Page 28 of The Brute and the Blade

My everything.

11

Lily

I wake slowly, my body aching in places I didn't know could ache, my mind fuzzy and disoriented. For a moment, I simply lie there, blinking up at the stone ceiling, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

And then memory comes crashing back, and I bolt upright with a gasp.

The feast. The dance. Grok's declaration, his fierce, passionate claiming of me before the entire clan. And after, in the privacy of his chambers...

I feel my face flush, my pulse kick into a gallop as the images flood my mind. His hands on my body, rough and reverent. His mouth on my skin, hot and hungry. The overwhelming, exquisite stretch of him inside me, filling me, completing me in a way I'd never known was possible.

It was everything. He was everything, in that moment. My king, my mate, my world.

But now, in the cold light of morning, with the haze of lust and firelight stripped away...doubt comes creeping in, insidious and chilling.

What have I done? What have I allowed to happen, swept away on a tide of passion and savage, forbidden need? I've given myself to the enemy, the warlord of the very horde that seeks to conquer and enslave my people.

I've betrayed everything I am, everything I've sworn to protect. And for what? A moment of fleeting pleasure, a whispered promise of love and devotion from a beast who knows nothing of either?

Slowly, carefully, I ease out from under his arm, holding my breath as I slip from the furs. He grumbles something in his sleep, his brow furrowing...but he doesn't wake, doesn't stir, as I pad silently across the chamber and slip out into the hall.

I dart through the corridors on shaking legs, my heart in my throat and my eyes darting feverishly for any sign of guards. But the way is clear, the stronghold still and silent in the grey pre-dawn light.

I make it to my own chamber without getting caught, slipping inside and leaning back against the door with a shuddering exhale. For a moment, I simply stand there, trying to catch my breath, to center myself in the wake of last night's madness, last night's surrender.

I spot my sword propped against the far wall, a mocking reminder of how easily I allowed myself to be disarmed, seduced into letting down my guard. I stride over to it, snatching it up and buckling it around my waist with sharp, angry movements.

The weight of it at my hip is a comfort. A reminder of who and what I am, beneath the sweat and sex and savage, aching want.

I'm just turning towards the door, my mind already racing ahead to plot my escape, when I hear it. Voices, low and urgent, drifting through the heavy oak from the corridor beyond.

I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Grok? Has he returned, sensing my intention to flee? Or worse, has he sent guards, warriors to drag me back to his bed, to remind me of my place, my duty to submit and obey?

But no...as I strain my ears, I realize the voices are unfamiliar. Not Grok's deep, rumbling baritone, but the guttural snarls and snaps of ogre soldiers, their tones clipped and terse with urgency.

"...don't like it," one is saying, his words muffled but intelligible through the thick wood. "Attacking a human settlement, now, with the warlord so distracted by his new pet? It's asking for trouble."

My breath catches, my blood turning to ice in my veins. An attack? On a human village? When? And why hasn't Grok told me, warned me, if he truly means for me to take my place at his side?

"You'd do well to keep those doubts to yourself," another voice hisses, hard and warning. "The warlord's orders were clear. We strike at dawn, hard and fast, before they have a chance to rally their defenses. And if you know what's good for you, you'll be on the front lines when we do, proving your loyalty...and your respect for our king's mate."

There's a tense, charged pause, heavy with unspoken threat. Then the first voice mumbles a reluctant agreement, their footsteps fading away down the hall.

I stand frozen, my mind reeling, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird. An attack. At dawn. On an unsuspecting village, my people, while they sleep and dream.

And Grok...Grok knows. He ordered it, despite his pretty words, his heated promises of devotion and alliance. He means to slaughter my kin, to baptize our newfound bond in human blood...and he didn't even have the decency to tell me to my face.

Betrayal burns through me, hot and breathtaking. Betrayal...and a rage so fierce, so savage, it steals the very breath from my lungs.

How could he? How could he do this, now, after everything we shared, everything he swore to me in the heat and darkness of his furs? Was it all a lie, a trick to lower my guard, to make me weak and pliable and blind to his true intentions?

I feel sick, violated, used in a way that makes last night's savage passion seem almost tame by comparison. I gave him everything, offered up my body and my trust and the battered, aching shards of my heart...and this is how he repays me?

No. No. I won't allow it. I won't let him do this, won't let him make me complicit in the slaughter of innocents, the destruction of everything I hold dear.

I can't.

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