Tomorrow, then.
As my eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion of the longest day of my life finally overtaking me, I watched him through half-closed lids. He sat beside me, one massive hand resting lightly on my ankle, his expression thoughtful as he kept watch. My last thought before sleep claimed me was that this arrangement was not what I’d feared. That this monster—my monster now, apparently—had depths I had not yet explored.
And perhaps, just perhaps, I wanted to.
six
ALIANA
Iwoke to the sound of rustling pages and the faint scratch of something against parchment.
For a moment, disorientation gripped me—the unfamiliar ceiling with its rough-hewn beams, the lingering scent of bonding oils on my skin mixing with something earthy and masculine, the pleasant ache between my thighs that reminded me exactly what had happened. Then memory flooded back in high-definition detail: the decision in the dark. The ceremony. The claiming. Rakthar. My monster. My mate. The orc who had promised, just before I fell asleep, to tell me everything.
I turned my head toward the sound and froze, captivated by the unexpected sight before me.
Rakthar sat cross-legged on the floor, his massive frame hunched over what appeared to be an ancient tome that looked like it had survived several wars and possibly a natural disaster. The leather binding was cracked with age, the pages yellowed and covered in script I couldn't decipher from this distance. His brow was furrowed in concentration, one clawed finger tracing lines of text with surprising delicacy, like he was afraid the pagesmight crumble under too much pressure. In the soft morning light filtering through the window, he looked less like the warrior who had claimed me so thoroughly last night and more like a scholar absorbed in precious knowledge.
It was unfairly attractive. I had not signed up for my arranged monster husband to be hotandintellectual. That felt like cheating.
I shifted slightly, and his head snapped up immediately, those amber eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach do a little flip. But instead of setting the book aside and pouncing—which, let's be honest, part of me had expected—he simply nodded in acknowledgment and returned to his reading. This casual dismissal, after his intense focus on me since the ceremony, was oddly refreshing. Like I was a person, not just a mate to be constantly monitored.
Curiosity drew me from my nest of cushions, the fur wrap still draped around my shoulders. I padded across the cool stone floor toward him.
“Clan law,” he said before I could ask, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet room. “The section on interspecies bonds.”
“You're studying...us?” I settled beside him, close enough to see the intricate illustrations of diagrams of different species, anatomical drawings that were surprisingly detailed, ritual circles covered in symbols that seemed to shimmer slightly in the light.
“Knowledge is respect,” he replied, carefully turning a page with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his warrior's hands. “Our bond is rare. Not forbidden, but uncommon. I would honor it properly.”
I peered at the text, surprised to find I could almost understand some of it—as if the bonding magic had begun to bridge our linguistic differences, meaning bleeding through in ways that shouldn't be possible. “This isn't just about physical compatibility, is it?”
Rakthar's mouth curved slightly, something that might have been approval flickering in his eyes. “Most assume my kind think only with our bodies. That we take what we want with strength alone.” He closed the book with care, giving me his full attention in a way that made me feel seen. “But the Mountain Clans have survived millennia because we understand that true strength lies in knowledge. In tradition. In bonds that transcend the physical.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest. This wasn't the mindless brute humans whispered about in Sanctuary corridors. This was a being with depth, with culture, with respect for something greater than himself.
“What else don't I know about you?” I asked, leaning closer in a way that felt natural. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of hours.
He considered me for a long moment. Then, without speaking, he reached for the small pouch at his waist and began to lay his carved tokens on the floor between us—the same ones from last night, returned to their careful arrangement. I recognized the fertility charm I had set down with excessive precision. I recognized the milky green stone of dreamless sleep. And then, resting separately from the others, a new one.
Small, rough-edged, clearly only begun: a protection charm, its symbols barely sketched into the surface, the carving still in its early hours.
“You started it last night,” I said.
“While you slept.” He picked it up and turned it between his fingers, not looking at me. “I had promised.”
Something about that—the simplicity of it, the fact that he had sat up in the dark keeping a promise I'd been asleep for—made my throat feel unexpectedly tight. I watched him set it back down with the same care he gave the ancient tome.
“You also promised me 'all of it,'” I said. “Last night. Before I fell asleep.”
He was quiet for a moment. The carved token sat between us.
“Yes,” he said. “I did.”
He put the book aside. He straightened slightly, settling his weight in a way that told me he was preparing to speak carefully—not evasively, but with the deliberateness of someone who understood that words, once said, could not be unsaid.
“Your match to Urran was not an accident,” he began. “But it was not what the system told you it was either.” His eyes met mine. “Urran's clan pays for placement. Money and influence, exchanged for access to the matching registry—specifically for brides with rare compatibility markers. They have done this for years. The Sanctuary is aware. Some within it... choose not to see.”
I stared at him. “Chooses not to see,” I repeated slowly. The warm morning light suddenly felt insufficient. “You mean they take the money.”
