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 Orc Lord
THE IMMORTAL SORTING
BOOK THREE

EMMA ALISYN FAE

Copyright © 2024 by Emma Alisyn Fae
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Mibl Art
 Contents

Content Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Orc Bought
Lord of Dance & Desire
I. Alternate Versions
Chapter 16 (Alt)
Chapter 22 (Alt)
Chapter 24 (Alt)
 CONTENT WARNING

Dear Mortal Reader,

This story is not intended to be dark. I am a morally gray author, but not a dark author. The Uthilsen Orcs are generally a
loving, family-oriented culture. That hasn’t changed. I like the Uthilsen.
But the fothermucking Fae.
Those mofos gatecrash at around Chapter 16, and shit goes downhill until Chapter 25. (Violence, torture, dub con, non con,
oppressive sexist social norms.)
Because some readers prefer a warmer experience, internal navigation will lead you to alternate versions of each chapter that
has dark content. You will not stumble across dark content. . .unless you want to.

When you leave your review, feel free to indicate whether you read the dark version or the alternate version, or if you read
both.
 Chapter

One

SAJENA

RAIN LASHES my skin as I step into the courtyard of my house, a blade clutched in my hand—for all the good it will do. The
ward protecting my home, family, and business from the more unsavory elements of this Seanna City neighborhood flickers in
time to the gaslamps posted outside the boundaries of my family’s property.
“North,” Leislah says sharply, my younger sister’s voice coming from where she perches on the roof of our three story
brownstone. “At least a dozen.”
There's always some activity this time of night—the occasional footsteps or clop of horse hooves or the creaking of a carriage
—but now I hear other things.
Shouts and groans coming closer, the bright clash of metal on metal.
“Go back inside,” I tell the female who exits the house behind me.
My mother ignores me as she comes to my side, her hand on her heavily swollen belly. On the roof, Leislah hisses at someone,
Sydnee probably. Sydnee wants to fight, which shocks no one, but she’s still a child.
I glance at Eslana, my mouth thin and my brows pinched. “There's nothing you can do here.”
In Fae terms, she isn't much older than me—a paltry century; we’re practically sisters. She began breeding young, and I’m the
second eldest of my mother’s wealth of daughters.
“You’re no warrior either,” she says, “and no high level mage. If the ward breaks, what can you do?”
None of us are warriors or mages, despite the knife in my hand and the magic pooling in my center. I have enough tutelage and
skill to protect myself and my sisters from common rogues and footpads, but like my mother and many Aeddannari females
descended from the dreadnought survivors, I'm a healer. All of my power, all of my talent and energy tied up in that one thing.
That weakness stings as we wait behind the physical barrier of our stone wall and the magical barrier of our ward, listening to
the fight come closer.
I whirl, grabbing my mother's upper arm, all but shoving her towards the front door.
“They're right outside our gates. Secure the girls.” I wish Honoria was here. We’re so close in age we might as well be twins,
but she made her choice and we all abide by it.
Eslana follows my instruction this time. I have that last minute of warning before my ward breaks.
I double over, gasping at the backlash, the punch of deliberate power bursting through the magical protections and tearing them
down as if they are no stronger than kitchen curtains.
My personal glamour dissolves around me, the magic that powers it eaten in the backlash of my ward breaking. My sisters’
glamours will have broken as well; now we’re all vulnerable.
The gates burst open and I have a chaotic few seconds to assess the situation. Orcs and Fae fill my courtyard and I retreat to my
front door, barring it with my back, my blade ready though my jaw is clenched to keep my teeth from clattering. The backlash is
painful, a tremble running through my limbs.
No one’s noticed me yet.
They fight, the Aeddannari and the Uthilsen. I don’t think this is an attack on my family; the fighters aren’t interested in me at
all. On either side they're too well-armed, too well-dressed, and too well-fed to be common thugs. Besides, in this territory
ruled by Lord Cythro OakHorde, there are no armed Orcs who don't serve him.
Who are the Fae? Coho or Pike Street? Either is a disaster if they notice me now; I’m frantically attempting to raise my
glamour but it’s like trying to light a soaked match in the middle of a rainstorm.
Gripping my weapon, my gaze flits between combatants when a massive Orc warrior steps through the narrow hole where my
gate once stood.
Hells. He has to be over six and a half feet, towering over the other Orcs, and none of them are small.
He moves with surprising grace despite his formidable size. I freeze, my heat pounding in my mouth in instinctive dread.
Aeddannari Fae males are tall, lithe, and strong, but Uthilsen Orcs are battering rams, brutal in battle.
Those broad muscled shoulders work under his white dress shirt—odd attire for an Orc—and the hand wrapped around the
handle of his ax is big enough he could effortlessly crush a child’s skull. Or mine.
I can’t let this male get his hands on me.
He snarls an order in a guttural roar, but I hear no real anger; I hear steel, command. When he swings an ax to engage a Fae
who leaps towards him, I see death.
One of the girls shrieks, then the upstairs window slams shut. It draws attention; a Fae male breaks off from the fight and
dashes towards me.
“Yedyah!” He uses the overly polite term for an unknown female Fae.
I brace for a fight.
“Yedyah,” he says again, his gaze sharp as he reaches towards me, “why are you here? Come, I’ll take you from this place.”
Take me from my home. Take me to his Lord, whoever his Lord is, who will find out I, my mother and sisters live under
glamour as Human women, no male overseeing us.
No.
I lift my blade in response before he can touch me. There's no de-escalating the situation; he's a Fae warrior, I'm a Fae female
and in his mind any instruction he gives me I must obey.
“Yedyah?” His voice rises on a sharp, taken aback note.
“I won’t go with you. Leave my home.”
Few Aeddannari females on this planet would dream of disobeying a direct instruction from an Aeddannari male. My mother
says it wasn't like that on our home planets or on the dreadnought, but a hundred years of war and ongoing conflict after, plus
the need to grow our numbers and maintain the power in our blood means the males turned on us, subjugated us, and control our
wombs. The one or two times we tried to fight back, we failed.
Shock that I lifted a weapon against him crosses his face, and a moment later his expression flattens.
“If you choose to be an enemy, I will treat you like one.”
If I'm not obedient, he means, then I'm an enemy. But he's a warrior and I'm not, and he's going to win. The only question is if he
intends to simply restrain me, or if he's going to kill me for stepping out of my place.
He attacks, disarming me. Crying out, I stumble back as bright pain blooms in my mouth. His hand is around my arm.
“No!” I shout, struggling as he drags me. But I’m weaker, lesser trained, and I only have desperation on my side.
Across the courtyard, the Orc snaps his head in my direction. It’s not more than a second, but our gazes meet. His is cold,
focused, but not cruel—not until his gaze flickers to my captor. He stills, blood dripping from his ax.
“Help me,” I say, more plea than command, trying to dig my heels into the rough stone of the courtyard as I’m dragged across.
“Please.”
The warrior holding my arm shakes me and I stumble, tripping. The Orc walks towards us, and I understand for a moment why
my people fear his on the battlefield; a predator stares at me. My stomach sinks; if I looked Human I could count on his
protection. I’m Fae though, a natural enemy.
The door opens behind me and my mother shouts just as the whiz of an ax flies towards the Fae warrior, who throws me to the
ground with a snarl and defends himself.
I roll to the side as light flares against the Fae warrior's back. It has to be a charm because Mother can't use healing magic
while pregnant, much less defensive spells.
The Fae male is dead a moment later, droplets of his blood spraying my face.
Flipping to my feet a second later, I grab the blade I dropped and shove Mother into the house, slamming the door closed, and
try not to slip in the growing red puddle.
The Orc male gives me a single, assessing look but doesn’t approach. “Guard the door. Don’t drop your weapon again.” He
speaks with an upper caste City accent rather than the broken Gaithean the older Uthilsen deliberately use, but I don’t make the
mistake of thinking he’s young.
He turns back to the main fight and he and his warriors make mincemeat of the remaining Aeddannari. In close quarters Orcs
will always have the advantage. But some of the Fae flee.
Damn it. “They're getting away!” I shout.
No doubt my people noticed both me and the death of my would be captor. They'll report it to their Lord, and my home will be
visited soon.
I need the Uthilsen to kill my people.
My. . .rescuer. . .turns and stalks towards me. “Where is the healer?”
He blocks my sight of the courtyard as he crowds me against my front door, not touching me but still close enough that it’s a
deliberate threat.
There’s no where to go since I refuse to open the front door, and I crane my neck back to meet his gaze.
He's tall, broad shouldered and heavily muscled like all Orc warriors but instead of the leather pants and boots, a cross sheath
of weapons the only adornment on a scarred chest, this male is in. . .
Trousers, to match the tailored white shirt. The cut and fabric are both quality, and if his clothing isn't odd enough, his hair is
another clue.
It's short, for an Orc. Unbeaded and unbraided, brushing above his shoulder blades, framing a face with a strong jaw and
elegant cheekbones. His nose has been broken at least twice, and the hint of a beard adds roughness.
“Yedyah,” he says, voice a deep, sharp rumble, “where is the healer?” He’s scanning the courtyard for a Human woman.
Fear partially seals my lips. He threw the ax to save me. . .maybe. Or maybe my shout drew attention to the foe.
He must see it on my face. He closes his eyes a second and when he open them again, the predator is gone.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, voice gentler, taking a step back. “My warrior is bleeding out and won’t make it to my house.”
I lower the blade clutched in my hand, realizing he made no move to take it from me. I’m no fool, and I know who this male
must be.
“Lord OakHorde. I'm the healer.”
His gaze sharpens as he scans my face. “The healer is a Human female.”
“I am the healer.” I repeat it slowly, because he must know that I can't lie to him. “This is my home, and has been for the last
thirty years. I will treat your kin. Our tithe is current,” I add, mostly to remind him that my family pays well for the privilege of
operating our business in his territory.
His eyes narrow, gaze traveling down to pause on the blade. “You are the healer.”
My temper sparks, though I keep my voice even. We’re straying close to sounding ridiculous. “That’s what I said.”
Fae cannot lie. We're cursed, or at least I consider it a curse. Along with my entire bloodline, the pointed ears and underglow
skin that marks me as what I am.
Enslaved. Chains I can’t break because they’re built into my DNA. It’s not the worst thing about being a Fae female.
The front door opens again and my stubborn mother is at my back, her hand on my shoulder. I strangle the words I want to say.
His gaze grazes her before returning to me; I haven’t looked away. I can’t.
“Lord OakHorde,” she says, her lilting voice as sweet as honey, with just enough authority to ping the instincts of males from a
matriarchal culture used to obeying females. “Please bring your injured. We will tend to life threatening injuries first.
Refreshments?”
Because if people are dying and there's blood and entrails all over the floor, we Fae must still have wine and tea and sweets.
OakHorde turns away and gives orders to his warriors, hoisting one of the injured before he follows behind me. I lead them
around the side of the house to the entrance of our apothecary which hosts a small infirmary. My ears prick at the sound of
several pairs of footsteps, some with a cadence indicating injuries. They don’t complain, these Orcs. I can’t resist glancing
over my shoulder at him. Our gazes meet for a second, tangling, then we’re inside and I gesture to OakHorde to lay his male on
the scrubbed down work table.
He complies, glancing around. Shelves of herbs, supplies, tinctures and what not line the walls, the scents mingling into a
ubiquitous herbal aroma. There is a locked cabinet his gaze lingers on, but it only contains our poisons. The place is neat and
clean, a cot tucked in the corner for naps or patients who need to rest before returning home.
“Lay him down. Wash your hands.”
“You need a bigger table,” OakHorde says, a note of humor in his calm voice.
I busy myself with cutting away the male’s pants. “We don’t get many Uthilsen. Some.”
We’re not a true infirmary but we treat emergency injuries and other ailments for those in the neighborhood who can't afford a
real doctor.
I glance at OakHorde, who watches my mother retrieve supplies, her professional eye skimming the four who trickle into the
workroom. She begins a triage as I treat the male beneath me; his injuries are life threatening. OakHorde shifts next to me and I
freeze briefly from instinct.
“I said I won’t hurt you,” he says, voice still a quiet rumble. I wonder if he’s learned to speak so gently because of his size.
“As you say, this apothecary has been in my territory for at least three decades. I’d like to know how you’ve remained
undetected by your people.”
“I'm a healer, not a killer. I won't hurt your male. There’s no need to threaten me.”
I speak through teeth gritted with effort; my magic is barely beginning to recover from the backlash. I can use it, but it’s like
punching a fresh bruise over and over while bleeding out. I have to drain one of my two reserve stones, and it’s still barely
enough.
“You’re Aeddannari.”
“Which you didn't know until five minutes ago. Now be quiet.” I can’t work with him expecting me to respond to his questions.
I can barely work with him at my back, towering over me.
He nods and steps back—a little—giving me more room.
As I work, I listen. My mother, after triaging and doing what she can with the use of hands and skill, arranges for tea and
snacks. Her sweet, soothing voice fills the room and I let her work, knowing full well what she's doing. Uthilsen males are
subservient to their females, but they're also protective. There's significant species dislike between Orcs and Fae, but the two
of us are healers and female, and we’ve lived peaceably in his territory, paid his tithe. We may be able to salvage the situation.
I may be able to talk OakHorde into letting us stay and into keeping our identity a secret, if by some miracle the Aeddannari
who fled don’t reveal us.
 Chapter

Two

I SAVE the male’s life then tend to those who need more than stitching or bone setting.
“I’m billing you triple for this,” I mutter.
“Your work is competent,” he says at my back. “We may come to a different arrangement.”
I know what that means, and I grimly bite back a retort. Either a retainer, or service as part of our tithe. Either way, it means in
future he’ll keep an eye on us. The way I feel his eyes on my back now.
Or. . .does he mean an arrangement? We’re in his territory, he can claim any female he wants. He’s standing a hair too close,
his attention a hair too focused on me. I force the tremble out of my fingers.
“Hush now,” I murmur as the youngest one hisses when I stitch his wound. His hair is long and tousled, a few braids woven
tight against his scalp indicating his battle experience. “Be strong and you can have a cookie.”
He pokes out his bottom lip through a tangle of hair. “What kind of cookie?”
“Sweetspice tarsi root.” A traditional Uthilsen cookie Sydnee eats by the barrel full.
My mother hands him a wrapped bundle a moment later and he takes it with the arm I’m not tending.
“Thank you, yedyah,” he says, lowering his gaze as if my mother is the dominant female in the room. It’s cute they use
Aeddannari terms rather than their own. Such manners.
She pats his head as I declare him on the mend. As I stand, I press my hand to my temple; I’m dizzy, but I can’t fail here or
OakHorde will have a reason to punish us.
“Give your thanks to the healer, Druith,” OakHorde rumbles, his voice too close to my ear, the heat of his body just brushing
my back.
“Thank you,” the boy says meekly, mouth full. That’s all he is, a big, dangerous boy munching on cookies made to reward
children. Involuntarily, something in me softens, maybe because I’m so used to sisters. A little brother would have been nice.
I wave him away and tend to another. The young ones really are sweet. The elders are gruffer, though no one is outwardly
disrespectful. Not one Orc offers a harsh word, not one touches us or tries to leave the confines of the infirmary. They’re much
better behaved than Fae would be.
Though I wonder if that’s more because their Lord stands behind me, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze bores into my
back. Eslana offers him tea and cookies, which he refuses, telling her to sit and rest—she does, after requesting his assistance
to lower herself in the chair.
“You've been very helpful, Lord,” she murmurs. “My thanks.”
I sigh. She’s flirting. She has no dignity, though really, she’s trying to get on his good side.
“Sajena,” my mother says, concern in her voice as I stagger away from the work table.
My knees buckle but strong arms catch and lower me into a chair. I'm dizzy, hearing mush, but someone shoves a cup of tea
underneath my nose and wraps their hands around mine to help me hold it.
When the weakness and nausea clear, I've drunk half the tea. OakHorde crouches in front of me, his brow furrowed as he
studies my face. If he thinks my skin tone indicates health, I have news; I can’t get any paler.
“Good,” he says as I sip. Dark, inscrutable eyes watch me but the curve of his mouth around his tusks is almost tender, the grip
of his much, much bigger hands gentle. “Can you eat, or will food make you sick?”
Is he—is he taking care of me? I nod slowly, and let it be. That's a good instinct, one my mother and I want to encourage? I
glance at her and she gives a serene smile. The edges of her eyes crinkle as if the smile is genuine, but it’s her mask. She turns
towards a warrior who speaks to her, and begins fussing over him.
“My mother needs rest,” I tell OakHorde, my voice hoarse. He still hasn’t moved, holding my hands as if he has nothing better
to do than ensure I drink my tea. “She'll give birth any day now and she's tired.”
“Nonsense,” Eslana says. “I’m not weary, and these fine warriors require attention.”
She's laying it on a bit thick.
I look at Lord OakHorde again, who’s frowning. “Your face is bruised,” he says, an edge in his voice. “Can you tend your own
injury?”
Oh. He must mean where the Fae warrior hit me. “It’s fine. It will heal on its own.”
He gives me a long look and presses his lips together as if suppressing an instinct to argue. “As you wish, yedyah. Though I’m
concerned.”
“It’s just a bruise.”
“No male with any honor bruises a female if she is not an enemy.”
Meeting his gaze again, I flex my fingers beneath his; my hands are naturally cold but his are warm, that heat seeping through
my skin.
“But if she’s an enemy, then she’s fair game? Our people are enemies.”
“I will not lift a hand to you.” His voice is soft, each word precise.
Looking at our clasped hands, his dwarf mine. Hands that could⁠—
I try, and fail, to stop my thoughts, uneasy at their direction.
Hands that could wrap around my throat, or completely cover my breasts. Hands that could easily span my waist and lift me so
I⁠—
His nostrils flare and he inhales, hard chest expanding.
I force my mind to think about the current predicament, feeling heat in my cheeks.
OakHorde’s expression is inscrutable, but not unkind. He doesn’t respond; waiting.
“Then we will not be enemies,” I say, trying to inject lightness into my tone.
He leads his people, rules his territory. He killed for me—as he should since he brought this trouble to my home in the first
place. His kindness isn’t weakness. What I feel, what I shouldn’t feel, begins to well up. Completely unexpected. Not entirely
unwelcome.
But complicated. Definitely that.
I glance at my mother again, uncomfortable and something else. His hands are warm around mine, and I’ve made no move to
get him to let me go. I should. I should tell him to let me go, but. . .a Lord who defers to a female? Is kind to her instead of
punishing? Even if he is an Orc, with their predilection for obeying their females, this is odd behavior.
So I don’t pull away, because he’s Lord of this territory and if he wants to hold my hands, no one can stop him.
“I’m tired,” I say.
He nods and finally releases me, setting aside the teacup. I stand carefully to ensure I don’t almost faint again.
“I’d like to return to bed, if there’s nothing else?” My knees wobble.
Lord OakHorde slides an arm around my back, pulling me to his chest as if he’s done so dozens of times. My head comes to his
shoulder, and he’s wide enough I can completely rest my body against his, and still have room on either side.
Gods, he must destroy his lovers.
“Rest against me if you won’t sit,” he says.
“When will you leave?”
My mother inhales softly. If he were a Fae Lord, I’d be punished for dismissing him, but OakHorde only assesses me.
“Yedyah,” he begins, then stops as if taking care with his words. “You can’t remain here if your goal is to maintain your
independence.”
Another male steps next to him. “Two escaped. They’ll take word of the females back to Pike. They watched the pale one raise
blade to her kin, and all heard her cry for help.”
Pike.
I close my eyes. He is worse, far worse, than Coho.
“You understand the problem,” OakHorde says, still holding me. He begins a long, slow stroke up and down my spine.
Shuddering, I rest my forehead against his shoulder because I am that tired and he doesn’t seem inclined to let me go. His scent
fills my nostrils as my body slumps against his.
He’s bold, for an Orc. They don’t normally touch a female of any species without explicit permission. No male has ever held
me like this.
He’s one of the Three. Meadowland, Seacliff, OakHorde, the rulers of Coho, Pike, and OakHorde Streets, Seanna City’s not so
underground world.
He’s one of the Three and therefore too dangerous to dally with. To want. But I recognize the unfurling heat in my core as
yearning for the illusion of strong, masculine arms that hold me without demanding my subservience in return.
“We’ve lived undetected at peace in your territory for three decades,” my mother is saying, and again I have to make myself
focus. I’m drained from having to heal without time to recover from the backlash. “We understand—if I may say—better than
you.”
When I open my eyes, OakHorde’s attention is on her middle. “Where is your male, Mother?” He stiffens, his arm tightening
around me. “And. . .Sajena’s?”
The note in his voice has me wondering what he would do if I gave him a name, and a location.
Eslana smiles. “It’s just us girls. Sajena has never paired.”
I keep my expression neutral though I want to ask her what she’s doing, admitting that we have no protection—and implying
there are more of us.
“No warrior guards this house and apothecary?” He pauses. “How many live here?”
His tone demands an answer, and I can’t refuse. “There are five of us. My mother, myself, and my sisters.”
OakHorde blinks, staring down at me. “Five Aeddannari females? All under glamour?”
“Yes.”
“In my territory.” He glances at Eslana again, his lips tightening, expression darkening. “Their fathers?”
She lowers her lashes. “Who can say? In any case, none of their fathers will trouble you. They don’t trouble me.”
I’m not certain any of them know their daughters exist. I’m not certain if my mother didn’t just kill them all.
“I see,” he says. “This is a complication, and this evening has already been more interesting than I like at my age. You can’t
stay here, any of you.”
 Chapter

Three

“WHERE DO YOU SUGGEST WE GO ?” I ask, shifting so I’m pressing against him again; I can’t help it.
From the moment his hands touched mine—no, from the moment I called out to him and his gaze met mine and he came for me
—I wanted him.
I’ve known him an hour.
I’ve heard of the females of my people bonding quickly to a male, but this quickly is rare. Ridiculous.
“We pay your tithes, we cause no trouble,” I say, forcing my mind to focus past the rising panic. “We’re an asset and you want
to force us out of your territory⁠—”
“I said nothing about forcing you out of my territory.” He lifts a hand and brushes a talon along my cheek, along the bruise I
haven’t healed. His eyes flare with anger. “You will all come with me. I can’t leave you here, and I don’t have the warriors to
spare as permanent guards on your home.”
“Is that an order?” I ask.
He tilts his head, expression quizzical. “It’s not a request. If you had come to me with your secret, this wouldn’t have happened
tonight.”
It’s a gentle, almost coaxing rebuke but it still stings. His displeasure stings. I lash out. “It’s our fault? You sound Aeddannari.”
OakHorde stiffens. One of the warriors coughs.
“My mother is about to give birth. We need to⁠—”
“Our glamour broke, Sajena,” my mother cuts me off. “Pike will send warriors to retrieve us and if they believe your actions
led to any of the deaths in the courtyard, you could be executed. They won’t necessarily kill you right away.” Her smile is
wintry. “Not until they’ve made you birth their children.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. I knew that, of course, but hearing it aloud is different. In that smile are all the secrets why
my mother hid herself and us from her people.
“That won’t happen,” OakHorde growls. “You’re in my territory. Thirty years, as you said. You’re mine.”
Almost, I shudder. Those words. He has no idea how those words affect me.
“Sajena,” my mother says, giving me a piercing look.
I speak in our language. “I cannot—I cannot help it.”
OakHorde glances between us but doesn’t interrupt.
She sighs. “Sit down and eat something. You are not yourself when hungry and tired.”
She leaves the room.
“Bring some of that,” OakHorde says. “Sit down. Listen to your mother.”
He understands common Aeddannari. Of course he does.
A warrior—the young one I tended—picks up a plate of cookies and sandwiches and brings it over. He hesitates, then bows to
me, holding it out a little awkwardly.
“Yedyah,” he says. Is he blushing? I stare at him, as amused as I can be in this situation.
“It’s for you,” he prompts. “Eat.” He pauses. “It’s good.”
“Yes, I know.”
His blush deepens at my indulgent tone. I take the food and sit, the Orc Lord hovering at my side as I begin to eat, his arms
crossed over his chest.
“Will this be enough for the trip back?” OakHorde asks. “If you faint, I will carry you, but⁠—”
“I won’t faint.”
“Aeddannari females are delicate.” His voice rises on the last word.
“We’re not delicate,” I say, eating, making grim plans. My sisters can’t stay here. “We’re subjugated, and there aren’t many of
us. There’s a difference.”
There’s a long pause. “Pike will now know there’s an enclave of Aeddannari females in my territory, as we’ve established.”
I still, looking up at him. “Are you at war with Pike?”
“I am now considering it.”
A territory war. I grimace.
His dark eyes watch me, watch the plate of disappearing food. Then, shocking me again, he crouches at my feet.
“I can protect you, yedyah, you and your mother and sisters, but you have to cooperate or it won’t work.”
“Why do you think I won’t cooperate?”
A wry smile curves half of his mouth. “You greeted your own kin with a sword. I think you are too used to your independence
now to cooperate with any male so easily.”
“Introduce her to Aartagh,” the boy mutters. “She’ll really learn the meaning of cooperation. The opposite of it, I mean.”
“You led Pike’s warriors here.” I’m angry, blindingly angry, though I keep my voice low and my expression neutral. My anger
is at him, at myself, at biology I can’t change.
His gaze is steady, though I see the flash of the predator underneath. “Which is why I’ll protect you and your family. But you’ll
have to remain in the compound until we know you’re safe, or Pike is dead.”
Struggling, I try to remain reasonable. Until Pike’s dead, rather than until he forgets, because immortals forget nothing. “My
patients?”
“You aren’t the only healer in OakHorde.”
I stand. “I’m the only one who will heal them without extracting Favors they can’t pay or taking money they don’t have!” I
shake my head, having to pry the words of refusal out of my throat. “No, I can’t go. But take my mother and sisters.”
He says nothing as there’s a patter of footsteps down the hall, and then the workroom door opens. My sisters enter, followed by
my mother.
Leislah stalks inside and though she’s in a long brown skirt and a high necked blouse, she walks like she’s armed. She’s twenty
years my junior, her father having gifted her with sunset hair and angry eyes as well as the smattering of freckles across her
dark gold-brown skin. Her ears are pointed like mine; we assume her father is Fae.
“Well, ain’t this some horseshit,” she says. “I told ya we should’ve set the ward to kill on contact at night.”
The Uthilsen in the room look at her with various expressions of amusement and respect. Of course, they like bloodthirsty
females. I glance at OakHorde under my lashes. Does he prefer her to me? I’m quieter, and not the sweet quiet my mother has
perfected.
Taiyah hides behind her, the youngest of us with perpetually pink, round cheeks and honey brown hair in two messy braids, her
amber eyes wide, her bottom lip trembling.
“Orcs,” she whispers.
“They won’t hurt you,” Leislah says, impatient.
“Orcs,” my other sister says, in a completely different tone.
She pushes around Leislah and Taiyah. We’d glamoured her to look like a thirteen-year old Human, about her equivalent age.
She has no natural glamour of her own; Uthilsen don’t often pass magical gifts through their bloodlines, and Fae-Orc mixes
tend to take after the Orc parent.
We don’t know who her father is, but I know that period of time before my mother fell pregnant I’d never seen her so happy. Or
so sad once she’d finally cut the liaison off.
Sydnee turns to me. “We’re going to the compound?”
“Yes.”
She grins.
OakHorde stares hard at her light green skin and curly dark brown hair. She’s clearly half-Uthilsen without her glamour. This
may be an unanticipated problem.
OakHorde turns to me, catching my hand. “Who is her father?” Obviously he doesn't think Mother will answer, and he’s right.
“I don’t know. Before you ask my mother, it’s highly probable she doesn’t know either.”
Eslana arches a brow at me, but says nothing.
“No male among my own would abandon a babe if he knew she existed,” he bites out.
This time, I say nothing.
“I’m not leaving any of you here,” he says, his voice shedding the soothing quality of before. It’s smooth with the kind of
determination that signals an end to his indulgence. His fingers tighten around mine and he turns to face me fully, stepping
closer, looming over me.
“Is there even room for all of us?” I ask.
He shrugs. “The house is big enough.”
I’ve seen it in passing. One of the old manors, three stories and with a big red porch, surrounded by trees which I assume hide
more sentries. The white paint is long gone, replaced by wooden paneling. The ground it sits on was once three City blocks.
I’ve never been past the gates, bristling with Orc warriors.
I tilt my head back. “I’ve agreed you should take my sisters. I have responsibilities here.”
Leislah snorts. “Don’t listen. She hopes if she stays behind to let Pike capture ‘er, he’ll forget about the rest of us.”
OakHorde’s jaw clenches. “Is that true?”
My silence is answer enough. I should slap Leislah, but I’d do the same thing in her place.
“No,” OakHorde says. “Your willingness to sacrifice yourself is, uh. . .admirable, but not necessary.”
“Will you force me?”
The hunter behind his eyes is restless, staring me down as if to make me give way. “There’s no need for you to die to protect
your family. You’re tired, as your mother said, and making a short term decision with devastating long term consequences.”
I almost sigh. He’s right. My mother faces me, as inscrutable and silent as the other Orcs.
“There are other considerations,” I say.
“What are those considerations?” he asks.
I hesitate, then switch to a dialect he's unlikely to know, glancing at Leislah to include her in the conversation.
“Mother, will he claim host privileges?” My breathing catches.
“I find it very unlikely,” Eslana says, eyes narrow on my face. “He's an Orc. It's not their custom to expect an offer of flesh.”
“He has ruled his territory for almost a century,” Leislah says. “He knows our people’s customs. He might be insulted if we
don't at least make the offer. We don’t want him to think we believe him beneath us.”
I agree. “Leislah, you're almost too young.”
“Almost doesn't count.”
Eslana purses her lips. “I don’t think it will be necessary.”
“Why?” I ask.
She doesn't respond and it’s the same silence that descends whenever we ask a question she feels she can’t answer; usually
about where we’re from, why we’re hiding.
“I’ll make the offer first,” I say. “If he prefers one of you we will deal with it then.” I hesitate. “I think he—he knows, or at
least feels it. He hasn’t stopped touching me, like he’s Fae and wants to encourage the strike.”
“Yevserayya?” Leislah says, eyes widening.
I almost cringe at the word. Love—and I use the word colloquially—that strikes like lightning and binds you to your
“beloved”.
No warning. No choice.
What Aeddannari females fear above everything, because it will bind us to our worst enemy if it strikes.
“If you feel you must make the offer,” Eslana says after a moment, “I won’t stop you.” She turns away. “As you said, the point
is likely moot since you refuse to leave his arms.”
I start. I hadn’t realized; his arms are around me again.
“Healer?” he says, voice in my ear.
“You have to come with us, Jena,” Taiyah says in a small voice.
“Are there other Orcesses there?” Sydnee’s avid stare bores into OakHorde. “We can learn to fight for real.”
“There are, and you can meet them,” I say, rubbing my face. “I’ll go.”
It’s not as if I can’t figure out a way to sneak past a few lumbering Uthilsen guards to go see my patients. I’ll need to get word
to Honoria as well. We can’t simply disappear.
I take a deep breath and when I exhale it’s too shaky. OakHorde makes a soothing noise deep in his throat.
“Easy, yedyah,” he says in a gentle rumble that must be a mask, like my mother’s smiles. “Let me shoulder this burden. You’ll
feel better in the morning.”
I wonder what it’s like to be able to tell blatant lies.
 Chapter

Four

CYTHRO

“YOUR NAME IS J ENA?” I ask once I’ve settled the females into a coach.
They pile onto one bench, the youngest girls sitting on the elders’ laps. Suppressing the need to drag the Fae female into my lap
takes long enough that silence descends, no one willing to break it.
They’ve lived in my territory peacefully, causing me no trouble and paying their tithes. I owe them my protection for leading
their kin to their doorstep. Tonight I’d taken warriors to patrol my territory, hunting whoever has been behind a rash of
kidnappings of unregistered magic users. We’d followed the Aeddannari to the apothecary’s vicinity, and now I wonder if the
Fae have been hunting these females all along.
She refuses to look at me, heat staining her cheeks as she stares out the covered window of the coach as if she can see through
cloth, her hands curled into fists in her lap.
Fear? Tension? Or like me, is she bracing herself against the need to touch me, the way I need to touch her? I know when a
female wants me. I also know when she’s shying from it.
I should let it be.
The mother glances at her daughter and sighs. “Her name is Sajena. I’m Eslana.”
She gives the names of the other girls. The Orcling is Sydnee, and that’s an issue I will deal with. Or put Caisar to the task of
finding the girl’s father. If I determine he knowingly abandoned the babe, there will be consequences. She’s one of ours. We
don’t abandon our kin.
I smile at Sydnee, whose eyes widen, and she grins back. She’s young for her age, an ill thing in this City. If she has no father I
can find, I’ll take over her rearing myself.
Sajena’s distress swims to the surface when she glances between me and the Orcling. She’s protective, the mother calculating.
They must be strong and canny to have survived independently for so long. Aeddannari males are degenerates who control and
abuse their females.
“When we arrive,” I tell Sajena, glancing at Eslana to include her, “I’ll introduce you to my second, Aartagh. She’ll apprise
you of the household security and you can discuss needs for your stay.”
“A female is your second?” the Orcling demands. She turns to her mother as if she suspects I’m lying.
Leislah watches me with dagger sharp green eyes that will devastate some poor male when she’s older, and the youngest looks
scared.
“The Uthilsen are different,” Eslana murmurs. “Many of their females hold positions of authority.”
Sydnee’s eyes brighten. “Does Aartagh fight? Will she teach me? I want to hold an ax.”
I approve of her spirit, which tells me much about the mother. The older females sigh, Leislah sharing a look with Sajena.
“You defended your home with a blade,” I point out to Sajena.
“Not well.”
There is only one response to that tone of voice. “You survived, and your enemy didn't. So well enough, I would say.”
“She should learn, Jena,” Leislah says. “She’s more Orc than Fae anyway. It usually happens that way when we cross blood.”
I diplomatically refrain from speaking. I’m Lord of my territory, aye. One of the Three, aye. No one crosses my rule in my
territory and lives. . .but these are females.
One doesn’t cross them and expect to survive long, or happily. Besides, Aartagh will adore the Orcling, which means I’m now
outnumbered in my own home.
This situation will require strategy.
“If it pleases you,” I tell Sajena, “Aartagh can instruct the youngling. Any of your sisters who want to learn. Females should
know how to slit a throat, or cut off a male’s⁠—”
Eslana coughs.
Leislah smiles and I make a mental note to watch her. I’ve seen that kind of smile on a battlefield before someone I
underestimated stabbed me in the back.
Sajena also smiles.
I still. The smile is small and grim but genuine, and her thin lips relax into soft pillows as her eyes warm to a summer sky, the
sharp lines of her face softening. She isn’t like the females of my people at all, but she’s striking in her way.
Too striking. “Can you replace your glamour?” I ask.
Eslana and Sajena exchange a glance. “I’m drained. In the morning I can. Mother can do nothing while she’s pregnant. My
sisters. . .have not learned.”
She means they don’t have the power, but she avoids admitting a weakness the only way she can while remaining truthful.
The strain of depleted magic is in Sajena’s eyes. When the fight with the Fae broke the wards protecting the apothecary, as
soon as I saw her hunched over, glaring at us through her loose white hair, I’d known the brunt of the backlash had fallen on
her.
But she’d stood her ground, fought against the male who tried to kidnap then punish her when she resisted.
The thought that there’s only Sajena to protect a gravid female and three young leaves me enraged, and worried. Eslana is
foolish; she shouldn’t have had so many children without a few males to protect them, or a female’s circle other than her eldest
daughter.
“As soon as you can, replace the glamours,” I say.
“Can he get through your wards?”
“There’s always a first time.”
Aartagh emerges from the house as I jump out of the coach and step back so the females can exit. If my second wasn't watching,
I would hold out a hand to aid Sajena, but it’s obvious her desire is to project strength. I do assist Eslana, because even an
Uthilsen female requires help while she's this heavily pregnant.
“Will you settle the females in the quarters of their choice and see that they eat if they're hungry?” I ask Aartagh. “It’s late, so a
debrief can wait. The little ones need rest.” I glance at Eslana.
We have no female’s circle because technically we're not a clan, but technicalities don't matter so much and I won't interfere
with their business. Aartagh gives me a sharp nod, and gestures at the others. I step back, leaving them in her hands.
Sajena turns to me. “I'd like to speak with you before I retire, if that's possible.”
Her voice is sharp but she's courteous enough, bowing a little. It's not necessary. Uthilsen don't force these kinds of gestures of
respect; most of them are false.
I glance at Aartagh, who nods agreement. I look to Eslana again, but it's difficult to imagine her as my Sajena's mother. There's
a brittleness in her under the layers of cultivated sweetness.
“Don't take too long, Jena,” Eslana says. “You need rest too, and whatever problems you think you have to solve can probably
wait until the morning. Lord OakHorde, if you please.”
“Go with them,” Sajena tells Leislah. “I’ll try not to be too long.”
“Come,” I say when she turns back to me. She nods and follows me into the house.
Capo waits in my office. Aartagh handles my warriors, but Capo handles my business. Right now his ruthlessness is hidden
under a bland expression and a stack of papers he carries, including a thin, refurbished tablet that cost me a small fortune. Like
me, he prefers the Human style of casual business wear, which makes the mortals think we are civilized.
He gives Sajena an assessing look through his round spectacles. I’m still not certain if they’re a prop, or if he is actually
nearsighted. “Lord OakHorde.”
I almost snort. Usually, he calls me boy. He belonged to my father first. He won’t say anything in front of an Aeddannari she
might interpret as disrespect though.
“We followed a squad of Aeddannari to the Hearthrose block.” I flick my gaze at Sajena, who stands stiffly to the side. “They
were searching for something.”
He grimaces, understanding my silent message. “We’ll discuss this when your business is done.”
When he leaves I make Sajena a drink, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk.
I wonder what she thinks of this glimpse of my home, my private space. The dark wood paneling and refurbished wood floors.
There's little furniture in the room other than the sideboard where I keep my liquor, the desk, and the chairs. I'm too big;
furniture is just more things for me to run into. My only concession to the wealth my family has built over generations is the
richly colored burgundy rug on the floor, of Icarian make.
There are no windows. If someone wants to assassinate me one day, it won't be the easy way.
She sits on the edge of her chair, back ramrod straight. “I appreciate your hospitality. It's not my intention to stretch it any
further than needed, and if I can come to some arrangement with your household staff, I'll continue to care for my sisters on my
own.”
I down my drink and resist pouring another. This is the opening salvo of a negotiation I didn’t ask for, and isn’t how I want the
remainder of my evening—dawn—to go.
“My staff’s paid to take care of my household, which includes you while you're here.”
Sajena opens her mouth, probably to protest, and I settle back in my chair and stare at her. “Negotiations are unnecessary. I’m
not Aeddannari.”
She sighs. “Of course, Lord OakHorde.”
“Didn’t I just say I’m not Fae, Sajena? Address me as Cythro.”
She makes a face, but catches herself.
I almost laugh. “What do you want to discuss?”
Her gaze is on my face, steady and sharp as she studies me, but another blush colors her skin, giving me a clue where this
conversation is going.
“I want to set the cost of your protection.”
I'm not a male with a temper, usually. “I said you're my guest. I brought danger to your doorstep and I owe you a debt for that.”
“We would've been discovered sooner or later.”
The tension I try to keep at bay heightens. The gruesome fates of the females who catch Pike’s attention are only one of the
reasons I want to see him taken out.
The thought of her suffering like that. . .my jaw clenches. “But not tonight, if it weren't for me.”
Sajena still hasn't blinked and her nervousness is palpable though it barely shows on her face. She's a healer, she must have
learned to control fear. I don't want her fear. What I want⁠—
I set my drink down.
Like she did in the infirmary, I want her to surrender into my arms. To trust me to care for her, to accept my protection.
Hellsdamnit.
“If my mother, who is soon to have a new child, and my sisters and I are to stay here under the protection of your household,
eating your food and sleeping in your beds and—from the conversation between my sister and Aartagh—utilizing your warriors
for training, then I owe you something in trade.” Her blue eyes darken. “If you truly mean to protect us until Pike is no longer a
threat, that could be years.”
The urge to smile surprises me. “I don't mind. The girls seem spirited, and the Orcling should be around her people.” I steeple
my fingers. “There's room in the house, and in the morning you'll see that the grounds are extensive enough for play and
exploration.”
She shakes her head. “No, Lord OakHorde. The burden of debt will swing in your favor, and if I know something of your
people, then you know something of mine.”
I snort, picking up my drink and downing it until I realize it’s empty. Damn. “You’re kind to remind me. Fine. I don't want an
Aeddannari who believes they owe me a debt living under my roof. I value my neck. What do you propose?”
She rises slowly, pushing the chair back, her hand trembling for a moment before she controls herself. “There are my skills as a
minor healer which I can't bargain with, as it would be your right as a host to call on me for such labor.”
What in the hells is this female thinking? I clench my muscles to keep still.
She straightens her shoulders and walks around the desk and kneels.
Every instinct in me sharpens at the delicate female at my feet, offering herself.
She can be yours. Take her.
I swivel the chair, creaking a warning I’m not likely to heed, and face her. “What is this, girl?” My fingers flex, and I force
them to relax.
Sajena lowers her head, loose white hair falling down her shoulders and touching the floor. I hope she doesn’t say what I think
she’s⁠—
“An offer of flesh, Lord OakHorde.”
Damn. These motherfucking Fae.
“If you were my daughter I would put you over my knee and spank you.”
 Chapter

Five

S HE JERKS BEFORE GOING STILL. “No. If you were a Fae Lord and I was your daughter, a spanking would be the mildest
punishment. Most would consider it a reward.”
A reward.
Only centuries of dealing with Aeddannari keeps my stomach from curdling. I know she’s right. “I should feel insulted.”
I’m annoyed I don’t; I thought I was a better male. What I feel is hot, raging need. Her scent, her blush, her courage and
competence—her vulnerability. The combination would fell any male.
She lifts her head, temper in her eyes before she visibly reins herself. “My body is an insult? Am I repulsive?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Insult is not the word I’d use. I can count on half a hand the number of males who’ve had what I’m offering you.”
And that’s the number it will stay, adding only one more.
My control slips another notch. It began unraveling when I cupped her hands, cool and delicate under mine, her eyes startled. .
.and something else.
Lost. Hungry.
“Get off your knees, girl.” I bare my teeth, not bothering to hide my annoyance at this complication. “That's not a price I'll take,
not in return for protection. That's not my way.”
“I know. That's part of the reason I offered.”
Some of my agitation fades. In her roundabout way, she's revealing she feels safe with me—but not safe enough to not make the
offer.
I take Sajena’s hand, tugging her up and yanking sharply so she stumbles into my lap. She slips an arm around my neck as she
drapes herself across my thighs. I resign myself to my body deciding my fate. I’ve fucked females, quick encounters meant for
the mutual fulfillment of physical need, but not since my wife was killed during one of the incessant territory skirmishes have I
taken a true lover to my bed.
Not since then have I wanted to. Not like this.
“Tell me about this offer,” I say, stalling.
The color in her cheeks darkens, and she avoids my gaze. Modesty, not duplicity. “It’s simple enough. I don’t need to spell it
out for you.”
Holding her, I'm reminded that I failed to protect my wife, the way I failed to protect Sajena by bringing a fight to her home that
destroyed her anonymity; there’s a reason they’re hiding. And I break my fast with an Aeddannari female? One whose presence
could cause a territory war at a time when my strategy is to lull Pike into complacency while we hunt for a way to end him?
This is a pissnomenally poor idea, as my son would say.
“You have no female’s circle to guide you.”
She shrugs, peeking at me. She’s not a small female, but in my arms, she’s tiny. “I have my mother.”
“She agreed to this?” I demand.
“That isn’t the word I’d use either.”
No, I shouldn’t take advantage of this though the spark deep in me is ready to burst into an inferno. From the moment her
glittering, desperate eyes met mine in the moonlit courtyard, first as she defended herself, and second as she pleaded with me
for protection, I knew I wanted her.
Later when she healed my warriors, her voice brisk but her hands gentle. . .there's much to admire in the healer.
I kiss her forehead, trying to remind myself she isn’t in a position to bargain with strength.
“I refuse, Sajena.” I grip her chin gently. “I don’t coerce females into my bed.”
“I came to you.”
“Out of perceived necessity.” I respect her for steeling herself to do what she must to protect her own, but⁠—
Her breath brushes my ear. “If I said I wanted you?”
My body reacts; I want to bite her chin. “You’re straying close to telling a lie, healer.”
Sajena tears her chin out of my fingers and shifts, straddling me, sliding both arms around my neck. My cock is already hard
and I bite back a curse at the friction, unmoving beneath her open thighs.
“I do want you,” she says.
Her scent tells me this is truth. I can taste, I just have to set aside my better judgement and lift her onto my desk, then feast.
“You protected me in the courtyard, and after, you took care of me. No one has ever done that but my mother.”
“Careful, female. You’re giving yourself away.”
“You don’t behave like a Lord. Your females don’t fear you at all.” She adds this last in a soft, baffled tone; she doesn’t mean
to insult me.
“I’m not Fae,” I say.
It’s tempting to teach her a lesson. If she played this game with anyone else, it would end badly for her.
Her gaze traces my face. “You're handsome in your way. My mother took an Orc to her bed, and she had much to say about the
experience.”
“Is that why you’ve come here? For the experience?” There’s curiosity and the glimmer of lust in her eyes. Now, my anger
rises. “I am no toy for a bored, frightened Aeddannari female.”
“No. You’re one of the Three. Only a very, very foolish female would play games with you uninvited.” She turns her lips to my
ear, undulating so her core grinds against me. “Invite me.”
My father’s ancestors, it’s a command I want to obey. My hands settle on her waist without waiting for my mind to make the
right decision.
“How far are you willing to play this game tonight, Sajena?” I tighten my grip on her waist as I go on the offensive. If I can’t
convince her the offer isn’t necessary, maybe I can frighten her into rescinding it. “Will you let me spread you on my desk and
feast between your thighs?”
She inhales softly, the pulse in her neck fluttering. “If that’s what you want.”
I grind my teeth. That backfired. “If I want to strip you and bend you over and shove my cock in every opening until the entire
house can hear you scream?” I grab the back of her neck, letting my talons prick. “You’ve never had an Orc. It would pain you,
Sajena.”
It’s a lie. I wouldn’t fuck her until she was so wet from her orgasms that the discomfort of my entry would be nothing.
“Please,” she whispers, pride and focus warring across her face.
Her pupils are dilated and when I inhale, I scent no fear spoiling her musk. Her body doesn’t tremble as she leans into me.
There is something odd about how easily this female is succumbing to me. Almost as if. . .but that happens so rarely outside
their own species.
“What do you want me to do to you?” I ask, my will crumbling. She turns her head to look at the desk. I force her back around
to meet my gaze. “Tell me with words.”
“I want to find release on your tongue. I want to feel some part of you inside me.”
“Why?”
“You protected me and offered comfort without anything in return.”
The soft words are tiny hammers and I realize what must be happening to her. An Aeddannari female who’s never known a
male, never had male protection or acknowledgement; she’s starving.
Sighing, I say, “I reject your bargain, but I’ll give you the pleasure you seek.” I wait.
After a moment, she nods. “Not a bargain, only pleasure.” Her lips curve though her eyes are still grave under the growing lust.
Making a decision, I lift her as I stand and sweep a hand across the desk to rid it of the few items on the surface, then lay her
down.
Today I will not be a good male. Maybe I never was, if I succumb so easily to what I should not.
Straightening, I rake my gaze down her form. When I meet her eyes again, she slowly lifts her hands to the loose collar of her
blouse and pulls it over her head.
I inhale through my nostrils, staring at her bare torso. Long, slender with a tiny waist and flat stomach as if she hasn't had time
to eat recently. Nothing hearty, nothing to give her a natural roundness a female should have. I frown, but those thoughts vanish
when she cups her breasts; small, round, pale rose nipples hardening to a peak.
“Take my skirt off,” she says. “I want you to see what could be yours.”
She's trying to manipulate me—she's not bothering to hide it, but the females of my own people are equally as direct.
“That's a command few males would fight,” I say, hearing the wry note in my voice. “But don't think you can control me with
pleasure, Fae female.”
She smiles, a mocking gleam entering her eyes. “Of course not, Orc male. You’re the conqueror here. I’m only your prize.”
I growl. Dangerous. Of course she knows exactly what to say to push me along the path she wants us to walk.
“What are you afraid of, Lord? It’s a few moments of freely given, freely received, pleasure. I intend no threat to you.”
I chuckle at her slippery phrasing, and slip my fingers into the waistband of her skirt and yank it down, whipping it off and
tossing the cloth into the chair.
“You're young if you think I believe your clever lies, yedyah.”
Next are the loose undershorts and she’s fully naked, long limbs draped over the desk, a fluffy thatch of hair covering her
mound.
My heart pulses in my mouth; I inhale her scent, almost tasting her on my tongue. If I were younger, I wouldn’t have lasted this
long. She would already be screaming, her thighs clenching the sides of my head.
I place my hands under her knees, lifting her legs so her feet are flat on the desk. I push them apart to reveal the pinkness
between her thighs and every instinct in me that comes from a line of warriors who reveled in spilling the blood of her people
focuses.
This is mine.
I can take it if I’m willing to spring her trap.
Lifting my gaze to hers, I ponder the dilemma.
She frowns, delicate brows pulling down, and shrugs. “Stop fighting me. This,” she gestures down her body, “is your due as
Lord. Not to offer would have been an insult.”
“You are very Aeddannari.” This isn’t a female I can feast on and walk away. If I take what she offers, I’ll give her my throat. I
already feel the pull.
But she is Fae; if she’s beneath me it won’t matter if I bare my throat. She’s already given me the key to conquering her;
kindness, comfort. . .the cock I scent her rising craving to take.
She must understand the teeth of this trap will savage us both.
Slowly, I kneel, almost smirking when unease flashes across her face.
“What are you doing?” she demands in her soft, hidden steel voice.
“What you want.” I grab her ankles and yank her forward so her hips are on the edge of the desk. “I’m going to spear you on my
tongue.” I tighten my grip on her ankles. “I’m curious what name you’ll scream when you’re coming. If it’s any name but mine,
I’ll give you that spanking I promised.”
Her chest is rising faster with her breathing, her pupils blown out. “I—just a little—uh. . .”
I smile. Finally she’s beginning to understand where she’s erred. She’ll understand better after I’ve tasted her. Still, there’s
room for mercy.
“You can still walk away unscathed, yedyah. I won’t be angry.”
Her expression hardens. “Give me what you promised, Orc. We’ll see who is unscathed in the end.”
I hope there’s no prophecy in her blood line.
 Chapter

Six

SAJENA

HUNGRY DARK EYES stare at me from a face that’s no longer resting in a quizzical, amiable mask—an odd persona for a Lord of
the Three to don, but he does warm and avuncular well. At least when he’s not wielding an ax and killing people.
There’s nothing warm and avuncular about how he looms over me, his shoulders almost blocking out the room, fully clothed
and fully in control while I lay spread and naked, his gaze drinking in the flesh between my thighs.
Testing him, I say, “What name would you like me to scream?” I run my hand down my middle and part my folds, spreading my
thighs wider as I do so. “Lord? Master?” I pause. “Daddy?”
He jerks his head up, looking aghast. But there’s a flame in his eyes, a deep burning ember.
There it is. I see you, Orc Lord.
“Will you taste me, Daddy?” I purr, forcing myself past shyness, past lingering misgivings, to that place where I’m nothing but
need. The place I want him to go with me. “Will you lick and stuff me with your tongue? Make me come all over your face and
scream so everyone knows what a good girl I am for you?”
He growls. “Enough.”
“Why?” I circle my clit with my finger, biting my bottom lip. “Don’t you want a good girl of your own? You can have me any
way you want.”
OakHorde’s fingers tighten on my ankles as he narrows his gaze. Fingers that draw my attention because if I’m thinking clearly
and comparing the size of those digits to the size of his cock. . .
It will hurt when he fucks me.
And I’m not certain I can open my mouth wide enough, either. I once had a lover who liked to slap my face with his cock—if
OakHorde tries that, he’ll probably knock me out.
He smiles and chuckles, regaining his composure. “We’ll see if you’re in any position to play this game with me once I have
you squirming and squirting on my mouth.”
OakHorde leans forward, his hair brushing his shoulders and his mouth latches onto my clit, his tongue following the same
circles I’d been making with my fingers.
I moan, my clit throbbing. He knows exactly what pressure to exert as my hips undulate against his mouth.
“Isn’t this what you really want, girl? That’s why you challenge me—you want me to respond.”
He drapes my legs over his shoulders and attacks, tongue licking up and down my slit with eager hunger, alternating between
teasing my clit and dancing around my opening. Taloned hands caress up my torso and grip my breasts, playing with my
nipples. Just like I thought, I fit right into his palms.
“I want you inside.”
I need him inside. I’ve never wanted a male like this, never thought I could want a male like this—especially after only
knowing him a few hours.
He chuckles. “Not so fast. I learned my lesson young.”
“What lesson?”
“Females say they want big cock, hard and fast, but when I give it to them, they squeal and weep like rabbits being slaughtered.
No, you need several sessions of prep first.”
He’s matter of fact; he’s so big he has to prepare his lovers for days to take him without pain.
“I’m not delicate.”
Shut your mouth, a rational side of my mind snaps. I really should, I agree. But I won’t.
OakHorde lifts a brow, gaze traveling over my body in patent disbelief. “You aren’t half my size.”
“Try me, Orc Lord. My mouth or my pussy. Both are wet and willing.”
His eyes darken. “I know what you need, Sajena. Uthilsen cock in your throat, Uthilsen seed on your thighs. That’s why you
came so sweetly to my arms the moment we met. But we go slow.”
Not just any Orc; him. He doesn’t know about yevserayya, of course he doesn’t know. I’m not going to tell him.
“Please—”
“Quiet.” Another long, slow lick, his teeth biting gently down on my inner thigh in warning.
I shut my mouth, annoyed.
“Good,” he croons. “Now, I want to hear from your lips you want me to fuck you until you beg me to stop. I’ll replay your
words in my mind when I spill my seed tonight.”
In whom? A flash of vicious jealousy seizes me. The last trickle of my exhausted, modest power rises, shimmering under my
skin.
I grab his forearms, digging my nails in. “No other. You touch no other. Death would be a kind fate.”
Those last words are a shock; violence and killing are anathema to me. I'll defend lives and property with lethal force, but I
don't aggress. Ever.
OakHorde doesn’t move, his eyes penetrating. then he inclines his head. “Agreed. Whatever this is, we touch no other until it’s
over.”
I should tell him the truth, that for me there is no other. Nor for him, if I strangle any females who catch his interest. But he
should know about the strike.
I can’t. I don’t know him well enough. Will he take advantage of me, of my natural submissiveness, or will he run? Either
would break me.
“It won’t be over for me,” I whisper, the words as much truth as I can force myself to reveal.
His eyes narrow.
I don’t want to answer the question I see there, so I scowl. “And I want to come now.” I rake my nails down his forearms.
OakHorde laughs, a deep masculine sound of satisfaction that raises every internal alert, reminding me he’s dangerous., and
squeezes my breasts.
“Admit who’s in control here, Sajena, then I’ll pleasure you.”
“That’s what you want? My admission of your dominance?’ I give him a slow, satisfied smile. “You’re afraid if you have me,
you’ll be completely mine.” I shrug one shoulder. “It’s a reasonable fear.”
“Any fear involving a female who has her hand wrapped around your cock is reasonable.” There’s amusement in his eyes.
That’s fine. It’s better if he underestimates me. I’m a simple City healer, a quiet person who keeps to herself. I’m no mage, no
warrior. I can’t kill without extreme circumstances.
But my mother taught me to still know my worth. And though females are often abused and subjugated, our history is rife with
those who also made or broke their bloodlines.
“Make me come,” I say, “and I’ll wrap my lips, not my hand, around your cock.”
He releases one breast and his finger is at my entrance, one slipping just inside. Slowly. My body is tight, and that single finger
is a delicious warning. I buck my hips, trying to get more of it.
He pushes in deeper. “Yes, you are wet, aren’t you? And tight.” He pushes in to his knuckle, and I have a fleeting moment to be
glad the talons retract.
“Another,” I say, breathe deep and fast. “Another.” I draw my knees up to my chest.
OakHorde kisses my clit again, adding the second finger and this is when my flesh begins to burn.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says. “I can tear you like this if you aren’t used to it.”
Each finger must be the size of two of mine, and he spreads them inside me, pulling out and then thrusting back in, the squelch
of my wet pussy combining with the soft slap of his hand as he increases the pace.
Arching my back, I spread my legs wider, and meet his thrusts.
His tongue swirls until I’m almost at a peak I could never achieve on my own, and⁠—
He pulls away. “I can edge you all night, Sajena. What are those magic words?”
I grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand back but he shifts my grip, imprisoning me instead, a half-amused, half-warning gleam in
his eyes.
“You’re a Uthilsen male,” I snarl. “You’re supposed to be submissive.”
His free hand cups my mound and squeezes lightly. Possessively. “Isn’t that what they say about Aeddannari females?”
I’m ambidextrous. I jerk my other hand up to slap him; he catches that wrist too. “None of that, girl. You haven’t had enough
training for that game.”
“I don’t care.” I want to punch him. I want to weep. The growing bond is making me irrational.
“Well?” He waits.
Taking a deep breath, I calm myself. I don’t care what he wants me to say; I don’t even care that it’s the truth. I only want to
come; I can deal with the consequences later.
The words spill out. “I want you to fuck me until I beg. Please.”
He smiles. “And?”
This. . .Orc.
“You’re Lord here. You’re in control.”
The Orc takes my clit back in his mouth and is relentless, ruthless as he brings me back to the peak. He adds fingers, not
bothering with one but ramming three inside me at once.
Oh, and how he uses those fingers, responding to every sound I make, every shift of my hips until he finds exactly how I like to
be touched.
My channel is slick with need but tight. His fingers pump in and out, rough and punishing but that’s what I need right now.
My pussy clenches around him as I come, crying out, and I don’t know what name I call but I hear his quiet laughter through the
blood rushing in my ears. Feel him gather my limp, shuddering body in his arms and sit back in his wingback chair.
This. . .didn’t go the way I planned. His hardness presses against me. How can I make him mine if he doesn’t receive pleasure
in return?
I wedge my hand between our bodies, rubbing my palm over the erection. He pushes my hand away.
“Do you not want to come?” I ask. “I’m not selfish. I would enjoy having you.”
OakHorde shakes his head and when I look up, his eyes are almost affectionate. He kisses my forehead. “No. If I have you, it
won’t be for a moment of pleasure. You’re already tired and heartsore at leaving your home. We also need to set some rules
before I fuck you.”
“Rules, Lord OakHorde?”
“About how we will communicate, for one. I won’t wade through an ocean of slippery Aeddannari doublespeak when I ask you
a question.”
I almost smirk. “Fine.”
His stare is even. “We will also be talking about your sister. Her father needs to be found.”
“If my mother wanted him found, he would be.”
“Your mother is clearly unique.”
“She likes males, and sex, and she likes babies as well. Not taking care of them, not so much after they’re past the milking
phase.” My tone sours. “That's where I come in. And Leislah too.” Now that Honoria is gone.
He brushes hair out of my face, the tips of his talons lingering on my cheekbone. “I was a boy on the dreadnought, and curious
enough to spend much time around the Aeddannari. I'm older than many of my kin on this planet, old enough to know better.”
“What do you mean?”
His dark eyes are impenetrable. “Fae females are trouble.”
“If they have fathers and brothers and a Lord. I have none.”
“That you know of. What your mother has is secrets. Do you know them?”
I say nothing.
OakHorde shakes his head. “I'm still Orc enough to scoff at the potential danger. When has any Uthilsen ever backed down
from a fight?”
“Why are you holding back then?”
“I do care that you’re not precisely here of your own will. You feel forced to come to my bed to protect your family.”
“I’ve said I want you.”
“Both can be true at the same time. That you feel desire, and you feel forced.”
“I’m an adult female. Whether I feel forced by circumstances or not, I’m still in my right mind. I’m still allowed to make a
choice.”
He sighs, and it’s more a growl. His lips find mine, his tongue pushing my mouth open as he tilts my head back. I grind against
his erection, wanting more, but also wanting a little revenge for his rejection.
OakHorde pulls away. “The answer is still no, Sajena. I do want a healer of your talent on retainer, so if you feel you owe me,
you can take up that position during your stay. Assign the girls chores and training, tend to your mother. I don’t care what you
do as long as you follow Aartagh’s commands regarding your movements.”
“You’re still telling me no?” I undulate on his lap, and he grits his teeth.
“Stop that,” he growls, grabbing my hips to still me.
“You want⁠—”
“I want a steady supply of apple ale and apple cake, and to be centuries younger so I can eat it all without gaining a gut.”
“Once you’re inside me, you’ll be my master.”
He tightens his hands on my hips. “Yes, you’ll be mine. Aeddannari females are submissive when they bond. You can’t help but
seek to please your mates.”
“Orc males,” I say softly, sharply, “are our equivalent.”
“As I said, disaster.”
I press a kiss on his neck, wisely remaining silent while he talks himself into what he thinks is a shit idea.
“Two weeks,” he says finally. “If you still want me in two weeks, I won’t say no. Not now, though, not when you’re fresh off a
battlefield scare. Aartagh would slit my throat.”
“Ten days.”
His brows shoot up. “Interesting. A week.”
“Five days. With a side wager that you won't last that long, imagining my willing mouth around your cock, swallowing every
last drop of your come down my throat.”
Cythro growls.
I slide off his lap and glide towards the door. “But if you want me before the five days are up, I’m yours.”
“Put clothes on, Sajena,” he snaps, surging from his chair when I open the door.
I laugh and step into the hallway. What do I care about nudity? “You aren’t my master yet, Lord OakHorde. If you want to keep
me to yourself, make me yours.”

CYTHRO

F OLLOWING her into the hallway as if there’s a tether dragging me along with her, I watch as Sajena stumbles once, and leans
against the wall.
She’s exhausted, and I just spent the last hour toying with her. Cursing myself, I scoop her up into my arms and stride down the
hall and up a flight of stairs. Her weight is comforting.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks, her voice faint and raspy. Her nails dig into my shoulder though she leans her head
against me.
I grunt. “Somewhere no one will disturb you. You’re tired, and your mother and sisters will interrogate you if you sleep with
them tonight.”
She falls into a light doze, unmoving until I open the door to my bedroom and step in, walking through the sitting area and into
my bedroom where I lay her down on the worn, handmade quilt.
It gives me a moment’s pause because my wife made that quilt, and another female has never laid upon it. But I think Dagne
wouldn't mind. Would approve of this female who works hard, almost selflessly, and seems to want nothing more than to live
peacefully and be useful. Even if she’s willing to use her body to achieve that goal. But I am one of the Three, so I can’t fault
her; what better male to seduce for protection? It truly is good common sense. Besides, all females are like this. Not Orc
females, of course, but Human and Fae, even Icarian.
She opens her eyes, lifting her head. “This place smells like you.”
“It’s my room. Doze. I'll bring you food.”
She folds her hands on top of her stomach, settling.
“I don't want you serving me. It's inappropriate.”
I laugh. “Isn't it a male’s function to serve a female?”
“Only among the Uthilsen.”
“That, girl,” I say, “is where you are. Among Uthilsen.”
I gather a simple meal of bread and cheese, cold meats and a slice of fruit pie Cook put on the plate as well. In the other hand I
carry a pot of steaming herbal tea that will help Sajena sleep. She doesn’t understand that no Orc male minds being a servant in
his home, that's as it should be. The males serve and provide, the females guide, and allow us to slake our considerable lust
and aggression in their bodies. Allow us to fill them with seed and make them vulnerable with months of pregnancy and
childbirth. I think we get the better end of the bargain.
She's deeply asleep when I reenter the room and I debate whether to wake her up, but she expended too much energy and if I
know Fae, she'll be worse off in the morning if she doesn't refuel now.
Her eyes snap open and for a moment she looks confused before her expression clears, and she sits up.
“I'm ravenous, thank you.” When I indicate the food on trays I sat next to her, she glances at me. “Will you have some?”
Aeddannari manners. My lips curve and because she offered, I sit on the edge of the bed and take bites of flatbread while she
devours the rest.
“Why do you do it?” I ask.
“Why do I do what?”
“Tend to the poor.”
One reason she was reluctant to leave her apothecary was because she tends to those who can’t afford others’ services. Fae
females, despite often being healers, aren't known for their selflessness or nurturing; in their way they’re as ruthless as the
males—though I think the females can be more easily reasoned with.
“Why shouldn't I?” she asks. “I have the skills for it. It's useful and it provides us with enough of a living to feed my mother’s
brood of daughters. It helps people,” she adds in a softer voice.
“Is that important to you? Helping people?”
She's silent for a long moment, playing with the remnants of her meal. “Helping people earns goodwill and you never know
when you’ll need to cash in on that.”
This is the same strategy behind her decision to offer herself to me. I lounge on the bed, studying her, her downcast gaze.
Sajena would have me believe her motives are purely mercenary, but I think not. She cares. She’s simply Fae, so caring shames
her. They consider it a gross weakness.
She's done eating, and the circles under her eyes have deepened, so after clearing the trays I tug the quilt down then drape it
over her; she’s still naked and I have no intention of clothing her while she’s in my bed.
“Sleep, healer. If your mother has need, I'll wake you.”
Sajena settles back into the pillows and lets her eyes drift closed. Watching her sleep, I shoulder the burden of her trust. But I
did that the moment the fight with her kin spilled into her courtyard.
The moment I met her gaze across that courtyard, felt the punch of that mind and had to fight against the instinct that she is meant
for me.
A fight I’ve already abandoned.
 Chapter

Seven

ESLANA

IN THE MORNING , Eslana watches Lord OakHorde play with the girls. He takes an interest in how Sydnee holds the blunt edged
knife Aartagh gave her, and corrects her stance. His gaze lingers on Sydnee’s face and Eslana catches the telltale deep rise of
his chest and flare of his nostrils as he inhales once, twice.
Aartagh walks to her side and glances at Eslana’s face, then pointedly at her belly. “When?”
Eslana lays her hand on the top of her swollen stomach. “Soon. I'll give you plenty of warning to summon a midwife.”
“Maybe you should summon the father. Ya may ‘ave convinced the others you don’t know who seeded you, but I’m no
youngling. There’s not a single Aeddannari female who don’t know the name, face, lineage and threat the father of her child
poses.”
Eslana laughs. “You're delightful, Aartagh.”
Aartagh grunts, squinting at her. “How do you know it will be soon?”
She shrugs. Lord OakHorde and Sydnee approach hand in hand.
“Ask your mother,” he prompts, and releases the girl though he doesn’t move away.
Eslana bites back a sigh.
Complications and coincidences.
“Mother, may I board here with Aartagh and Cythro once Pike is squashed under Cythro’s boots?”
“Lord Seacliff and Lord OakHorde is the appropriate form of address.”
“She should spend some time learning our ways, and training,” he says. “Your home is not so far that she can't walk there
daily.”
“I see,” Eslana says. “In that case, why the boarding? She can simply walk here after school.”
Eslana watches, with some grim amusement, as Lord OakHorde attempts to come up with a logical response. He wants the girl
close to him, but he doesn't know why. Eslana knows why, and she supposes the why will shortly make its presence known.
“I want to stay in the barracks with Aartagh and the other female warriors,” Sydnee says.
“We will discuss the details. If I find them satisfactory, I'll give my permission.”
Aartagh claps her on the shoulder. “We’ll train her into a warrior strong enough to defend your house.”
“How marvelous,” Eslana says.
And the thing that she has been anticipating for so many years happens a moment later. She almost, almost, starts laughing.
“Father,” a deep, smooth voice calls out.
Lord OakHorde glances over Eslana’s shoulder, presumably at the approaching Orc male.
“I leave you alone for a week and come home and you filled the house with females? I don’t know if I should congratulate you
or worry about your mental health. We’re outnumbered now.”
Aartagh snorts and mutters words under her breath Eslana presumes are meant to be derogatory.
“Son,” Lord OakHorde says, already moved out of her sight as he greets his son. “This is Eslana, the healer’s mother.”
“I am the healer,” she corrects, staring up at the sky, her back still to the males. “Along with my daughter.”
The son doesn’t know her name. She never gives her real name, though with him she’d worn her real face. Sentiment. She
resigns herself to the inevitable, and slowly turns.
Her face is rounder, her pregnant body lusher. The last time he’d seen her, her hair had been stained with henna and curled, and
now it is as long and fine and silvery as Sajena’s.
So, she understands that when he meets her gaze, he is curious but impersonal. He glances at the girls and turns back to his
father, stops—and turns to her again.
His eyes narrow, then widen. “Essie?”
It took him five seconds to recognize her. . .she is downwind.
The elder OakHorde turns and pins Eslana with a thin-lipped stare. “You and my son know each other?”
She gives him some credit; he manages to keep his tone light, mild, civil. The dangerous ones always do, but with OakHorde
she thinks perhaps he might be that rare thing, genuinely kind. Aartagh is now looking between the four of them. Eslana, Caisar,
Cythro. . .Sydnee.
“Shit,” the Orc female says.
Quite.
No one here is slow thinking. She can’t quite decide if that’s a plus. Intelligent allies can be helpful, or a nuisance.
“Caisar,” Eslana says. “What a lovely day. I’m sure you have business with your father, so I'll take the girls⁠—”
Caisar shifts, only a little, but Eslana courted him for several weeks and she's well aware of his temper. He's not nearly as
mild mannered as his father. But then, he is much, much younger.
“You're pregnant, Essie?”
“Why yes, so it appears,” she says, suppressing a more Leislah like response. That girl has made scorn an art. “The baby will
come any day now.”
“Any day now,” Caisar says, voice flat. He steps forward. “Fae gestation is fourteen months long.”
She widens her eyes. “Is it?”
Sydnee must make a noise or movement because he glances at her, pauses, and looks at Eslana.
“My daughter, Sydnee,” Eslana says, still pitching her voice in that light, cheerful tone she uses to mask everything.
“Your daughter,” Caisar repeats slowly.
Well, it's probably better to get it over with now. “Yes. You fathered her, if you care to claim her. Is she not lovely?”
Everyone stares at Eslana after that sudden revelation, but Eslana—Essie, as she called herself and wasn’t that amusing—
doesn't believe in drawing things out. She dislikes melodrama. Her father enjoys it, the way he enjoys torturing his toys. If
she’d been his older sister, she would have strangled him when he was a child.
Caisar makes a strange noise and Eslana frowns at him. “Are you well? Perhaps you should sit and put your head between your
knees?”
Aartagh sighs.
“My. . .daughter. . .” Caisar says through clenched teeth. “You didn't tell me. You knew where I lived.”
Eslana rests her hand on her abdomen. “There are good reasons for that, and unfortunately for all of those involved, I'm certain
those reasons will come to light soon enough.”
Aartagh begins to laugh. “Your spine is lined with steel, female. I’ll give ya that.”
“Mother?”
Eslana looks at her halfling. Maybe she should have been gentler about the revelation, but Sydnee is strong. “Yes, darling?”
“This is my father?”
“Mmm. Isn’t it a nice surprise? A father, a grandfather, and an aunt all in one day. Are you not pleased?”
Sydnee stares at Caisar, who stares back. OakHorde is still glaring at Eslana. Caisar rounds on Eslana again. He points. “And
the babe in your belly? Whose child? I’ve been looking for you for⁠—”
“Yes, yes.” She waves a hand. “Yours too. You should be flattered. Yours is the only seed I wanted twice.” It’s a bit more
complicated than that, but that explanation will do.
“Fourteen. Months.”
Well, she’d never thought he was stupid. A bit feckless, a bit indulgent, hotheaded and too charming for his own good, but not
stupid.
“You disappeared on me again, and I scoured the City looking for you⁠—”
“This is the female you’ve been—” Lord OakHorde stops talking.
Caisar takes a deep breath, exhales, then turns to Sydnee and goes down on one knee. “Forgive me, little one, I wasn't ignoring
you.”
Eslana can’t see his face, but he must smile at his daughter because Sydnee beams back.
“I didn’t know, little one. I swear I didn’t know, or I never would have left you.”
Eslana closes her eyes. Orc males cherish their daughters. He would have—well, will be—a good father. Eslana had thought
she couldn’t risk it though. Not considering who her father is.
Maybe she’d made a mistake.
“I thought I recognized her scent,” OakHorde murmurs. “I couldn't place it, but now I know.”
“I am sorry this pains you,” Eslana says. It’s all she can offer. “I had my reasons.”
“We will talk,” OakHorde says, voice very, very even, “after we have all had some time to gather ourselves.”
“This is pretty great,” Sydnee says.
Eslana is glad someone thinks so.
 Chapter

Eight

SAJENA

“THIS IS DRIVING ME INSANE,” Leislah fumes, kneading bread. “She won't stop crying.”
“We have to let her process,” I say. “You shouldn't have let her watch the attack.”
“Sydnee loved it.”
“Sydnee is an Orc. Who is currently in the training yard with Aartagh and our mother. We can’t burden Eslana with both
younglings.”
“We can't baby Taiyah forever,” my sister retorts, red braids swinging with the force of her kneading.
I purse my lips. “We’ve been here a day. Give her time to settle.”
We begin shaping balls of dough into rolls when the kitchen doors fly open and Taiyah runs in, tears streaking down her face.
I head towards her. Taiyah darts around the kitchen staff, who suppress curses when they see it's a child underfoot.
Snatching her upper arm, I lead her to a bench to sit. “Do you want to help us shape the buns?”
“I want my doll,” she sobs. “I want to go home.”
I crouch. “You know why we can't go home, and I won't have you insulting Lord OakHorde's hospitality. You stop this
moment.”
It's proof of how tired I am that I take this tact with her, because it only makes her cry harder.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale and fix a smile on my face. “I'm not mad at you, darling. Do you want something to drink?”
“I want soup now. Can I have soup now?”
Cook glances at me, then reaches for one of the bowls in the stack and begins to dish it out.
“It looks like the answer is yes,” I say.
“It must cool,” Cook says.
Taiyah is already out of the seat, dashing across the kitchen.
“Stop running,” Leislah shouts, rolling another dough ball and slapping it on the pan.
I glance at her, a rebuke on my lips when I hear a shriek and a more controlled, but still startled, shout.
“See,” Leislah says, not looking up. “Told ya.”
Turning, I assess that the bowl of soup is now on the floor, but also on the arms of the cook. Knowing Taiyah, she tried to
snatch the bowl and it wound up flying all over.
I cross the room and hustle Cook over to the deep sink to begin pumping cool water onto her arm.
“Get something out of the icebox,” I call to Leislah, who already grabbed Taiyah and shoved her onto a bench with a gruff bark
to stay put, then turns to head towards the icebox.
The burn is bad.
I try to draw on my strength but I haven't recovered from last night. If Honoria was here. . .I can't think like that. She made her
choice, and I honor it. But I could use her power right now.
“I can't heal this the fast way, I'm sorry,” I say. “I’ll return home and retrieve my reserve stone.”
She grunts and I leave Leislah with instructions, drawing a loose scarf over my hair since I don’t have the strength for glamour.
The guards at the gate give me a long look, and I wonder if they’re going to tell Lord OakHorde I’ve left.
Once I reach the house I don't linger, grabbing the doll and a few other items after I locate my reserve stone and tuck it into the
pocket of my skirt. I grimace when a mouse darts across the living room as I come down the stairs. Not gone three days and the
rodents are already invading.
I slip out the back. Once I'm through the gate⁠—
—a hand seizes my throat, shoving me against the fence. I drop my belongings on reflex and reach for a knife, but the assailant
grabs my wrist and easily disarms me.
“Sajena Linsorcha,” the Aeddannari male says, “Lord Seacliff invites you to attend him.”
“I’m not⁠—”
“Don’t bother.”
I decide to fight, screaming and struggling. The warrior curses and mutters something that has me slumping against his body as
magic slaps me in the face. He swings me up into his arms and runs.
Shouting, the deep growls of Orc voices converging. The Aeddannari drops me, pain exploding in my head when it hits the
ground. I fight the sleep spell and when I finally open my eyes a male curses, puts an arm around my back and helps me sit up.
“Are you injured?” OakHorde asks, voice clipped as he lifts me into his arms.
“You had me followed. I can walk. Oh! My bag.”
“You can barely talk.” He enters my backyard, skims around the house and approaches the front gate where his warriors wait.
“I’ll put you down when your strength returns. Now be quiet.”
I rally to explain—I don’t want him to think I placed myself in danger for a silly reason. “Cook is injured. I couldn’t heal her
so I needed my stone. I wouldn’t have left for any less a cause.”
He tightens his arms. “I don’t want to hear it.”
I say nothing the trip back to his home. Once inside he takes me to his study and lowers me into a chair like I’m the dainty
Aeddannari he accused me of being.
“Lord OakHorde⁠—”
He turns on me with a snarl, and I close my mouth. OakHorde walks to his corner cabinet to assemble drinks, taking his time to
down two.
“I don't normally approve of alcohol as a coping mechanism, but you’re as big as a dragon so I suppose it won't hurt you.”
OakHorde pauses, turns slowly, and fixes me with a stare, the quiet seething under his forced calm making me rethink my
opinion.
Maybe he should have a fourth.
He makes another drink then approaches.
“It seems we need to come to an understanding, Sajena,” he says, handing me the glass. “It’s an herbal restorative. Drink it
down in one go.”
It tastes no worse than some of my mother’s restoratives. I set the glass down when I’m done, and the headache I hadn’t
realized I’d been nursing eases. I resign myself to the lecture and look at him quizzically, folding my hands in my lap.
He turns my chair and crouches in front of me, its wooden arms creaking from the force of his grip. Well, I’d rather the chair
than me.
“I can’t protect you if you leave the house. You could have been killed.”
“Does that bother you?”
He bares his teeth. “What. Do. You. Think. You’re under my protection, and you’re an asset to my territory. I don’t want you
dead.”
“Especially since you haven’t had me yet.”
His eyes narrow in a glare. “You can’t take these risks. Your mother is about to have the baby—” he pauses, and I wonder
about the odd look that crosses his face, but he continues, “and what do you think will happen if you’re killed or captured?”
“Cook is injured,” I say. “I needed power to heal her.” I don’t mention the doll.
“I understand your reasons, but you must get permission to leave.”
I inhale. “Permission?”
“Yes” He bares his teeth. “Permission.”
“This is supposed to be protection, not imprisonment! I haven't had to get permission to leave the house since I was a child.”
“Then maybe it will bring back fond memories.”
I try to slide off the desk and storm out, but he shifts, blocking me.
“You can’t—” I can't finish that thought, because it's not true. He can. He can do whatever he wants.
“You should have told the guards you were leaving. If one hadn’t followed you while the other summoned me. . .” He rises and
looks down at me, a ruthless Orc warrior. “Do I need to confine you to your room? I will tie you to the bed if I need to,
Sajena.”
There is only one response I can give. “No, Lord.”
His hand settles around the back of my neck. “Do I need to make you Vow it?”
I suck in a breath. “You bastard.”
OakHorde grins, tusks flashing. “There you are, healer. Your true self. I don’t trust this sedate creature sitting in front of me. ”
He pulls me to my feet. “If I’d accepted your offer, you would never have thought of leaving without informing me first.”
“Accept it then.”
My heart is racing now, my body going pliant in anticipation though my mind is still wary, still strategizing. Curse Aeddannari
biology.
OakHorde’s chest expands with a sigh. His dark eyes glitter down at me, the strands of silver in his hair reminiscent of mine.
There are lines at the corners of his eyes, eyes with an expression far gentler than I’ve experienced from anyone but my mother.
From any male, and I have to guard myself against him because if there is anything a Fae female wants, it is the approval of her
father, her lover, her husband.
Her mate.
“I’m old enough to understand what is happening to you, Sajena. What forces have you in their grip. You’d grip me too.”
“You have the power here.” It’s what an Aeddannari male would want to hear.
OakHorde laughs. “I note you don’t say that you have none.” He slides his taloned fingers into my hair, massaging the back of
my head. “It’s a bad idea to allow this, especially considering your sisters are my granddaughters.”
I. . .don’t think I heard that correctly. “Excuse me?”
His half-smile is unpleasant. “A daughter in exchange for a granddaughter, I think. There must be consequences.”
He kisses me, lifting me onto his desk. My mind can’t catch up as my mouth softens under lips that are warm and firm and
satiny, the tongue he slips into my mouth tasting of the herbal tonic he also drank. I’ll forgive the taste this once.
I don’t know this male; the attraction I feel is innate, unavoidable. But he feels like home and safety and strength, and the
warmth in his voice and the kindness in his eyes have already shredded most of my wariness.
He trails his lips down my neck, hands brushing my hair out of the way. “My son will have an opinion,” he murmurs, teeth
nipping my skin. “Aartagh will have more than an opinion.”
He’s leaning his weight into me, his arms on either side. I wrap my legs around his waist, yearning for mating. Fucking.
OakHorde straightens, and his expression shifts to an implacable mask. When he speaks, his voice is cool, almost monotone.
“I punished my son for sneaking out when he was a youngling. It was the only way to ensure he understood the seriousness of
that disobedience. Of what can go wrong. We are not ordinary people. We cannot do things ordinary people do.”
My heart rate jackknifes and I scoot back on the desk. He doesn’t chase, but his energy coils. “My Lord?”
OakHorde lunges, grabbing my ankles and yanking me back towards him. I shriek, startled more than anything else, and in a
second we’re in his chair—and I’m draped over his knees, stomach down.
I rear up, panicking. “You said you wouldn’t lift a hand to me!”
“This is punishment, not a beating.” His arm lays across my back, holding me despite my struggles. “Sajena.”
The strong disapproval in his tone withers my resistance. I don't want a spanking, but I also don't want him displeased with me.
I swing between anger and despair. Between the desire to submit, and the need to claw his eyes out. I am normally calm, even
keeled, but this male makes me crazy.
“Get it over with,” I say, tears pricking my eyes.
Air against my skin when he slides my skirt up, and pulls down the loose undershorts I wear. I’m going to start wearing tight
leather pants, the kind you have to sacrifice an animal to the gods in order to peel off.
There’s a knock at the door; I freeze.
“Enter,” OakHorde says.
“What? I don’t want a witness!”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. A spanking is nothing, really, my people are known for their public sexual feasts, but I’ve
never partaken.
“Quiet, Saj’a. Capo, report.”
The male steps in, closing the door behind him. I glare at him through my hair, but his gaze doesn’t flicker to me at all.
“Fifteen should do it,” OakHorde says. “Count, Sajena. If you lose the count, we start over.”
“But—”
“Sajena.” Sharp, chiding.
I’m half naked, draped over OakHorde’s lap, and his big hand even now caresses and squeezes my buttock. I moan in
embarrassment.
The males begin to talk.
“Kraig is four weeks late with their last payment, blew past the grace,” Capo says. “Grace granted out of the kindness of our
heart.”
The first smack comes hard; no warning, no build up. I strangle an undignified shriek. “One.”
“Was that the one who claimed their wife gave birth to twins?” OakHorde asks.
“Yup.”
“Two,” I count, the crack of his hand on my flesh sharp. “Three.”
OakHorde sighs. “Was it lie?”
“Nope. Twins.” Capo shrugs.
My skin begins to burn, and I bite into my bottom lip. “Four. Five.”
“Take a finger, and increase their percentage. If they miss next payment, dump them in Pike’s territory with a bow around their
neck.”
Three more in quick succession; I’m squirming again, I can’t help it. OakHorde splays his palm on my buttocks and massages
out some of the heat. My body begins to relax and then⁠—
I jerk. “Nine! Damn you. Ten.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Just a few more.”
It burns. The blows move to the tops of my thighs. “Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.”
I buck against his hold, fighting. He massages my thighs, hand slipping between. The fight drains from me, and I pull my bottom
lip between my teeth. What is he—what is he. . .
Oh gods.
“Gazihda says her son was assaulted after refusing an offer of marriage,” Capo is saying. “Permission to retaliate.”
“Denied.” OakHorde croons the words, his fingers straying up, and up. “Bring them in, and if the accused is guilty, I'll give her
to Aartagh.”
“Fourteen!” One more. One more. I wriggle on his lap, letting out a low moan because where he’s massaging me now. . .
“Rothson is at it again. Dealing right on our border.”
“Fifteen,” I gasp.
“Hunt him down and encourage him to follow the rules of entrepreneurship.”
“Arm or leg?”
“Good, Sajena. Very good.”
He doesn’t let me up, though. That heavy hand slips back between my thighs, and this time he doesn’t shy away from my center.
He spears me, beginning a torturous inner massage, then withdraws, sliding up to my clit. He nudges my thighs open.
I moan, turning my face away from Capo. I don’t want to know if he’s watching.
“Arm,” OakHorde says. “He’s shown initiative. Let's watch, see if he also shows intelligence. If he doesn't take the warning to
fall in line, kill him.”
“She takes punishment well,” Capo observes. “A bit noisy.”
OakHorde chuckles. “One hopes it will be the last punishment, but that’s unlikely.”
Their words fly by my ears because I’m in a cocoon of rapidly fading pain and rapidly growing desire.
“She tastes as good as she smells,” OakHorde murmurs.
“You will tell the others not to touch? They watch already.”
OakHorde snarls softly. “They can look. They can smell. They can listen. But no touching. Or I'll rip their arms off. You tell
them that.”
I come on his fingers, swallowing my cry.
OakHorde lifts me off his lap and sits me in his chair, draping my legs over the arms so I’m spread wide, my glistening pussy
exposed. I turn my face away, shutting my eyes.
“A shy Aeddannari?” Capo says, sounding amused—and skeptical. “Is this game you two play?”
“No.” OakHorde settles between my thighs. “She is shy. That’s why this is part of her punishment.”
“A feast.” The amusement deepens.
OakHorde’s long, slow licks up and down my slit are that of a male feasting.
He spreads my lips apart for better access and growls against my skin, tongue plunging into my heat.
I cry out, grinding against his mouth, forgetting embarrassment, ignoring Capo’s gaze on me.
“Do you want me to stop?” OakHorde asks.
“No, no, let me come. I want to come. Please.”
I moan again as I climax, my juice all over OakHorde’s mouth. My eyes are still squeezed shut.
“Not sure if this method is deterrent to misbehavior,” Capo says. “But your uncle did swear by it.”
I hear footsteps approach the door. “Happy feasting.”
The door opens and clicks shut, muting his chuckle.
The Orc Lord stands, and lifts me to settle us back down, but this time I’m sitting up in his lap. Once again he makes no move
to have me ease his hardness.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, voice low and rough as he nuzzles the side of my face. “I could eat you for days if I had no
work to do.”
“In front of your warriors, evidently.”
“Yes. So they know who has the only right to feast on you.”
I shove a proverbial knife in his gut. “Will you fuck me in front of them too? Let them watch you work your giant cock into my
tight pussy, watch you coat my breasts and face with your come?”
He inhales abruptly, then coughs. Serves him right. He embarrassed me in front of Capo; let him stew in unfulfilled lust all
night, writhe in either jealously or need at the image of his males enjoying my naked flesh.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says, lowering his head to nip my shoulder. Hard. “You’re not ready yet. Three fingers inside
you, but not four. Not ready for my cock, or how I’ll take you when my control finally snaps.”
I open my mouth to argue.
He curses. “Settle down, Sajena. Just rest a moment.”
Grudgingly, I obey, and turn my mind to our earlier conversation.
“What did you mean about sisters and granddaughters?” I ask after a long silence.
OakHorde rubs a hand over his face, failing to hide a grimace. “You really don’t know. We’re kin, Sajena, and that complicates
things. Speak with your mother.”
“You and I are not blood kin.”
“Speak with your mother.”
 Chapter

Nine

“ESLANA, WHAT IS OAKHORDE TALKING ABOUT ?” I whisper as I slip into our bedroom suite. The younger girls are asleep, and
everyone wants to keep it that way. I approach Taiyah's cot and place the doll next to her then turn to Mother, who sits in a
rocking chair in the corner.
“Be more specific,” she says. Her expression is flat, absent its usual smile, her tone neither light nor cheerful.
“Just something about him being grandfather to my sisters.” I glance at Sydnee. “Why would he think that?” And why the
plural?
“Because Caisar is Sydnee’s father, and fathered the new babe as well.”
It takes a minute for me to process her words, they’re so unexpected. I can’t think of any way those sentences can be a clever
truth that is lie. Or vice versa.
“The Orc Lord’s son.”
“Hmm, yes. A fetching male. Fine stock. Sydnee is turning out rather well.”
The Orc Lord’s son. My mother slept with him. Twice? “On. . .purpose?”
“Really, Sajena? I didn’t trip and land accidentally on his cock in a dark alley twice.”
I sink onto the bed. “What is going on?”
She sighs and looks out the window. “What were you doing today? Aartagh said you left the grounds.”
I accept the change of subject because I need time to think and because I don’t recognize her right now. She looks hard,
pensive. . .haunted.
“What else aren’t you telling me?” I ask.
My mother laughs. “Oh, lots. We’ll talk soon, though.” Her expression smooths to something cold, closed, and resolute. “But
not tonight. I’m tired.”
I push to my feet. “Do you need anything? I’m going to walk the grounds and think.”
I’m going to panic in private to spare my dignity, and figure out how this changes everything.
Kin. Lord OakHorde is kin of my kin. This changes everything, and nothing.
She glances at me, her smile softer. “I do love you, darling. You never push.”
I approach and bend, kissing her cheek. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready, and I already have plenty to think about. But let me
help you.”
She squeezes my hand. “I will. Soon.”
“Sydnee knows?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll never get her to leave.” If I thought she belonged here before, now there’s no doubt.
Mother grimaces, and turns to look firmly out the window, dismissing me.

WALKING the grounds becomes my ritual for the next two nights. Like other wealthy people in Seanna, OakHorde has reclaimed
three City blocks and made them his own over the decades, cultivating plant life and gardens around the natural trees, the
debris of the pre dreadnaught City long cleared away.
I accept the incongruous envy I feel as I stare up at the moon. Somehow my own sister stumbled into something I’ve wanted for
myself, but wouldn’t admit to out of loyalty to my mother, and because the want is stupid.
The want for the strength of extended family, clan. A father, brothers. . .not more sisters. I need no more of those. And into this
foolish longing I’ve kept mostly buried walks Cythro OakHorde.
Closing my eyes, I curse my nature again. Full blooded Aeddannari, victim of my own insufferable biology. Mother seems to
have escaped it, but then she was raised by her father, though she refuses to speak of him. One time when I asked—after I was
old enough to know better—she split my lip.
It wasn’t meant to be cruel; it was meant to teach me what would happen if I continued asking those questions and somehow got
a response.
“Never ask,” she’d said. “Never ask again. I will kill you to protect my other daughters if you go seeking those answers.”
That was enough of an explanation. I haven’t asked since.
So I know my yearning is unwise. Fae males are difficult, and there’s no practical purpose in desiring the comfort of male
company when inevitably it will turn against you. But it’s my nature; I do.
“It bothers you.”
Turning, I meet Lord OakHorde’s gaze.
Everything in me sharpens, focuses, hungers.
If Sydnee can have him, I can have him too. I won’t let her bask in what I’ve wanted for so long and not take it for myself. He
doesn’t move, expression slightly wary as I approach.
He doesn’t move when I press against him and slip my hands into his hair.
“A little,” I say.
“It makes your offer unnecessary. You don’t have to trade for what I’ll give you freely as kin.”
I laugh, brush my lips against his, my tongue slipping into his mouth between the tusks, tasting him. Wanting more.
“I want you to be mine,” I say, then release him, turning away. “But you hesitate.”
“Sajena.”
His voice is sharp. I stop.
“Why were you weeping?”
Now even the moon is taunting me. “Because I’m angry I always want what I shouldn’t, and that what I have is not what I
want.”
His sigh is almost silent. “Come here.”
Because it isn’t a command, not in that soft tone, I turn. His arms envelop me. OakHorde lifts me and walks.
Shadows dance along a winding gravel pathway, steppingstones guiding us past a tranquil stream, the music of night bugs and
amphibians serenading the air.
He crosses a short red bridge leading to a gazebo hung with glowing lanterns. Going up three steps, he turns and sits on a stone
bench, still cradling me in his arms and when I look back out, the moon harmonizes perfectly with the gentle sway of tree
branches in the evening breeze.
I inhale, recognizing some of the scents from my mother’s garden.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask.
“I thought it would bring you some peace tonight.”
I twist on his lap, straddling him. “I want more than pretty scenery.”
His expression remains calm, a little stern. “I know what you say you want. I also know you recall what I told you I will offer.”
“Protection, because we’re kin. And your bed in five days, two of which have passed, if I haven’t changed my mind.” I rest my
hands on his chest. “Do you think I will, Lord OakHorde?”
His dark gaze is on my face. “Can you change your mind?”
He weights his words, which tells me—I pull away, or try. “You know.”
OakHorde immediately bands his arm around my waist, halting me. “I suspect.”
“I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”
He sighs. “Don’t use that tone with me. I didn’t do this to you.”
The humiliation almost has me do something unwise, like attempt to claw his eyes out, but I’m a healer not a warrior and my
temper fades. It’s not as if I don’t want this, him. What I don’t want is for this soul-tie to be unreciprocated.
“If we do nothing,” he says, “there’s a chance the bond will wither and die. Isn’t that better for you?”
I laugh at him. “Is it better for me to give up the male fate has said I belong to, the male who is one of the most powerful in this
City? Why in the world would it be better for me?” I shrug. “Better for you, doubtless.”
Sliding off his lap, I lower to my knees and my hands are on his pants, taking his cock out before he can tell me no.
Not that he does.
“The dress. Take it off. I want to see your skin bathed in moonlight.”
“Someone might see.”
His expression, his instruction, doesn’t change. I obey, then lower to my knees, giving his cock my attention.
I stare, rethinking. . .everything.
OakHorde drapes an arm across the back of the bench, a smirk on his lips. “If it’s too much for you, yedyah. . .”
“Shut up.”
I can’t wrap both hands around his width. The head of his cock will barely, barely fit just inside my mouth. I should have been
exercising and stretching my jaw the last several days. I can loosen the joints a bit using my own power, but too much and I’ll
injure myself.
“You don’t need to take me down,” he says kindly. “You can lick it.”
I’m not certain if he’s goading me or being understanding.
When I push my mouth down over his head, he hisses, breath whistling between his teeth. Taloned fingers tangle in my hair as
he grinds his hips in very shallow thrusts into my mouth, never going deeper than what I initiated.
Mostly, I use my tongue, swirling it around his head and in the crevice of the tip. I pause to spit saliva on my hand and then
work him as I suck.
I try to inch down, jaw aching in protest, and use the faintest touch of power to relax my joints.
Open a touch wider, three or so inches now inside my mouth, choking me.
“I shouldn’t allow this,” he says, voice guttural, jerking his hips up.
His talons prick, and the last inch I can get fit cuts off my air. I choke, no room for even my tongue to move, mewling, my nails
digging into his thighs.
“Slap my thigh if you want me to pull out,” he says through gritted teeth.
My hands don’t move. His shallow thrusts speed up. I slip a hand between my thighs and plunge my fingers into my desperate,
aching pussy, then rub on my clit.
He fucks my mouth until he’s growling, coming down my throat in a spurt of seed. I don’t care if we’re heard, if we’re seen.
I’m sputtering, swallowing as best I can, drawing as much breath as possible through my nostrils, and he’s still coming, hot and
sweet down my throat.
Too much of it. It’s too⁠—
He pulls out, fists himself and pumps onto my breasts. I swipe my hands through the thick come and plunge back inside my
pussy, fucking myself with my seed coated fingers.
He’s still coming, coating me in a sheet of the liquid, and then finally he slumps against the bench, eyes closed as a shudder
wracks through him.
“Now,” he murmurs, and I climax, pulsing around my fingers.
The other night he wouldn’t let me do this, but now he’s given in at least this much.
Progress.
“Come back up here,” he says softly, and I obey.
He turns my body, drape my thighs open across his lap. Fingers slip into my wet sheath as he bites down on my ear, his thumb
pressing against my clit.
“Someone will see,” he says, and now I understand his intent.
There’s a sudden stretching burn as OakHorde stuffs me with must be four of his fingers, spreading them wide inside me. I
press my hands on the bench, panting, and push against his hand to increase friction as my climax builds.
“It burns,” I whine.
“You can’t have my cock until you can take four fingers, baby. You can take it. Ride me. Just like that. Let me stretch you.
You’re already so wet. Good girl.”
His praise opens my body more. I’m panting, moaning, but he edges me.
“What does a good Fae girl say if she wants to come again?”
I’m writhing my head lolling on his shoulder. “Please, make me come.”
He twists my nipple. “Not quite.”
“Please, make me come, Lord OakHorde. I’m yours. No one else will touch me. Fuck me, please.”
“Good. Now.”
It ripples through me as my swollen body forces his fingers out. I wait as he withdraws and snacks on my juices, wait until he
pats my thigh and gives me the order to dress.
He watches, eyes glinting, a slight smile on his lips. He still hasn’t tucked his cock back in his pants.
“You took four fingers that time. When it’s time for my cock, you should be ready enough.”
I’m almost sated from the orgasm he gave me. Enough to think past the lust a little. He patted my thigh like I’m a pet, or some
silly girl he’s grown bored with.
“Do you feel a tenth of what I feel?” I ask, the words a hiss. “How can you deny yourself? I think you’re toying with me. Is it
some revenge against my people? Make a fool out of me to strike back at⁠—”
He seizes the back of my neck, and I glimpse pain in his eyes before they shutter. “I’ve done this before, girl, and I know how it
ends if it goes wrong.”
Shuddering, I close my eyes against tears. The need is painful, but the hurt is greater. He must feel it; he’s hard beneath me, his
heart beats wildly, his pupils are blown out. The only thing calm about him is his lack of facial expression, and his controlled
voice.
But that’s a skill any immortal can master, including me.
I open my eyes to speak, cool and hard. “Repudiate me then. Get this over with.”
He lets me go. I stumble down the gazebo stairs, though my steps steady within a few feet.
“It’s not like you’re the only male who can sate me. Maybe you’re right. Let the bond wither. Maybe it’s time I took lovers like
my mother. Your own guards watch me.”
There’s no sense of his approach before suddenly I’m in strong arms, jerked to a halt. He whips me around, his lips pulled up
in a snarl. So much for immortal calm.
“They won’t dare touch you, even if you get on all fours, spread your thighs and beg. No one else will touch you and live.”
I tip back my head and laugh. “Oh, really? Some male will always swoop in and take what another abandons. It’s your nature.
Let me go.”
“No.”
“Make up your mind. I don’t want to play adolescent games, especially after I just had you in my mouth.”
We stare at each other.
Finally, he nods curtly. “Fair enough. I’m not an easy male, Sajena. I’ve lost one wife. I won’t lose another.” He swipes some
hair away from my eyes and kisses my brow. “Go back to your mother. She claims my second grandchild will be born any day
now, and I don’t want her to be alone when her pains begin.”
“It’s not like this is a new experience,” I mutter. “Besides, where is your son?”
His brows draw down, and he grimaces. “Coping, which is what the young people call hysterics these days. I’ll deal with him
shortly.” Cythro swats my bottom. “Go to bed.”
I don’t hear his footsteps, so I assume he stays in the small garden after I’m gone.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
all has been a dream since that one night in a garden of Zarab-
shan."
Very little remained of the moon patch. The Yellow Girl stepped a tiny
pace forward, to prolong her stay yet another few moments. All but
the moonlit strip of the rug from Samarcand glowed bloodily in the
flare of the brazen mosque lamp.
"No, forgetful lover," chided the Yellow Girl, "I can not return. I can
not cross the Border again. In Samarcand, eight hundred years ago
we mocked for a while the doom that hung over us, and in the end
called the bowstring but a caress of farewell. Again, in the garden of
Zarab-shan we met, we parted, and you forgot: so this time I take no
chances. While I can not return, you at least can follow me ... if you
will ... for it is very easy...."
She edged along the ever narrowing strip of moon-bathed silk, and
with an embracing gesture, lured Clarke to rise and follow her.
"It is so easy ... move lightly ... but be careful not to disturb your body
or overbalance it...."
Had Diane not turned away from the door; were she not even now
strolling insouciantly down Royal Street——
"Yellow Girl, you and I have had enough of farewells!"
Something left Clarke, tottered perilously on the two handbreadths of
moonlight that remained, then caught the Yellow Girl by the hand
and took the lead.
The blue web of the rug from Samarcand gleamed for another
moment in the moonlight, then sweltered in the red glow of the
mosque lamp.
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL
FROM SAMARCAND ***

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