by Layla Harper
Kyra gasps. “I’m not liking this tale, Rogar. Your aunt rigged the race, didn’t she? That’s so un—”
I hold up a hand. “But no one knew of my true heritage. Remember, half-bloods do not manifest their fae qualities until puberty. Orcs are one of the fastest species in fae. Faster even than a fleet-footed elf.”
“You won the fruit, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Oooh.” A smirk blooms on pink lips I am dying to kiss anew. “She must’ve been so pissed.”
I shrug. “I offered to share the sukker. She refused.”
My mate snorts. “That doesn’t surprise me. I hope you enjoyed every last bite.”
“I have yet to taste the fruit.”
Kyra’s mouth drops. “You caved.”
I nod. “And suffered one miserable month of silence.”
We both stare at the elven princess doting over my second-in-command. “You will find no one more loyal than Aelinor. Thorny as a Variarian hell-cat but steadfast and honorable. She will come around.” I am not sure who I am trying to convince, Kyra or myself.
Kyra presses her lips to my cheek. “Thank you. I wish I had a similar story to share, but I don’t. Unfortunately, bribery won’t fix what’s happening between your shaman and me.” She takes a deep breath and folds her arms over her breasts. “She’s got it in her head that I’m out to get you. And in case the thought crossed your mind, I’m not.”
Guilt rears its ugly head. “I believe you.”
“Do you?” Kyra looks away and drops her hands into her lap, entwining her thumbs. “I think the only thing that’s going to settle Aelinor’s grievance is distance, and that’s not going to happen until I transport home.”
I swallow and then ask the question filling my gut with dread. “Have you considered what you will do if the queen is unable to open the portal?”
“No.” Kyra’s fingers dig into her thighs. “I haven’t, and I’m not going to. I’m going home. Whatever it takes, I’m going home, so there’s nothing to consider.”
She rises and saunters away, her long legs carrying her quickly over the terrain separating us from my advisors. Kneeling on the bedroll, Kyra ignores Aelinor’s icy stare and hands her an opened jar like an apprentice assisting her master. A sense of right settles in my chest to see them all together, interacting and bickering like family—like my family. The two beings I trust most in this world, and the female I would sacrifice a kingdom to possess.
“Whatever it takes, I’m going home…”
I scrub a hand over my face. With only a handful of words, my earthling slayed the fledgling hope rising in my warrior’s heart.
Chapter Twenty
Kyra
Another day passes.
Or at least it feels like another day. I’ve lost track.
We ride in silence, only stopping to relieve ourselves, check Gauron’s wounds, or hunt. There’s an urgency in finding the Kolmarden Swamp that drives our pace from speedy to prison-break fast. My fae acquaintances spend as much time sniffing the air as I do squinting uselessly at the wall of darkness blocking our every egress.
Seriously?
Like I’m going to spot a big bad before these night vision–blessed supernaturals could.
Puhleeze.
I’m not going to lie. I’m tired, crabby, and dying for a bath. And as much as I like Gray, I want off his stinky, sweaty, furry hide. I want my numb ass cheeks back online. And I want to see the sun, for fuck’s sake. I’m so fucking tired of this godforsaken darkness I want to scream.
Ugh.
And worse. Rogar’s… Distant.
Aloof.
And that’s saying a lot considering he’s plastered to my back with every leap Gray takes. Can I blame him? Yesterday was a complete disaster. From me getting all moon-eyed over the kiss, to my reaction over the whole “we stay the course” conversation, to my near meltdown over the possibility of not going home, it just plain sucked.
I want a do-over.
Or maybe I can fade into the gloomy shadows until the tense silence hanging over us lifts.
Lack of sleep is affecting my ability to reason. One out-of-this-world, ah-mazing kiss is not going to sway an orc king to choose a silly little human over a kingdom. Besides, once Rogar activated my mark, the orcs had skin in this game. And more importantly, heading back to Drengskador would have added days, if not a week to our journey—time Gauron may not have. This close to Lithyr, it makes sense to “stay the course” and seek medical attention when we arrive instead of taking the winter king’s bait.
As for the portal…
Gah.
I’m no crier, yet when Rogar’s stoic features went blank, signaling the likelihood of me never going home, I practically lost my shit. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough because I refuse to live up to the frail-human stereotype the fae uphold. Nah, no way. Not gonna do it. I’ve held back tears in worse situations. Of course, nothing in my life tops this, but still…
I rub my traitorous eyes.
It’s got to be stress.
Or vitamin D deprivation. Honestly, how long can a human exist in complete darkness without going stark raving mad?
But what if he’s right? What if the high queen refuses to open the portal? Then what? Has anyone back home noticed I’m gone? I failed to show for my interview. I’ve missed classes and work when I’ve never been absent before. Not. Once. It’s been what? Four, five, six days? I don’t even know anymore. I’m sure my stupid roommate doesn’t give a crap, but I’d bet my best friend, Molly, has filed a missing person’s report. And probably Sandy and Todd.
I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman with no roots. Would the authorities think I’d voluntarily run off? How long will the college hold my dorm? Is my car impounded? The longer it takes to return to my old life, the less of a life I’ll have to return to.
I can’t survive here. What kind of existence awaits me, constantly watching my back for the knife heading in my direction?
My chest tightens, and I curl forward from the pain.
“Female?”
I shake my head. “I’m okay.”
“No you are not.” He lets out a sharp whistle that has both Gauron and Aelinor pulling up on their reins.
Gray comes to an abrupt halt.
“You don’t have to do this,” I groan. I don’t have the patience to deal with Aelinor’s stink eye right now.
Rogar hops off the warg and places a hand on each of my shoulders. His eyes rake down my chest, searching for my mysterious ailment.
And dammit, just like that, I’m turned on and pissed off, all in the same breath.
“Knock it off,” I yell. “I told you I’m fine.”
I jump off the warg, and don’t you know it? Karma decides to play her hand. I slip on the wet muck constituting the ground beneath my boot and smash onto my hands and knees. My pants absorb the slimy wet crap with glee.
“Fucking great.” I push onto my knees and clean off the squishy dirt by wiping my palms against my pants. “Did it rain? What the hell is this shit anyway?”
“It’s soil.” Brow furrowed, Rogar yanks me to my feet without breaking his examination of the muck. “The terrain is wetter here.” He lifts his nose into the air. “Scent is faint.”
Aelinor inhales deeply. “You’re right.”
Gauron smacks a thigh. “By Ulda, we’re close. The swamp has to be nearby.”
A heaviness sinks beneath my rib cage.
Sadness? Now? Are you kidding me? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m too young to be menopausal.
My eye draws to the right. The mist breathes in place, silver fog pulsing in and out like a beating heart. A thin finger of dark mist hesitantly slides along the landscape toward me, almost as if it fears something in my vicinity.
I nudge Rogar’s arm with my elbow. “Should we be alarmed?”
The V deepens between his tired crimson eyes.
“What is it?” Aelinor jumps off her horse and glide
s to where Rogar and I are observing the anxious wisps of fog zigzagging through the vegetation. “Odd behavior, isn’t it? What are you up to, human?”
I swear, I’m going to sock her in the face. And apparently I’d started to cock a swing, because Rogar’s hand snaps out and catches my wrist before I can throw the first punch.
One perfectly plucked elven brow arcs in a challenge I am so ready to take on.
“Relax,” Rogar orders. “Both of you. Emotions are running high. Let us be mindful and not say or do anything we will later regret.”
“Fine.” I jerk my hand out of his loose grip. “If you’re not concerned about the mist, then I’m not worried about it either.” I glare at Aelinor. “And let me reiterate one last time, I am not connected to it.”
I know the words are a lie the second they leave my mouth. The sadness inside me intensifies, and I realize the feeling isn’t mine. It belongs to the entity edging closer to my feet. Like before, when I instinctively sensed its curiosity about me, now I feel its sorrow and reluctance to say goodbye.
“I’m not going anywhere yet,” I mumble.
Please don’t let this be an omen of what’s to come. There’s so much I’ve yet to do.
Gauron shouts.
I lift my head. He’s about one hundred feet away, waving for us to follow.
We mount our respective rides, and when we reach Rogar’s second, he’s panting, skin covered in sweat, and a big ole smile eating up his scarred face. “This is our lucky day, my friends. I’ve found it.” He points over his shoulder to what looks like a disfigured black mass of oily land. “The Kolmarden Swamp.”
* * *
“We must cross, Kyra.”
Is he kidding me? I’m not walking into that swamp. Who knows what’s lurking beneath those waters. It’s probably filled with bus-sized fae-eating alligators. Or poisonous mosquitos the size of tennis balls. My brain conjures a list of possible predators, and they all love human meat.
Um, no thanks.
Rogar stretches out his arm. “I will not let anything hurt you.”
I sigh, my resistance fading. I’m afraid of water. “Not a lot you can do if some whale-sized monster decides to eat you.”
“Then I will negotiate your crossing before the leviathan consumes me. Deal?” His russet eyes dance with amusement. Folding his hand, he flaps his fingers toward him. “Shall we tempt fate, female?”
Why do I get the feeling he’s talking about more than this enchanted swamp?
“This is probably why the mist was acting so wonky. Maybe we should bypass the crossing and travel this side of the bank.”
He shakes his head. “We cannot.”
“Why? What’s really going on?”
Rogar signals for the others to begin the crossing.
Holding the lead to her horse in one hand and Gauron’s in the other, Aelinor steps into the bog and gently tugs the horses deeper into the swamp.
“The drows are in the forest.” He speaks so quietly I almost don’t hear him.
Oh, damn.
“The swamp obscures our scent.” He leans in, his nose hovering near my ear.
My heart skips a beat, and heat travels blissfully south.
His voice goes hoarse. “This close, your exquisite musk is negligent, nearly absorbed by this bog’s strange magic.”
My exquisite musk?
I stop myself from imagining his tongue between my thighs, but not before a shudder rips through my body. Sheesh. I have got to get a grip on myself around this orc.
I take a step back. “And?”
“The drows have a natural aversion to water.”
A character flaw we share. “Really?”
Rogar nods. “They will expect us to take a more direct route to Lithyr instead of crossing to the other side. Aelinor has cleared the waters of dangers, but her magic will only hold for a short time. We are safe to cross, and once on the other side, we will use the forest to remain hidden from view.”
“But won’t that push us further behind schedule? They’ll get to the city before we do.”
“Exactly. With Gauron hurt, we cannot outpace them. But we can use the forest to our advantage and scout the city before we enter.”
Smart. Always thinking, my sexy orc king.
“Will you trust me, Kyra?”
I love the sound of my name on his lips. With my insides quivering like a cheap smoothie maker, I place my hand in his. “Lead the way, your lordship.” I mean to make light of the situation, but my voice wobbles, losing the effect.
Rogar gives me a shit-eating grin, then swoops me off the ground. I shriek and claw at his torso, wrapping my arms around his neck and unabashedly gluing myself to his massive chest while peering over his shoulder into the black, murky water rippling around his legs. I see no bubbles, or glowing eyes, or any sign of movement.
Along the swamp’s edge, the mist rolls to a stop and gathers itself against some invisible boundary it can’t traverse. It’s stuck. And helpless. And for whatever reason, my heart tightens at the sight.
I lift my hand, wishing I’d said goodbye when I had the chance. “Thank you.”
The fog lightens from silver to an almost pure white color.
Rogar completes the passage, then nimbly climbs the sloped edge of the bank onto dry land.
The mist begins to recede. “It can’t follow.”
He tracks my line of vision.
“Why do you think that is?”
He shrugs and looks down at me through a curtain of thick black lashes. “The rules governing this place are unique. The magic is ancient and does not always reveal itself. Perhaps the answer to your question is one we will never learn.”
“I guess this explains its strange behavior earlier. It must’ve known it wouldn’t be able to cross the swamp.”
He’s still watching me with the strangest expression.
“What?”
“It knew it could no longer protect you.”
Oh.
My stomach sinks. “We still have Gray. I swear, if listening to you gets me killed, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”
The rich tenor of Rogar’s laugh fills the air. “Then I will make sure you do not regret taking my advice, female.”
I’m smiling by the time Gray bounds across the wetland, tongue lolling and paws splashing murky water with each giant leap. Once on solid ground, he shakes his body vigorously, blessing everything within a ten-foot radius in stinky swamp water.
Turning, Rogar strides deeper into the forest in search of Gauron and Aelinor. I’m still in his arms, not that I’m complaining.
“You can put me down, you know.”
“I could.” He marches ahead as if I weigh nothing, circumventing a fallen tree and thorny shrubs. His heart thuds steadily against mine, and his big strong body is the perfect blend of form and function.
I lay my head on his shoulder. “Sorry.”
“For?”
“Being a crab.” My eyes droop. “I hate to admit my weaknesses, but I’m exhausted and completely dependent on someone other than myself. I don’t do trust very well.”
Rogar remains quiet.
I close my eyes. It feels so good to rest. The rhythmic swaying of his stride and the boom boom boom of his strong heart lulls me to sleep.
* * *
When I awake with a start, it’s still pitch dark, and I’m still in Rogar’s arms. Around me, leaves rustle. Wait… footsteps? “I can hear footsteps.”
“We are close to the forest’s boundary where the magic wanes. Sound is no longer muted.”
I yawn and rub my eyes. “How long was I out?”
“Not long.”
He probably wouldn’t embarrass me with the truth. Shit, I hope I didn’t snore. Or drool all over his shoulder. I quickly swipe the fabric where I’d pressed my mouth, and once assured it’s free of slobber, I attempt to wiggle out of his hold. It’s futile. “Put me down. Please.”
Without a pause in his stride, he
lowers me to the ground. I can barely make out Gauron and Aelinor up ahead. “It’s not as dark as before either.”
“No, but the dangers are no less. Be on your guard, female. For anything.” He places one hand over the other and brings it to his mouth, emitting a strange birdcall.
Aelinor and Gauron’s dark shapes halt.
“Nice trick.” A house is visible through the trees, gray smoke curling from its chimney. “People live here?”
“The border is filled with fae who choose not to pledge allegiance to any one court.”
When we reach the others, Rogar retrieves the bow and quiver from Gauron’s saddle. He hands me the weapon. “Shoot first. Ask questions later. Understood?”
The gravity of his words sinks like lead to my feet. “Okay.”
I fit the quiver’s strap over my head and carefully adjust the band on my right shoulder until the pouch sits between my shoulder blades. More homes are apparent the closer we get to the border.
We continue in silence, the trees thinning out despite the additional light filtering in through the canopy. Ahead, the path widens into a small clearing hedged by forest, and beyond, a stone bridge connects to a medieval-looking village bordered by an ocean.
Lithyr.
“Are there trolls in Alfhemir?”
Rogar shoots me a funny look.
I shrug. “I’m just asking because, well, that looks like a drawbridge.”
Built over land.
Weird.
Before he can answer my question, Gauron raises a fist. We come to a complete stop. Scanning the area, Rogar sniffs the air.
“What?” My grip tightens around the bow.
“I do not know. Something feels… off.”
Aelinor dismounts. Her eerie caramel irises consume dirt, bark, leaf, and sky in a sweep of our surroundings. “The mist?”
“No. The mist couldn’t follow us across the swamp.” I glance at the woodlands behind us. For an enchanted forest teeming with vampires and other unusual things, nothing appears “off.” But Rogar’s senses are way better than mine. “Where’s Gray?”