Evidently, I had been expecting to do something other than simply sleep, if the uneasy twinge of disappointment I felt was anything to go by. I must have looked confused, because Kof said, “Use the cushion, if you wish. Taruut has no need of it anymore.”
I crawled onto the upholstered divan and tentatively stretched my limbs. Scent clung to the cloth strongly enough that even I could smell it—incense, spice, and the earthy musk of orc. A surprisingly welcome change from the all-encompassing stink of larkwood.
As I settled in, my mind wandered into dangerous territory—imagining the cushions dipping under Kof’s weight as he crawled onto the divan and covered my body with his, pinning me beneath his bulk.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight and willed the thoughts away. But my body betrayed me as desire coiled low in my belly. I tossed and turned, as unwanted images played behind my eyelids no matter how hard I tried to banish them. Kof’s huge hands roaming down my flanks, his knee shoving open my thighs, his tusks grazing my neck as he growled in my ear….
No. After the captain’s betrayal, I refused to think like this about any man.
Especially an orc.
Mercifully, exhaustion finally claimed me, dragging me down into dreamless slumber. It was the first restful sleep I’d had since I joined the Lost Clan, no longer cramped in that suffocating box, but stretched out on the cushioned divan, muscles eased in the seductive warmth of the caves.
I didn’t wake until Kof roused me with a heavy hand on my shoulder. For a disorienting moment, I thought perhaps I’d spun up another ridiculous fantasy, his face so close to mine. But the sharpness in his single eye reminded me this was all too real.
“On your feet,” he commanded gruffly. “It’s time.”
In the heat of the night, I’d thrown off my tunic. His gaze raked over me and his nostrils flared as I retrieved it from the floor and pulled it over my head. Maybe I should have been the one to make the move, and crawl over to him while he slept….
Stop it.
I was just torturing myself with this sick fantasy—it was never going to happen. And if he watched me as I dressed, well…he was a responsible kind of orc. And I was his responsibility.
What I really needed to focus on was getting my hands on a weapon. Out in the woods, with everyone distracted by the hunt, it would be the perfect time for me to palm a small knife. Wrap it in fallen leaves to disguise the iron smell of the blade, and I could slip back into Pilgrim’s commandeered house and hit him before he even registered that I smelled of more than just the forest.
“Stick by me during the hunt, and don’t wander off,” Kof said. His muscles flexed solidly as he gestured for me to follow him. “If I can’t see you, I can’t protect you.”
“From who?” I wondered aloud.
“From everyone. Who knows how many of the clan are taking these witchcraft rumors seriously? If you don’t want to find yourself on the sharp end of weapon, stay where I can see you and keep to yourself.”
I couldn’t fathom why he even cared. And puzzling through that question was just as troubling as my unwanted fantasies—which were doing their persistent best as we made our way through the caves, and my shoulder brushed his arm when the tunnel we were traveling narrowed. He’d told his men to pack provisions for a week. Maybe I deserved one final hoorah before I buried a smuggled knife in Pilgrim’s throat….
Abruptly, the air changed. We’d stepped into a cavern open to the elements, and the wind that fluttered the nearby torches carried a biting edge that cut right through the sulfur-thick humidity. Kof nudged me. “Keep up.”
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped in my tracks. I hurried along, sticking close to keep him between me and the other orcs. And if that meant I actually felt safe with him…so be it. But while Kof might protect me from a superstitious orc, he could hardly shield me from the weather. Outside, the sky had a peculiar look to it,a surly, overcast haze with an ochre undertone. It was turning. Just like I’d suspected it would. “Kof, wait.” I snagged him by the crook of the arm. “The sky.”
“What of it?”
“A storm is brewing.”
“Let it rain. We are strong. I’m sure we can handle getting wet.”
“I’ve seen weather like this before. Not just a heavy storm, but enough to capsize a ship.” I raised my head to the sky and inhaled. “It’s in the air. Even I can smell it.”
His nostrils flared. “Maybe so. But storm or no storm, we need food.” He dropped his voice low and added, “And the men need something to hunt besides witches.”
“You don’t get it, Kof. This is weather we might not survive.”
“And the same can be said of starvation. On the full of the moon, you’ll move on to another clan—another larder. And the Red Hand will have nothing left. Besides, the chieftain has called for a hunt, and no one would dare contradict him. Not if they value their head.”
If I couldn’t sway Kof, no way would I manage to convince anyone else. In the end, the most he would do was call for heavier cloaks. As he spoke with his men and made the last-minute arrangements, I was watching the sky.
That’s when a hand closed around my upper arm and dragged me behind an outbuilding.
Pilgrim.
He leaned in so close, his tusk brushed my cheekbone. “Going on a little adventure,” he growled, “are we?”
