2. Mira
MIRA
I woke to heat.
It wasn’t the cold, damp fog of the forest, or the bone-deep chill of fear, but a heavy, thick, tangible heat. This warmth had weight: furs beneath me, firelight dancing against stone, the low hiss of wet wood crackling in the hearth.
And breath. I heard it, faintly.
Not mine.
His.
Every muscle in my body stiffened as I remembered. Everything hurt—my knees, my shoulder, the side of my head throbbing like a war drum. My dress clung to me, damp and crusted with old blood. I stank. I knew it before I even lifted a hand.
But that wasn’t what made my stomach clench.
He was across the room, crouched low, his back to me.
The orc.
Huge. How could I forget how huge he was? And now he was shirtless, bathed in the flickering glow of the fire.
He was coiled like a predator, one knee bent, his elbow resting on it.
A curved blade gleamed in his hand as he turned it slowly, a rag in the other, stroking the steel with deliberate care.
The blood smeared across his forearms was mostly dry now, but his skin remained streaked with it.
A dark line trickled down the center of his spine, begging for a taste.
I hadn’t imagined it. The wolves. The axe. The way he moved: silent, sure, born to kill.
An orc.
He hadn’t noticed I was awake. Or maybe he had. Maybe this was part of the show: let the girl watch the beast, build the tension.
My heart thundered in my chest, but I didn’t dare move. Not yet. I needed information. Where were we? What did he want? Could I run?
Could I ever escape?
What if he wanted to… kill me?
My eyes darted around the cave, taking in my surroundings.
There was a small fire ringed in stone, and a low wooden shelf stacked with pelts and dried herbs.
The walls were rough-hewn, uneven: this wasn’t a hut, but a cave, maybe.
I couldn’t see the entrance, but the air smelled of smoke, pine, and a primal musk that stirred something deep within me.
Fresh kill—a hare—hung near the back, already skinned.
Everything here was clean, ordered, and practical.
Except him.
He turned.
His eyes found mine as if he already knew I was awake. He registered no surprise or tension. Just cool, steady focus.
I scrambled upright, nearly tripping over the fur blanket, and shoved myself backward until my shoulders slammed against the cold stone. “Don’t touch me.”
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t rise.
Just kept crouching, a predator who didn’t need to prove its power.
“You’re not dead,” he said, his voice low and rough. If I closed my eyes, I might almost think he sounded human, but there was a dark undercurrent that sent shivers down my spine.
“You’re welcome,” he added pointedly, as if in response to imagined gratitude.
I stared.
That was it?
“You kidnapped me.”
“I carried you.” He paused, glowering. “Would you prefer if I’d left you to the wolves?”
My mouth opened, then snapped shut. “You still dragged me off.”
“You fainted.”
“I did not faint.”
“You went down like a sack of grain.” His tone wasn’t mocking, just a flat statement of fact, which somehow made it worse.
“I was concussed,” I snapped, my temper flaring.
That earned a single blink. “And bleeding.”
He finally stood.
Gods.
He was even bigger standing. The firelight painted gold across the planes of his chest, the deep line of muscle down his stomach, and the jagged scar running from his collarbone to his hip.
There were more scars, old and new, a map of violence etched into his green, inhuman skin, a history I suddenly, irrationally longed to trace with my fingertips.
One eye had a faint crease at the brow, as if it had been broken once and never quite healed straight, adding to his rugged appeal.
His tusks weren’t comical. They were sharp, pale against the darker skin of his face. They weren’t too long, just long enough to remind me he wasn’t human.
But every inch of him called to the most primal parts of me.
My body started doing strange things. I ordered it to stop.
Don’t be ridiculous. He’s an orc. A bloody orc!
And I didn’t know whether he was a good one or a bad one.
Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing as a good orc. They’re monsters… aren’t they?
I lifted my chin, teeth clenched, trying to ignore the magnetic pull.
He watched me, not leering, not hungry, but assessing, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“I want to go back,” I said, my voice hard.
He tilted his head. “To the keep?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll die if you go wandering out there on your own.”
“That’s not your concern.”
Something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Annoyance? Or was there a hint of desire, mirroring my own?
No. Not that. Impossible.
“You owe me a debt.”
I went still. “What?”
“Orc law. I spared your life. It belongs to me now.”
I gaped at him. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He didn’t blink. “Human rules are stupid. Orc laws are straightforward. You belong to me.”
My fists curled in the furs, longing to connect with his flesh, to feel his strength. I wanted to throw something— anything —to shatter this strange, intoxicating tension. My boots, the knife near his foot, the pendant he wore like a war token.
I imagined hurling them like a maniac.
Instead, I took a long breath and said, as calmly as I could, “What do you want from me?”
His eyes didn’t leave mine, and I knew, somehow, that he saw everything I tried to hide, every yearning that simmered beneath the surface. “Nothing you aren’t already giving.”
“Hmph. You have a name at least, don’t you, savior? ”
“Gorran.” He offered it like a token, a small coin from the bag of a wealthy man, something precious but given far too easily.
Gorran. It was a strong name. An unfamiliar name. Orc, not human. It resonated deep within my bones, even though I didn’t want it to.
“And you?”
I considered being stubborn, withholding my name just to spite him, but that would be pointless. He’d get it out of me eventually, and for now, I didn’t want him to go around calling me girl or something equally stupid.
“Mira,” I grated.
“Mira.” He curled my name across his tongue, shaping it with his Orc accent, and suddenly, it was transformed into something less than ordinary.
For just a moment.
And secretly, quietly, I shuddered.
He stared at me, his expression unreadable.
Then, just like that, he turned away, crouched by the fire again, and resumed cleaning his blade.
Dismissed.
Like I wasn’t even worth arguing with in the first place.
I bit back a growl, stealing a glance at the cave entrance. Rain still hissed outside, and the wind howled low between the rocks.
I wasn’t ready to move. Not yet. Not until I could be sure of the terrain, the distance, and his weapons.
He had carried me away from the wolves. That much was true.
But that didn’t make him safe.