"I know." I extend my hand—a human gesture, deliberate. "It never is."
He looks at my hand. Takes it. His grip crushes bone against bone, and I squeeze back just as hard, and for one breath we're not an elder and a runaway prince. We're two orcs acknowledging a truth neither of us can name.
He releases me. Nods once to Sarah and walks out the way he came, cedar smoke trailing behind him until the salt air swallows the last trace.
Sarah lets out a breath that shakes on the way out. "That went well."
I pull her against my side and press my face into her hair. "That went terribly. He respected you, which means he'll tell the clans you're worth taking seriously, which means they'll probably escalate."
"Mmm." She tilts her face up, her eyes bright. "Then we'd better go celebrate while we can."
The clubhouse erupts.
Finn produces a bottle of dark whiskey from a hiding spot behind the bar. Garrett puts his fist through the ceiling tile trying to hang a banner. Rex builds a fire in the pit out back that violates at least three municipal codes, and Diesel acquires a cake from Betty's Diner withCongratulations, Prezspelled out in frosting that's already melting in the heat.
I stand at the center of it all with Sarah's hand in mine and make the announcement.
"For those of you who haven't figured it out yet—" A glance at Diesel, who has definitely not figured it out. "Sarah's pregnant. You're all uncles."
The roar shakes the rafters. Brothers slam tables, slam each other, slam their drinks. Rex lifts his glass and bellows a toast about legacy that Diesel drowns out with a whoop loud enough to scare seabirds off the bluff.
Finn catches my eye across the chaos. My brother. My VP. The cocky grin he's worn since childhood splits his face, but his eyes hold a depth I almost never see in him—pride, maybe. Relief. The recognition of a man who followed me out of the mountains and never once asked me to go back.
He turns and reaches for Jessica, lifting her off her feet and spinning her in a circle before she can protest. Her combat boots kick at empty air and her laugh cuts through the noise—sharp, surprised, the sound of a woman caught off guard by joy. Finn sets her down and she shoves his chest, but she's grinning, and a charge flickers between them that has nothing to do with celebration.
My brother's story isn't mine to write.
Sarah leans into me, her head against my ribs, and the bond hums with a frequency I can only describe as home. The clubhouse glows with lantern light and laughter and the loud, messy, unbreakable chaos of family.
Later that night. Everyone's gone.
Sarah stands in the center of the room with lantern light spilling gold across her skin, and the sight of her stops me in the doorway. The green dress hugs the new fullness of her body—breasts heavier, hips wider, the faintest curve below her navel where our child grows. She watches me with those steady brown eyes, lips parted, her pulse jumping at the hollow of her throat.
I cross to her. My hands find the zipper at her back and draw it down one tooth at a time, knuckles dragging along her spine. The fabric pools at her feet. She stands in nothing but skin and moonlight and the scar of my claim.
"My queen."
She reaches for my collar—the formal silk she straightened hours ago—and works the clasps free. Pushes the tunic from my shoulders. Her palms flatten against my chest, tracing scars she's memorized by touch.
"My king."
I drop to my knees before her.
My mouth finds her stomach, the taut skin warm against my lips, and I speak in my mother's tongue. Low, guttural wordsmeant for the life growing inside her—orc blessings older than the clans themselves, promises my father whispered to my mother before I drew my first breath.You are wanted. You are claimed. You will know the sound of your father's voice before you know the light.
Sarah's fingers thread through my hair, nails scraping my scalp. Through the bond her love hits me so hard my chest aches with it—fierce, steady and absolute.
I rise and lift her onto the bed. Settle between her thighs, my weight braced on my forearms, my mouth tracing a path from the bite mark down her throat to the swell of her breasts. She arches beneath me, her breath catching.
I take one nipple between my lips and suck, and her reaction hits me through the bond before the sound leaves her mouth—a jolt of pleasure so sharp it makes my cock twitch. The pregnancy has rewired her. Every nerve ending dialed to ten. Two weeks ago I barely grazed her nipple and she came so hard she bit through my pillowcase.
I give the other breast the same attention—teeth grazing the hardened tip, my tongue laving the sting away—and she grips my hair with both hands, her back bowing off the mattress.
"Knox—I need—"
"I know what you need." My hand slides between her thighs. She's already soaked—slick and hot and dripping before I've done more than touch her. I groan against her breast. "Already this wet for me."
"I've been wet since you told that elder you'd end a war for me." She grins up at me—flushed and breathless but still my Sarah. "Turns out threatening diplomats is my thing."
