By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story)

by Christine Blackthorn

  He raised a pale eyebrow in answer to the challenge, every inch the threat, the predator he was. He was the monster from her childhood stories, the spectre other predators feared. Seeing him, muscles clearly delineated against pale skin dissected by a myriad of scars, human hands tipped by wicked claws and eyes as cold as a snakes -- she was unable to see him for anything but the brute he was.

  The courts had used the orcs for violence, torture and death for longer than anyone could remember and this man, this orc, had been forged in the hellfire of that treatment and intent. She could feel it, see it in the lines of his muscular torso, the violence painted on that pale skin, the hard edge of his jaw, the banked menace in his eyes. And to get into the hut, to hand over her bounty, she would have to pass by him, close enough to risk touching him. And he was making it more than clear that he would not be moving out of her way.

  She glared daggers at him, hating the way her palms had grown wet, how her heartbeat picked up and the muscles in her stomach tightening uncomfortably. She hated most that he knew it, that he could sense it and that it amused him, though not the slightest sign of that amusement was visible in his face of body. Still, she could almost hear the quiet laughter.

  Ridicule had always been a sure trigger for her. No matter how stupid, pride was her lasting sin. Chin high, spine straight and with all the haughtiness she could imbue her actions with, she stepped towards him.

  "Excuse me, Sir."

  Ice dripped from every syllable, even from the polite salutation -- possibly in particular from the polite salutation. Without giving him the satisfaction of another moment's hesitation she pushed past him. Elena could feel the heat of his naked torso through the layers of her coat and dress. It burnt her and at the same time touched her skin with the cold tendrils of a glacier's presence. Every hair on her body, every inch of her skin, was aware of him.

  A shiver raced along her spine, impossible to suppress. Just as it was impossible not to look over her shoulder, not to give into the primordial instincts screaming in her mind to keep an eye on the threat behind her. His expression remained forbidding, but his eyes were too knowing, too thoughtful, containing a threat deeper than violence, a threat that could devastate her: the threat of understanding.

  Even as her fingers, clumsy from the cold, opened the bag to share out the milk to the children, Reschkar remained mute. There was no comment, no reaction as she turned to hand the cheese to the women whose responsibility seemed to lie with the storage, and distribution, of the provisions. Just as he retained his silence during the efficient breaking of camp, or as he appeared besides her to help her onto the horse. But she felt his eyes on her, every minute, every second of the evening and night.

  The hands lifting her into the saddle were hard and rough, the fine fibres of her merino coat catching on the scars and calluses of his skin, the quiet threat of his retractable claws pricking her through the cloth. But as he checked her saddle and tack, his hands gliding in a soothing rhythm over the flank of the horse, there was only gentle calm in them. The man, the orc, was a contradiction, a puzzle -- she had long since learnt not to trust puzzles. When they fell apart they took the whole world with them.

  The third night was the last in which they were able to use the horses, the terrain having grown too rough even for the hardy mountain animals. Nothing seemed to be too hard for the orcs however, the speed of their movements barely slacking. Elena, on the other hand, was suffering. Within half an hour of abandoning the horses it became clear that she would not be able to travel far under these conditions. It pricked her pride more than a little to admit it, even if it was only to herself. There were six children in their group, two barely out of swaddling clothes and carried on the backs of their mothers, and four others. It was those four others, ranging in ages from late-preteens to early teens, whose unfailing endurance amazed and shamed Elena.

  When she fell the third time, her left leg sinking into a snowdrift to mid thigh, the group came to a sudden halt. Elena, lying on the icy ground, for a moment too exhausted to move, did not register anything apart from her own misery. Her teeth hurt, her jaw clenched against her body's instinctive need to produce the laughable amount of warmth chattering teeth and shivering muscles could provide. Stupid climate! Stupid snow! With the dogged determination so much a part of her nature she grappled for some hold among the ice and pulled her leg out of the viscous grip of the snow trapping it. Only then did she sense the sudden silence, the sudden stillness around her. It took more energy than it should have to raise her head, to acknowledge what even her tired mind had already told her was coming towards her with inexorable speed.

  Reschkar towered even over his own people, his broad frame parting the long line of orcs between him and her without so much as a word. Kneeling in the snow, almost too exhausted to rise even though the ice was soaking her skirts, burning her skin, she suddenly found enough strength to stumble to her feet. She might be weak in his eyes but she would be damned before she would let him see her on her knees before him.

  Her cloak appeared to weigh twice as much, pulling at her shoulders, bending them so that it took conscious thought, and effort, not to let them droop. Elena could barely feel her toes anymore, the icy snow long since having found its way into the warm fur lining. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides, not out of anger or a desire to do violence -- but because she desperately needed to hide their uncontrolled trembling from him. Still, she met his yellow gaze without flinching, bravado giving her the strength, her muscles could not provide anymore.

  Reschkar stopped before her, the snow which had begun to fall again, melting in little drops on his shirtless chest. Were it not that galling, it would have been fascinating. At least the other orcs saw a need to make use of some protection against the elements. He, on the other hand, seemed immune to the effects of the harsh climate, neither his body nor his demeanour giving any indication he was even aware of the snow and ice carried by the ever harsher wind. It was as if winter itself had submitted to his will.

  He stepped close enough for the warmth of his skin to be a presence against her awareness and, try as she might, she could not read any disdain in his features. Silently, as he seemed to do everything, he unclasped the leather strap fixing the heavy broadsword to his back and handed the weapon to another orc. His eyes never left hers and she was caught in the quiet calm, the sea of unquestioning acceptance in them.

  It took her a split second to realise his intent when he grabbed her arm -- and by then it was too late, she was already in the air. Too fast even for her to scream, she found herself lifted, swung upwards against a broad back. She shifted and in instinctive self-protection her arms came around his neck, her legs closing around his narrow hips to regain balance. Within no more than a second she was hanging onto him, the warmth of his skin searing her body in instant relief. Her protest was instinctive, but heartfelt:

  "No!"

  Elena's voice was hoarser, more panicked than she had intended. A sudden realisation hit her along with the dry pain of her throat. She had barely spoken for days now, ever since she had left her home. For a moment the isolation hit, made her realise how alone she suddenly was -- then she swallowed hard and repeated:

  "No."

  He was little impressed by her outburst.

  "You cannot walk in this snow and we cannot afford the time to move any slower. If we do not hurry, we will be caught in the coming storms."

  The emotion was perverse, but the very reasonableness of his tone grated on her.

  "I am too heavy. You cannot carry me."

  His laughter travelled through her like an intimate caress. It was all the answer he seemed willing to give her though. His large hands held her in place, their touch strong and secure. She trusted those hands to hold her, to support her. That thought startled her enough to hesitate, to freeze her mind in a momentary state of confusion. She trusted him? He was an orc, a mindless killer, the man she had sold her body and blood to in order to keep him
from slaughtering her people. What the hell was she thinking? By the time her mind had unwound from that shocking thought, he was already moving again.

  The warmth of his body under hers thawed her frozen bones, forcing a calm on her she would have thought impossible. Gradually, each muscle unwound, softened, eased until the weight of her exhaustion made her lean into him. With every step they took her body adjusted more to his until she fitted him like a second skin. The even rhythm of his movements was barely disrupted by her weight on his back.

  Over the last few hours the terrain had worsened by steady degrees. Their way wound itself ever higher through the mountains, sheer cliff-faces dropped away on their left, the edge coming closer and closer to the path. Then even the path disappeared. Elena was almost certain that the only thing larger than a bird ever setting foot here were mountain goats -- and larger predators. The odd, hoarse barking call, the warning of a lynx to its mate, followed them one night for over an hour.

  The morning of the third night they failed to find an actual hut for shelter, the terrain having given way to the rough heights not even goat herders dared to tread. From then on they took refuge in caves and under the protection of evergreen trees, the orcs preference of travelling at night saving them from suffering through the coldest hours of the night unmoving. Just as on that first morning, her orcs were surprising in how fast they were able to erect a camp, even under the harshest conditions.

  No matter how much preparation though, no huts meant sleeping on the bare floor. The first time Reschkar let her slip from his shoulders directly into a blanket-covered bed of pine needles and soft earth, she was still too exhausted to realise much of what was happening around her. Every bone hurt, unknown muscles aching from the strain of fighting through snow -- and holding onto the orc carrying her. She was too tired to think, let alone move.

  Elena curled up, rested her head on the blanket, adjusting to the sudden cold breeze, now that she had lost the protection of Reschkar's body, and suppressed the whimper which tried to break from between her chattering teeth. She was certain it had only been a moment, a second of respite, but by the time she had lifted her head again most orcs had bedded down, gnawing on the dried meat forming their dinner. Then a dark shadow appeared beside her.

  It would have been inaccurate to say Reschkar took a seat beside her. His movements were smoother, more natural, as if his very body was interwoven with the fabric of reality and each move he made an inevitable aspect of mother nature. One moment he stood beside her little nest, the next his scent of wood and spice surrounded her as a complement to the wildness of reality. But there was no magic to it, he did not suddenly appear seated besides her -- she remembered him taking the seat, though she remembered it like she remembered the waves of the sea or the falling of snow. It was how all his movements appeared to her.

  He held one of the wooden mugs, which seemed to serve as eating utensil, storage container and even, at times, as shovel. Her eyes were mesmerised by the long yellow claws, outlined in all their sharp viciousness against the dark wood. Of course, she knew they were part of the orcish physique, even knew that only warriors were allowed to retain theirs, whilst those female orcs left alive for breeding were declawed. But she also knew it was rare for them to wear the retractable claws openly, outside of battle. Elena had always thought them an instinctive reaction to a threat, not unlike a cat's, not a conscious choice. But over the last few days she had seen them unsheathed, openly threatening, all the time. Or just when he dealt with her? That thought was an interesting one -- and one to consider.

  "Do you ever retract them? Don't they snag on things?"

  Elena, mouth formed the words without consulting her brain for an opinion. She must have been more tired than she had thought, possibly tired of life, to ask him this question. But when her eyes flickered to Reschkar's, she failed to see anger, or even annoyance at her impertinence. Though no answer seemed to be forthcoming either.

  "Take it." He said instead and when she did not reach for it, he shook the mug slightly as if to remind her what he was talking about. Her fingers wrapped around the wood with all care, jerking slightly in fear as her fingers inadvertently brushed against those wicked claws. She froze, afraid she had angered him, but he merely held the mug until he was certain she had it safe. Then he let go of it.

  "They are a habit and a choice. We are travelling and there always is, however remote, a chance of attack." After a deliberate pause he continued: "Even more so now that we have an ErGer among us. Now drink."

  Deep in thought she set the mug to her lips. Satisfaction bloomed in his eyes. It puzzled her. Then she came to realise what she was drinking. Watered down milk, the last of her bounty from the mountain farm.

  She set the mug back down, trying not to wince at the frown rising on his brow. Before he could say anything she hurried to explain.

  "The children should have this. It is the last of the milk."

  "They have had their share." The beginnings of a growl -- but she had lived her whole life with apex predators. There was a time to give in and a time to push, or they would forever see you as nothing more than a toy. She was many things, few of them useful, but she was not a toy. So she pushed.

  "The women then."

  The orc leant into her, close and threatening, eyes alight with stubborn intent. He snarled at her, the growl now full-fledged and deep.

  "No."

  "I was carried for most of the day. They should have it." She insisted.

  "Drink!"

  For a moment she considered arguing some more, then thought better of it. Elena brought the mug to her lips. Reschkar watched her every move with avid attention, his gaze intent on her lips as she closed them over the rim of the mug, her throat as she swallowed. There was a deep satisfaction in his eyes -- and the beginnings of heat.

  "Why is it so important?"

  Another question she could not help asking. In truth, she did not think he would answer her, or at least not with anything more profound than the only too obvious truth: that she needed all the strength she could preserve because she was so much weaker than them all. Even the children. But after a moment's silence, in which she emptied the mug of the last dregs of the milk, he spoke.

  "A slave does not provide food, a slave never choses what to eat. If our masters chose not to feed us, then we starved -- if they chose to poison us, then we died. Now we hold the power to feed ourselves."

  She understood him, possibly better than she wanted to.

  "And I am a member of a vampire court, a symbol for those who were your masters. Now you have the power over me."

  "Yes." It was the stark, absolute truth, no prevarication, no softening the blow. In every way that mattered she had become his slave. And she knew it.

  His hand closed around her throat, the sharp claws little pinpricks against her skin as he stroked upwards, closed his fingers around her jaw to hold her in place. He leant into her, came even closer. She felt his breath against her skin, tasted him on her lips. Then his whispered words wrapped around her in what was an oath -- or a threat.

  "And I intend to prove to you, to them, to myself, that I am a better master than they could ever have dreamt of being. In every aspect."

  A vow. A promise? She did not know, was not sure she wanted to know. His large, warm palm came to rest on her chest and he pushed her down with gentle pressure.

  "Now sleep."

  And then he left, without another backwards glance.

  Elena curled up on her side, trying to find a comfortable spot on her nest of blanket, earth and pine needles. What had felt so soft, so comfortable after a day of travel, now had developed lumps and sharp corners. Worse, the cold had found its way under her blanket and icy tendrils were attacking her skin. Her toes, cold and miserable most of the day, even after she had replaced her wet socks with strips of cloth torn from her petticoat, had never warmed up and were now curving into themselves in painful cramps. She curled up tighter, hiding her cold nos
e between her knees and wrapping her fingers around her toes. Not comfortable -- but manageable, at least until the cramps would subside. As it was, she might be tired enough to sleep even like this.

  In that moment she resented the orcs and their seeming imperviousness to the hardships of their travel, the temperatures torturing her. That sentiment burnt in her for a moment, and not in a mild, complacent way. Not in the way she would grumble about rain on Sundays. No, for a moment she truly hated them. She knew it was not fair, even knew that most of them were suffering alongside her -- but not him and he had become the archetype in her mind. He had become everything orcish.

  She saw him standing with two of the other males, his bare back to her, snowflakes melting against his skin before running along the hard panes of his body in shimmering rivulets. He seemed as invincible as a mountain, as unyielding as nature. He must have felt her glare for he turned to her and their gazes met, his the yellow of the large predator he was, hers the unremarkable brown she was born with. What did he see when he looked at her? A doe about to run? Something worthy of his regard? She suspected the first.

  He held her gaze for a long time, then turned to nod to the two other men standing with him. When the pressure of his gaze left hers, it was as if he had given her free, the sudden absence of his eyes on her bringing back all the sensations of cold, of pain, she had somehow forgotten for those short moments of connection.

  It worried her -- but not as much as the sword which, all of a sudden, thudded onto the carpet of pine needles not far from her nose. She jumped, only realising then that Reschkar had used her momentary distraction with her own aches and pains to return to her side. She was too tired to glare at him for frightening her. It did not keep her from yelping when the large body of the orc slid onto the floor behind her, one long arm curling around her middle, pulling her against the warm curve of his body.

  At his first touch her body froze, paralysed by fear. Her mind presented her with images of ripped clothes and brutal hands, of pain and a suffocating weight on her. A split second later, the same mind, the rational rather than the primordial part of it, or so she assumed, told her how silly she was being. Oh, she did not doubt the moment would come -- but not at temperatures of minus twenty degrees and in the middle of a group of women and children under his care. The thought following that one held more than a little self-recognition: a few days ago she would never have thought an orc would care about that, would have expected him to rape her long before now. Prejudice is a sneaky little animal. She relaxed into his hold, into the unforeseen warmth it provided. His deep voice rumbled against her back.