Page 110 of The Orc Outcast's Miracle

“Govek,” Karthoc said after binding his father’s hands with a length of rope. “Do you want to take him?”

This was really it? This was all? He’d take Ergoth to Karthoc’s camp and then what?

What would happen from there?

What punishment could Ergoth suffer to ever make any of the tortures Govek had endured heal?

“No,” Govek barely managed. Ergoth’s face contorted and Govek felt his entire body contorting with it.

What good would hauling off this male do now?

Govek would recover nothing from spending a moment more in his wretched company.

Ergoth was screaming something as Karthoc dragged him away but the clan was so loud it felt like it would rupture Govek’s ears.

He saw Iytier start toward him in the crowd. Estoc too. A few other males from the clan were also looking eagerly in his direction.

They wanted answers. Wanted to voice opinions. Wanted to add more chaos.

“I need to go,” Govek managed. Looking for an escape, searching. He found it atop Ergoth’s platform. At the back stair that led to the private space none could enter without permission.

“Then let’s go,” Miranda said instantly.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

GOVEK

Her acceptance was all he needed.

Govek turned and stormed through the door at the back of the platform. The wood creaked and groaned under his feet. He wished each step would rip it apart. He wanted to remove every vile trace that his father had ever been here in the Rove Woods.

The spiral stair was too narrow to carry Miranda, so he put her down and followed her up, climbing higher until they reached the viewpoint.

“Wow,” Miranda breathed, going to the gorgeous view at the balcony. The sun was too bright and the colors were too vivid. Govek froze in place, afraid he would see Karthoc leading Ergoth away if he looked.

Desperate for something to vent his rage on so his magic would not spiral out of control, Govek pounded over to the mead shelves. He ripped open the doors. His hands quaked as he slashed through the bottles, ripping them from the shelf and shattering them in sickly sweet splatters all over the ground. It drenched his legs, shards of glass nipped at his flesh.

Boar blood mingled with the drink. The rotting stink concealed the saccharine luxury.

“Are you cut?” Miranda asked, as if his outburst was hardly worth considering. She started to approach, mindful of the glass.

“Stop,” he demanded, flush with embarrassment over his rash actions. His hands quaked. And he looked to find tiny pricks of red in his palms where his claws dug deep. “I’m fine.”

Miranda’s eyes darkened and she murmured, “You’re not.”

He shuddered at her statement and raked a hand over his face, tore at his hair. His fingers were sticky and wet, and his nose flooded with the fermented stink, reminding him of the last time he was here with his father. Fuck, this was the last thing he wanted to be covered in. Why was he so blasted stupid?

“Here,” Miranda said, and he opened his eyes only to squeeze them shut again as cold liquid poured over his head, washing the mead away. He opened his eyes to find her holding a pitcher of water. “Do you feel better?”

“No,” he grated. Fuck, he didn’t even know what could douse the flames.

But there had to be something. He swung Miranda up into his arms and carried her away from the glass while searching the space. There was a door in a nook at the back of the tree. Partially hidden by a thick branch. He settled Miranda on the ground before going to it.

The door was plain but guarded by magic. He could scent Ergoth’s revolting energy from it. Pungent and sweet. The same as on the boar.

If only he had recognized the scent of his fathers magic all those days ago outside the Rove Wood, before he found Miranda.

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