Her eyes drifted closed.
She didn't trust him.
But for the first time since the guards had come for her, for the first time since her family had sold her like livestock, for the first time in longer than she wanted to admit—
She didn't feel like prey.
Chapter 5
Ralvar had not slept.
He could have. His body was trained for the quick, efficient rest of a border warrior, the ability to drop into unconsciousness for an hour or two and wake at the faintest sound. Fifteen years of patrol had honed that skill until it was as natural as breathing.
But every time he closed his eyes, his awareness drifted back to her.
To the soft rhythm of her breathing. To the way the firelight caught the curves of her body beneath his tunic. To the scent of her—human, yes, but something else underneath. Something that called to parts of him he'd thought long dormant.
So he'd stayed awake. Tended the fire. Watched.
Watched her.
The thought should have shamed him. Would have, perhaps, if she'd been an orc. A warrior of his rank staring at a sleeping female like some untested youth would have been unseemly. Embarrassing.
But she wasn't an orc. She was human. And whatever rules governed his behavior with his own kind seemed to dissolve when he looked at her.
Delia.
Even her name felt different in his mind than other names. Softer. Worth remembering.
She'd rolled in her sleep sometime in the last hour, turning toward the fire, and the movement had shifted his tunic higher on her thighs. He could see the curve of her calves now. The generous swell of her hips where the fabric pulled tight. The rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
Abundant.
That was the word. The word his people used for bodies like hers. Bodies that human culture seemed to despise for reasons Ralvar had never understood.
Among orcs, a female built like this would have suitors fighting for her attention. Would be pursued and flattered and offered gifts until she chose the warrior worthy of her.
She would be considered blessed.
And here she was, half-frozen in his mountains, running from her own kind because they'd decided she was worthless enough to sell.
Something dark and savage stirred in Ralvar's chest.
He wanted to find the men who'd caged her. Wanted to make them understand, in the language of blood and broken bones, exactly how wrong they'd been. Wantedto—
Careful.
He forced the thought down. Controlled it. He was captain of the Northwatch, not some beast driven by rage. His discipline was what separated him from the raiders he killed. From the humans who saw orcs and thoughtmonster.
Though looking at this woman—atDelia—he was beginning to wonder if discipline was enough.
The fire popped, sending sparks spiraling toward the watchtower's ruined roof. Ralvar added another piece of wood from the pile he'd gathered, moving silently despite his size. He'd learned that skill young. The Mountain Clan trained their warriors to be ghosts when needed—present and lethal and utterly invisible until the moment they chose to be seen.
He'd never expected to use that training to avoid disturbing a sleeping human.
What are you doing?
The question had been circling since he'd found her. Since he'd knelt in the mud and shown her his empty hands and felt something fundamental shift in his chest. He knew what the pull was. Every orc knew, grew up hearing stories of it. The instinctive recognition. The bone-deep certainty thatthis onemattered in ways that defied logic or reason.
