Page 21 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

This... this is not something I ever expected to be doing. But here I am, an orc among humans, feeling something akin to delight. As I look into Claire's eyes, they are alight with the same joy that's unexpectedly taken root in me.

"Do you want a turn too?" I ask, my voice deep.

Claire stares at me,her eyes wide and sparkling like the snow beneath our feet. She nods, a shy smile playing on her lips. Without a second thought, I lift her effortlessly, ignoring my healing wounds. My hands span her waist as I hoist her up. Her laughter joins the echoes of the children's as she reaches out to touch the snowman's head.

"I've always wanted to do that," she jokes, her hands brushing the snowman’s head before trailing back to touch mine. Her fingers are cold, but the warmth they leave behind is undeniable.

"And now you have," I reply, my voice softer than before.

Our faces are close, our breaths mingling in the chilly air, creating a mist that hangs between us. My heart pounds in my chest, a rhythm I've never felt before. Her eyes, a warm shade of brown, hold mine, and for a moment, the world falls away. I'm acutely aware of the heat of her body against mine, the gentlepressure of her hands on my shoulders, and the intoxicating scent of her that fills my senses.

Claire's gaze drops to my lips, and the smirk that had been lingering on my face fades into something more earnest, more vulnerable. "Thrag," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the wind through the trees.

I swallow hard, my grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. "Claire," I say, my voice a low growl that seems to resonate with the very core of my being.

Unknowingly, the children have left us, called away by their parents, leaving us alone in the quiet expanse of the settlement. The world, once filled with laughter and shouts, now seems muted, as if nature itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, we lean in. The cold air is a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from her lips as they brush against mine. The kiss is soft, tentative, a question hanging in the balance. This is... different than anything I've ever experienced. It's gentle, yet fierce in its own right, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed.

Claire's handsmove to the sides of my face, her touch gentle. I deepen the kiss, my own hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. The taste of her is sweet. It's a flavor I find I want to savor, to commit to memory.

We pull away, our foreheads resting against each other as we both struggle to catch our breath. "Thrag," Claire says again, her voice shaky but filled with a warmth that penetrates the thick layers of my armor—both literal and metaphorical.

"I know," I respond, my voice gruff. I don't know what comes next, but in this moment, with Claire in my arms, I feel a sense of peace that's as unexpected as it is welcome.

We stand there for a while, just holding each other, our bodies providing warmth against the biting cold. The kiss has changed something between us, a shift that's both subtle and monumental. I know that no matter what happens, I'll do whatever it takes to protect this woman, this settlement. I've spent so long wandering, searching for a purpose, and now, I think I've finally found it.

Claire pulls back, her eyes searching mine. "We should probably get back," she says, her tone suggesting she'd rather stay here with me.

I nod. "Lead the way," I tell her, offering a small smile. As we walk back toward the heart of the settlement, I can't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Whatever comes next, I know that I'll face it head-on, with Claire by my side.

And for the first time in a long time, that thought doesn't terrify me. It fills me with a strange sense of hope—a hope that, against all odds, has begun to bloom within the confines of my scarred and battle-hardened heart.

22

CLAIRE

The moonlight casts a silver glow over the snow-blanketed settlement. Inside my modest home, the wooden ceiling stares back at me, its grainy patterns a canvas for my restless thoughts. The kiss—our kiss—plays on a loop in my mind. It's a secret reel of warmth and longing that sets my heart aflutter. Thrag's lips, firm yet yielding, were a stark contrast to his gruff exterior. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a fleeting connection that seemed to transcend our disparate worlds.

I sit up, the blanket pooling around my waist, and let out a frustrated groan. "Why can't I stop thinking about this?" I whisper to the empty room. The memory of our kiss is intoxicating. It's a sweet poison that clouds my judgement and ignites a fire within me.

My gaze drifts to the door. Thrag insisted on sleeping outside, despite the biting cold. His silhouette is a dark sentinel against the frosted window, evidence of his stubbornness and his self-imposed solitude. A pang of guilt twists in my gut. "Why is he out there when it’s freezing?" I murmur, knowing full well that his orcish constitution is more resilient to the cold than my own.

Wrapping a thick blanket around my shoulders, I push the door open and step into the chill of the night. The crisp air stings my lungs, and the snow crunches beneath my boots as I approach him. He looks up, his amber eyes reflecting the moon's ethereal light, surprise etched on his face.

"Why are you out here?" he asks. His voice rumbles through the stillness, a low thrum that resonates in my bones.

I hold out the blanket, my hands trembling slightly, whether from the cold or nerves, I can't tell. "You’ll freeze out here," I say, even though I know it's not entirely true.

He snorts softly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Orcs don’t freeze," he retorts, but there's a softness in his eyes that wasn't there before. "Keep it."

I sit beside him anyway, the cold seeping through the fabric of my trousers, and pull the blanket tighter around us both. We sit in silence, the world around us reduced to the soft whisper of the wind and the distant, mournful call of a night bird.

Gathering my courage, I break the silence. "About that kiss..." I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. I chance a glance at him, and see his body tense, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the dark outlines of the trees meet the star-studded sky.

"It was nothing," he says brusquely, his tone guarded. The words sting, but I force myself to maintain a steady facade, to not let my disappointment show.

"Right," I murmur, looking down at my hands. "I should’ve known that." The ache in my chest intensifies, a physical reminder of the distance between us—a chasm that seems impossible to bridge.

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