18. Mira
MIRA
T he storm struck without warning.
One moment, the sky was bruised with twilight. The next, wind howled through the trees like a living thing, rain battering the earth in sheets, the forest gone dark and wild. Thunder cracked overhead—sharp, splitting the sky like bone—and I flinched, instinctive and helpless.
Inside the cave, the fire stuttered, shadows dancing madly across the walls.
I hated storms.
Always had. Back in the keep, my tiny room had a warped shutter that never latched properly. On windy nights, it would slam open and shut with every gust, banging like a drumbeat of dread. I’d lie awake on the cold stone floor, fingers in my ears, heart in my throat, trying not to cry.
I hated the helplessness. The not knowing what might break.
And now, even with solid rock around me, with firelight and warmth and a massive, battle-scarred orc not ten feet away… I still felt it. That cold, creeping fear.
I hesitated by the fire, arms wrapped tight around myself.
Gorran sat near the cave mouth, sharpening his blade with slow, practiced strokes—he spent a lot of time sharpening his blades, and I realized it was a sort of meditation for him—unbothered by the chaos outside. The wind didn’t touch him. The thunder didn’t seem to exist in his world.
Orcs weren’t afraid of storms, it seemed.
At least, this orc wasn’t.
I watched him for a long moment, then quietly crossed to the furs and slid beneath them.
I wasn’t cold. Not really. But I pretended.
The storm howled louder, and another crack of thunder split the sky. I flinched. Just slightly.
And he noticed.
Without a word, Gorran set down his blade. Then he stood and crossed to me, lowering himself onto the furs with that quiet weight of his, solid and unshakable.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask.
He simply curled around me.
His warmth surrounded me in seconds, his chest against my back, his arm sliding over my waist. One massive hand splayed against my stomach, anchoring me, steadying me.
And I exhaled.
His breath was warm against my neck. I could feel his body pressed along mine, the sheer size of him both overwhelming and comforting.
And… arousing.
I stiffened, desire coursing through me.
My hand curled around his, and before I could think, I began to guide it.
He shifted slightly, voice low, rough silk in the dark. “If I touch you now, you won’t want me to stop.”
I didn’t breathe for a moment. Then I turned to face him.
I looked into his eyes—green and gold and smoldering with everything I knew he’d been holding back—and whispered, “Then don’t. Just kiss me. That’s all I want right now.”
It’s a start.
I just wanted his lips upon mine. That much I knew. That much felt safe.
The storm vanished. The cave, the cold, the thunder—it all disappeared.
His mouth found mine, and the kiss wasn’t soft. It was heat and hunger and months of tension breaking open. His hand slid under my dress, rough palm against my bare thigh, and I gasped into him, my body arching instinctively, desperate for more.
His tusks grazed my jaw, and his hand gripped my waist, dragging me flush against him. I felt the full weight of his arousal, thick and hard against my hip, and I didn’t care. I wanted it.
I wanted him.
His fingers brushed higher beneath my dress, tracing the edge of my underwear, and I whimpered, lost in the press of him.
And then…
I hesitated. The stone walls came down again, uncertainty battered by the sounds of the storm outside.
Was this it? Now?
Our first time?
But… I wasn’t sure.
He stopped.
Breathing hard, he pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his thumb still stroking my hip. “Not until you say the words.”
I froze.
Because I wanted to. I was right there, lips parted, body trembling, but the words caught in my throat.
I didn’t even know why.
Maybe it was the fear. The knowledge that once I said yes, it would mean everything.
Forever.
He scared me. He used to, at least. Not so much anymore.
But he still overwhelmed me.
He was so big. So powerful. What if it didn’t work? What if he hurt me? What if I wasn’t enough?
As if he could hear every one of those frantic, tangled thoughts, he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “I would never hurt you.”
His voice was a vow.
“Never.”
I closed my eyes, and my hand fisted in the front of his shirt, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Just holding.
He kissed me once more, slowly this time, then drew back, settling behind me again. He wrapped himself around me like a shield, his hand resting gently over my heart.
And in the safety of his arms, the storm didn’t feel quite so loud anymore.