Page 41 of The Orc's Thief
“The horses will be fine, you know.”
I noticed her glancing toward the thicket of brambles every now and again, and each time, her scent spiked with worry. Now, she raises an eyebrow at me.
I grin at her challenge.
“I picked the spot because it’s in a dip in the ground but won’t flood, either. They’re protected by the bushes and those firs, and the three of them together will hold out through the night.”
She relaxes marginally.
“I know. And Clover is better off here than she was under that tree with me.”
“Hey, you did the best you could under the circumstances.” I reach for my saddlebag and take out the sack of food Sarrai assembled for me.
I offer Tessa an apple, then cut thin slices off the chunk of cheese and hand them over one by one. Next, it’s the smoked sausage, and after that, the hard honey biscuits I find stashed at the very bottom. She eats a bit of everything I hand her. A wonderful glow of satisfaction grows in my chest at the sight. I thought I understood what meeting my mate would be like, but I couldn’t grasp the depth of it until now. Aye, there was the expectation that I would find her irresistibly attractive, which I do, but there’s more: I want to take care of her. Make sure she’s eaten enough, that she’s warm and safe.
This reminds me to put another branch on the fire as a gust of wind rushes through our small camp and sends the flames dancing.
“It was a good idea, building the shelter,” I tell Tessa. “I didn’t expect a storm this strong this late in the season.”
She casts a worried glance into the darkness, then turns her attention back to me. “Well, we’re dry for now, we’re both fed, and as safe as we can expect. You promised to explain your presence here, sir.”
I straighten, surprised at the sharpness in her tone. She seemed so relaxed a mere moment ago, but now she’s glaring at me again. And I suppose it’s only fair. I did lure her here with the expectation that I would tell her everything. But now that she’s sitting right there, not three feet away, I would much rather talk about her. I want to ask about her profession and find out why on earth she robbed the Ravens.
Yet she’ll never trust me if I don’t deliver on my promises.
I tug on my tunic, suddenly feeling hot all over. “Er, well, you’re my mate,” I begin awkwardly.
She purses her lips. “Yes, you’ve said as much. But why?”
It’s my turn to be confused. “Why what?”
Tessa makes an impatient motion with her hand. “Why would you choose me as your mate? We didn’t exactly meet under the most auspicious circumstances.”
Oh.She’s unfamiliar with the concept of mates? Gods, I never thought I’d have to explainthatto a woman. This might be harder than I thought.
“Every orc has a fated mate,” I tell her slowly. “Or more than one at the same time, though that’s rare.”
“So there’s a possibility you have more than one mate?” she demands, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows.
I shake my head decisively. “No, not me. I’ve been searching for you for years. I’m absolutely certain you’re the only one.”
“But how?” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “You don’t know me. And I doubt I made such a good impression on you when I bashed you in the head.”
I rub the bruise on my temple out of instinct. It’s still tender—I gave the healing salve to Tessa—but I don’t regret that decision. Her hand looks much better now, with only faint outlines of the blisters remaining. And it clearly doesn’t bother her if she was swinging a hatchet earlier.
“That’s not how…” I lower my hand and stare across the fire at her. “I smelled you. On the roof. And I knew.”
She recoils. “Yousmelledme? Is that why you’ve been sniffing at me?”
“Aye. Cherries and sweet peas.”
Saying it aloud brings back the memory of that night I dreamed of my mate, only to wake and realize I’d been robbed.
“I think I knew it was you even before then. There was something in my room I couldn’t quite place. The night you snuck into the inn, I mean. But now that I know it was you, it all makes sense.”
Tessa studies me, like she’s weighing whether or not I’m serious. I hold her gaze, trying not to fidget. I grip my knees and fight the urge to go to her. She’s still cold, despite the fire. I can tell by how she’s pulled up her collar and tucked her sleeves over her hands. But she’s not complaining. That’s not what she does.
“And where does my will come in?” she asks finally.
