Page 32 of Orc's Little Human
SELENE
The confines of the longhouse have become both sanctuary and prison over the past few days. I've told Thali we need to stay inside, spinning elaborate excuses about wanting to perfect her shell collection or learn new ways to prepare the dried meats hanging from the rafters. She accepts my reasoning with the easy trust of a child, but I catch her watching me sometimes with those amber-gold eyes that are far too knowing for someone her age.
"This one needs more polishing," Thali announces, holding up a spiral shell that already gleams like polished bone. She sits cross-legged on the thick furs, her collection spread around her in careful patterns that only she understands.
"It looks perfect to me." I run my thumb over the shell's smooth surface, marveling at the intricate whorls nature carved into its surface. "But if you think it needs more work..."
She beams at me and returns to her task with the focused intensity that makes her so endearing. Everything Thali does, she does completely—whether it's polishing shells, asking endless questions about the human world, or defending her collection from imaginary threats.
I settle back against the furs, trying to focus on the simple rhythm of her work instead of the constant knot of anxiety in my stomach. Three days. Three days since Korrath's hands mapped every inch of my body, since he made me forget everything but the sound of my name on his lips. Three days since I felt truly safe.
Not that what we did was safe. Nothing about this situation is safe, especially not the way my body still responds to the memory of his touch. Even now, just thinking about it makes heat pool low in my belly, makes me remember the weight of him above me and the fierce tenderness in his golden eyes when he?—
Stop.I force myself to focus on Thali, on the present moment, on anything except the ache between my legs that hasn't fully faded.
The problem isn't just the physical memory. It's the way something fundamental shifted that night, the way I can't seem to rebuild the walls I spent years constructing around my heart. Every instinct I've developed since the camps tells me to run, to protect myself, to never trust anyone completely. But Korrath and Thali have wormed their way past those defenses with a combination of fierce protection and genuine care that I don't know how to handle.
"Are you worried about Korrath?" Thali asks suddenly, not looking up from her polishing.
My hands still on the shell I'm holding. "What makes you think that?"
"You keep looking at the door. And you haven't eaten much today. And yesterday. And the day before." She finally glances up, those too-perceptive eyes studying my face. "You always look at the door when you're worried about him."
Clever girl.Too clever for her own good sometimes.
"I'm not—" I start to deny it, then realize there's no point. Thali sees everything, notices details that most adults would miss. "Maybe a little. He's been dealing with clan business. Important things."
"Boring things," she corrects with a wrinkle of her nose. "Standing around arguing with the other warriors about territory and supplies and who gets to go on the next raid. I don't know why they can't just let Korrath decide everything. He's the smartest."
Her simple faith in her brother makes my chest tight. She has no idea how precarious his position really is, how much pressure he's under from Varok and the others. She just sees the man who raised her, who protects her, who would burn down the world before letting anything hurt her.
The same man who kissed me like I was something precious instead of just another captive.
"Politics are complicated," I say carefully. "Even for chiefs."
"Politics are stupid." Thali returns to her polishing with more force than necessary. "If people would just listen to Korrath instead of questioning everything he does, we wouldn't need so many meetings."
Before I can respond, pain explodes across my collarbone like liquid fire. The shell tumbles from my numb fingers as I gasp, one hand flying to the mark hidden beneath my tunic. The familiar burn of neptherium magic sears through my skin, but this time it's stronger, more urgent.
Something's wrong. Something's happening to Korrath.
I'm on my feet and moving before conscious thought takes over, my body responding to the pull of magic that connects us in ways I still don't understand. The longhouse door slams behind me as I stumble into the afternoon light, following the invisible thread that draws me toward the center of the encampment.
The scene that greets me stops my heart.
Korrath stands in the middle of a loose circle of warriors, his face twisted with rage as blood streams from cuts on both palms. The crimson droplets hit the packed earth and immediately begin to smoke, reshaping themselves into wicked spikes of iron that gleam in the sunlight. His golden eyes burn with fury as he focuses on another orc—Mol, I think, though it's hard to tell with the way the air shimmers around them.
But it's not just Korrath's magic I can feel. The mark on my collarbone blazes like a brand, responding to his power with a resonance that makes my bones ache. Every drop of blood he spills sends another wave of fire through my chest, and I can see the exact moment his magic flares brighter in response to my presence.
The iron spikes grow longer, sharper, more deadly. The shimmer in the air becomes a visible distortion that makes the other orcs step back with expressions of alarm. Whatever argument started this, it's rapidly spiraling beyond normal clan discipline into something far more dangerous.
I take another step forward, drawn by the connection I can't break, and Korrath's head snaps up. Our eyes meet across the circle of warriors, and I see the exact moment he realizes what's happening. The fury in his gaze transforms into something like horror as he takes in my pale face, the way I'm clutching at my collarbone.
He cuts off the flow of magic immediately, the iron spikes clattering to the ground as lifeless metal. But it's too late—the damage is already done. My mark feels like it's been set on fire all over again, the skin beneath my tunic burning with the memory of the brand that created it. The pain is so intense that black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
My knees buckle.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground, lifting me against a familiar chest that smells of leather and metal and something uniquely Korrath. He's saying something, but I can't make out the words over the roaring in my ears. All I can focus on is the way his hands shake as he holds me, the barely controlled violence still radiating from his massive frame.
