Page 95 of Her Orc Protector

Ellie continued to fuss, rubbing her face against my shoulder with increasing distress. Gruha appeared from her office, arms folded across her chest.

"Your old room is still empty," she said matter-of-factly. "I just put clean linens on the bed."

The room at the top of the stairs welcomed me like an old friend—small and spare, with sloped ceilings and a narrow bed pushed against the wall. The window was cracked open, allowing in the evening's chill and the distant sounds of the town settling for the night.

I sat on the edge of the bed, unfastening my shirt to nurse Ellie. Her hungry mouth latched on immediately, her fussing subsiding into contented little grunts. I brushed my fingers through her dark curls, marveling as always at how soft her hair felt, how perfect her small hand looked curled against my breast.

"What do we do now?" I whispered.

The quiet of the room settled around us, familiar yet strange after the weeks in our cottage. No Hobbie bustling around the kitchen. No steady sound of Uldrek sharpening blades by the hearth. Just Ellie and me, as we had been before.

But not as we had been. I wasn't the same terrified woman who'd first climbed these stairs, clutching my baby and a worthless seal of protection. I was stronger now. More certain. I knew how to throw a man twice my size. How to read ancient texts. How to trust my own judgment.

And I knew, with sudden clarity, that I wanted Uldrek. Not because I needed his protection. Not because he was convenient, or safe, or my only option. But because in all the ways that mattered, he was mine. Stubborn and wounded and gruff—and mine.

I chose him. When I'd walked into that tavern. When I'd lifted my hair for his claiming bite. When I'd opened my body and my heart to his touch. None of those moments had been about fear. They'd been about trust. About choice.

Ellie's nursing slowed, her eyelids drooping. I shifted her to my other breast, wincing slightly as she readjusted. The room was growing colder, but I didn't move to close the window. The chill helped me think clearly.

Rowena's quiet words echoed in my mind:The real bond is what you choose every day.

The mark—active or dormant—was just a symbol of what we'd built together. And if Uldrek couldn't see that, I would make him see it. Tomorrow. When we were both calmer, when I could find the right words to make him understand what he meant to me.

Ellie had fallen fully asleep, milk-drunk and heavy in my arms. I gently disengaged her and buttoned my shirt, then laid her in the center of the bed, building a nest of blankets to keep her from rolling. The weight that had sat in my chest since our argument hadn't disappeared, but it had transformed—from a cold stone of hurt to something warmer, more determined.

I changed into the spare nightdress from my hastily packed bag and slipped into bed beside Ellie, curving my bodyprotectively around her small form. The bed was narrow but comfortable enough. Still, it wasn't our bed. It wasn't home.

Home wasn't Tinderpost anymore. Home wasn't even the cottage, really. Home was where Uldrek was—stubborn, protective, wounded Uldrek, who had somehow become essential to me in ways that had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with belonging.

"You're going to need to be patient with your father," I whispered to Ellie's sleeping form. "He's convinced himself of something that isn't true, and he can be very bull-headed."

Ellie made a small snuffling sound in her sleep, one tiny hand curled near her face.

"But we're going to fix it," I murmured, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "Because I do love him. And it's time I told him so."

How long I slept, I couldn't say. But something woke me—a sound that didn't belong. The creak of the front door opening.

I stiffened, instantly alert. The house was dark and quiet. Gruha would have bolted the door hours ago.

My pulse quickened.It's him, I thought, chest tightening with hope and apprehension. Uldrek. He'd come for me, to apologize or argue or simply bring me home.

I slid from the bed, checking that Ellie was still sleeping soundly. Then I moved to the door, opening it as quietly as possible. The upper hallway was dark, but a faint glow came from below—the dying embers in the hearth.

Barefoot, silent, I padded to the top of the stairs. The main room was dim, lit only by the low orange glow of coals.

"Uldrek?" I whispered, starting my descent.

No answer came, but I could make out a silhouette by the open door. Small. Round-shouldered. Familiar.

I slowed, confusion prickling along my spine. "Dora?" I said again, sharper this time.

The halfling turned toward me, her face catching the faint light. Her eyes were wide—but vacant. She opened her mouth like she wanted to speak, but no sound emerged.

Then, a figure stepped out from behind her, emerging from the shadows like they were part of him.

Gavriel.

He looked exactly as he had in the council chamber—composed, elegant, untouchable. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his clothing was impeccable even at this hour. He stood as if he belonged here, one hand resting lightly on Dora's shoulder.

---