. Doing her damned job, because Rathgarr was her employer, and that wasall. This was pretending, and nothing more, not that she would ever want more from him anyway. One month, and then the sea.
When Geva stood up again, she’d steadied her breaths, and assumed what she hoped was a distant, dispassionate smile. Holding her eyes very carefully on a place past Rathgarr’s head, where she didn’t need to look at his face, or envision the beauty of his last bedmate, who’d taken such care with his hair.
