Page 108 of Her Orc Healer

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I remembered something Sylwen said… about how the magic doesn’t want to die. It needs somewhere to go. Someone to take it. But people… break.” He paused, jaw tightening. “Aylan broke. Sylwen lived because she didn’t.”

"The earth," I whispered, understanding dawning. "That's why you drove it into the ground."

"The forest is old," he said. "Deeper than any of us. I thought maybe..." His voice roughened. "Maybe it would know how to starve it if I couldn’t."

I thought of the roots that had writhed beneath the altar, the way they'd seemed to recognize something in him. In us. "Your magic..."

"Gone." The word was flat, final. "Used it all to make the connection. To give it somewhere else to take root.” A pause. “Not to grow. Just to be ended. Swallowed." His fingers flexed again in mine, an echo of an old habit. "Strange, really. Spent so many years trying to heal things. In the end, the only way to save her was to let something break."

"You," I said softly. "You let it break you."

He didn't deny it.

"I heard you," he said instead. "In the dark. After. When everything was quiet and the shadows were offering peace." His free hand came up to touch the mark on my throat—the place where he'd claimed me, where something deeper than blood still hummed between us.

My chest tightened. "I thought you were gone."

"Almost was." His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges. "But you pulled me back.”

He said it like a fact, not a flourish. Simple. Honest. And it undid me.

I didn’t cry—not exactly. But something in me went a little soft, my eyes heating, the knot in my chest loosening enough to let the air in. I let my forehead fall gently against his shoulder, careful not to jostle Maeve between us. I could feel the rise and fall of his breath beneath my brow, the soft thrum beneath his ribs. Not strong yet. But steady. Alive.

After a few long moments, I pulled back a little, just enough to look at him.

“I brought you some things,” I said, voice a little hoarse. “Tea. Bread. Clean shirts. You know. Life.”

His mouth twitched again. This time, the shape was closer to a real smile.

“Iris made the tea,” I added. “Said it’ll help with recovery. Also said if you don’t drink it, she’ll come down here herself.”

A low grunt of acknowledgment. “Noted.”

Kazrek looked toward the bundle on the desk, then down at Maeve, still curled against him like some small miracle he hadn’t quite convinced himself was real.

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready,” he said. His voice was quiet. Careful. “To come back. To be who I was.”

“You don’t have to be,” I said. “We don’t need who you were.”

He looked at me then—really looked at me. Like he was trying to see if I meant it. If I could hold what he couldn’t.

“We just need you,” I said. “Here. Whole. Ours.”

Something cracked in his expression—just a flicker. And then, slowly, like it cost him something to say, he asked, “You sure?”

I nodded. “I’m tired of doing this alone.”

A long breath left him. Like he’d been holding it for years. He turned his hand over beneath mine, threading his fingers between mine. Not gently. Not hesitantly. Like someone choosing to stay.

Maeve stirred and blinked sleepily up at him. He smoothed her curls back without thinking, and she smiled before drifting again.

I leaned in, resting my head lightly against his shoulder, letting the weight of the moment settle around us.

He didn’t need to speak. I could feel it in the set of his spine. In the steadiness of his hand. In the way he didn’t flinch when I pressed close.

This wasn’t a man leaving.

This was a man coming home.

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