7. Mira
MIRA
M orning came soft and golden, the kind of morning that almost made me forget I’d woken up in a cave with an orc.
The storm had passed, leaving the world scrubbed clean, the leaves and stones glistening with raindrops.
When I stepped outside, the forest seemed to breathe.
A mist clung to the mossy ground, and the stream below gleamed like liquid glass, winding through a bed of smooth stones.
Sunlight spilled between the trees in wide, dappled shafts.
It was beautiful. Wild, but beautiful.
And I was filthy.
If this orc thought he would keep me, then he could at least offer me the most basic of comforts.
“Take me to the stream,” I said, my arms crossed like I’d win this argument by sheer force of stubbornness. “I need to wash.”
Gorran appeared beside me, moving silently in spite of his size. I tried my best not to be breathless, not to have butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Upon receiving my request, he didn’t even blink. He just tilted his head slightly, as if weighing whether my desires were worth humoring.
“Fine,” he said at last, rising to his full, ridiculous height. “But you don’t leave my sight.”
“Fine,” I shot back. “But you don’t look.”
One of his tusks caught the light as he smirked—actually smirked —but he turned away and walked ahead, leading me down the narrow path to the stream.
This was… not as unpleasant as I’d thought it would be.
The water was cool and clear, a narrow ribbon snaking between mossy rocks. I shot him a look as I knelt on the bank. “Turn around,” I said, pointing like he was some oversized kitchen boy.
His eyes burned into mine for a long, excruciating second, and then he obeyed, folding his arms across his chest, his impossibly broad back facing me. He stood there like a statue, guarding the perimeter with all the seriousness of a warlord, while I stripped down and slid into the water.
It was cold enough to make me gasp, but better than feeling the dried blood and grime cling to my skin. I washed quickly, glancing over my shoulder every so often, but Gorran never turned.
Not once.
Which was… unexpectedly decent of him. Almost irritatingly so.
Why did I feel… somewhat disappointed?
These treacherous thoughts…
I was playing with fire, and I didn’t care.
When I climbed out, teeth chattering, he offered me one of his rough, heavy blankets without a word. I muttered a quiet thank you before I could stop myself, wrapping it tightly around me.
And then, with no preamble, he started stripping.
I blinked. “What—what are you doing?”
He looked at me over his shoulder, face unreadable. “I’m filthy. You got your turn.”
Oh.
Oh.
Gods, he’s doing this on purpose, isn’t he?
I turned away, clutching the blanket like a shield, but curiosity—traitorous, wicked curiosity—itched at me. I told myself I needed to know what he looked like. For survival reasons. To better… assess my captor.
It was not because I wanted to.
Absolutely not.
I peeked anyway.
Oh, gods.
The orc was… impressive.
He was all muscle, built like he’d been carved from stone and violence.
His back was broad and crisscrossed with scars, old and new, a tapestry of battles that told more stories than he ever would.
As he knelt by the stream, water ran down the length of his spine and over the sharp ridges of his shoulders, glistening across skin the color of the verdant forest.
And then he turned, just slightly, enough for me to see the hard lines of his chest, the deep grooves of muscle down his stomach. My breath caught before I could stop it.
I snapped my gaze away, but too late.
“Do you want to look?” His voice was low, cutting through the soft rustle of the forest. Almost insolent… arrogant. “Look.”
Damned cocky orc.
I froze.
I didn’t turn back—my pride wouldn’t allow it—but my pulse pounded so hard it felt like it shook the trees around us.
“Not curious?” he asked after a beat, the faintest trace of amusement threading his tone.
“I’ve seen plenty of bare chests,” I said, aiming for sharp and dry, though my voice sounded thinner than I’d have liked.
“Not like mine,” he said simply.
My cheeks burned, and I hated that he was right.
He undid his belt and began to peel off his leather trousers.
The fluttering in my chest intensified. The heat in my cheeks deepened. Unable to bear it, I looked away, even though I shouldn’t have.
I should have kept staring, but I feared what the sight of him, completely naked—including that —would do to me.
So I turned, but when I heard the sounds of water splashing, I looked back, curiosity burning.
Just in time to catch the sight of his bare, magnificent ass as he strode into the water.
Gorran didn’t just step into the water—he owned it.
The stream was bright and glass-clear, sunlight breaking over its surface like molten silver. He waded in without hesitation, his stride slow, deliberate, and—gods help me—insolent. It was the kind of movement that told me he knew I was watching, knew I was pretending not to.
He became overwhelming again.
I directed my gaze toward the trees, on a pair of birds darting between branches, anywhere but on the enormous, battle-scarred orc bathing in front of me. I was unaffected. Entirely unaffected.
Except I wasn’t.
The quiet splash of water pulled me back. Against my will, I glanced over—just a quick look—and the breath stuck in my throat.
The stream hugged him like liquid light, running in thin rivulets down muscle cut from years of war.
His chest was broad, sculpted in hard, perfect planes that caught the sun, his skin glistening like wet steel.
Water beaded and slid over the ridges of his stomach, tracing the deep line between each muscle, falling lower before I wrenched my gaze away.
I wasn’t looking. I wasn’t.
But I was.
His scars fascinated me, pale streaks against darker skin, proof of a thousand battles survived. The jagged one across his shoulder, the long slash that cut diagonally over his ribs—each one made him seem even harder, more unyielding, as though life itself had tried to cut him down and failed.
I told myself it was curiosity. Survival instinct. I was just… cataloguing him. Yes, that was all.
But my body didn’t believe the lie.
A pulse throbbed in my throat. My chest tightened. My lips parted before I realized I was holding my breath.
How could this be happening? He was an orc. A killer. The kind of creature mothers warned their daughters about. And yet…
He’s beautiful, a tiny, treacherous voice inside me whispered. Truly magnificent.
He ran a hand over his head, dark hair slicked back, water cascading down the lines of his back. The motion pulled every muscle in his arms taut, the veins on his forearms standing out like cords. It was primal, raw, and so breathtakingly physical that I couldn’t look away.
He turned then, catching me in the act.
I froze, every excuse dying on my tongue.
His gaze found mine through the shimmer of the water, steady and unashamed. He didn’t move to cover himself. He didn’t even flinch.
“You want to look,” he said, voice low and rough, carrying easily across the stream. “Look.”
The words struck me harder than they should have. My face went hot, and I twisted my head, eyes fixed on the trees, but too late… far, far too late. I’d seen enough to know that nothing about him was soft.
I clenched the blanket tighter around me, as if its coarse fabric could shield me from my own thoughts.
Attractive.
The word stabbed through me like a betrayal. I couldn’t find another one. He was everything I wasn’t supposed to want: brutal, scarred, and alien.
Monster.
And yet…
And yet.
I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze toward the sky, the sunlight filtering through branches like thin threads of gold.
I told myself that when we got back to the cave, I’d forget this moment.
Forget the sight of his body under the sun, water cascading over his skin, his eyes locking with mine as if he saw everything I was trying to hide.
But I knew I wouldn’t.
He emerged from the water like something carved from the mountain itself: solid, unapologetic, droplets sliding down his chest and shoulders, clinging to every hard line of muscle.
Sunlight broke across his skin in sharp gleams, and I swore it wasn’t fair.
No living thing had the right to look that unshaken, that in control.
That big, formidable, masculine, and…
Damn beautiful.
I’d never imagined orcs could be beautiful like this.
My pulse refused to calm. I could feel him moving, slow and deliberate, each step through the shallows sending ripples across the stream.
“What’s the issue?”
The question caught me off guard. I turned sharply, clutching the blanket tighter, as if it could smother the heat rising in my face. “The issue?” I tried for cold and failed miserably. “I don’t have an issue.”
One of his tusks showed as his mouth curved—just a hint, but it was enough to tell me he’d noticed every flicker of my reaction. “You’re staring like you’ve never seen a male before.”
I scoffed, even as my throat tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just making sure you don’t drown, big guy.”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “I don’t drown. Not so easily. And even if I did… You think you could save me? You’re tiny.”
He stopped close—too close—and wrung the water from his hair, the motion sending a line of droplets down the grooves of his chest. My gaze followed one bead as it slid over the deep scar that ran from his collarbone to his ribs.
I looked away, heat coiling low in my belly, hating myself for noticing.
“You’re red,” he said. “Your face.”
I snapped my head up. “Because the sun’s out,” I muttered. “Obviously.”
His stare held mine, steady and knowing. He didn’t need to say anything; the corner of his mouth said it all—he knew exactly what was going through my head, and that infuriated me more than anything else.
“Let’s just go back,” I said quickly, stepping past him, blanket bunched tight around me. “I’m done here.”
“Are you?” His voice dropped, rough and quiet, as if testing me.
“Yes,” I shot back, not turning. “And if you ask me again, I’ll throw you in the stream.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that shouldn’t have been warm but was. “You’d need both hands to move my little finger, little cook.”
I froze, annoyed by the heat climbing up my neck. “Stop calling me that.”
“It suits you,” he said, falling into step behind me. His shadow stretched long over mine, like he owned the space around me without even trying. “You make stew. You glare. You pretend you’re not looking when you are.”
I spun, words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I wasn’t looking.”
His eyes, bright and unflinching, told me he didn’t believe a single syllable.
I turned away, stomping up the narrow path toward the cave, trying not to let him see the way my heart pounded. Whatever this was—this heat, this pull—it was dangerous. I couldn’t let it be anything else.
But behind me, I heard him laugh under his breath, quiet and amused, as though he already knew how this game would end.
Was this his game all along?
You were the one who asked to go wash, remember?
Or maybe… I was the one playing the game, diving into madness, because what else was there for me, back at Baron Keldar’s grim, stone-walled keep?
A life of servitude.
Trapped within heavy walls.
Men: knights, servants, nobles… leering at me, thinking they could do what they wanted with me. They only stayed away because I intentionally made myself unattractive. I wore grime like armor and dressed in rags. I left my hair matted and tangled.
I kept my head down. Didn’t make eye contact.
I cultivated a sharp, coarse tongue.
They didn’t realize I listened. And quietly, I learned things. I had ideas, thoughts, opinions…
I never thought I’d be able to show this side of myself, to be so bold.
But then again, I’d never encountered anyone like him before.