Read Online By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) by Christine Blackthorn - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Blackthorn
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and everything she had learnt of him said he was
a very cautious man, he would be able to stretch the benefits of
her blood over a few years before the strain of it would kill
her.
Somehow, though it mean her
death, that thought was comforting. She would finally be good for
something -- and then, in the end, it would at least be over, this
life of constant failure. And it would be worth something. She
would have protected her family and, possibly, given these people a
chance they had never been granted by the Courts, a chance to build
a nation, a race, away from slavery, infighting and subjugation.
She might be able to give them a future with her slow death. This
was what she had been aiming for. The memory of her goal settled
her enough to be able to meet his thoughtful gaze.
"Go. I will be waiting here
when you return."
She was startled, unsure what
he meant with this. Her eyes followed his gaze and she realised he
was pointing to the door across the room, the door to the little
bathing chamber. He had let her think and he had seen when she had
settled, only then had he disturbed her.
Elena rose to make use of the
amenities in the little room. It was an unexpected luxury in this
godforsaken place. Few human dwellings so far away would be able to
sport a separate, indoor bathing chamber. One private to the Lord's
chambers was more than simple convenience, it was outright
decadent. Elena made use of the chamber pot, washed quickly and
availed herself of the toothbrush she had been provided with more
than ten hours ago, before she had fallen into bed.
It took courage to return to
him, to open the door to the bedroom, and cross the room under the
intent weight of his eyes. His gaze was a touch, not hot but heavy,
ropes tightening around her, pulling her closer with each step. He
had sat back in the heavy oak chair, his muscular arms resting on
the armrests, his legs splayed in a parody of relaxation; and on
the floor before him, pooled a pile of furs from the bed. She knew
what he wanted, could have told him there was no point. The games
of Dominance and submission had been played with her too often, too
thoroughly and not once had they been able to break open her mind
to allow for a bonding to occur.
Though before she could slide
to her knees before him, he stopped her with a raised finger.
"Take off the shirt."
Of course. She was wearing what
she suspected was a shirt originally made for him, its folds
falling almost to her knees. Elena had found the garment besides
the tin bath the previous night and had seen no reason not to take
it for her own use. The fabric had been soft and surprisingly
luxurious against her skin, his scent of pine forest and clear air
interwoven in its very strands. It was the scent of his skin, one
she had become intimately familiar with. It had surprised her. If
the last few days, and his penchant for facing even a snowstorm
with a bare torso, were any indication, then this orc did not avail
himself of shirts often.
Now it seemed as if he would
not allow her the protection of the garment either. She understood
why, knew he was merely increasing her vulnerability in an attempt
to weaken her defences. She could have told him this was a futile
measure as well. If empirical evidence was any indication then it
would not work, never had worked before.
Though, why was it then so hard
to pull the soft fabric over her head, the glide of the wool on her
skin a reminder how exposed she would be. No matter how many people
had seen her bare, touched her naked body in the fool's errand to
bond her, with him it was somehow worse. Not because he was an orc
but because, for the first time, a man saw her, not only what she
stood for. She had seen that in his eyes every day, never hidden,
never disguised, that simple desire of a man for a woman.
When her head cleared the
fabric she saw the smile tugging at his mouth and the softness in
his eyes. He knew how hard it was for her to take step, to bare
herself to
a very cautious man, he would be able to stretch the benefits of
her blood over a few years before the strain of it would kill
her.
Somehow, though it mean her
death, that thought was comforting. She would finally be good for
something -- and then, in the end, it would at least be over, this
life of constant failure. And it would be worth something. She
would have protected her family and, possibly, given these people a
chance they had never been granted by the Courts, a chance to build
a nation, a race, away from slavery, infighting and subjugation.
She might be able to give them a future with her slow death. This
was what she had been aiming for. The memory of her goal settled
her enough to be able to meet his thoughtful gaze.
"Go. I will be waiting here
when you return."
She was startled, unsure what
he meant with this. Her eyes followed his gaze and she realised he
was pointing to the door across the room, the door to the little
bathing chamber. He had let her think and he had seen when she had
settled, only then had he disturbed her.
Elena rose to make use of the
amenities in the little room. It was an unexpected luxury in this
godforsaken place. Few human dwellings so far away would be able to
sport a separate, indoor bathing chamber. One private to the Lord's
chambers was more than simple convenience, it was outright
decadent. Elena made use of the chamber pot, washed quickly and
availed herself of the toothbrush she had been provided with more
than ten hours ago, before she had fallen into bed.
It took courage to return to
him, to open the door to the bedroom, and cross the room under the
intent weight of his eyes. His gaze was a touch, not hot but heavy,
ropes tightening around her, pulling her closer with each step. He
had sat back in the heavy oak chair, his muscular arms resting on
the armrests, his legs splayed in a parody of relaxation; and on
the floor before him, pooled a pile of furs from the bed. She knew
what he wanted, could have told him there was no point. The games
of Dominance and submission had been played with her too often, too
thoroughly and not once had they been able to break open her mind
to allow for a bonding to occur.
Though before she could slide
to her knees before him, he stopped her with a raised finger.
"Take off the shirt."
Of course. She was wearing what
she suspected was a shirt originally made for him, its folds
falling almost to her knees. Elena had found the garment besides
the tin bath the previous night and had seen no reason not to take
it for her own use. The fabric had been soft and surprisingly
luxurious against her skin, his scent of pine forest and clear air
interwoven in its very strands. It was the scent of his skin, one
she had become intimately familiar with. It had surprised her. If
the last few days, and his penchant for facing even a snowstorm
with a bare torso, were any indication, then this orc did not avail
himself of shirts often.
Now it seemed as if he would
not allow her the protection of the garment either. She understood
why, knew he was merely increasing her vulnerability in an attempt
to weaken her defences. She could have told him this was a futile
measure as well. If empirical evidence was any indication then it
would not work, never had worked before.
Though, why was it then so hard
to pull the soft fabric over her head, the glide of the wool on her
skin a reminder how exposed she would be. No matter how many people
had seen her bare, touched her naked body in the fool's errand to
bond her, with him it was somehow worse. Not because he was an orc
but because, for the first time, a man saw her, not only what she
stood for. She had seen that in his eyes every day, never hidden,
never disguised, that simple desire of a man for a woman.
When her head cleared the
fabric she saw the smile tugging at his mouth and the softness in
his eyes. He knew how hard it was for her to take step, to bare
herself to
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