The King (Zolan Book 3) ✓

4

VADNAR

I stand with my trews on the floor, naked from the waist down. The female looks at my cocks in shock, like she had never seen one before.

Maybe the males of her kind aren't equipped with many inches.

The damned things harden, flattered by her shock and inspired to show her in what other ways they can surprise her.

I look down and grip each in one hand, squeezing to try to tame them. That only sends bolts of pleasure up my spine, and I groan.

My eyes find the female again. She is looking at me with an expression I detest: Fear.

As soon as Zolanos discover who I am, they cower away. That's why I'm on this fucking farm. To be at peace. But now I have this female that's making my cocks misbehave and a dangerous emotion bubble inside of me: protectiveness.

I shouldn't shelter her in my home, but she's so small and lost. I know what it's like to feel lost, but at least I'm a hulked bastard with muscles that can shatter the bones of my enemies. This female has no muscle to her name.

I swipe my ruined trews from the floor and pull them on. "Do not touch my things. You will get hurt,"

I grit, but of course she doesn't understand.

She opens her palm, looking sadly at a small clump of metal. Then, she reaches for my equipment again while looking at me warily. When I shake my head, she extends the device towards me and points toward my hammer.

She either wants to fix or destroy this thing.

I pick up the hammer.

She cradles her fist protectively, and I have my answer. For some reason, she wants fire and my blacksmithing tools to fix this thing; whatever it is.

She points to her ear and mouth, and then at the device. She does this a few times, and I guess this must be some communication talisman.

She wants to speak with me.

I sigh, because I doubt she will be able to fix this tiny thing with my large tools. The only way to break this barrier between us is by toying with dark magic. Clearly, whatever sorcery she is using isn't strong enough.

I will have to walk to approach the city and seek a witch to break this language barrier. All while keeping my identity hidden. If the slavers notice me, they will come after me, and I will be taken from my farm.

I could usher these people off my land. That would be the easy way out, but I have a track record of diving head first into danger. And when it comes to this pretty little face, I seem to stumble right into it—pants at my ankles and all.

So to the rotten city outskirts I go. It will be a day's travel, and hopefully, these two won't burn down my farm while I'm gone.

I put out the fire, although she tries to signal for me to stop. She waves her small hands and looks desperate, and it hurts to ignore her.

I take her hand, and lead her around the corner to my bedroom. There is not much of value in here. My coins are hidden well.

I point to my bed, and command her to stay put. Her eyes widen, and I realize I'm speaking too loudly.

Damn it all.

I go to the kitchen and pull a bag of my reserves. There is fried meat in here— a fit meal for a man on the run. This food should last her a few days.

Trusting that she knows where to find water, I make quick work of pulling my boots on, and slide a cloak over my shoulders.

"You will stay here until I return."