“You’re not the only one who seeks a mate,” Krem said with quiet dignity. “This is very… What’s the word? Dramatic? You made a sleeping sacrifice, and Laina is refusing to allow your suffering to continue forward. Do you believe this qualifies as what humans call groveling?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Brovish said. “There’s no need for me to grovel.”
“This is more what you’d call yearning,” Greth said. “Lots of it going on here from both sides. She knows what it cost him.”
And that was the most words I’d heard come out of Greth’s mouth.
“Does she?” Drogar asked.
I stopped in the hallway, my hand coming up to cover my mouth, holding in my slightly hysterical laughter.
Brovish had known exactly what the sofa situation was. He’d folded himself onto it anyway and sent me to his bed.
My eyes burned in the same way they had in my bedroom while my mother watched me pack. For a different reason, however.
I dropped my hand and straightened my jacket.
Brovish had folded himself onto that sofa knowing exactly how uncomfortable it would be. He’d sent me to his bed knowing I’d sleep surrounded by his things, his scent, and the small pieces of himself he’d arranged in that space.
And tonight I was going to return to that bed, except this time he’d be in it with me.
The thought settled in my chest like Sofia’s warmth against my neck.
I went to check on Cooper before anyone could see the expression on my face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BROVISH
Istood beside the sofa, my neck stiff from the angle I’d laid in for most of the night, watching Drogar’s grin spread wider.
“You could use my bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep outside. The weather’s favorable and the ground is soft enough.”
Traig, who’d just entered the break room, didn’t look up from his tablet. “I heard fillawigs hunting last night.”
Drogar huffed. “I can handle a fillawig.”
“Can you handle a pack of them?”
Drogar’s grin faltered. “That might present difficulties.”
Krem set the mug down on the table and quickly explained to Traig what had happened. “We could establish a rotating schedule. Each of us sacrifices one night in our own bed. The burden would be distributed equally across?—”
“That does not create a solution,” Traig said. “It creates inefficiency in our sleep patterns, which will affect our work performance.”
“I offer only simple solutions.”
“Your solutions always require spreadsheets.”
“Go home tonight, Brovish,” Greth said. “She offered.”
Everyone blinked my way.
Going home meant sharing my bed. In my cottage and in my space where everything carried my scent and habits and the small pieces of myself I arranged when no one was watching.
None of that addressed what it meant.
When an orc accepted an invitation to share sleeping space, it was an answer to a question that hadn’t been spoken out loud yet. The person who offered their bed was saying,I trust you in my vulnerable hours.The person who accepted was saying,I will guard those hours as my own.
