He felt her exhale. Felt the tension begin to drain from her muscles. She went soft against him, and the feeling sparked more hope than he knew what to do with.
"You're warm," she murmured. "Like a furnace."
"Orc blood runs hot."
"I noticed."
Her breathing slowed. Deepened. The scent of fear faded, replaced by warmth. Contentment. The scent of safety, he realized. The scent of someone who finally, finally believed they weren't alone.
He didn't sleep.
But when her breath evened out into the rhythm of true rest, when her hand unclenched from his shirt and went slack against his chest, when she made a small sound and pressed her face more firmly into his shoulder—
He closed his eyes.
And let himself have this moment.
Just this.
For now.
Chapter 10
Delia woke slowly.
The first thing she became aware of was the solid, encompassing warmth that seemed to radiate through her entire body. The second was a heartbeat that wasn't her own, steady and strong beneath her ear. The third was the arm wrapped around her back, holding her against a chest that rose and fell in the rhythm of deep sleep.
Ralvar.
She didn't move. Didn't want to break whatever spell had allowed the orc warrior to finally rest. Morning light was seeping through the gaps in the watchtower walls, and she could hear birds calling somewhere in the distance.
Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
She tilted her head back slowly, careful not to wake him, and studied his face in the early light.
Asleep, the ferocity was muted. His features were still harsh—the strong jaw, the prominent brow, the tuskscurving up from his lower lip—but the tension she'd grown accustomed to seeing had faded. He looked... peaceful. Almost vulnerable.
He stayed awake for me. Both nights. Watched over me while I slept.
She shifted slightly, adjusting her position against him, and his arm tightened automatically.His face turned toward her, nose pressing into her hair, and she felt him inhale deeply.
"You're awake," he said. His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual.
"So are you."
"I felt you move." His eyes opened, finding her face. "Did you sleep?"
"Some." More than she'd expected, actually. More than she had in days. "Did you?"
"Some."
They were still pressed together. His arm was around her. Her head was resting on his chest, her hand splayed against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. She should move. Should put distance between them, give him space, stop taking up so much of—
His thumb traced a slow line down her spine.
Delia's breath caught.
"How is your ankle?" he asked.
