Negan:
IT’S OBVIOUS TO everyone the orc and I have tension between us. Surely, it must clearly be visible? My heart feels like it thumps so hard the beating shows through the wall of my chest, calling attention to my peaked nipples. I keep stealing glances at Varguk, only to find his hot, dark gaze focused solely on me, a brooding look upon the harsh angles of his face.
But everywhere around us, the partying continues as normal.
And finally, my guard finds a moment to pull me to the edge of the woods. “I’m not sure if you’re more beautiful in the gold dress or the tight leather,” he grits. “Either way is tearing me up inside, wondering why some ingrate hasn’t tried to snatch you up.”
I feel like singing. He thinks I’m beautiful. The only other male who’s called me beautiful is my father. And Grandfather Brachard.
Both of whom are probably the reason why no other males have snatched me up.
I guess those mystery males don’t count because I don’t get the tingly feeling in my belly when they show interest.
“I want you to walk that way,” he says, pointing his finger away from him. All around us, people stand to watch. “And I’ll sneak up on you. Don’t let me steal you away.”
Much as I’d like that.
I turn to walk, listening for his footsteps. The crunch of grass, the snap of a twig. But I hear nothing. Instead, I feel his hand on my shoulder.
I jump and squeal like a frightened maiden.
“Watch this. I taught her this,” my Uncle Latsil says, almost ruining the move I have planned.
And now I have no choice but to clutch my imaginary pearls, sucking in a soft breath like I’m distressed. Varguk softens his stance, his rugged face becoming concerned despite my Blackheart gear that usually makes males wary.
I have him snared.
Instead of turning slowly—like he would expect from a terrified female—I turn in double time, raising my arm straight up in the air, and then dropping it down on his arm that still grips my shoulder. He grunts with pain and I take that moment to jab him in the abdomen.
Which reopens his wound and a gush of blood wets his tunic. It spreads nearly instantly.
A knife wound. The male has been hiding this all along.
“Varguk,” I gasp. I thought his brother tried to stab him in the testicles and missed. I wasn’t aware he stabbed him in the abs—and that Varguk has been walking around wounded. He must have packed it. Bound it tight.
And no one notices because my family is watching and laughing, exchanging I told you so’s as they clasp each other to pound their backs.
“Good job going for a weak spot,” Varguk says, panting through his pain.
“You should have told me it was a weak spot,” I snap. “You let me fix your face and never once told me about this.”
He shrugs. “I thought you didn’t want an ugly guard.”
I lean in, spitting mad. The stubborn male has beenwalking aroundwith that wound, bleeding. Dancing. Pretending there’s no pain.
And I had no idea.
“From now on, I want you to tell me of every injury,” I bark, lifting the arm on his uninjured side to snake around my shoulders.
“A Southpeak doesn’t tell others of their weakness,” Bakog says quietly, approaching from the other side and lifting Varguk’s other arm to help me lead him back to a table. “Ever. It’s their way.”
“Right now, he’s my guard, not a Southpeak,” I insist, eyeing Varguk as if I dare him to argue. “You’ll tell me everything. Understand, orc?”
I think I see grins on both of the idiot’s faces. At least Varguk tries to hide his.
“Aye,” he grits.
“Var gets it. Don’t smother your guard, Neegie,” Bakog says, smiling at Shalia who approaches with a first-aid kit at the same time I lift the injured male’s bloody shirt.
