by Layla Harper
I smile into his arm.
He whispers something I don’t understand and then kisses my cheek. With my face cushioned by his massive shoulder, my eyes drift close, and it’s not long before I drift off to sleep, secure in the arms of the sexy orc who makes my body soar.
Chapter Thirteen
Rogar
The next morning, we begin our journey to the Doors of Argomar.
I am distracted, my thoughts winding back to the woman I left sleeping in my bed. I want nothing more than to remain there with her for the rest of the day, every inch of my body wrapped around hers. But such is not my fate.
Instead, I sit at this wretched table with Rowena and Princess Daenestra for hours on end, huddled in tense silence, winter’s map spread out before us, debating the route, the risks, the merits, on and on and on until I think my temples will explode.
After solidifying our strategy, we move outside to relay the final accord to our multifarious court—Aelinor, Gauron, Sersha, Ursa, and Princess Daenestra’s captain, Lorien. The camp is alive with activity as the Lithyrians complete the preparations for travel. Kyra helps two Lithyrian children fold blankets and mattresses. I cannot help but smile. My arms long to hold her again. With her, I am simply Rogar. Not a king. Not a leader. Not a male burdened with the toil of a kingdom and the obligations intrinsic to that role.
She straightens and points to an area just outside the building. The children run with bundles of bedding locked in their grasp. She catches sight of me. A shy smile blooms on her lips before it is disrupted by a loud bellow.
“Over my dead body will I let you and Ilearis ride off to the Doors without me.”
“Sersha,” Rowena admonishes.
“No. Either I go or you leave her in my care.”
The her being Ilearis. Rowena has staunchly refused the girl passage with the Lithyrians to the refuge. I cannot fault her. I would not let Kyra out of my sight either. But this journey is fruitless without Rowena despite the added hazard the girl presents, so she will ride with us.
Rowena reluctantly acquiesces to Sersha’s demands.
Gauron gives me a pointed look that I immediately understand to mean “If you saddle me to the winter guard, I will go, but ancestors help me, I will hate every wretched minute of it.”
And Aelinor?
My cousin remains on the sidelines, taking in the fracas with nary a comment or flicker of her autumn eyes. Which prickles my nerves. A quiet Aelinor is a dangerous Aelinor. But when she neither speaks nor acts, I accept her apparent indifference for what it is: boredom.
Crisis averted and the plans settled, I join the others in aiding the Lithyrians before finalizing our preparations for our excursion to the Wastelands, a territory formerly known as the kingdom of Argomar. A land steeped in history. And death.
It might just be my most foolish decision yet.
But what alternative do I have? If what Princess Daenestra disclosed comes to pass, it will be more than my mate’s life at stake. The entire realm of Alfhemir will be at risk.
Hours later, we are deep into the Forest of Night. Gray prowls the perimeter, camouflaged in the gloom. Ahead, Aelinor leads, flanked by Rowena on her right, astride a large mount with the mute girl, Ilearis, sharing a saddle. Gauron, Sersha, and Lorien guard the rear.
A chill draws a shudder from Kyra.
“Cold?”
“A little,” she says. “This place gives me the creeps.”
I wrap another blanket around us, ensuring the fabric drapes over her arms. Although the horse is under my control, she holds the reins. “Better?”
“Yes, thanks.”
My time with her is limited, and now that I have touched her, now that I have seen her fall apart in my arms, each passing mile is a sharp-edged pincer digging deeper and deeper into my soul.
“You’re tensing up again.” Kyra shifts in the saddle, her silky hair brushing my nose.
I shake the dark cloud from my mind. “Am I?”
“Uh-huh. Those killer thighs of yours are like a Rogar Thought Detector. Bad thought? Seismic squeeze. Good thought? Seismic squeeze. At this rate, I’ll have your knees tattooed into the sides of my legs.”
I throw my head back and laugh. How this female lights my heart.
Bringing my hand to her waist, I lower my mouth to her ear. “I shall endeavor to behave, but after last night, it seems my killer thighs cannot let you go.”
Blushing, she steels her eyes forward.
I lower my lips to her ear so Gauron, Sersha, and Lorien cannot hear my pledge. “When we lie together again, I wish to do more than touch.”
She takes in a sharp breath.
“Yes?” I press a kiss to her cheek and tuck my hand beneath the hem of her tunic. She is bare beneath these fine linens. “Would you like that?”
“Something tells me I really shouldn’t answer that question.” She jolts when my fingers find flesh.
I chuckle. “Ah, my little human, you are wise beyond your years.”
“So I’ve been told.” She pushes my hand from her body, but I will not be deterred. I crave the feel of her skin. “Tell me about this place we’re heading to. Why is it so dangerous? I mean, beyond the usual stuff.”
“Hmm.” I do not want to underscore the portal’s danger, but at the same time, I want to shield her from a surge of panic. “The four kingdoms occupy two continents divided by an ocean we call the Sea of Storms. The Doors were ancient portals created to facilitate court business and travel between the kingdoms, eliminating the need for sea travel. There are creatures residing in the Sea of Storms that are best left undisturbed.” I brush my fingers over her abdomen.
She swats them away, quickly glancing behind us at Gauron and the others. Her shyness endears me further. I am a patient orc. I will bide my time because she is worth the wait.
Drawing in her scent, I settle in behind her and rest my hands on her hips. “Long ago, our ancestors traveled to the nearest Door, seeking passage either through the portal in Argomar or the one situated in Varia, which is a city located within the spring realm, near the border they share with summer. The ancient traveler entered the portal in Varia and emerged at the other located in what is now called Wyldeland. Previously, this territory was part of the winter court’s holdings.”
Kyra is silent for a moment. “Each continent has a door?”
“Had. Two in winter, one in Argomar, and one in Varia.”
“Huh. So sort of like a magical expressway. Interesting.”
What in the ancestors is an expressway?
“Wait, you said had. What happened?”
I adjust the blanket slipping from her shoulder. “The Doors in Argomar and Varia were damaged during the war. They are no longer accessible from the eastern continent. And although the doors in Wyldeland appear intact, the Reckoning affected magic in ways our ancestors never anticipated. As a result, the portals have become unstable.”
“What does that mean?” Her voice rises slightly in pitch. “We walk through and come out… mangled?”
I skim my hand over her smooth stomach, loving the feel of her flesh against my roughened skin. “No. It means the portals no longer obey the traditional laws of magic. They work, but not in ways we can foretell. The entry in Wyldeland remains constant, but the others are fluid.”
“Fluid as in what, exactly? You’re speaking in riddles.” Her voice, now steady, holds a spark of interest.
“The exit point is unknown.”
“So the possibility exists it could dump us in the monster-infested sea? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not the sea, no, but yes. We can be dumped anywhere in the eastern continent. Varia. Argomar. The Sands of Dod. The spring-fed lakes along its perimeter. All are possible.”
“Well,” she begins slowly, “I can see how that would be dangerous. Are there animals or creatures we have to worry about?” Fear mingles with her sweet scent.
“There are, but I will be with you at all times,” I reass
ure her, holding her tightly against my chest. “As long as I live and breathe, Kyra, no harm shall befall you.”
“Breathe being the operative word.” She relaxes into my embrace. “You’re one person. There’s only so much you can control.”
“Kyra, if there was a less dangerous option, surely you must believe I would take it.”
“I know.” She sighs. “I know. Is Argomar the only place this plant grows? Could it be indigenous to another region? I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, but there’s got to be some other magic available to us to hide my scent until we find a way back home.”
The mention of home—her home—sends ice shooting through my veins. “I wish things were different.” I wish it with all that I am.
“I do too.”
Her words fill me with a mixture of joy and pain. “How so?”
My question catches her off guard, and her sudden reticence sparks my curiosity.
“Kyra?” I prompt when she does not respond.
“I just meant it would have been interesting to meet you outside of all this.” She releases the reins and waves her hand in the air. “You know, if things were different.”
The horse continues to trot, undisturbed by Kyra’s actions.
“You would make my acquaintance? Willingly?” I am moved. “If circumstances were different, you would wish to know me? In your world or here?”
“Maybe both?”
Both.
I lean closer, my hand tightening possessively at her waist. “Tell me, female, how would an Earth male show interest in a female he hopes to join?”
She throws a dazed look over her shoulder. “Join? Like on a date?”
Frowning, I ask, “What is this date?”
“It’s… do we really have to talk about this?” she sputters. “I mean, shouldn’t we be concentrating on the road. Or discussing the Doors? Or the charm?”
Her arousal scents the air, forcing me closer. “We can, but there is time for that discussion later. I am curious to know more about this human custom.”
She grabs hold of the reins, her fingers fidgeting around the leather straps. “A date is a type of social engagement. People who are interested in one another romantically spend time together. Dinner. Meeting for drinks. Bowling. That kind of thing.”
Courting?
This I understand.
“You wish to be wooed?” I tease.
“What? No, that’s not what I’m saying. At all. You asked about dating. I told you.”
“Hmm. We have shared meals in the past. I have hunted for you and fetched you drink.” My hand drifts beneath the hem of her tunic.
“Stop that.” She casts another shy glance behind us.
My hand glides over warm flesh. “Stop what?”
“That. Stop that.”
“Touching you? Is this not part of your ritual?”
“That’s… we’re not—” Her body heats against mine.
“I think I would very much enjoy this dating.”
Flustered, she squirms in my embrace. “Are you going to be like this the whole trip?”
“The road ahead is very, very, very long.” I flick a finger over a hardened peak, and she responds with a sharp breath, reaping another smile from my lips. “You did not answer my question.” I circle back to her stomach.
“There was a question? Kind of hard to think when you’re being mauled by an orc sprouting twenty hands.”
The humor in her voice makes my grin grow wider. I nibble her ear.
“Yeah,” she says on a breath. “When you like someone, dating can be fun and exciting.”
“Ah.” I continue tracing lazy circles across her torso, the tips of my fingers coming dangerously close to her breasts with each bounce of the horse’s gait. “Is touching included in the fun and exciting parts of this tradition?”
“Sometimes.” She drops the reins and grabs hold of my hand, putting a temporary stop to my fondling. “And sometimes it’s platonic.”
“Phfft.” I rub my nose along her cheek. “That would be most unfortunate.”
“You’re impossible,” she says, laughing.
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. “I am.”
We ride in silence for several minutes.
“So at the Doors, are we going to have to fight our way in? Because I can’t imagine the courts would allow two magical portals to remain out in the open unguarded.”
“We have winter’s alliance. They guard the portal in Wyldeland.”
“That’s convenient, huh? And the fluid exit?”
I shrug. “It will depend on where we land.”
Kyra glances behind us. Gauron and Sersha are caught in a tense discussion of their own. Lorien rides with them, the elf’s face masked in Forvarrian stoicism. The other three are far enough ahead of us that Kyra and I have a reasonable amount of privacy.
“Was the charm the only thing you wanted to discuss?”
I stiffen.
“Because I got the feeling yesterday there was something else on your mind.”
I have not revealed what I learned about the portal stone or the other human who did not survive the crossing into Alfhemir. “There is another matter.” Two actually.
“Okay.” She nods.
The words I need to explain the bond fail to form. “But I cannot speak of them here.”
“Later?”
“Later.”
“You’re tensing again.”
I smile against her hair. “Perhaps you can help distract me? A proactive measure to protect your lovely legs from my killer thighs.”
Kyra barks out a laugh. “Oh, I see how this works. You guys are all the same, on any planet or realm apparently.” The playful note in her voice heats my blood.
“Is that a yes?”
“Hmm… become a plaything so the big bad orc king—“
“You are no plaything.” I tilt her face to mine. “You are the greatest treasure fate could bestow upon any male. Never forget that.”
Her eyes widen briefly in surprise, then quickly veil.
She does not believe me. She does not know what she means to me. This truth tears something inside me.
I kiss her. I tell her with my lips what I cannot with words. She is made for me. No other female, in this world or hers, will ever be more perfect for me than her. And the day I return her to Earth will be the day my heart stops beating.
“What was that for?” she asks breathlessly when I release her lips.
I brush her cheek with the tip of my nose and direct my gaze ahead. “Does a male need a reason to kiss a beautiful woman he holds securely in his arms?”
“You feeling okay?”
I nuzzle her neck and take hold of the reins, urging the horse forward as the realization dawns that I will never be okay again.
Chapter Fourteen
Kyra
This section of the Forest of Night feels different from our last foray into the enchanted woods. It seems older somehow. More ominous. Almost as if the realm’s past wrongs solidified into a pulsing mass crushing any who’d dare cross its borders.
And it’s cold, the temperature dissimilar to the balmy warmth we’d experienced before. The gloom drops, a viscous shroud clogging our eyes and ears, severely hampering our senses to the very real danger lurking behind thick foliage and static air.
I say real because something tangible is out there, waiting for me. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. A sensation as real as Rogar’s warm breath against my cheek.
A shudder coils around my spine and snaps taut.
“Female?”
“I’m all right.”
Rogar rewraps the blanket, stretching one corner over my shoulder to block the cold breeze sweeping across our bodies. The small kindness tugs at my heartstrings.
“Really, I’m fine,” I reassure him. “Do you…? Do you feel that? Whatever that is?”
“I do.”
Okay, so I’m not losing my mind. “What is it?”
“I do not know.”
Not the answer I want to hear.
“Well, it’s not the mist, that’s for sure.” The entity’s magic, although powerful, had imbued harmony, not fear. To me, anyway. I scan our immediate area, hoping to catch a glimpse of its silver-gray tendrils, but the shadows hanging two feet off the ground obstruct my view. “I wish I could see through this stuff. I hate being blind.”
He grunts in agreement and loops a meaty arm around my waist. The other holds the reins I’d dropped after I’d given up trying to steer the horse. Rogar is alert, back rigid, log-sized thighs cradling my lower half. He sniffs the air, and then his muscles contract, squeezing against my arms and legs.
I can’t blame him. His orc senses are useless in this forest. My human nose smells nothing but his scent, which isn’t a bad thing, and the only sound my ears detect is the soft thudding of multiple hooves striking the damp terrain. Now and then, a word or two washes up from behind, probably Gauron or Sersha since I don’t believe the stoic elf captain speaks.
At all.
In fact, he barely moves. Sitting regally upon a horse that’s easily a head taller than ours, his vibrant blue cape flutters in the breeze, the winter court insignia a gold blur over his left shoulder. Most of his blond hair is pulled off his face, the rest falling in straight, silky strands against his back. Icy, winter-blue eyes glitter from an expression capable of killing on sight. Between him and Rogar, I should feel completely at ease, yet the invisible claw of whatever awaits us grips my heart.
Rising smoke clouds above the nearest treetops. A village. Whether it’s friendly or hostile remains to be seen. So far we’ve encountered three, and three asked us to leave. The last, not so nicely. Ignoring the norns and Ilearis, the village leader invited the elves—me in disguise, Aelinor, and Lorien—to partake of the tavern’s eats while spouting he’d no sooner touch orc coin than eat his firstborn.
Prejudices run deep in Alfhemir.
We thread through the forest until the town comes into view. Thatched buildings circle the center of the village in an identical pattern to those we’ve seen before.