Page 26 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“Yeah. But it's job security, when our young cut their teeth fighting monstrosities, and every human army is spooked.” His teeth gritted, as I pulled the wound edges together.

I knotted the thread, and bit it through. I tasted copper. “Let me see your shoulder.”

The score was shallow across his pec, biting deeper into his upper arm. I brought the water to it, and after a dribble, he stopped me. “Don’t waste it.”

“You’re thirsty,” I whispered.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. A bad sign. It had nearly spelled death for Mercy Owens, after the birth of her little one. She asked for water and started slipping away.

“Stay awake, please,” I said around the lump in my throat, brought clammy fingers to sew up what would be, if he survived this, another terrible scar.

He took the water flagon and drank, long, deep gulps. “Maybe you can keep me entertained,” he said, only steel in his tone, no levity. “Answer a question for me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Who was he?” he said.

“I don’t know who you mean.”

“The man who taught you to flinch like that.” He looked at me.

My hand slipped.

I fished back the needle, heart pounding, refocused on the torn flesh. “He’s dead,” I got out.

“Good. One less thing to do. Who was he?”

I tried for levity, but my voice came out in a croak. “Isn't it most of them?”

He didn’t smile. “I don't treat with humans that often. And I'm not someone men think they can push around anymore.” He kept his eyes on me, those twin flames. “You tell me.”

I breathed deep, forced my hand steady. “He didn't like singing. My father.”

He nodded, as if that was something expected, as if he wasn’t surprised. “Not unique. The making of children is not the sole domain of saints.”

What was I supposed to say to that?

“I probably should have anticipated this, in marrying outside our people. Since every human I’ve known has had parents that were shit.”

I broke the thread off his arm.

He pulled to his feet. “We need to be moving.” He swayed, braced against the tree.

“You’re still weak.”

“Yes. And I’ll be weak on my feet or as a sitting target.” He reached for the pack.

I grabbed it in front of his hand. “At least let me carry this.”

His eyebrows rose. “You think you can carry it?”

“I do.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s as heavy as I am.”

“Then if I have to carry you next you’ll know I can.”

The side of his mouth smiled, faintly. “Fine. Lift it.”