Lost to the Orcs (Oyeon Orcs)

Chapter Eight The Dream Weaver

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE DREAM WEAVER

I’m extremely embarrassed the first days after I did that to him. I can’t even fathom the fact that I was brave enough to do it. I don’t even know what came over me to do it. But the worst part about all of it, is just him. He doesn’t say anything the next day. He doesn’t acknowledge it. He doesn’t ask me about it. What I was thinking. It’s like it never happened. But I know it did. Because I’d rolled over with my back to him and finished. I bit the hem of the cape in order to shut my ass up and I climaxed all over my hand just from his smell alone; I know he knew.

But he hasn’t said anything!

I’m inwardly screaming my anguish. I don’t know how to handle myself right now. I can’t even think “what would my mom do?” in this situation because she would definitely not have stood half naked next to a seven-and-a-half-foot Orc with tusks and grey green skin and eyes like honey and the sun had a freakin' baby. They’re a fucking topaz gem dream that makes my heart thump a little too hard in my chest and I don’t know how to fucking handle how amazing he smells!! Wait. No. That’s not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about the reasons why my mother wouldn’t do what I did the other night. Yup. Because that was outrageous. He is outrageous…ly gorgeous. Wait. FUCK. I —

I jerk to a halt. Half an inch from a tree. Oh. My eyes bulging, I back up and give a shaky chuckle. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.” I smile sheepishly at him, one hand tapping my noggin before crossing my arms over my middle in an attempt to hold all my idiocy inside. Hoping he won’t pry. There’s no way I can tell him that thinking he was hot nearly got my face smacked by a tree.

He shakes his head and holds out his hand. I tilt my head to the side and nibble my lip. What is he doing?

He wiggles his fingers at me. “My hand. I weel be sure you weel no’ hit anything. Now, come.” He wiggles them again. It looks like a turtle on its back flailing it’s legs. I try not to giggle or smirk before taking his hand.

Our fingers entwine and he takes me back on the path. “I’m sorry.” I apologize again. I really do feel sorry. I seem to be delaying him getting back to his tribe, all because I’m either crazy or somehow some way from another world. And if I’m not, then I’m crazy, my misgivings are in part for nothing. I don’t remember who I am. What I was doing with that party that was slaughtered. Nor who I am. Because if I’m not me from my world, then who am I?

“No.” He gruffly but firmly iterates. He does not stop walking but I know he is firmly standing on that no. He hums before stopping to look down at me. I’m not tall enough to be under his chin, in fact I come up to where his abs begin. Right under the pecs but just above his diaphragm. Sigh . I could look up into those sunshine eyes any day, all day long. He bends forward, pulling my hand up to his lips and kisses the knuckles. “You are fine. Perfection. Sunkissed. Pretty. Mine. No’ sorry. Beauty. Mate an’ mine.” He punctuates each statement with another kiss.

“Wow.” It’s a sigh. A deep longing that fills my lungs because since my parents died, I don’t remember a single person who wanted me or loved me as deeply.

Yeah, sex was sex. One time fling here we go. Scratching an itch and not even sexually. A vibrator any day can do wonders for the body. But human comfort? Companionship of the flesh? That’s the itch I was trying to scratch.

But having someone absolutely wanting another? They want all of the others’ heart, all their thoughts. They want the others’ eyes directed only at them. I’ve not felt this and with each passing day, I feel it towards this Orc and I don’t know how to feel about that. I really, really don’t know how to comprehend that I want something—no, someone that isn’t human. And that is terrifying.

“Come, pretty mate. If we tarry, I’ll add a week.” His mirth shines like a beacon and I am a moth helplessly in love with the sun.

That is literally how our days are. He is considerate of me. Of my thoughts, my feelings, my views. He gives me rebuttals. He gives me things to think about in turn. But he doesn’t belittle me. He doesn’t make me want for anything. Well, anything that isn’t sexual. Because let’s face it, being around that considerate muscular sexy sun eyed god would make any woman’s panties wetter than beach sand beneath your feet. The smoldering hot look in his eyes when you just happen to glance over at him and he’s just absorbing the very essence of you? Yeah. Yeah.

It took a little bit of deliberation that first day for him to let me walk. I didn’t want to be close to him. To stare at his lips and remember what I’d done to them the night before. When he saw that my feet were mostly healed from that slime he placed on it, he had conceded only when I said that I’d tell him when I was tired. In all honesty though, I did get tired pretty quickly.

I’m used to walking maybe a block. 30 minutes tops. Not a whole day. But the male doesn’t seem to tire! How do you not sleep all night and just not tire during the day??

I ask him too. His response? A grin. A wide mischievous grin. “Want to know when I sleep?” I’m not sure about the sexual tension that question brings forth between us but I nod anyways. “I sleep when you do. I lay next t’ you, wrap youer perfect tiny body against me. You sigh an’ cuddle int’ my chest. An’ I sleep. Breathing in ‘he perfume o’ youer skin.”

My jaw hits the floor. He does not. “You do not!” I gasp. Warmth suffuses my cheeks and causes an ache in my lower belly.

His grin widens. “You would know? Even though you sleep?”

“Of course not! But how could—

“Mate an’ mine.” He reminds, pulling me back into him now. “Beloved t’ me. Sunkissed for me. Pretty for me.” With each sentence, he pulls me closer into his arms, until he is practically bowed over me. My head is cradled between his chest and arms. I can hear his beloved heart, beating in fervor. Honesty and need. His musk is surrounding me. Making me need him just as strongly as he needs me. He pulls back and cups my face. “Mine.” The gold shimmers like a thousand lightning bugs and I stare into them like they are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

His. Am I his?

Yesss. I want to be so fucking bad.

I pull out of his arms and he lets me go after a token resistance. The pain in his golden gaze mutes the beauty within. It makes me want to rush into his arms, apologize and give him as much love as I dare. But I don’t. I take a second step back; my hands shaking, demanding I assuage all his pain this instant. Beg him to come into my arms. But I don’t. Because I can’t. Not yet. Not until I get my answers.

So, I say, “I don’t want to add on another week alright? Let’s get going.” Because I need these answers. I need to know what is going on with me. With us. NO. Not us. Not until I know… am I crazy?

~~~~~

We actually make it to the Dream Weaver in a week and a half. Which I stuck my tongue at U’snar for. Three weeks my ass. Which he kindly reminded me that he carried me every day for more than half of the day. But whatever. That’s not the point.

The day before, U’snar informed me that Irf is his nephew. The son of H’nash and grandchild of Jaeda. Irf is gruff and rough around the edges. Irf loves to irk U’snar. Loves to goad him into a verbal fight. His worst transgression is that he locks himself up for god knows how long when his art strikes. Irf like U’snar, shares. Or Shared. H’nash died last season and Irf left the tribe to mourn. H’nash had a mate who died in childbirth. He could not live without her and left to care for her and the babe in the after.

I realize there is quite a lot of people who would not like to live without their children or their mates. Especially when the bond is strong. It’s terrifying. What does that feel like? I think if something happened to U’snar I would be devastated. Like when I lost my parents, but I don’t think I would follow him. Maybe it’s because we are not mated? It’s something to ponder. How much the mating, this bond affects us both.

“Will he help me?” I try to hide the worry in my tone but U’snar catches on quickly.

He arches a brow. “You are with me. He weel help just t’ upset me.”

“Will he lie?” The words bring a smile to my lips.

U’snar grimaces. “I cannae say. Usually, he is honest. But he is grieving.”

So, with that in mind we walk up to what I would call a mud hut. A house made of mud with a mud top. It doesn’t look flammable which is good. But it is still completely unattractive. U’snar laughed at the face I made when I first saw it and I smacked his forearm since I couldn’t hit any higher without stretching on my toes.

“Irf.” U’snar calls from the other side of the walled curtain. There isn’t even a door.

A cough is heard on the other side and some language is uttered. Sounding surly and irritated.

U’snar replies in an equally surly and irritated tone before taking my hand and bodily walking in.

Irf snaps up from his slumped position over the table. There are barrels of what I’m assuming is soured liquor all over the place. And most of them, empty. But what strikes me most, is when the sun comes in the room and glances off the Orc at the table, I can see how attractive he is.

He is no Orc like U’snar. Though U’snar assures me he is smaller than some, Irf is even smaller. He’s maybe a bit over six and a half feet but he’s still a head shorter than U’snar. His hair is long, swept up on one side to tangle into a sloppy bun, while the other side has fallen out of it and is in a wave like loop where some strands still hang onto the bun like their lives depend on it. His eyes are a shade of burgundy brown, and his skin is a pale green with a peach undertone. His ears are just like U’snars except his have several earrings. Including chains and feathers dangle beautifully from them.

I can see why he would probably get U’snars romantic partners, especially those who weren’t serious. U’snar is a commitment simply for the fact that he is an Orc. Irf might be an Orc but he could also be an elf. Or the closest thing to what a human and an Orc could look like.

Irf’s eyes stare holes into my skin. Not too kindly, I might add. He looks at me like I cannot compare. As if I am shit upon his boots. He barks something at U’snar. His tone even more surly than before. U’snar is right to say that this male is in mourning. He seems to be hating the very air that I breathe just because I am human.

U’ snar shakes his head, speaking in the language my brain seems to understand. “I weel no’ insult my mate by speaking around her.” Awww, you big handsome guy. Thank you.

Irf barks a laugh before walking not so steadily towards me. His eyes are hooded and full of angry fire. “She doesnae smell o’ ye, U’snar. Nor o’ Jaedason. She is no Orc mate.” He sneers at me and I cringe a step back. “She will leave once she has a taste o’ Orc seed ock? Will take away ouer sons an’ daughters like all o’he rest!” He waves a clawed hand at me as if to dismiss me from his presence.

“She is delight an’ beloved. Pretty Little Lost. Mate an’ mine.” U’snar insists.

The sharp tang of Irf’s pain is a flavor so sodden with salt and sorrow, it feels like I am drowning in a sea. I can but imagine how terrible it must be to lose as he did. Tears track softly down my cheeks. “For ye, I would hope. For Jaedason, I pray. We have lost many a mate an’ many a child t’he after. Now, please, leave me.” I watch as he wraps the dirty robe he is wearing tighter around his thin form. He turns, truly dismissing us. The light catches his eyes and my lips fall with a silent gasp.

Oh. Oh my god. I can’t believe it didn’t hit ‘till just now. H’nash was sharing. U’snar said H’nash was sharing with Irf! It was both of their child. Just as U’snar and Jaedason lost theirs, he not only lost a child, but a mate, and a father. But I know any reassurance I try to provide will be met with hostility. The pain in his eyes cannot hide behind the bitterness.

“Wait!” I grab at a sleeve but immediately remove my hand when he bares his teeth at me in a snarl. “Please,” I implore. “I need to know if I have seen a dream weaver.”

“I am ‘he only dream weaver in these parts an’ I donnae know ye.” His words are a growl as he gazes at me with disgust.

“Please, check. I need to know.” I hold up my hands for him to inspect. Whatever he will need. I have to know.

Growling in irritation, Irf grips my wrists in a biting grasp, causing me to yelp in pain. I shake my head when U’snar steps forward to break the connection between us. He stops but glares at his nephew.

Irf’s brows meet in a deep frown. His grip loosens as his eyes become faraway. A pale imitation of the deep colors that swirled there before. “Yer no’—but that is impossible.” He mutters. “I cannae…” he drops my wrists as if I’ve burnt him. He steps back, horror in his gaze. Fear slices through me. “Ye’re dead. I should ‘ave… Ye donnae smell o’he dead. It would ‘ave smelled foul ‘he second ye entered ‘ere. How are ye walkin’? Breathin’?”

“I was shot. I thought I was dying. But I woke up here.” I whisper.

The male shakes his head. “No. ‘he soul in this body must ‘ave died. This,” he indicates all of me, “is no’ yer body.”

Mouth agape I stare at him rightfully as if he’s lost his mind. Maybe grief has addled him. If not the drink. “No. I’m pretty sure I know what my own face looks like and I’ve seen it.”

Irf snorts, rolling his eyes before waving at all of me. “It might be yer face but isnae yer body.” He turns and takes a swig of his drink from the table. He grimaces but asks, “What happened as ye were dyin’?”

Blinking, not sure what he means I let him know. I remember thinking about that book. I remember not wanting to die. I wished to continue my life. Fulfilled. Not die on my carpet.

He nods as if all of this makes sense to him. “Ye used magic. A primitive form. But ‘he spirit ‘ere answered. Like she was tired. Wanted t’ rest in ‘he after but her body, she knew would survive whate’er befell her. So, she took yer place.” His eyes so reminiscent of blood chocolate, bore into my own. “And ye took hers.”

“So, I’m dead?” My breath hitches and my hands start to tremble. U’snar takes my hand in his, bent forward at an angle. But I have eyes only for the male before us.

Irf’s mouth twists. “Yer true body likely is. Obviously, ye are no’.” He shakes his head. “I’ve only heard o’ this. Paralleled. H’nash would ‘ave loved t’ o’ seen ye. Vida also.” His hand absently caresses a small rectangle amidst the sticks and wet plates on the table.

A breeze flutters the cloth at the front once more. I suck in a breath. It’s not sticks but paint brushes. That breeze shows me all of the color everywhere. On the wet plates, the pallets, the walls. Everything was covered with the beautiful visage of this Vida and H’nash. On the table in the small rectangle, is a small family. An Orc, a woman, and a baby. All beckoning the viewer to join them.

“Thank you, Irf. May ‘he mother guide you.” The male scoffs but continues to stare at the painting. Caressing each of the faces in turn. “ Jaedason asked me t’ see if you would be joining us in ‘he mountain?” There is a sort of pleading in U’snar’s voice but Irf merely shrugs giving a noncommittal grunt.

Without more of an answer, U’snar urges me to turn to leave. I say quickly, “It’s not my place to say this, but I don’t think they’d want you to. Go to the after that is.” I try not to flinch as the hand on the table grips it hard enough to splinter. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He looks at me, his eyes hard like amber, “Ye’re right,” I nearly smile but he adds, “isnae yer place. What I do is my choice.”

I stare into his hard eyes, defiance shining in mine. “Yes, but also, that doesn’t mean throw yourself into grief so hard you give up on the life that you have left. You are valued and despite how you have treated me today, I know many would miss you just from stories I have heard. I hope to see you in the mountain.”

“Get out.” He grits.

We leave. Bitterness and sorrow for too many things weighing me down like a building were placed upon both of my shoulders.