By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (5 page)

In that moment she resented the
orcs and their seeming imperviousness to the hardships of their
travel, the temperatures torturing her. That sentiment burnt in her
for a moment, and not in a mild, complacent way. Not in the way she
would grumble about rain on Sundays. No, for a moment she truly
hated them. She knew it was not fair, even knew that most of them
were suffering alongside her -- but not
him
and he had
become the archetype in her mind. He had become everything
orcish.

She saw him standing with two
of the other males, his bare back to her, snowflakes melting
against his skin before running along the hard panes of his body in
shimmering rivulets. He seemed as invincible as a mountain, as
unyielding as nature. He must have felt her glare for he turned to
her and their gazes met, his the yellow of the large predator he
was, hers the unremarkable brown she was born with. What did he see
when he looked at her? A doe about to run? Something worthy of his
regard? She suspected the first.

He held her gaze for a long
time, then turned to nod to the two other men standing with him.
When the pressure of his gaze left hers, it was as if he had given
her free, the sudden absence of his eyes on her bringing back all
the sensations of cold, of pain, she had somehow forgotten for
those short moments of connection.

It worried her -- but not as
much as the sword which, all of a sudden, thudded onto the carpet
of pine needles not far from her nose. She jumped, only realising
then that Reschkar had used her momentary distraction with her own
aches and pains to return to her side. She was too tired to glare
at him for frightening her. It did not keep her from yelping when
the large body of the orc slid onto the floor behind her, one long
arm curling around her middle, pulling her against the warm curve
of his body.

At his first touch her body
froze, paralysed by fear. Her mind presented her with images of
ripped clothes and brutal hands, of pain and a suffocating weight
on her. A split second later, the same mind, the rational rather
than the primordial part of it, or so she assumed, told her how
silly she was being. Oh, she did not doubt the moment would come --
but not at temperatures of minus twenty degrees and in the middle
of a group of women and children under his care. The thought
following that one held more than a little self-recognition: a few
days ago she would never have thought an orc would care about that,
would have expected him to rape her long before now. Prejudice is a
sneaky little animal. She relaxed into his hold, into the
unforeseen warmth it provided. His deep voice rumbled against her
back.

"Sleep."

And she did.

Trap

Over the next few days Elena
began to feel like little more than an extension of Reschkar's
presence. At night, his body moved below her, the gentle swing of
his walk mesmerising at times. And when they found their rest
during the day, he spooned her, his warmth a bulwark against the
unforgiving cold as they slept.

Even carried on his back,
exhaustion pulled on her, the quickly falling temperatures seeping
her strength more effectively than the effort of moving on her own
had done before. She was amazed by the orcs. Their bodies seemed to
be designed to withstand the hardship without even the slightest
diminishing of their abilities. On the heel of that thought came a
moment of intense shame. In truth, that was exactly how it was.
They had been bred for nothing but that reason -- as the perfect
soldier and beast of burden, their only purpose in life to serve
the supernatural courts. For millennia, they had been seen as
nothing more than mindless animals and courts had been proud of the
successes of breeding programmes, showing off, and trading, their
best specimen. Travelling among the orcs made her intrinsically
aware of their, for lack of a better word, humanity. They were
nothing like animals.

The biggest surprise was their
acceptance of her in their midst, their unfailing care in their
interactions with her. The orcs were not a gentle race, had never
been allowed to be. In their normal interactions a backhanded slap
was more common than a quiet word, aggression a basic character
trait. And still, from the first, when her inability to keep up had
been an evident hindrance, there was a gentle caution in each word,
each gesture directed towards her. Often when she had struggled
through the snow, hands had caught her before she fell, their touch
always soft, always careful. The only temper directed at her came
from Reschkar.

It was the fourth night of
travel, the second night he carried her on his back, when she
experienced his prodigious temper for the first time. The
relaxation his warmth and her exhaustion had forced on her when he
had first lifted her to his back the night before, had melted away
under the embarrassed discomfort of waking in his arms. Her body
had been pressed into his, the evidence of his arousal, of his
physical desire, only too apparent against her back.

She had struggled to get away,
the reaction instinctive -- just as his deep growl had come from
instinct. Visceral, primordial fear had risen in her even before
she was completely awake. From his flared nostrils, she could see
he was able to smell it. There was revulsion in the sound with
which he had let go of her. In disgust, Reschkar had risen even
though the sun was still above the horizon.

That sound, the repulsed
undertone of the snort, seemed to be a blueprint for his mood that
waking. It might be the case that the early rising had forced the
black mood on him, or the imposed closeness to her body over night,
but his only form of communication that evening were disgruntled
snarls and dark looks. He had avoided her, leaving it to the women
to bring her food. Only when the time came to break camp had he
appeared besides her, swinging her onto his back once again without
so much of a word.

Her body was stiff and
uncomfortable against his back as they moved off, her obvious
tension an encumbrance to his movements. She was holding herself
apart, minimising their touch. It had nothing to do with any
dislike, or repugnance, she might feel for him. Elena had rued her
stupid moment of fear, the insult she had given him without
intention. She knew she was safe with him, and from him, until they
reached the end of their journey. Only when he would begin to try
to bond her, when he would realise that he was not able to, would
she lose her use to him. Until then, he would do all he could to
keep his prize safe.

No, her tension was borne more
out of a desire to make herself somehow lighter. But as the night
progressed, his movements jarring against her stiff body, the
distance between her and his warmth undermined her body's ability
to preserve heat. With the discomfort of the cold, her tension only
increased, her muscles starting to tremble and seize.

Elena concentrated on
controlling the shivers along her body, her fingers so cold they
barely were able to hold onto his shoulders. It reached the point
when she knew she had to do something or fall. Her body was moving
towards the limit of its perseverance, as was her mind. She was
tired and cold, exhaustion a mounting weight on her ability to act
and think. Before she could think of a solution, of a way to admit
to her weakness without losing the last shred of dignity, he
rummaged for something in one of the pouches attached to his belt,
then held it out to her. At first she had not understood that the
leathery strip he presented to her was food of some kind. It took
his growled "Eat" to make her react.

But instead of taking it she
shook her head. It felt wrong to take the food when in comparison
to the others she was doing very little, being carried safely on
Reschkar's back. It felt like an indulgence.

"Eat" He repeated.

"No."

It was a near repetition of the
milk incident. She wanted to explain to him why she would not,
could not, take the jerky but was afraid her teeth would chatter
were she to open them in order to form the words. Her lips were
painful in the cold, almost agonisingly so. She could taste old
copper from where her skin had split over various places on her
lips and was now seeping blood, her skin brittle and dry from the
icy conditions. He snarled at her, the sound throwing a terrifying
echo against the high walls of the mountains. Everything stopped,
it seemed as if each and every being in a hundred kilometres
circumference froze in its path, waiting for the explosion to
come.

"You
will
eat."

Fury underlay each word and she
felt the large body under her shake with suppressed emotion. The
hand with which Elena reached for the food was trembling, though
not from fear. Later, she would wonder why even in the face of his
fury, snarling teeth and the predator's body primed for attack
under her, she was not afraid, not really. Nothing moved, no one
spoke until she had taken the first bite. It was hard, the taste of
the jerky overwhelming the cold bitterness in her mouth with salt
and dry spice. She was certain no one had ever gnawed on a piece of
dried meat with quite such a rapt audience.

"Your body needs the fuel to
stay warm."

The explanation was grudgingly
given, as if he was unused to have his actions questioned, even in
this small way. Why had he explained? Better not to ask, not whilst
his body was vibrating in suppressed anger against hers. Not even
she was that foolhardy. And still he had felt the need to say the
words, to give the barest of explanations, to soothe her anxiety
over his snarls. It was as if he was following a compulsion, an
invisible book of rules only he could see. She took another bite,
the leathery strip of meat slipping under the grip of her blunt,
human teeth. Elena recognised the harsh undertone of venison.

The salt-coated meat hurt her
lips, the grains torturing the open wounds, but she did not dare
take the food from her mouth, even for a moment. Holding his intent
gaze, she chewed, each movement stinging, but the gradual
relaxation of his body against hers told her she had been right to
eat what he had offered, no matter the pain in her lips. On the
third torturous nibble he finally relaxed enough to turn back to
the path and resume his even pace. And just as if he were a
weathervane, the other orcs followed suit, their sudden alert
tension dissipating, relaxing back into the calm alertness that had
characterised their travels until then. Elena wondered if it was a
result of slavery, of the absolute dependence on the whims of those
in charge, which made them all so sensitive to Reschkar's smallest
change in mood or if there was something intrinsically captivating
about him. She feared for her own sanity that it was the
second.

"Thank you." She had no idea if
he heard her whispered words but the tense grip with which he
supported her thighs around his waist eased a little and she felt a
sigh shake his large frame. With his relaxation, her body found her
own.

Her world narrowed to her life
carried on his back, his scent a constant invasion coating her
reality, the movement of his body below hers the only link to the
world around them. For every move she made, his body moved with
hers. Every time he handed her a strip of jerky, or some dried
fruit, the food held some remnant of his taste. Everything was
filtered through him, was tinged with his presence, his will.

And each time she accepted
another offering from his hand he seemed to relax a little more,
the act of feeding her holding some mythical, deep meaning to him.
A constant reassertion of his power over her.

When he did not make her eat,
he encouraged her to talk. Though he himself barely spoke a word,
he made her tell him of her childhood in the courts, how her
parents had abandoned her before she had been able to form a memory
of them, of her life under Adrianus's protection. When he asked
about the first time she met the vampire lord, she got lost in
reminiscence. Her curiosity had led the little girl she had been
into the library long before she could reach the door handle out of
her own power. Under the grudging attention of the Vampire Lord,
who had made this room his den, she learnt to read, to write, to
figure.

Initially, however, Adrianus
had been less than enthused to see her invade his sanctuary. She
remembered those first few times she had toddled into the room
which seemed to hold all the treasures of the world to her. The
night before her nanny Greta had finished the book they had been
reading and Elena had thought to find another, not satisfied with
the speed with which the overworked woman was able to fulfil her
demands. The first sight of the library had robbed her of her
breath, the first look at the scowling Vampire Lord growling at her
had sent her running. But she had come back. Nothing would have
kept her away after that first view of those rows and rows of
books, of stories -- or the man she secretly dreamt of as her
father.

And she had worn him down,
eventually. By her next birthday, the fifth of her life, she was
ensconced deeply within the Vampire Lord's life, court and library.
She would most likely have turned into the most spoiled, most
demanding child on the planet from all the attention she received.
After all, she was only a child, and one surrounded by an
assortment of supernaturals, many centuries old, for whom
biological imperatives meant they were rarely able to carry, or
create, many offspring. And in some ways she was spoiled -- spoiled
in attention, in stories told, in games played -- but less so in
material matters.

Whoever thought Vampire Courts
were rich and opulent affairs had never come to visit the court of
Innsbruck. Adrianus was too bad a manager to stray far from
bankruptcy, and too ethical to force his followers to take the
brunt of his mismanagement.