Light the Way: Sugar and Snow 4
The journeyto Henrik’s homestead wasn’t an easy one. Pavilion, the closest town to his land, was at least a week’s journey during fine weather, but they weren’t favored with that. And of course, the war raged on.
Their first major hurdle was getting safely away from the front line. The weeks of blizzards had done wonders to quiet the worst of the fighting near their sugar factory, but that didn’t mean it was safe. The border between the Packlands and the Orclind was fuzzy at best and littered with minefields at worst.
To make things more perilous, shifters had subterfuge on their side. They could change into animals at will, which allowed many of them to lay in wait for enemies. Any hawk could be a scout, and behind any corner a battalion.
Unfortunately, that meant the safest course of action was to go through the wilderness, which was no easy thing in the middle of January.
They did their best to prepare. The abandoned shells of homes were scavenged for anything useful, and Henrik fashioned her a pack out of a sack that once held sugar beets. She was in charge of the blankets — or nesting materials, as he called them — while he shouldered the cooking supplies, wood, andmakeshift tent he’d rigged up with an old tarpaulin and whittled posts.
He was a remarkable man, her orc. Mabel was as awed by his resourcefulness as she was by his restraint.
Despite taking the kohl and her surprise bonding, he continued to be the perfect gentleman. Or near-perfect, anyway. The man did have an unbecoming obsession with patting her backside.
They’d shared a bed ever since she dragged his unconscious body into it, but he hadn’t taken the opportunity most men would’ve. The soldiers she knew were desperate for female company, and the few times her shifters had stumbled their way into a matebond, desire ran hotter than a furnace. She’d been under the impression that orcs were similar, but Henrik never slipped his hands inside her combinations or did more than bestow dizzying kisses.
In some ways it was a relief. It took time for her to come to grips with what he asked of her, and now what her magic had decided for her. She was attracted to him, to be sure, and she was a healer. She knew the mechanics of the intimate act. There was nothing to fear about it other than, perhaps, the compatibility of their sizes.
But she was nervous all the same. Perhaps that was why he restrained himself.
Her bondmate was a perceptive man. Sometimes it felt like he spent all his time watching her, learning every expression and variation of her voice. There was no way he hadn’t seen her blush or look away quickly when he stripped for bed.
And she could allow that perhaps he was focused on more important things than sex.
After the elation of her bonding died down, Henrik grew intensely fixated on getting them back to his homestead. The man hardly slept. He worked furiously, gathering supplies,crafting what they needed, and trying to outfit her with every bit of clothing he could find.
When they set off, the soft, charming orc she’d come to know fell away to reveal the hardened soldier he’d been forged into.
“You must follow every order I give you,” he firmly instructed her as he adjusted the high collar of his oilskin jacket around her face. His expression, normally cheerful, had settled into deep lines of determination and worry.
But he wasn’t the only one who’d been fighting too long. Mabel knew how to follow orders. Nodding, she replied, “Understood.”
“And if you get tired or too sore, speak up. We’ll be in a far worse position if you injure yourself than if we stop for a break.”
“I’ve marched before,” she explained, shifting a little under the bulk of the layers he’d piled onto her. “I can keep up.”
“Even so.” Henrik bent to give her a gentle kiss. A rush of tingles spread from her head to her toes when the tip of his tongue swept across the seam of her lips. Pulling back with a strained look, he muttered, “If it would get us to our nest faster, I would carry you.”
“You’re awfully focused on nests,” she observed, knowing her cheeks were bright red.
The powerful muscles that lined Henrik’s jaw flexed. Skimming his palm down one side of her head, he sighed, “You have no idea.”
She didn’t understand what he meant by that until many nights later, when they retired to their tent. A light snow fell outside, forcing them into the great hardship of cuddling close beneath their blankets to conserve warmth.
They were both fully dressed, exhausted, and a little filthy from the journey, so it wasn’t exactly the time for romance. But Mabel couldn’t take it anymore.
Pressed against his chest, she couldn’t see his face when she demanded, “Do you not desire me?”
Henrik tensed. “What?”
“You haven’t… I mean, I know what mates do,” she said, painfully glad he couldn’t see her expression. “And I’m your mate. You’re a soldier who hasn’t… known a woman in a while, presumably. But you haven’t touched me. Do you not desire m?—”
“Have you lost your mind?” Henrik’s growl shook the very air beneath their blankets.
Before she could react, he’d flipped her on her back. The blankets slid down over his shoulders, letting in a waft of frigid air as he loomed over her, a furious scowl on his face.
“Listen to me. No, better yet—” He grabbed her hand and dragged it down his front, to the closure of his trousers.
