Page 106 of Her Orc Protector

For a while, we simply breathed together, watching the lights in the distance. I could feel questions building in the air between us, weighted things that needed voice.

"How are your hands?" Uldrek asked finally, breaking the silence.

I looked down at the bandages, already coming loose in places. "They hurt," I admitted. "But not as much as they did."

He nodded, then carefully took my right hand in his. "May I?" he asked, fingers hovering over the edge of the bandage.

"Yes."

Gently, he began to peel back the linen wrappings. The salve had done its work; the blisters were smaller now, the angry red fading to something more bearable. He carefully examined my palm, his thumb tracing the unmarked underside of my wrist.

"Not bad," he said, his voice gruff. "Give it a few days, and there won't even be a scar."

I almost laughed. As if scars were something I feared anymore. As if my body hadn't already been marked in ways that would never fully heal.

Uldrek must have caught my expression because he ducked his head slightly. Then, with a deliberateness that made my breath catch, he pressed his lips to the inside of my wrist—just below the edge of the burns. It wasn't an apology. It was a silent acknowledgment of what my hands had done, what they'd endured.

What surprised me was how much I wanted more.

I lifted my free hand—still wrapped—and found his jaw, rough with stubble. His eyes met mine, questioning, careful. I drew him closer until my forehead rested against his, our breath mingling in the small space between us.

For a moment, we stayed like that, not quite kissing, not quite apart. Building a stillness between us that felt both fragile and rich with possibility.

"I'm sorry," he murmured finally. "For what I said. Before."

I closed my eyes briefly, remembering the pain of his words in the cottage. The accusation that I'd only wanted him for protection, for safety. That I didn't know how to love outside of survival.

"I know," I whispered. "I'm sorry, too. For walking away."

His hand came up to cup my cheek, and I leaned into the touch. "You had every right."

"I did," I agreed. "And you had every right to your doubts. We're both learning this."

His thumb traced my cheekbone, a touch so gentle it almost hurt. "Learning what?"

I opened my eyes to find his face impossibly close, his expression open and unguarded. "How to stay," I said simply.

Something shifted in his gaze—a warmth spreading like sunrise. Without another word, he closed the distance between us, his mouth finding mine with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

I kissed him back, soft at first, then with growing hunger. My bandaged hands came up to frame his face, to pull him closer. His arms came around me, careful of my injuries but solid, grounding me in the reality of the moment. This was real. He was real. We had survived.

The kiss deepened, turned urgent. His tongue swept against mine, and I made a small sound that seemed to ignite something in him. His hand slid into my hair, cradling the back of my head as he kissed me with increasing fervor.

I wanted more—wanted to feel his skin against mine, wanted to replace every terrible memory with something chosen, something good. I tugged at his shirt, a clear invitation.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Issy," he murmured, his voice rough. "Are you sure? After everything today—"

"I'm sure," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "I need... I need to feel something real. Something good. I need you."

His eyes darkened at my words. Then he nodded once and began to pull at my nightgown. I did the same with his tunic, our hands bumping against each other in our haste. We laughed softly, breathlessly, at our own eagerness.

Piece by piece, our clothing fell away. The night air was cool against my bare skin, but Uldrek's touch was warm, igniting small fires wherever his fingers trailed. He kissed a path from my mouth to my jaw, down my neck, to the claiming mark that had once blazed so brightly. When his lips brushed against it, I shivered, but the mark remained quiet, a subtle warmth.

He laid me back on his cloak, his broad frame hovering over me. His mouth moved lower, across my collarbone, to the curve of my breast. When he took my nipple between his lips, I arched into the sensation, a soft moan escaping me.

But something felt... wrong. Not his touch—never that. But the position, the way he loomed over me, like—

Like Gavriel had, when he tried to reclaim me at the inn.

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