But tonight, I reminded myself that the golden mark on my wrist meant forever instead. That the man walking beside me could be mine to keep.
That Christmas wishes really did come true.
I finally understood what I'd been running from all these years. Not just commitment but belonging. The terrifying, wonderful possibility that someone might choose me not for what I could do, but for who I was. I'd spent a decade building my reputation, my independence, my carefully constructed life where I needed no one. Then no one could disappoint me. But watching this community embrace me, feeling Becken's hands worship my body like I was precious, I wondered if I'd built a career at the expense of a life. If success without real connections was really success at all.
When we reached the hotel, we climbed the stairs, stopping outside my door.
“Sleep well,” he said, stroking my cheek.
“You too.” I went inside but poked my head out enough to watch him walk down the room to his own door, before closing the panel and securing the lock.
With only the glow of the bedside lamp and the sound of wind brushing snow against the windows, the silence settled around me. I had no regrets about what we’d done. I loved him, and this felt like the only way I could show him.
I walked to one of the windows and pulled the curtain back enough to peek out. My vision blurred. Was he thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him?
There was something frightening and exquisite about all this, how deeply he saw me, how tenderly he touched me, how silence with him didn’t feel awkward.
I stroked the mark on my wrist, and I swore it pulsed like a heartbeat. Maybe it was some kind of orc magic. Or maybe it was something older, something woven into me long before I met him, a part of me that had been waiting all this time for him.
All I could think of was the feel of his hands, the quiet steadiness of his voice when he said my name. The way he’d listened for every sound I made and treated it like something sacred. The trust in his eyes that told me he wasn’t just wanting. He was waiting, ready to catch whatever I offered.
In the past, I would’ve turned away from that kind of patience. Doubted it. Run from it. But I felt different now.
I slid into bed and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, whispering to Becken’s fates, “Please let this last beyond Christmas.”
Chapter 20
Becken
Dawn crept through my hotel window, waking me up. I stared at the ceiling, my body still humming from last night. Carla’s scent lingered on my skin, citrus and warmth and all her.
The mark on my wrist caught the morning light, the golden circle more vibrant than before. It was a physical reminder of what had happened between us. Of what we’d become to each other, whether we acknowledged it or not. I traced the swirling pattern with my finger, remembering how it appeared that morning in the cabin.
Sleep had been impossible. Each time I closed my eyes, I could hear her gasp when I touched her, the way she’d whispered my name, how perfectly she’d fit against me. The trust in her eyes when she’d come apart. Few had ever looked at me that way, like I was someone special and necessary all at once.
My body hardened at the memory of her clinging to me, her warm wetness sheathing me, and the way she’d dug into my sides. The sweet sounds she’d made that I’d swallowed with kisses. The heat of her skin against mine.
The emptiness beside me felt wrong. She should be here, her hair spread across my pillow, her body curled against mine. But she may never be, and the absence ached like a mortal wound. What would it be like to wake with her every morning, to feel her stir against me, to see her eyes open, still soft with sleep? I wanted to build a life with her in this strange surface world that had begun to feel like home only because she was in it.
My feelings for her had grown beyond what I could control or contain. What started as respect for her professional competence had transformed into something deeper, more terrifying. More wondrous. Something I’d never expected to feel again after losing Wexla.
A love I still wasn’t sure I deserved.
The ceiling offered no answers. I rubbed my eyes, trying to organize my thoughts. How had this human woman with her holiday enthusiasm and fierce determination dismantled every wall I’d built around my heart?
I pushed myself out of bed and bathed, dressing quickly, pulling on layers to battle the cold outside. My reflection in the mirror looked different. The same orc face stared back, but my eyes looked different. The emptiness that had haunted me since Wexla’s death had left, replaced by something softer, more alive.
The sorhoxes needed feeding, and physical labor might clear my head. We had today and tomorrow. After that, she’d leave.
Unless I asked her to stay.
I could be setting myself up to feel loss all over again. After Wexla, I’d sworn I was done with love and the pain that came with it. Yet here I was, contemplating offering Carla a future by my side, of building something permanent from what had begun as temporary.
The air outside stole my breath, but the wintery bite cleared the fog from my head. Snow crunched beneath my boots as I made my way to the sorhox pens. The town slumbered aroundme, Christmas decorations glittering in the early light. In a few hours, the streets would fill with excited tourists enjoying their Christmas Eve and this authentic orc cowboy experience. Right now, though, the world belonged to me and my thoughts.
Peeka greeted me with a soft whoof, trotting over to the fence when she spotted me. She lowered her head, seeking pats, and I obliged, scratching behind her ears where she liked it best.
“Morning.” I leaned my forehead against hers. “Feeling better after the parade?”
