Page 86 of Her Orc Protector

Instead, I stood frozen, listening to Uldrek's footsteps crunching lightly through the dewy grass around the back. The bond between us sat quiet beneath my skin—not severed, not gone, but strange. Distant. Dormant.

Maybe all claiming bonds did this after the danger passed. Maybe this was the body’s way of saying,You’re safe now. You don’t need to burn.

Or maybe it meant something else.

I thought about the way he'd avoided my gaze tonight. The hands that hadn’t quite reached for mine. The jokes that came just a heartbeat too fast. Every time I’d looked toward him in the crowd, he’d looked away.

He wasn’t angry; I didn’t believe that. And he hadn’t withdrawn out of cruelty. If I had to name it, I would have said… fear.

I stepped up onto the porch and placed one palm on the door.

Then stopped.

Every part of me wanted to go inside. To change into nightclothes. To check on Ellie. To stare at the ceiling until sleep claimed me.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that walking through that door meant closing something. That if I went inside now, let tonight fold itself away like nothing had shifted between us, I would lose the chance to ask what needed asking. To name the crack forming before it splintered into something unfixable.

So instead, I turned. Stepped off the porch. The bond didn’t pull.

But I went to him anyway.

Chapter 24

Ipadded across the packed earth, skirting the herb beds, listening for the splashes of water behind the cottage.

He stood at the washbasin, shirt unlaced and hanging open, the broad curve of his chest visible in the moonlight. He braced himself above the bowl, dripping water from his beard and breathing slowly.

I hesitated just before the edge of the lean-to. “Are you always this dramatic with your sobering rituals?” I asked, aiming for lightness.

Uldrek didn’t turn. Just let the water drip from his fingertips into the basin with a soft, steady plink. “Helps.”

I leaned against the post, arms loosely crossed, watching his back rise and fall. Even standing still, he was all tension—coiled lines, unspoken thoughts.

"Does it?" I asked. "You don't seem especially helped."

He exhaled something close to a laugh, finally turning to face me. Water clung to his neck, catching moonlight in his throat's hollow. "Not yet. Give it time."

Even in the dim light, I could see he wasn't meeting my eyes—his gaze fixed somewhere near my shoulder, my hair, the post I leaned against. Anywhere but directly at me.

"Time," I repeated softly. "We have that now, don't we?"

Something flickered across his face, too quick to name. He reached for a cloth beside the basin, dragging it roughly across his face. "Suppose we do."

I let the silence settle between us, heavy and expectant. The claiming mark sat quiet beneath my skin, a dull warmth instead of the bright pulse it had been. I rubbed at it absently, watching as Uldrek's eyes caught the movement, then skittered away again.

"Let me help," I said finally, pushing away from the post and stepping closer.

The night air was cool against my bare arms, raising gooseflesh. Or perhaps that was his proximity—the familiar scent of him, woodsmoke and ale, and something deeper that had become as necessary to me as breathing.

I reached for the cloth, and he let me take it, his fingers grazing mine in the exchange. Even that brief touch sent a spark through me—not magic, just want. Need. The same hunger that had been growing between us since we first met.

"You don't have to," he murmured, but he didn't step away.

"I know." I dipped the cloth in the basin, then wrung it out. "I want to."

His eyes finally met mine, dark and unreadable in the moonlight. For a moment, I thought he might speak—might name whatever had been growing in the space between us since the Council chamber. But instead, he turned, offering me his back.

I swallowed down disappointment and focused on the task at hand. The cloth moved across his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle and old scars. Some were raised and ropey, the work of blades. Others smooth, the kiss of fire. And some—the ones that made my stomach clench—were clearly from claws.

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