"Most winters." I crouch near the fire, turning the venison on the spit. Fat hisses into the flames. "The storms keep people out."
"Except me."
"Except you."
Her laugh is soft, testing the sound in this new place. The warmth of it slides under my ribs and settles there. I shouldn't want that. Shouldn't wanther.After all, she can choose to reject the bond—and probably will. Most humans crave convenience and ease, and life on the mountain is anything but.
I hand her a plate, the meat still steaming, fat glistening at the edges. "Eat."
She does, politely at first, then with genuine hunger that makes something primal in me sit up and take notice. Watching her is dangerous. Like watching first sunlight after a long freeze—you want to chase it, keep it, make it yours. She makes a small sound of approval and I have to look away before I forget what restraint means.
"You live out here alone?" she asks.
"For now." I glance toward the shuttered window where wind still prowls. "There are others on the mountain, though. My kin."
"Your kin." She tilts her head. "You mean other—"
"Orcs," I finish.
"Orcs,” she repeats, tilting her head in though. “That’s what you are. I never knew your kind existed.”
She doesn’t sound frightened or confused or repulsed. She sounds fascinated.
"We stay hidden," I tell her. "Humans come too close sometimes. We scare them off if we can. If we can't..." I shrug. "The mountain takes care of it."
She studies me. "You're not planning to scare me off, are you?"
My fingers tighten on the knife handle. "No."
I can hear her heartbeat stutter. Not fear.Interest.
The scent of it winds through the room, sharp and sweet, and every instinct I have turns toward her.Protect. Claim. Keep.
"Then what are you planning, Thane?"
I could lie. But the truth crawls out instead, low and honest. "Right now? To keep you warm. To shelter you through the night."
Her breath catches. Firelight paints gold in her eyes. "And after that?"
I shake my head. "After that, we'll see."
She sets the plate aside, pulls the pelt closer. "You sound like my editor. She never gives straight answers either."
"Editor?"
"She edits my books. I write books." She smiles faintly, tucking her hair behind an ear. "I’m an author. Romances, mostly. Big, tough men who live in the wild. Usually, they’re mythical or paranormal creatures in some way." Her gaze drifts over me, deliberate enough to make my pulse kick. "Guess I finally met one in real life."
The words hit deeper than they should. "You write about men who aren’t… human?"
She nods. “Sometimes, they’re part-human. They’re usually shifters.” Seeing the confusion on my face, she adds, “Men who can turn into animals.”
“Why do you like to write about them?” I ask.
"Because human men never measure up." She meets my eyes again. "They break promises. They betray. So, I write about men who arebetterthan humans.”
The ache in her voice makes my hands curl into fists. "Human men have betrayed you?”
“Yes.” For a moment, her expression is sad, but then a slow smile spreads across her face. “I have a feeling I’ll only be writing orc heroes from now on.”
