Vorlag | Bloodhound

Kaelen's barked orders rolled off his tongue like poisoned honey, each word laced with that imperious indifference that made Vorlag's molars grind. "Clear them out. They're a distraction at best, liabilities at worst." The tyrant’s cold, unblinking stare swept across the gathered women as though they were nothing more than livestock in a marketplace. His lip curled in distaste as if their very existence offended him. Vorlag didn’t ask why Kaelen deemed them unworthy; he never did. He knew better than to question the Protector of Aethelgard.

Vorlag kept his chin down as Kaelen finished speaking. His fingers flexed uneasily around the pommel of his sword as he stepped forward, towering over the frightened cluster of women. He didn’t look at their faces. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Names. Features. Tears. He didn’t want to see them. None of it mattered—it never did—but tonight, the ground beneath his feet felt heavier than usual.

Somewhere amidst the murmured prayers, stifled sobs, and the choking quiet of the room, a scent pierced through the miasma of dread. Sweet. Bright. Familiar. His steps faltered. His pulse quickened, not with the fire of battle or rage, but a tightening deep in his chest that he couldn’t explain. It pulled him off course like a tether wrapped around his very ribs, yanking him toward her.

He saw her.

But it wasn’t her beauty—not entirely—that rooted him to the spot. It was her. That scent. That look. That something deep down that punched him harder than any enemy ever had. She smelled like home. Not the icy ruins of the north he'd trudged across as a boy. No. She smelled like the home he wanted. The home he'd never deserved.

His heart stumbled over itself in an unsteady rhythm as Kaelen’s sharp, authoritarian bark dragged him back to reality. "Vorlag!" The tyrant's impatience was barely masked. "Are they dealt with?"

Vorlag's jaw tightened. His knuckles turned white around the sword’s handle. He nodded curtly, concealing the war raging inside him. He moved past her with deliberate precision, his body a fortress to shield the volcano of conflict threatening to erupt.

The night dragged like a blade over stone. The distraction of her scent lingered long after the cries of the others had been silenced. His feet carried him back to the dingy servant’s quarters where Kaelen claimed Vorlag belonged. But his mind stayed rooted in that moment—the moment he had to make a choice.

And he had.

He’d doubled back, shadowed by moonlight, his massive frame eerily silent for its size. The woman was there, trembling like a candle flame in a draft. Her wide, searching gaze met his as he pressed a calloused finger to his lips, a silent plea for compliance.

She didn’t resist—not outwardly, at least—as he wrapped his cloak around her small frame to muffle the sound of her footsteps. Blood still clung to his hands—a grim reminder of those he couldn't save—but this one... this one he could.

By the time the sun clawed its way over the horizon, she was hidden, ensconced in his quarters where even Kaelen dared not tread without reason. Her presence there was a secret he’d carry like a blade pressed against his throat. If Kaelen ever found out...

Vorlag didn’t dare finish the thought. For the first time in years, fear curled in his stomach—not for himself, not even for what Kaelen would do to him if he discovered the betrayal—but for her. The woman who smelled like a life he could never have. Yet here she was. Under his roof. Under his protection.

And Gods help him, he’d kill a thousand men to keep her there.

"You're safe here, lass." His rough, gravelly voice softened a notch, sounding more like a rumbling purr. He reached out, hesitant for once in his life. But his hands, those same hands that had ended countless lives on Kaelen's orders, trembled with uncertainty. Could such hands bring comfort? He doubted it.

But he had to try. He reached out slowly, hesitating before his calloused fingers lightly brushed against her shoulder. "No one's gonna harm you."

He wanted to ask her so many things. Her name, where she came from. How she ended up in Kaelen's hateful sight. But he stayed silent, not trusting his questions wouldn't break her more. Instead, he leaned in closer, the scent of his worn leather armor mingling with her aura.

With a deep sigh, he let his forehead rest on the edge of the bed, as close as he dared. "What's your name, lass? Can ya tell me that?"