The word stabbed through me like a betrayal. I couldn’t find another one. He was everything I wasn’t supposed to want: brutal, scarred, and alien.
Monster.
And yet…
Andyet.
I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze toward the sky, the sunlight filtering through branches like thin threads of gold. I told myself that when we got back to the cave, I’d forget this moment. Forget the sight of his body under the sun, water cascading over his skin, his eyes locking with mine as if he saw everything I was trying to hide.
But I knew I wouldn’t.
He emerged from the water like something carved from the mountain itself: solid, unapologetic, droplets sliding down his chest and shoulders, clinging to every hard line of muscle. Sunlight broke across his skin in sharp gleams, and I swore it wasn’t fair. No living thing had the right to look that unshaken, that in control.
That big, formidable, masculine, and…
Damn beautiful.
I’d never imagined orcs could be beautiful like this.
My pulse refused to calm. I could feel him moving, slow and deliberate, each step through the shallows sending ripples across the stream.
“What’s the issue?”
The question caught me off guard. I turned sharply, clutching the blanket tighter, as if it could smother the heat rising in my face. “The issue?” I tried for cold and failed miserably. “I don’t have an issue.”
One of his tusks showed as his mouth curved—just a hint, but it was enough to tell me he’d noticed every flicker of my reaction. “You’re staring like you’ve never seen a male before.”
I scoffed, even as my throat tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just making sure you don’t drown, big guy.”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “I don’t drown. Not so easily. And even if I did… You think you could save me? You’re tiny.”
He stopped close—too close—and wrung the water from his hair, the motion sending a line of droplets down the grooves of his chest. My gaze followed one bead as it slid over the deep scar that ran from his collarbone to his ribs. I looked away, heat coiling low in my belly, hating myself for noticing.
“You’re red,” he said. “Your face.”
I snapped my head up. “Because the sun’s out,” I muttered. “Obviously.”
His stare held mine, steady and knowing. He didn’t need to say anything; the corner of his mouth said it all—he knew exactly what was going through my head, and that infuriated me more than anything else.
“Let’s just go back,” I said quickly, stepping past him, blanket bunched tight around me. “I’m done here.”
“Are you?” His voice dropped, rough and quiet, as if testing me.
“Yes,” I shot back, not turning. “And if you ask me again, I’ll throw you in the stream.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that shouldn’t have been warm but was. “You’d need both hands to move my little finger, little cook.”
I froze, annoyed by the heat climbing up my neck. “Stop calling me that.”
“It suits you,” he said, falling into step behind me. His shadow stretched long over mine, like he owned the space around me without even trying. “You make stew. You glare. You pretend you’re not looking when you are.”
I spun, words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Iwasn’tlooking.”
His eyes, bright and unflinching, told me he didn’t believe a single syllable.
I turned away, stomping up the narrow path toward the cave, trying not to let him see the way my heart pounded. Whatever this was—this heat, this pull—it was dangerous. I couldn’t let it be anything else.
But behind me, I heard him laugh under his breath, quiet and amused, as though he already knew how this game would end.
