Page 69 of Her Orc Healer

I should have felt embarrassed. Should have straightened up, pulled my shawl back into place, remembered who I was supposed to be. Instead, I found myself sinking further into Kazrek's warmth, my inhibitions dulled by exhaustion and mead and the singular comfort of being held.

"Come on," Kazrek murmured, his voice rough. "Before you fall asleep here."

I made a noncommittal sound, something that might have been protest or agreement. He shifted, and suddenly his arms were around me, lifting me as easily as if I weighed nothing at all. My body responded instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck as he gathered me against his chest.

"I can walk," I mumbled into his shoulder, even as I nestled closer.

His chest rumbled with quiet amusement. "You’re half asleep and three-quarters stubborn.”

“That math doesn’t add up.”

The back hall was quiet, the stairs creaking beneath his boots as he carried me up. The room was simple—plain walls, a hearth of cooling coals, a wide bed with a wool blanket folded neatly across it. Kazrek lowered me to the bed gently, but when he stepped back, my fingers caught in his shirt.

His eyes found mine in the dim light, searching my face. The air between us shifted, thickened with something that had nothing to do with sleep.

"Rowena," he said, my name a warning and a question all at once.

I tugged lightly at his shirt, drawing him closer. The drowsiness from before hadn't left entirely, but it had transformed into something else—something warmer, heavier.

It wasn’t just the mead. Or the quiet. Or the firelight softening the edges of the night.

It was the way he’d carried me like I wasn’t a burden. The way he didn’t ask anything of me but still gave everything in return. The way his silence made space, not distance.

I’d spent so long holding everything together—Maeve, the shop, myself. I hadn’t let anyone in. Hadn’t trusted anyone to see the cracks and not use them to break me further.

But Kazrek hadn’t asked me to be anything else. He just… stayed. Steady. Present. Real.

And maybe that was what undid me.

I wanted to be touched like I mattered. I wanted to feel something that wasn’t survival. I wanted this—him—not because I needed a distraction, but because for the first time in far too long, I didn’t want to be alone.

"I'm not that tired," I murmured, letting my meaning settle between us.

He went very still, his massive frame rigid with tension. I could feel the heat of him even through his clothes, could see the way his chest rose and fell with carefully measured breaths.

Slowly, deliberately, I lifted my hand to his face. My fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness there. His skin was warm beneath my touch, and I could feel the way his pulse jumped when my fingers brushed the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

"Unless," I whispered, uncertainty flickering through me, "you don't want to."

Something in Kazrek's expression cracked. His control—always so careful, so measured—splintered like ice in spring thaw.

His hand caught mine where it rested against his jaw, and in one fluid motion, he was over me, pressing me back into the bed.

His mouth was hot and rough against mine, his breath catching as I arched into him. There was no pretense between us now—no more sidelong glances or lingering touches pretending not to mean anything. He kissed like a man who’d held himself back too long, and I kissed him like I’d forgotten what it meant to be wanted.

His weight above me didn’t feel like pressure—it felt like an anchor, like shelter. One of his hands slid down, cupping the side of my thigh through the fabric of the dress. I gasped into his mouth when his fingers tightened, pulling me closer, slotting our bodies together with a kind of desperate reverence.

He tore his mouth from mine like it cost him to do it. His forehead pressed to mine, breath hot against my lips. “You need to know—” he rasped, “I want this. I want you.”

That hit something deep in me. A need I hadn’t dared name. Not just to be touched, but to be chosen. Desired without apology.

I nodded, but it wasn’t enough. “Say it again,” I breathed.

Kazrek drew back just far enough to meet my eyes. “I want you,” he said, slower this time, like it was a vow. “Not just tonight. Not just like this.”

My hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, dragging him down to kiss me again. He caught the edge of it as he went, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside without ceremony.

The sight of him stole whatever breath I had left.

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