Page 6 of Claimed By the Mountain Man Orc
I tell myself to ignore it.
To ignoreher.
She needs warmth, food, and a path down the mountain. Nothing more. That's what I keep saying, what I keep repeating like a mantra—until her teeth start to chatter again, the sound cutting through my thoughts like a knife.
"Sit," I order, the word coming out harder than I intend.
She glares at me, brown eyes flashing with defiance. "You're bossy for a guy who lives alone in the woods."
"I will not let you die,” I growl, standing and crossing to the woodpile. "And you will if you keep freezing yourself."
She opens her mouth for another smart reply—I can see it forming, see the spark of challenge in her eyes—but I'm already moving, throwing more logs onto the fire, pulling down another fur from the wall. The heat rises fast, filling the small space with the scent of smoke and pine sap. She's still shivering despite it, small tremors running through her body.
The bond hums low in my chest, insistent, demanding.Help her. Touch her. Keep her warm. Keep her safe. Keep her.
I clench my fists, fighting against instinct. "You're cold because the river stole your heat. Blankets won't fix that fast enough."
Her brows lift, and I see understanding dawn in her eyes. "What will?"
I meet her gaze steadily. "Me."
Color floods her cheeks, bright pink that has nothing to do with the cold. But she doesn't back away. Doesn't laugh or refuse or tell me I'm insane. "Body heat. Right?"
"Yes." The word comes out rough, half-growl, barely human.
For a moment we just look at each other, two creatures circling the same truth, both knowing where this leads but unable to stop moving toward it. Then she nods once, decisive, and sits near the fire.
I drop down behind her, close enough that the ends of her hair brush my chest and fill my nose with the scent of river water and something sweet beneath it.
"Lean back," I murmur, keeping my voice low and steady despite the way my heart is hammering.
She does. Slowly. Carefully. Until her back rests against my chest and my arms curve around her, and she fits there as if she'sbeen here forever, as if the gods carved her specifically to match the shape of my body.
Her heartbeat thrums under my palm—quick, human,alive.Proof that I pulled her from the water in time, that I didn't fail, that she's here and safe and real.
The scent of her—snow and skin and something sweet I can't name—wraps around me until I can barely breathe. She sighs, the sound soft and trusting, and the tension bleeds out of her body as she relaxes against me.
"You're warm," she whispers.
I swallow hard, trying to maintain control. "Orcs run hot."
"No kidding."
She tilts her head, glancing up at me. The glow from the fire paints her face in gold and shadow, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips. She doesn't look afraid. She looks... curious. Wondering what else is true about me, what other secrets I'm hiding.
I shouldn't.
Every instinct screams at me to pull away, to maintain distance, to protect her from what I am and what I want.
But I reach out anyway, brushing a damp curl from her cheek. Her skin is warm again, thank the gods, no longer carrying the gray tinge of hypothermia. Still, I leave my hand there, fingers tracing the edge of her jaw, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. She leans into it, eyes half-closing.
Something tight inside me breaks, snapping like an over-taut rope.
"You shouldn't want me to touch you,” I say hoarsely, but my fingers betray me, sliding back to tangle in her hair.
"Too late." Her voice trembles—not with fear, but with something that makes the bond flare bright and hot between us, a connection so strong I can almost see it shimmering in the air.
I inhale sharply, trying to anchor myself in reason, in logic, in all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "You don't understand what I am."
