comes into view as he puffs air into my face. Grabbing hold of the reins, I motion him to back up and use his strength to heave up.
I assess myself and my location. I am nearer to the Ralston community than I am to my home. Either option will be a struggle in my current condition. So much for me mending the alliance between us. They will not be impressed if I arrive like this.
But I do not have a choice.
I make my way south slowly, ribs aching like a bastard with every step of the horse. I cough up some blood. That is a bad sign.
As I ride, I worry about the Orc and that there might be more. He looked young, and the young ones often venture to make a name for themselves. It is seen as a rite of passage taking back a human skull.
Needing to replenish my water, I stop by the stream. Letting my horse take a drink, I plant my ass on the ground.
Which is when I hear the singing… sweet, high, feminine. The sound of the Goddess herself or one of her sacred angels. Perhaps I am in worse shape than I thought, and she has come for me?
“Oh!” Emerging through the trees, the lass-angel stops with a gasp.
Dark hair and forest green eyes, she is a little slip of nothing.
Jessa. What the fuck is a child doing out alone in the forest?
Rushing to me, she throws herself to her knees, discarding her herb and root-laden basket on the forest ground.
“Oh! What has happened to you!”
“An Orc, lass,” I say.
Her eyes widen, and she glances over my shoulder like she is expecting an imminent attack.
“I killed it,” I add.
“Goddess!” Her pretty eyes grow round. “On your own?”
“Aye,” I say, frowning. “What the fuck are you doing out alone?”
She stands, planting her tiny fists to her hips. “I am of age. What I do is none of your business,” she says, lifting her pert nose in the air.
What the fuck?
She bends over, presenting me with a nice view of her ass in her tight hide dress as she rummages in the basket. Her dress falls to her knees when standing but rides high on her thigh while bent. What is wrong with her? I’m an Alpha from another clan, and she is all but presenting me with her too-fucking-young charms.
She has just said she is of age, the devil on my shoulder reminds me.
I drag my gaze away, eventually.
She hastens to the stream. Here, she mashes a root on some rocks before mixing it with a little water and some crushed herbs in a giant leaf.
She returns to me.
“Careful, lass,” I say, trying not to breathe in her sweet scent when she gets too close. “You will get blood on you.”
“Stop fussing,” she says, voice taking on an air of authority.
I blink a few times, wondering if the Orc blow has addled my mind or this young Beta lass really has just scolded me.
Her face softens, and her lips tremble as she takes in the damage on my chest. “This will hurt some,” she says, her small hand petting my undamaged shoulder gently like she is calming a wild beast.
A pained wheeze escapes me as she places the leaf over the bruising on my chest. Her other hand remains on my shoulder, rubbing soothing circles that I admit take my mind off the pain.
I am disarmed by this small, sweet lass who I am yet to determine is an angel. I am gentled by her in ways I did not think myself capable of. A lifetime of rage seeps from me with nothing more than a touch.
Lashes lowering to make a pretty fan against her cheeks, she mumbles what sounds like a prayer. I want to scoff, for I believe the Goddess has neither time nor inclination to listen to prayer on my behalf. But the lass’ face is solemn, and I don’t wish to disrespect her tender care.
The mashed root begins to tingle and cool my skin. The pain, much to my surprise, eases, and she moves it onto the next place.
I endure this healing attention with a sense of wonder. I am sitting on the forest floor while she stands, yet she is barely taller than me. Gods save my mind from wandering to weak thoughts, for she is a sweet young lass, and I am a mountain of dark violence before her.
More mashed root is applied to the next area of