And now I’m sure that something he says causes a shit-eating grin to spread out onto Varguk’s face, though the male could be stupid-drunk with pain right now.
I open a bottle of sanitizer and don’t hesitate when Bak holds his hands out. I pour half the contents on him and while he’s making a show of rubbing his big hands together in front of everyone, dump the rest of the bottle over the wound.
I know that hurts, but Varguk never utters a sound. When none of the watching males say anything, I take it as a sign of respect.
Bakog and I have done this routine together many times during practices. Every male here knows of the antiseptic burn.
Shally tears open the pre-threaded needle and Bakog pulls it from the package, then proceeds to stitch the wound. I know it hurts, but Varguk never utters a word. When Bakog’s done, I clean the wound again, using water this time, then spritz the area with peroxide. Like he’s a child, I pull his shirt over his head and, whew. Take a moment to appreciate the male’s fine physique.
The rounded muscles of his shoulders. The amazing pecs. The enormous biceps.
The dark green nipples, pierced.
“There are gentler ways of getting me undressed, m’kirn,” he says. He has the audacity to tease, then. Yet his face is pale.
“Aye. But you’re not a gentle male, orc.”
“Says the one who’s been walking around with a make-shift bandage,” Father growls, eyeing the bloody patch of fabric Varguk had tied around his middle to disguise the wound. “Let my sweet child tend to you. She doesn’t want or need abrokenguard.”
Which is odd for my father to say. While Varguk doesn’t know it, I know my father doesn’t mind that I have a guard during my stay. I imagine he and Brachard figure this is a way to have a hold over the Southpeaks. Because the clan doesn’t dare do anything to me with the King’s own son as my guard.
“We can’t have him sleeping outside on the ground tonight,” Brachard says. “And Rosemary’s place only has one extra room. Use your father’s room at the hotel tonight, sweet flower. It has two beds, originally for you and your father. He’ll bunk with me and Aga. Tomorrow night you can go to Rosemary’s and the male will manage.”
I know what Brachard isn’t saying. He and my father are heading for Mont Grove, but he won’t let anyone know, lest they’re followed to the secret location. So, I nod.
“We have Abigail’s father’s wagon still in the yard,” Rosemary says. “He can sleep in there. Paul and I will clean it out tomorrow.”
“You still have that battered old thing?” Abigail asks, swaying the conversation from the attention of where my guard will sleep.
“Aye, it’s been quite a project,” her uncle says. “We’ve preserved the wood, replaced the wheels and used new canvas topping. Your father would be proud.”
Considering Abigail’s hated stepfather was killed in the wagon, I imagine so. This time, when everyone continues dancing until the sun begins to fall, I sit with Varguk, watching him carefully. Because now I know how well that male can mask pain.
“You have a loud family,” Varguk comments. There is something in his voice, almost a longing.
“Yes. Funny how family can be chosen, right?”
“Chosen?”
“Aye. There are humans, West Mountains, and I’m Blackheart. Now, you’re here and you’re Southpeak.”
“I’m not family.”
“You don’t have to be born in. It starts off as friends. Sometimes less. My father was a prisoner of the West Mountains. Today he and his offspring are family.”
Varguk stays quiet. Normally, I’d ask him about his relatives, but he just killed his brother, so there’s that. I’m sure either way he feels, he doesn’t want to be reminded.
“The humans are from different clans also, are they not?” he asks.
“Aye. Hannah and Joanna were from neighboring villages, though they didn’t know each other. Abigail’s aunt is Rosemary, here in Creede, but Abigail was raised elsewhere.”
“And yet you all refer to Rosemary as aunt.”
I shrug. “Yes. A few of us have stayed with her off and on during the years, sometimes together. Sometimes separately.” When there is silence again, I take the plunge to ask him personal questions.
“Is your mother alive?”
“Nay.”
