Because Mira wasn’t some prize to drag into my bed like the spoils of war. I wanted her towantme. I wanted her to choose it.
Gods, I didn’t know what was worse: the way her lips had parted when I kissed her back, or the sound she’d made when I lifted her, like she was fighting me and herself all at once.
I scrubbed a hand down my face and let out a slow breath.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I’d spent my life taking what I wanted. A knife for hire, a Hvalgar with no tribe, no roots. I thought I knew what desire was. I thought I knew what hunger meant. But Mira… Mira was different.
She had fire.
Even when she was afraid, she pushed. Snapped at me. Insisted on carrying the damned rabbits, as though she needed to prove she wasn’t breakable. She didn’t just surprise me, she unsettled me.
I turned, glancing inside the cave. She was moving about with purpose, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She hadn’t looked my way once since I stepped out.
She was probably replaying that moment under the tree as much as I was.
I almost stepped back inside, but stopped, my boots grinding into the earth. She deserved better than me looming over her like some wild thing; my hands itched raw with wanting.
The truth was, I wanted to give her everything. A life without fear. Without hunger. I wanted to keep her in my arms until the world itself burned out.
She didn’t understand that yet.
But she would.
I let out a low, quiet snort, amused despite myself. Who would’ve thought I’d fall this fast, this hard? Me, who never stayed in one place long enough to remember a face. Now I couldn’t get hers out of my head: those fierce eyes, that wild, chestnut hair, the stubborn tilt of her chin.
I wasn’t giving her up. Not now. Not ever.
But for now… I’d wait.
MIRA
The smell of rabbit stew filled the cave, heavy with herbs and the promise of real warmth in my belly. I sat by the fire, ladle in hand, watching the broth bubble and darken, the scent wrapping around me like a memory I’d never had.
I realized, with a strange twist of my chest, that this wasn’t bad.
In the keep, I’d cooked for lords who never even glanced at me. Endless nights of sweating over smoky fires, hands raw from scrubbing pots, only to watch trays of food vanish without a single word of thanks. I’d eaten my meals cold, alone, tucked in the corner of the kitchens with scraps if I was lucky.
Here, the air was sharp with pine, the fire warm against my face, and I wasn’t alone.
And he—this infuriating, impossible orc—actuallyappreciatedit, unlike the dour lords and knights of the keep.
When I handed Gorran his bowl, his expression softened, just a fraction. He lifted the spoon, tasted the stew, and I saw it—the pause. The quiet hum of approval in his throat.
“You like it?” I asked, unable to stop the flicker of pride in my voice.
He met my gaze, his face unreadable but for that faint glint in his green-gold eyes. “You cook better than anything I’ve tasted in years.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Wow,” I said, smirking to hide the sudden warmth in my chest. “Careful, or I might start thinking you’re capable of being nice.”
He gave a low grunt, like that single compliment had cost him something. “Don’t push your luck, cook.”
“Too late,” I teased, leaning back on my hands. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. “You should know, when you eat my food, you’re bound to me for life. You owe me. My cooking’s special. It’s enchanted. Who knows? Perhaps I have witch blood in me.”
He shook his head, a skeptical look crossing his face, his hard green features softening for just a moment. “What a stupid notion. Which daft human made that one up?”
