Page 49 of The Orc Outcast's Miracle

He nodded in agreement as his eyes fell to half-mast. He stroked her hair away from her neck. She smelled like paradise made real.

Miranda.

His mate.

He hadn’t asked her to be his mate formally yet, but in his mind, she was. He’d thought of her as such for so long now. Maybe even from the first moment he’d seen her fall out of the sky. But humans took a long time to consider lifelong commitments. Miranda had said that her people dated for years before marrying.

He would wait to ask. Give her time to settle. Perhaps after the clansman were gone, and they had the Rove Woods all to themselves, she would be ready to carry the full label.

He felt no rush because it truly did not matter. He would never let this woman go, regardless.

His eyes drifted to the little bag at the corner of the kitchen where she had put her evidence, and his stomach twisted. He would rip anyone who tried to take her to shreds.

“Still a bit tongue tied, huh?”

“I apologize,” he said, almost as a reflex. His voice was so raw it hardly sounded like his own.

She set down the wooden spoon and turned to face him. “Govek, you don’t have to apologize for that. I don’t want you to apologize for that.”

He raised a brow at her, confused.

She stroked his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, soaking up her warmth. “I don’t mind you being quiet. It’s part of your nature, and I love your nature.” Her eyes went soft and pink brightened her cheeks. “I love you.”

His stomach bloomed with warmth, and he was certain his emotions would get the best of him again. He crushed her in his arms, basking in the bright, warm sensation that worked its way through the darkest corners of his mind.

She loved him. This perfect, wonderful woman loved him.

“Goodness gracious,” she said as her hip bumped the handle of the pan and some of the stew-like meal sloshed out.

“Goodness gracious?” he mirrored, incredulous. Her tone suggested she meant it as a curse.

“What?” She tossed him a sidelong glance as she mopped up the spill. “You cuss all the time, and you can’t handle ‘goodness gracious’?”

A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “‘Goodness gracious’ is not cussing, Miranda.”

“Of course it is!” she countered, but her tone betrayed her mirth.

He worked to bring it higher. “It’s about as harsh as a dewdrop.”

Her laughter radiated through the room, and contentment bloomed in his chest, built a wall of security and sweetness he’d never known.

“Who are you trying to impress with it? Baby bunnies?” His offhand comment caused another round of giggles. The sound was melodic and dreamlike.

“I was a flipping daycare worker,” she said, her beam radiant. “I don’t use foul language!”

He leaned against the counter, crossed his arms casually. “Ah yes, this job where you sat upon children.”

“Oh, hush up,” she snapped, though her laughter continued.

“And you do curse, Miranda,” he said, leaning in closer. “I’ve heard it many times. I can prove it.”

He bridged the gap between them, dipped his lips to hers. Held her captive with his kiss. Reminding him of the metallic sweetness she’d flooded his mouth with in the woods. Of the bite he’d given her shoulder and the happiness she’d expressed when she’d talked about it marking her as his.

For once in his miserable existence, he didn’t feel a tinge of remorse.

He dueled with her tongue, nibbled at her lips. No longer worried he might cut her. He could control himself with her and if he wounded her by accident, he had no fear he could not make his mistake right.

The security of this was like nothing he’d ever felt before. A weight lifted from his gut. The brightness of his soul broke through the dim.

---