Page 27 of Agor the Merciless
Zoe pulled at the rope, waiting. Agor just stood there thinking, which pissed her off beyond comprehension. She found she could barely breathe. Her body hurt everywhere, and the only thing that could help was the stupid salve. Why wasn’t he giving it to her?
“What are you waiting for?” She kicked the furs. “Start already.”
Agor set the belt on the floor.
“We need to stop this.”
Tears ran down her face as she fought against the rope. No belt meant no ointment. No ointment meant the burning inside would get worse until she couldn’t focus on anything else.
“You have to.” She yanked so hard the rope cut her skin. “If you don’t, I’ll go crazy before morning.”
Agor sat on the edge of the bed and untied her wrists. She hit his chest and tried to grab the rope back, but he caught her arms and pulled her against him.
“Let me go,” she sobbed, twisting to break free. “I need it. You don’t understand.”
He held her tighter, one hand on the back of her head, pressing her face to his shoulder.
“Shh. Just breathe.”
She fought him for a while, pushing and hitting until her strength gave out. Eventually, she stopped struggling and went limp in his arms. He rocked her slowly, stroking her hair, murmuring words she couldn’t understand but somehow made her feel safe. When her tears stopped, he laid her down on the furs and wrapped himself around her, his chest against her back, his arm heavy across her waist. She fell asleep like that, exhausted from fighting him.
Morning came with a pounding headache, sore joints, and skin that felt like it was covered in tiny biting insects. Zoe reached behind her, seeking Agor’s warmth, but found only empty furs. Something was seriously wrong with her. She felt like she had the flu, except worse. The captain had left during the night. The spot where his body had been was cold, meaning he’d been gone for hours. The betrayal of waking up alone hurt almost as much as her whole body.
She tried to get up but fell back as dizziness hit her. After a few deep breaths, she managed to sit and then stand on shaky legs. She had to find Agor. Had to make him understand.
Outside, the settlement buzzed with activity. She spotted him talking to Hestra near the weapons rack, both dressed for hunting, with bows slung across their backs. She stumbled toward them, ignoring the looks she got from various orcs, and ignoring Pira, who reached out to help her.
“Agor,” she called, her voice cracking.
He turned to her. “You’re awake.”
“We need to talk.” She reached for him, but he stepped aside.
“I’m joining Hestra’s hunting party today. We need meat for the storage cave.”
“But I need…”
“Not now.” His voice was firm. “I need to clear my head, and you need time without me.”
Hestra nodded to her before they both walked away, joining three other hunters at the edge of the clearing. Zoe stood there, arms limp at her sides, as they disappeared into the trees. What the hell? Had he just… dismissed her? Couldn’t he see how ill she was? How she felt like she was dying? All she needed was a bit of him. A bit of the medicine. How could he refuse her when it was literally his fault she had become the person she was? It was as if Zoe Cross, the mechanic, the car whisperer, was no more. Now all she could do was wait for him to get his head screwed back onto his shoulders. Indeed, maybe a hunting session would help him clear his stupid brain and see it was his responsibility to give his bride what she craved. He’d promised!
Speaking of cravings, they clawed at her insides as the morning stretched into afternoon. She paced the camp, unable to sit still, unable to eat the food Pira pushed into her hands, unable to focus on anything but the burning need for relief. No one paid much attention to her now. The orcs had grown used to her strange behavior and kept their distance. Only Pira tried to engage her, but Zoe couldn’t listen to her chatter about herbs and cooking.
The ointment. She needed the fucking ointment. It was her only thought, repeating over and over in her mind until she couldn’t hear anything else. Without it, she would break apart. Without it, she would lose herself completely. Agor and the hunting party wouldn’t return until evening. She couldn’t wait that long. She glanced around the camp – everyone was busy with their tasks, no one was watching her. She walked casually toward the cave, then slipped inside and hurried to her and Agor’s room. She marched straight to the wooden chest where Agor kept his belongings. Her hands shook as she lifted the lid, digging through folded clothes and weapons, tossing them aside in her search.
Where was it?
She turned to the smaller chest near the wall, the one he rarely opened. It wasn’t locked. She threw it open and rifled through its contents – dried herbs, a broken arrow head, a necklace of animal teeth. No jar.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she looked frantically around the cave. She ripped the furs from the bed, checked under the stone table she sometimes used as a desk, even ran her hands along the wall crevices.
Where was it? Where had he hidden it?
She dropped to her knees and peered under the ledge on which the big wooden chest stood. A glint of something caught her eye. She reached her arm into the narrow space, fingers stretching, brushing against smooth clay.
The jar.
Chapter Fifteen
