Page 137 of The Orc Outcast's Miracle

She’d died, and they’d resurrected her.

She had burned alive.

Burned alive.

Just like Tavggol.

His stomach rolled and he would have vomited if there was anything in it.

Footsteps sounded, growing nearer. “I told you to get out, Hovget.”

“And he did. But I’m not so obedient.”

Govek jerked toward the sound of Karthoc’s voice. He scrambled to his feet.

His cousin looked around the room. “Fuck, Govek, what have you been doing?”

Govek’s voice was thick and came without thought. “Mourning.”

“Mourning?” Karthoc looked on his mate. Govek stepped forward to block him.

He hadn’t even been able to touch Miranda since he’d moved her to their bed. Only watched longingly as Wellia cleaned her, dressed her, and kept her well. How dare Karthoc think he could just set his eyes on Miranda without thought?

“Govek, she’s breathing. She’s not dead.”

“Get out, Karthoc.”

The male skewered him with steely eyes, anger snapping so quick Govek had not seen it coming. “She is breathing.”

“Don’t look at her!” Govek rushed him, but Karthoc side-stepped easily.

“Govek. She is not fucking dead.” Karthoc stormed to Miranda’s bedside and grabbed her perfectly slender wrist in his vile fingers. “Touch her! She’s?—”

“Get your hands off her.” He grabbed Karthoc by the neckline of his shirt and threw him across the room.

“You touch her then.” Karthoc staggered back but stayed on his feet.

Govek wanted to. Fuck, he longed to touch her.

But she was unconscious. She was gone. And his mind was in worthless tatters. The blinding light of the Fades rippled under his skin as his magic spiraled out of control. The conjuring he cast shattered parts of his home at random. His couch, his plates, the mantle on the fireplace. Even parts of his walls.

He couldn’t control himself.

And Miranda looked so... he heaved. Her eyes were closed, her chest was barely moving. Even her scent seemed dim.

Fuck, fuck.

Govek stared at the wrist Karthoc had touched. Searching to make sure there were no marks. Desperate. It was half off the bed, hanging over the side. He wanted to move it back under the blanket. To make her comfortable.

“Easy, tough guy.”

The memory of Miranda’s sweet voice made him ache. His hand shook as he carefully nudged her fingers with his thumb.

She was so warm.

He collapsed to his knees beside the bed, unable to restrain himself. He took her hand in his. Turning it over, stroking her palm, her wrist.

She was warm. Not dead. So warm.

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