"I’m not weak," I shot back, indignation quickly replacing embarrassment.
Kalisha simply sat back down, her expression as unyielding as the earth beneath us. Across the fire, I saw the corner of Malek’s mouth twitch, a ghost of a smirk that reached his brown eyes. He didn't look away, his gaze tracking the way my knuckles whitened around the wooden rim of the bowl.
I glared at him. So that’s how he saw me? A defenseless little girl? If only he knew who I really was. Though, who was I kidding? Even with the bit of training I had, I couldn't save myself in a real fight. Instead, the orc who stared at me as if he could read my deepest thoughts was the one who saved me. My power stirred within me after lying dormant all day. I thoughtabout letting it slip, just to prove I was more than I appeared. The glint of his war axe, however, made me recoil.
I was annoyed, but I wasn’t stupid.
So, with rage still burning in my chest, I ate the stew. It went down hot into my stomach, accompanied by the bitter taste of defeat.
???
I woke to find my entire body aching. My back throbbed from the wound, and every muscle screamed in protest against the hard ground where I had slept.
Kalisha's hut was sparse, with only a single straw bed and a few pelts to ward off the chill. She hadn't given me a choice of where to sleep; she simply tossed a pelt that smelled strongly of musk in my direction and turned her back.
My first night in Oksha was hardly noteworthy. I slept fitfully, bothered by the hard floor, the lack of a bath, and, to my utter despair, Kalisha's rhythmic, persistent snoring.
The sun rose slowly, staining the sky in shades of deep blue. The pain in my back was raw, as if the wolf had only just sunk its claws into me. I winced in pain as I stood, but I didn’t let a single complaint slip past my lips. The last thing I wanted was to return to that old orc healer's hut.
I rose slowly, every muscle protesting as I searched for water and some semblance of relief from the pain that refused to loosen its grip on me. As I stepped out of the hut, the crisp morning air struck my skin, invigorating me despite the pain. The village still slept, shrouded in a low mist that softened the world and muffled every sound.
I hurried to the well, filled the bucket, and, before turning back, admitted to myself that I couldn't stand the grime for another second; I had to bathe.
Behind Kalisha's hut, the forest grew denser and sat further away from the village, offering the perfect place for what I intended. I peeled off the improvised top and tattered skirt, shivering as the morning chill bit into my skin.
I splashed water over my face, neck, and under my arms, leaving my back for last. I groaned when the cold liquid struck the wound, but with steady resolve, I scrubbed away the foul-smelling paste and washed my hair. It was a quick bath, but it was enough to restore a small measure of my dignity.
Just as I was about to finish, a familiar scent invaded the air, too strong to belong to the forest alone. My body reacted, snapping into a state of high alert, and I turned slowly, still naked and entirely vulnerable to any attack.
Malek leaned against an Elanil tree, his arms crossed and his posture far too relaxed for someone who had just arrived. He didn't look surprised to see me, nor was he in any hurry to look away.
Shock hit me first, followed by searing, white-hot embarrassment. I was naked, exposed, my skin still prickling from the cold and the water, my heart hammering against my ribs. Panic flared next, but it didn't last. What took over was fury, burning and bright, intertwined with the deep shame of being seen naked again.
I squared my shoulders by sheer instinct, as if that could somehow negate the fact that if he wanted to attack me, he very well could, and lifted my chin, holding his gaze. I refused to back down even if my heart felt ready to explode. If he expected to see fear, he wouldn't find it in me.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed.
He remained exactly where he was, his eyes sliding over my body without a trace of lust, only a neutral, detached curiosity.
"You need to see Uruha." He pointed to his own back to mirror my injury. "The wound is bleeding."
"I'm fine," I snapped back, struggling to shield myself with the tattered rags clutched in my arms.
"Your scent changed," he observed, stepping closer to smell the air. "Before, it was sweet like flowers. Now, you smell like rain and earth."
"Stop smelling me!" I demanded, stepping back blindly, forgetting the damn bucket right behind me.
Malek moved faster than should have been possible. His hands clamped around my waist before I even hit the ground, his body searingly hot and solid against mine. The impact stole my breath as my face pressed against his chest, my breasts crushed against his abs. His scent enveloped me—damp earth, rain, freshly cut grass—unsettlingly familiar, and far too comforting for someone who was supposed to be my enemy.
I shoved the thought away and tried to pull back, but the weight of his hands kept me anchored to the spot.
"Krash’uk," he murmured.
"Let go of me," I requested, trying to catch my breath.
He watched me for a long beat, his eyes searching mine, trying to decipher a riddle. I looked away and shoved against his chest, the air feeling thin in my lungs.
"You’re tense."
