SWNOVELS Her Orc Warrior: Chapter 11
I find Ozork by the fire, watching over Wren. The rest of the drivers have scattered around, taking care of the various chores that needed doing around the camp. The evening has grown late, and I want nothing more than to rest my aching body, to curl up with Wren in the blankets and sleep.
But I need answers.
Vark is nowhere to be seen, though the kettle I cleaned is set at an angle by Korr’s wagon, drying so it can be put away, so he must have come through here at some point. I search the shadows for him, but he has disappeared quite thoroughly. Unless I want to call after him and alert the entire caravan that I’m searching for him, I’ll have to wait until he stops sulking and returns.
Because that’s exactly what he’d doing, to my knowledge. He has decided that things are a certain way, that I surely hate him and the fact that we’re fated mates, and he has taken steps to remove himself from my life.
I don’t appreciate him making decisions for me. In this case, our situation is complicated. I never wanted an orc mate, that much is true, but I resent having the option taken from me.
To say I’m confused would be a gross understatement.
I sit next to Ozork and stare into the flames. He takes a stick and stirs up the fire, then prods a round metal shape from the embers. Rolling it to his feet with the stick, he takes a thick piece of cloth and gingerly pries open what turns out to be a small covered pot. He tips its insides into one of the bowls I’d washed at the stream.
Then he hands the bowl to me. “Careful, it’s hot.”
I tilt the bowl toward the fire to see what’s inside. “Are these baked apples?”
“With honey and raisins,” he confirms.
I take a spoon and dig in. It’s the perfect treat for a cool winter night, and I eat half before remembering, shamed, that I should offer some to Wren. She’s sleeping, but this is too good for her to pass up.
I go to shake her shoulder, but Ozork puts a hand on my arm and stops me.
“We can make more for her tomorrow morning,” he says softly. “Let her sleep.”
I consider his offer, then nod. “Thank you.”
I make short work of the apples and lick the inside of the bowl at the end, wanting to get every last bit of the syrupy liquid. Ozork remains quiet, seeming content to sit there with me, watching the flames.
After a while, I muster enough courage to ask, “Was Vark a warrior?”
Ozork peers at me sharply, then turns back to the flames. “Why do you ask?”
“He said something earlier,” I explain. “About not being worthy? Or rather, that he’s not a warrior, so I couldn’t be proud of him.”
“Ah.”
Ozork lets out a long sigh and leans back on his arms. With the firelight playing on his scarred face, I can imagine where the stories of the orcs as monsters came from. He looks so inhuman at the moment, with the tusks and the green skin, that it’s hard to reconcile that image with his calm, kind nature.
“Aye,” he says finally. “He was a warrior. A good one, too.”
“What happened?” I ask, desperate to know.
But the older orc shakes his head. “That’s not my story to tell.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Then what can you tell me? Why would being a wagon driver make him unworthy of having a mate? Are orcs that backward?”
Ozork straightens and shoots a glare at me. “I thought we were over this nonsense.”
“I thought so, too,” I retort. My voice has risen again, and I glance at Wren to make sure she’s still sleeping, then continue more quietly. “But what Vark told me certainly made it sound like you only cared about one thing, and that’s swinging around a sword. Or an ax, in his case.”
Ozork’s craggy face scrunches into a grimace. “Aye, Vark would say that, you’re right. That doesn’t mean the rest of us think what he does is worthless.” He motions at the wagons with one hand. “We leave the safety of our home and travel to the human lands often. That in itself has its dangers, because humans don’t like us traveling through their towns, let alone staying at their establishments. But add to that the fact that we travel with pockets full of gold going in one direction, and wagons loaded with provisions in the other, and we’re a target more often than you’d think.”
I didn’t even think of that when Wren and I climbed onto one of their wagons in Ultrup. Of course they’d be in danger, traveling in a small group through the lands. The cities—and most of the larger villages—have established militias and guards, but out in the open plains, the caravan could be attacked, and no one would come to their aid.
“So why does Vark—?”
Ozork’s sigh interrupts my question. “His father was a warrior. He died in battle. As did his father before him. So Vark believes it would have been better for him to have died in the skirmish that took his eye.”
I don’t know what to say to that. But it gives me a bit of insight into the mind of the male who seems to be inextricably linked to me. That Vark lost his father to war must have been a painful blow.
Ozork pats my arm. “I know it is hard. But try. With him.”
I lift my eyebrows. “You think a human and an orc would make a good couple?”
He gives me a decisive nod. “Aye. I have seen it. Our queen is human, as are Rose, who is Uram’s mate, and Poppy, Steagor’s mate. You will meet them at the Hill.”
My tired mind whirrs slowly with new possibilities. “There are humans at your Hill?”
“Of course,” he says. “And at the villages on King Gorvor’s lands.”
“Are you mated?” I ask without thinking. “I mean, you’re older than Vark, so I thought—”
Ozork shakes his head. “I haven’t met my mate yet.” He offers me a small, sad smile. “I’m starting to think she must have perished or else she’s living somewhere far beyond my reach.”
I stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve traveled across so many realms,” he says, his voice weary. “And she is nowhere to be found.”
I put my hand on his arm, expressing my regret through the touch. He nods, accepting it wordlessly. We sit for a while, watching the flames flutter in the wind. I don’t want to press him any more on the topic of his mate, but I still have questions for him, and I don’t want to leave him alone after I’d stirred up such sadness in him.
“But Vark’s mother—she is an orc?” I ask, wondering if I’ll get to meet the woman.
Ozork throws another log on the fire. “She was an orc. She’s gone now.”
“Oh.” My heart twists with sympathy. So Vark is an orphan, like me. I wonder when he lost his second parent—and if age ever really matters with something that hurts so much. “What happened to her?”
Ozork sends me an indecipherable look. “She waned after her mate was killed.”
I sit up straight, no longer sleepy. “So if one mate dies…”
“The other often finds that life is not worth living anymore,” Ozork completes my thought.
“That’s…so sad. No wonder Vark hates the fact that he’s found me.”
Ozork lets out a low growl. “Did that fool boy say that?”
I let out a startled laugh. I wouldn’t call Vark a boy, but I suppose Ozork must have known him as a child.
“I should tan his hide,” the older orc grumbles. “There’s being afraid of what could happen, and then there’s being stupid.”
“He’s not stupid,” I protest. “He’s just…”
I can’t find the right word to describe Vark, but Ozork offers me a crooked smile anyway.
“Defending him already,” he muses. “Not bad.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks, a sensation that has nothing to do with the fire.
“I’m not—” I start to say, then correct myself, “I mean, I am defending him. I don’t know why I’m doing that.”
Ozork chuckles and stands. “You’ll figure it out in good time. Now I’m off to bed. Korr has the first watch, and I intend to make the most of it.”
He ambles off, leaving me to contemplate our conversation and stare at the flames. After a while, I lie down next to Wren, curling around her for warmth. But I don’t fall asleep. Regardless of how tired my body is after the busy day and my training, my thoughts buzz in my head like a swarm of angry bees. I force my eyes shut and try to fall asleep, but dreams are elusive.
I don’t hear Vark’s footsteps. He’s just there one second, covering us with another blanket. I know it’s him by that unforgettable scent of his—pine and spiced cakes, so delicious. He’s completely silent, and I keep my eyes closed, waiting to see what he’ll do.
Ever so slowly, he lowers himself on the sleeping mat behind me and scoots in close. He brushes my hair from my cheek, then tugs on the blanket, and it hits me. He’s keeping me warm, protecting me from the wind. That’s how I was able to sleep so well the past two nights—only I’d been too tired to notice his presence. He must have joined us after we’d already fallen asleep and left before either of us stirred.
His exhale ruffles the hairs on my neck, and I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me. Vark freezes, the arm he has put around me tightening slightly. I curse myself, then release Wren, making sure she’s well covered, and turn on my back so I can meet Vark’s gaze.
He stares at me, his expression neutral, and I know in that moment that he’s waiting for me to send him away, to scream at him for getting so close to me without permission. He’s bracing himself for a rejection.
I can’t do it. This is dangerous, because it blurs the lines we’ve drawn in the sand. It challenges everything we talked about at the river. But if wanting to be held by someone in the night is a crime, I’m guilty. Because nothing has ever felt so good.
Vark is fully dressed, as am I, and I’m wrapped in a woolen blanket on top of that, but I’ve never been in a situation so intimate. All my adult life, having a man this close has meant I needed to scratch an itch, or I had something to achieve by offering my body to them. I never worked as a lady of the night, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t learned a thing or two from my friends who did.
But Vark’s cautious expression and the knowledge that he’s done this before, all to help me and Wren… My throat closes up, surprising me. I can’t talk about this now. Our discussion from earlier is still ringing in my head, the reason I’m awake, and I haven’t yet made up my mind about what I want to do about it. But I don’t want Vark to go.
I turn on my side, facing away from him. Wordlessly, I put my hand on his where it rests on my belly—and I wait.
Vark remains silent, and he’s still for so long, I start to give up on the hope that he’ll go with my idea of pretending this is completely normal for us. Then he presses his body close to mine. I can’t feel much but the sheer size of him—and his warmth, delicious and almost as strong as the glow of the fire. It feels even better than the flames, though, because it’s meant just for me.