Page 5 of Claimed By the Mountain Man Orc
I suck in a breath. "That's me."
Finally, he looks up. His eyes catch the firelight, turning molten gold, and I feel the weight of his gaze on my skin. "It was you before I knew you."
I don't know what that means, but something inside me goes very, very still. The air between us feels thick, charged. I glance at the room, spotting other carvings. Some are of flora and fauna, beautiful mountain landscapes. But there are lots of a woman.
A woman who looks like me.
"Who are you?" I whisper.
He hesitates, his knife pausing mid-stroke. “Varn."
"Varn," I repeat, testing it on my tongue. It feels right somehow—strong and solid, like the mountain itself. "I'm Mazie."
The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney. Outside, wind moans through the trees, a sound like wolves howling in the distance.
"Do you want me to leave?” I say softly, watching his face for any reaction.
He pauses his work again. "Yes."
I cross my arms, the fur slipping slightly before I catch it. "Then you probably shouldn't have saved my life."
That gets a reaction. His head lifts, eyes flashing with something wild and unreadable. Gold reflects in his irises, making them glow in the dimness.
"Don't test me, human," he growls, and the sound vibrates through the floorboards beneath my feet.
The sound should scare me. It should send me running for the door, hypothermia be damned. Instead, it sends heat skittering down my spine, pooling low in my belly in a way that has nothing to do with the fire.
"I'm not afraid of you," I whisper, and realize it's true. I should be—he's massive, powerful, clearly dangerous. But fear is the furthest thing from what I'm feeling.
He goes perfectly still, every muscle tensing. Then he sets down the knife and the carving with deliberate care, rising to his full height. He's enormous—easily seven feet tall, maybe more—towering over me in a way that should be intimidating. His shoulders are broad enough to block out the firelight, casting me in shadow.
"You should be," he says, and his voice has dropped to something barely above a whisper.
But the way he says it... it sounds more like a warning to himself than to me.
I take a step closer, emboldened by something I don't understand, drawn by a pull that feels as natural as gravity. "Why? You saved me. You brought me here. You're carving my face from memory." Another step. "Those aren't the actions of someone I should fear."
"You don't understand what you're doing." His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can see the tension in every line of his body.
"Then explain it to me."
The fire crackles between us. His eyes track across my face, searching for something. Outside, snow begins to fall again, soft flakes drifting past the window.
"You should rest," he finally says, but he doesn't move away. "You're still recovering."
"I'm fine." I am, surprisingly. Warm and steady and more alive than I've felt in years. "Tell me why you carved me before you knew me."
He closes his eyes, jaw clenching. When he opens them again, something has shifted—a wall coming down, a decision made.
"Because I've been waiting for you," he says quietly. "My whole life."
Chapter 4
Varn
Sherefusestorest.
Human women are supposed to be delicate, fragile creatures who need protecting and coddling. But this one keeps pacing my cabin like she owns it—bare feet wrapped in my spare wool socks that are much too large, hair a wild halo of curls that catches the firelight and glows like burnished copper. Every movement draws my eyes. Every heartbeat calls to mine, the rhythm matching perfectly, syncing until I can't tell where my pulse ends and hers begins.
