I watched him from the corner of my eye, taking in his broad shoulders, now relaxed, his rugged features, and the steady, intent look in his eyes. He was a handsome male—I had to admit. Not in the delicate way of the High Fae, with their sculpted cheekbones, slender bodies, and air of superiority. Malek exuded masculinity and dominance. Everything about him was imposing, like a mountain that claimed all the light, leaving the rest of the world in shadow. Near him, I felt small and delicate, even though I was over 10 feet tall.
I followed him back to the hut, which now felt more welcoming. The fire in the hearth burned low, its soft light flickering across the walls and casting long, gentle shadows. The air carried the earthy scent of bathing herbs, mingling with the smell of burning wood.
Malek filled a bowl with thick, fragrant stew from the bubbling cauldron in the hearth and offered it to me.
"Kalisha left it for us."
“It’s perfect,” I said, taking the bowl.
The stew was hot and hearty, rich with meat and forest roots. The first bite reminded me just how hungry I was.
We sat near the hearth to eat in silence. Every so often, my gaze drifted to him without meaning to.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"About the plan," I lied, shifting my gaze to the embers.
Malek let out a long sigh. "It’ll work."
"It won’t be easy," I countered.
To my surprise, he reached for my hand, covering it with his own. For a moment, he simply stared at where we touched, his brown eyes distant.
"You’re strong, Fiona. More than you imagine."
There was no lie in his voice; he was being honest. And that honesty was… freeing. All my life, I had tried to be the perfect daughter, hiding who I truly was from most people—not out of shame, but because I knew they would judge me.
Even the fact that I wasn’t a true orc didn’t seem to change how he saw me. And that left me feeling strangely vulnerable, like I could finally let go of something I had been carrying for years.
Our gazes locked, and I took in the details of his face—every line and imperfection that made him unique. His scent wrapped around me, a blend of wet earth, rain, and forest. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, letting it settle within me.
"Why do you say that?" I asked in a whisper. "You hardly know me. To your people, I’m a stranger. To mine, I’m a disappointment that needs to be dealt with."
Malek squeezed my hand, the heat of his skin fusing with mine. He leaned forward, the firelight sculpting the hard lines of his face.
"I don’t see lineages or titles when I look at you," he replied. "I see someone who survived what should have broken her. Where you see weakness, I see fire. And fire doesn’t need permission to burn, Fiona."
I swallowed hard, unable to look away from him. No one had ever seen through my masks that way before.
"Fire can also burn everything if you aren’t careful."
Malek closed the distance between us, his warm breath brushing my face. His fingers slipped from my hand to the nape of my neck, possessive, while his thumb traced the line of my lower lip.
"Then let it burn," he whispered, his voice low, settling deep in my belly. "I would rather turn to ashes at your side than live without knowing your touch."
"Malek…" His name slipped from me like a plea, an acknowledgment of the line we were about to cross.
I didn’t know how we had reached this point. Perhaps the adrenaline and exhaustion of the day had finally pushed us to the limit. A part of me—the one raised under the rigid expectations of Ceilte—screamed that I should pull away. I should stand up, regain my composure, and pretend this dangerous attraction didn’t exist. Pretend the feeling consuming me every time he drew near was nothing more than a passing delusion.
But if I turned away now, I knew I would spend the rest of my long life wondering if I had done the right thing.
My mind resisted, but my body had already given in. When Malek closed the distance between us, it felt like fate was sealing something that had always been meant to be.
His brown eyes burned with hunger, and knowing he accepted me, even with the blood in my veins, finally broke down my last defense.
"I can’t do this anymore, Fiona. You make me lose my mind."
I had no idea who leaned in first. Our breaths mingled, frantic, anticipating the final contact that would change everything between us—the past, the present, and the future.
