“Do you hunger?” Rathgarr’s stilted voice asked her, perhaps around midday, and when Geva managed another nod, he led her a little ways into the woods. To a place that was perhaps familiar to him, a mossy clearing with several large scattered stones, and they sat and ate in more silence, not meeting one another’s eyes. And then it was yet more walking, more gawking passersby, while Geva’s loneliness and exhaustion kept deepening, dragging down her head and shoulders.
One month at Orc Mountain, obeying silently, without question or complaint. And then the sea.
They finally stopped for the night at another inn, this one noticeably seedier than the night before. And when Rathgarr again ordered Geva to go eat, and then secure them a room and a bath, she dutifully obliged, even as she valiantly fought to ignore the raucous, drunken crowd in the dining-room, and the greasy-faced man at the bar who loudly offered to share her bath.
By the time she’d reached their room for the night — a cramped, candlelit room in the attic, with, predictably, only one bed — Geva was trembling with unease and exhaustion, and clinging to her satchel as though it were a shield. And when a massive, hooded figure abruptly appeared behind her in the doorway, she nearly leapt out of her skin, and scrabbled halfway across the room before realizing it was him. Rathgarr.
“Settle yourself, poppet,” he said with a grimace, closing the door behind him. “No need to always be so skittish, ach?”
Geva swallowed, but quickly nodded, and even attempted a wretched smile. Because gods, he couldn’t leave her alone in this strange place, and he wanted her obliging and obedient and silent, and —
“Brought your bath, pretty girl,” called a sing-song male voice from beyond the door, making Geva jump again. “You alone in there?”
Thankfully, Rathgarr spun back around, yanking his hood down further over his face before swinging the door open. And though the men likely couldn’t identify him as an orc in the darkness, Rathgarr’s towering bulk clearly spoke for itself, sending them scurrying away with an urgency that might have once been gratifying.
“Pay no heed to those vermin,” Rathgarr told Geva, his voice hard, once he’d heaved the full, steaming washtub into the room. “I shall stay here with you tonight, ach?”
Geva’s tired eyes darted toward that one small bed again, but she couldn’t deny the sheer, staggering relief blooming in her chest. “Th-thank you, sir,” she made herself say, her voice unnaturally small. “I am — very grateful, and should be glad to share with you.”
Rathgarr’s mouth thinned, but he nodded, and then waved a too-casual hand toward the bath. Because yes, yes that was what came next, and even the thought of it was doing strange, sickening things in Geva’s gut. Gods, he’d been so enthralling the night before, so compelling, so cruel. And would he want that again, he wanted a silent obedient hireling, he didn’t care about her in the least, and —
“Mayhap I shall just scent the bath again,” he said now, not meeting Geva’s eyes. “Should you wish.”
Right. Geva jerked a quick nod, and then she turned away from him, yanking off her sticky, grimy clothes, and then twisting up her hair. While intently ignoring the distinct sounds of rustling fabric behind her, followed by something that had to be… movement. Yes, that had to be him, stroking that heft at his groin. Swelling it to full hardness, bringing out those brimming beads of sweet white seed…
Geva’s breath hitched, and she shivered as she stood there, her backside now fully bared toward him, her eyes squeezed shut. And her mouth was not watering — it wasnot— as the visions of him caressing himself, coaxing out that seed, seemed to parade behind her eyelids. Gods, she could even hear his low breaths, could feel that rhythmic stroking, rising and rippling, faster and higher, until —
She twitched at the distinctive sound of liquid spattering against water, strong and sustained and steady. Pouring out, emptying himself, forher— but then gradually fading, lessening. Just like when he’d sprayed her the night before, when his breath had caught like that in his throat, his eyes blazing with hunger…
“Ach, it is done,” came his voice behind her, and when Geva turned her trembly body around, it was to the sight of him tucking himself away again. Though his hands had clenched on his trousers, his big body stilling, and his heavy, half-lidded eyes were looking at… her. Briefly flicking down her front, catching on her bare breasts and groin, before darting guiltily back up again.
And for a fraught, frozen moment, there was the strongest, strangest urge to slip her hand up to her breast. To touch it again while he watched, to show him what he so clearly desired. To prove that she could be the silent hireling he wanted, the soft, sweet, eager woman he’d said he preferred, the kind of woman he could actually care about…
No. No.Hell, no. And before she could think better of it, Geva lurched forward, and leapt into the scalding bath. Where she hissed aloud at the sudden swarming heat, and then again at the familiar, heady scent in the water. The scent ofhim, rich and sweet. The scent she’d perhaps been smelling in her hair all day…
Gods damn it, what washappeningto her, and Geva gritted her teeth, and set to bathing as quickly as she could. Washing off the grime and stickiness from the full day of travelling, taking care to keep the scented water away from her twisted-up hair. All while intently avoiding looking at Rathgarr, who had yanked off his own fur and cloak and tunic, and sprawled back bare-chested on the bed, his arm flung over his eyes.
“Mayhap you should rather I sleep on the floor?” he asked, once Geva had finished bathing, and had tied her scarf over her hair, and dressed in her most modest sleeping-shift. “To spare you the shame of sharing with an orc?”
Geva squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head. “Of course I am happy to share with you, sir,” she replied, her voice wooden. “You being an orc has no bearing upon it. I am glad to do whatever you wish.”
Rathgarr barked a low, grim little laugh, but then eased his big body sideways, and patted the small space he’d created beside him. “Then get in, poppet,” he said, as he reached up behind him to snuff out the candle. “I shall savour the taste of your greatgladness, ach?”
Geva pointedly ignored the mockery in his voice, and stiffly nodded as she obeyed, gingerly easing herself down onto the bed beside him. It was indeed a very small bed, and his body was still far too large for it, making it utterly impossible for them both to comfortably fit. Even when she shifted onto her side, turning her rigid back toward him, she was still pressed into his big bare arm, its warmth emanating through her shift, down into her still-damp skin.
But the bed was soft, if nothing else. And after such an endless, arduous day, and the wakeful night before it, sleep should have come swift and easy — so of course, Geva instead found herself lying there wide awake, and staring off blankly into the darkness. While all the day’s combined miseries surged through her thoughts, and an infuriating wetness began prickling behind her eyes.
She was alone. One month, and then the sea.
“Still feeling soglad, then?” came Rathgarr’s low voice, making her flinch in the darkness. “Ach, poppet?”
Geva flinched again, the bitter despair surging through her chest — but she shoved it back, and swallowed over the obstruction in her throat. “Very glad, sir,” she choked out. “And with all due respect, why does it matter to you how I feel, when I’m only ahireling? When all you want from me is my obedience, and my silence? Just like my horrible employers at my previous post?”
And wait, this was obviously the opposite of silence, and Geva bit her lip, and rubbed painfully at her prickling eyes. One month. That was all.
There was a long, heavy silence from Rathgarr behind her, enough that she thought he’d fallen asleep — until she felt him shift, creaking the bed beneath him, his breath huffing out in a heavy sigh.
“Ach, woman,” he said, his voice very quiet. “Can we not come to peace upon this?”
