The wagon sways, and the back of my head slides over the canvas side. I jerk upright, instantly awake. I’m surrounded by darkness so complete, I think for a moment that my eyes are still closed. But no matter how I blink, the result is the same—I can’t see a thing.
Panic crests in my chest, and I reach out blindly, feeling around for Wren. Her warm form is curled up next to me, and when I brush my fingertips over her face, she stirs, mumbling softly.
She’s here. She’s safe. We’re safe.
My heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest, though, so I pat the floor around myself more carefully in search of my dagger. It’s lying next to me, where it must have slipped from my grasp earlier. It’s a wonder I didn’t cut myself on the sharp blade.
Sighing in relief, I slip it back into my boot, then frown, trying to figure out what woke me. I have no idea how long I slept or how far we’ve traveled—only that it’s still dark outside.
Then it hits me.
The wagon is slowing down. The wheels’ rattle has quieted, and we bump along what must be grass by the road. Tree branches swish against the sides of the wagon.
“Wren,” I whisper. “Wake up.”
A call sounds somewhere in front of the wagon, a deep male voice ordering the horses to stop. I grab the leather strap of the satchel and loop it over my head. We’ll have to leave the blanket as it’s too bulky to run with, but I’m taking the food. It’s wintertime in the countryside, and I have no idea where we are or when we’ll reach a village, so we need all the provisions we can get.
“Come on,” I urge Wren. “Hold on to me like we practiced.”
I lift her into my arms, and she clings to me, wrapping her thin arms around my neck and gripping me with her thighs as best she can. Then I walk to the end of the wagon, dodging the crates and the sacks lining the floor. I push open the back flap.
We’ve slowed down almost completely. A sickle moon throws faint silvery light over the meadow by the road. This is our last chance to jump out and make for the trees. I grit my teeth, preparing for the impact, and vault out of the wagon. Wren instinctively tightens her grip on me, and I hold the back of her head in case I stumble. But I land safely in the frosty grass, cringing at the sound of my footsteps.
Then I run. I don’t look back, don’t check for signs of pursuit. The orc driver seemed large—he’d make a lot of noise crashing through the forest after us. The moment I reach the first bushes, I plunge through their branches, hiding us from view.
“Hey!”
Someone shouts after us. It could be the orc driver or someone else from the caravan of wagons, but I don’t care. I need to get us far enough away that they won’t bother giving chase anymore—without losing our way in the forest. The last thing I want is to wander completely off the path, so I keep the direction of the road in mind as I pick my way through the densely growing trees.
“Mama,” Wren whispers in my ear. “Is the green man bad?”
“Hush,” I pant. “No talking now.”
Footsteps crunch on the leaves behind us. Someone is pursuing us—probably the orc driver—and I can’t think of a good reason for him to do that. Maybe he only wants his satchel back, but we need the food more than he does, so I discard the idea of dropping the bag and fleeing without it. It’s more likely that he wants to take advantage of us. I’ve heard the stories about orcs, and none of them were good.
Another crunch, a lot closer than I anticipated.
“Crap,” I whisper.
Our pursuer is moving more quietly than us, because I should have heard the footsteps coming up. Whoever it is must be a hunter, skilled in the art of stalking prey silently.
If I was alone, I would have more options—to run faster, give up the pretense of hiding and sprint to disappear. Or I’d fight, trying to leverage my speed and the fact that we’re in a forest, preventing my larger attacker from swinging around a longer weapon.
But I have Wren to protect. And we’re up against that orc. I didn’t get a good look at his weapons back in Ultrup, but they’re a warmongering people, so fighting one without preparation would be foolish.
Panic threatens to overwhelm me, squeezing at my throat and limiting my rational thought. I draw in a painful inhale. The cold night air cuts my lungs. My legs are starting to hurt, and my arms tremble from the strain of supporting my little girl, even though she’s helping as much as she can, clinging on to me.
We’ll never get away. There’s no way we’ll win a fight like this either. I can’t let Wren get hurt.
“You’re going to climb a tree, baby,” I whisper in Wren’s ear as I frantically search the gloom for a good hiding spot. I stumble over a tree root and barely keep from falling on my face. “You’ll wait for me, all right? Silent as a mouse.”
I’ll double back and attack the orc from behind if I have to. I don’t care about fighting fair when it comes to protecting Wren.
“No, don’t leave me,” she whimpers, and her voice is too loud in this quiet, too revealing.
If I try to stick her in a tree and leave, she’ll cry, giving away her position. She’s just a child, and being left alone in the dark forest seems horrible to her. She hasn’t yet learned that there are far worse fates than that.
There.
An old oak tree with branches far off the ground—but it’s surrounded with younger trees, ones that might hold our weight but would crack under a heavier body.
“Climb up,” I tell Wren. “I’ll follow after you. Go on.”
She scrambles up a sapling fir tree next to the oak, nimble as a squirrel, then leaps to one of the larger branches of the oak. The tension in my chest loosens a little. I thank the gods that I chose to dress her in a boy’s attire before leaving Ultrup. Skirts would only have made this harder, but she’s safe for now. I throw a glance over my shoulder, trying to see through the darkness. There’s nothing—not a swish of a cloak or a flash of green skin, but I know he’s close.
Heartbeat thudding in my throat, I turn to the sapling and climb. The rough bark scrapes my palms, and a couple of the smaller branches snap under my weight, making too much noise. But I reach the first branch of the oak tree and climb up, heaving myself higher.
I take the satchel off my shoulder and tie it to the tree. If the orc somehow makes it up here, I’ll have an easier time evading him if I’m not weighed down.
“Can you climb higher?” I whisper to Wren. “Into that nook above you, can you reach that?”
She gives me a serious nod and climbs up, onto branches so thin my breath stalls in my throat at the sight of her perched there. But the branches hold, and there’s no way the orc can make it that high up. He’d snap the wood and plummet to the ground. She’ll be safe there.
“Don’t move,” I tell her. “No matter what, all right?”
“Is he going to hurt you?” she whispers back, her voice trembling.
“No, baby,” I promise her. “I’ll hurt him if he tries to get too close. Now be quiet, I need to listen.”
She clamps her mouth shut and clings on to the tree. The moon sends dappled white light through the bare treetops, and for a moment, Wren looks like a fairy creature from a story, her blonde hair shining silver, her chin sharp. She could be a forest sprite, ready to cause mischief to humans.
Below us, another creature so foreign, he might as well belong in a myth, strides from under the dark branches of the fir trees. The orc wagon driver stops beneath our oak and sniffs. He turns this way and that, and I hold my breath, hoping against hope that he might think he simply lost our trail and search elsewhere.
But he sniffs again, then glances up, frowning. It takes him a moment to find me, and our gazes connect. He lets out a huff of breath, which creates a pale cloud in front of his face.
“Want to come down now?” he asks.
His voice is calm, as if this chase through the forest was nothing but a pleasant stroll. His weapons belt bristles with various knives and blades, as well as a large battle-ax, but his hands are empty, spread to the side slightly. He’s trying to show us he’s unarmed, which is laughable. He could draw any of those weapons in a blink, and besides, he wouldn’t need a blade to hurt us. He’s big enough to crush us with those fists.
“You need to leave,” I say. My voice shakes, so I clear my throat and add, “Thank you for the food and the ride, but we’ll make our own way now. We don’t want any trouble.”
He steps to the side and cranes his neck, and I realize he’s searching for Wren.
“Hey, there,” he says when he locates her. “Do you want to come down?”
“Don’t talk to her,” I snarl.
She stares mutely at him, not budging an inch. I throw her an approving glance, and she blinks at me, her lips wobbling. She’s about to cry—or she’s so cold her teeth are chattering. Which wouldn’t surprise me at all. My fingers are turning numb, and I shiver, the freezing night air worming its way under my clothes.
“Come on, pet.” The orc focuses on me once more. “You can’t stay up there all night. You’ll grow tired and cold, and then you’ll fall off the tree. You don’t want that, do you?”
“I’m not your pet,” I force through gritted teeth, clenching my jaw to prevent it from trembling.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says without an apology. “If you return to camp with me, we’ll have a fire.”
“And you’ll roast us over it, will you?” I mutter.
Wren sucks in a breath, and I instantly regret my words. I’m scaring her—that’s the last thing she needs.
I glance down at the orc and find him glowering at me.
“We don’t eat humans,” he growls.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
It’s the strangest thing, this urge to apologize. The male standing under the tree has stalked us through the forest, so I shouldn’t even be talking to him, let alone apologizing.
But he also gave you food and safe passage from the city.
He could have reported us to the city watch and had us thrown in jail for trying to sneak through the gate on his wagon. Yet he saw us and even paid the guard to look the other way.
I push the thoughts away. If I start to feel anything resembling respect or gratefulness to him, I might not be able to stab him if he attacks. And he will attack.
“There’s more food in the camp,” he coaxes. “And you can sleep by the fire. Keep warm through the night and decide what you want to do in the morning.”
“Men always promise pretty things,” I retort. “Then they take them all away.”
His frown deepens, his single dark eye glinting in the moonlight. “I’m sorry you only met bad men. I would not go back on my word.”
His words sound sincere, nothing like the empty promises I’ve been hearing from men my entire life. Timo, the leader of our gang, wouldn’t sound sincere even if he told me the sky was blue, but when had I started comparing all men to him?
Biting my lip, I try to think my way through this. If our pursuer weren’t an orc, would I trust him? And are orcs inherently untrustworthy? I’ve never dealt with one personally and only glimpsed a couple of green-skinned males in Ultrup once, years ago. The stories painted them as ruthless killers, brutes of remarkable strength, but so far, my first interaction with one has been…surprising.
The orc beneath me rubs the back of his neck. “So you’re not coming down?”
I shake my head, more to give myself time to think than anything else. I know we’ll have to climb from the tree eventually—like he said, we’d get too cold and fall, and plummeting from this height might be fatal for Wren. If he really wants to capture us, all he has to do is sit right there on the ground and wait us out.
But the massive orc lets out a sigh. “Then I’ll have to come up and join you.”
“No, don’t—” I say, scrambling back to cling to the tree trunk.
Wren squeals in terror, and suddenly, I’m no longer cold—blood pumps through me, steadying my hands. I have to end this fight before he has even more of an advantage.
The orc eyes the lowest, thick branch of the oak tree and crouches as if preparing to jump. I have no idea if he can actually make the leap and pull himself up—the distance would be too much for any human, but he’s almost seven feet tall and powerfully built.
I’ll only get one chance to do this.
“Stay where you are,” I warn Wren, glancing at her quickly. “Do not climb down unless I tell you to.”
She gives me a frightened nod and tightens her grip on the branch beside her.
Good enough.
I face the orc. He stares up at me, his expression determined. This is the look of a male who is used to getting what he wants, and for some reason, what he wants is me. Us.
Not on my watch.
I crouch on my branch, careful of my boots slipping on the damp, frozen bark. I slip my hand to my boot and draw my dagger, shielding my movement with my body. The orc lowers his head, studying the tree trunk for a foothold, and I jump.
He glances up at the last moment, his eye widening in surprise, and takes a half step back. I crash onto him, my knees to his chest, and knock him back. We both go flying. I sprawl on the leaves, flip on my side, ignoring the pain in my ribs, and push to my feet. I haven’t lost my dagger in this mad move, which is good, because he’s already getting to his knees, and I need to hurry.
I run toward him and leap on his back, wrapping my arm around his neck. This puts my face right next to his ear, and I realize with a jolt it’s pointed, like a fae’s, and as green as the rest of him. The orc rises to his feet, taking me with him. I flail my legs for a moment, then manage to clamp my thighs around his waist, gaining leverage. A second later, I press the tip of my dagger to his neck.
The orc stills. He’s not even out of breath, and he stands firm, as if my weight doesn’t bother him at all. It’s only the flutter of his pulse under my fingertips that betrays his state of mind—his heart is beating fast, like mine.
“You going to kill me, pet?” he murmurs.
Dimly, I register that he’s not trying to dislodge me, nor to pull my knife away from his neck. “I’m not your pet,” I snap, feeling ridiculous that I’m repeating my words from earlier. But he’s clearly dim-witted if he’s willfully antagonizing the person about to murder him.
“All right, then, what’s your name?” he asks.
His voice is so damn calm, it infuriates me. He chased us through the dark woods, and now he wants to chat?
“You don’t deserve to know my name.”
My sweaty fingers are starting to slip on his skin, so I hoist myself higher on his back, squeezing harder. Groaning softly, the orc grips the sides of my legs and holds me up, his hands wrapping around my thighs. His fingers are strong and warm enough that the heat of him penetrates through the leather of my pants.
A strange shiver goes through me. I grit my teeth against it, shaking my head to stay focused. The orc’s scent is muddling my thoughts, pine sap and spiced cakes, a strange combination that has me leaning in for a better sniff until I realize what I’m doing and give myself a hard mental slap.
He runs his thumbs over my legs, stroking slowly. “When a woman gets this close to me, I usually know her name already.”
The nerve.
I swallow the moan that threatens to work its way from my throat at his caresses. “Do all women need sharp knives around you? Is that the kind of male you are?”
I don’t know why I’m taunting him, but he’s too calm for my taste—I need him off-balance enough that he’ll be rash and make a mistake. Though…I’m the one making a mistake. I should have stabbed him in the neck the moment I jumped on him. But I’m hesitating, and I have no idea why.
He turns his head sharply, staring at me over his shoulder with his good right eye. “I’ve never forced myself on a woman.”
The words are harsh, and he seems genuinely insulted that I insinuated he has hurt women in the past. Nothing about him makes sense, and I hate that. If Timo, Damen, or one of the other men from our crew showed up, I’d have no qualms about cutting their throats, because they’ve proven to me time and again that they’re dangerous. Rotten to the core and eager to cause pain for the fun of it.
This orc, however, hasn’t tried to hurt me—or Wren.
“Why did you follow us?” I demand.
The orc gives my thighs a gentle squeeze. “Are you going to slit my throat?”
I pause for a moment too long. He exhales, then lets go of my left leg and deftly plucks the knife from my fingers.
He’s so fast, I didn’t even anticipate the move. There’s nothing I can do to defend myself against it. One second, I’m holding the knife, and the next, he twirls it between his fingers.
I drop to the ground immediately, backing away from him. Keeping my wary gaze on him, I reach down and draw another knife from my other boot.
The orc scowls. “How many of those do you have?”
I have four, five counting the one he took from me, but I don’t tell him that. I need to keep the element of surprise, not that it did me much good earlier.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I had a chance to kill him and I didn’t take it.
“Want to return to camp now?” he asks.
He lets my dagger drop, and it sticks in the half-frozen ground. Then he takes a step back, motioning for me to pick it up. I narrow my eyes at him but swoop in anyway. You can never have too many knives. Not that they’re any use against this particular threat. Still, I feel better with some protection.
“Why did you hide in my wagon?” he asks quietly.
I grit my teeth and force out, “None of your business.”
“Is someone after you?” he presses. “Are you in danger?”
I open my mouth to outright lie to him and deny everything, but something stops me. I glance up at Wren, who’s staring down at us, listening to everything. Finally, I dip my chin and mutter, “Maybe.”
For a moment, he looks every inch an orc warrior, fierce and ready to do battle. Then he takes a deep inhale and seems to calm himself. “I promise you that no one will hurt you while you’re with us.”
His expression is solemn, and my shoulders drop a notch, some of the fight going out of me.
I’m not entirely convinced, but it’s not only my safety that’s on the line. I glance up at Wren, finding her still sitting among the branches. She’s staring down at us, and she sniffs, then runs the back of her hand under her nose. She must be so cold by now, but she’s been so good, not complaining once during our flight from the city.
The orc steps closer like a beast scenting weakness. “Your daughter will be safe. She can get something hot to drink. Sleep by the fire. We’ll protect you both.”
A lump forms in my throat, so I look up under the pretense of watching Wren. “Why?” I ask. “What’s in it for you?”
He remains silent for a long moment, so I finally drop my gaze to him. He’s a hulking shape in the dim light, half of him cast in shadow. He seems grim, almost dejected.
Finally, he opens his mouth to speak. “I’m afraid you are my mate.”
